The Yeti: A Novel

by Rick Chesler

  Before Marvin finished, Zack was already shaking his head. True, the trip and the expedition were already paid for. Combined they’d drained the Hitchens of nearly all of their savings, a nest egg Zack had been building since he was twelve. That was how important Everest was to her, to their relationship. Their final adventure before having kids.

  But now his world had drastically changed.

  Zack shifted on the cushions of their couch. His couch, he corrected himself. His, even though Nadia had picked it out. Even though...

  Stop it.

  In a daze, he stared at his empty rocks glass and realized he’d neglected to offer Marvin a drink.

  “I’m in no mood for a vacation,” Zack said without looking up. He frowned when he heard his own voice; he sounded so damned irritable.

  “How about a retreat?”

  A retreat; that’s what Nadia had called their planned odyssey.

  “I don’t need to fly to Asia to reflect on this,” Zack said with an unintended harshness. “I just want...”

  What he was about to say sounded off-putting in his head, but Marvin pressed him. “You just want what?”

  Zack sighed. He and Marvin had been tight for years. The last thing Zack wanted was to push him away.

  Still, he said: “I just want to be left alone to grieve.”

  Immediately he felt a pang of guilt. After all, Marvin had been through this, too. Had lost his own wife after a long ugly battle with breast cancer years before Zack met him. According to Arnold Peavy, Marvin became so depressed he took an extended leave. No one knew where he went, but when he returned to the university three years later, Marvin seemed to be a new man, all but free of anger and grief.

  Marvin uncrossed his legs and leaned forward on bony elbows. “What about Nadia? What about what she’d want?”

  She’d want Zack to go, of course. To see Nepal, to experience Kathmandu. She’d urge him to immerse himself in Nepalese culture, to learn the language, to taste their foods and absorb their music. And to take pictures, plenty of pictures.

  “What about her ashes?” Marvin said.

  “Her ashes?”

  “You had her cremated, right? Well, what have you decided to do with her ashes?”

  Zack hadn’t given the matter any thought and felt oddly errant for that now.

  Marvin’s face softened in the lamplight. “My Corinne, she had always wanted to see the motherland,” he said slowly, “but she never got the chance while she was alive.” He reached into his back pocket and dug out his wallet, opened it and slipped a small photo out of its translucent jacket. He studied the picture as though it were the first time he was ever seeing it. He reached out and handed the photo to Zack. “So when she died, I decided to take her ashes with me to Tanzania.”

  Zack stared at the photo, at a pair of dark sensual eyes, surrounded by smooth honey-colored skin. “So that’s where you went when your wife passed away? To Africa?”

  Marvin smiled. “One of the places.”

  Zack waited, but Marvin didn’t elaborate. “Where else did you go?”

  Marvin leaned back in the oversized chair and recrossed his legs. For such a tall man, Zack noticed, Marvin had awfully short feet.

  Zack’s cell-phone vibrated on the coffee table and he silenced it without looking at the screen. He waved his hand, told Marvin to ignore the sound. “Probably just my mother again.”

  Marvin smoothed out the leg of his pants, then casually placed his hands behind his head. His eyes seemed to catch on the pill bottle.

  Or maybe that was Zack’s imagination.

  “So, why not bring Nadia to Kathmandu as planned?” Marvin said at last.

  Zack shrugged, shaking his head. “Nadia didn’t care much about returning to Kathmandu. She and her dad spent two weeks there when they climbed Cho Oyo.” He sighed softly, recalling one of their last conversations. “But she really couldn’t wait to take on Everest.”

  “Then why not Everest?”

  Zack looked up, somewhat incredulous. “Everest?”

  Marvin held up his hand. “Hear me out. What I’m saying is, once you’re in Kathmandu, I’m sure you can pay one of the climbers to take Nadia’s ashes up to the summit. Maybe speak to the leader of the expedition you joined. What’s his name, Furst? I’m sure he could work something out with one of his Sherpas.”

  Maybe the scotch was working on Zack, making him overly sentimental, but Marvin’s idea didn’t sound all that crazy. He glanced at the bottle of Ambien, and a lump suddenly caught in his throat. A wall of water formed in front of his eyes.

  In a near-whisper, he said: “She didn’t deserve to die like that, Marvin.”

  “Of course she didn’t.”

  Zack ran a hand through his hair, warm tears finally spilling over onto his cheeks. “I mean, she ran with the bulls in Pamplona. She ate fugu. She jumped out of airplanes. How can someone like that die in a car accident in the middle of the goddamn day?”

  Marvin held out his palms. “Because there are selfish, reckless people out there, Zack. People with no regard for anyone. People like that son of a bitch who hit her.”

  Todd Mercer. An out-of-work salesman from Middletown, on his way home after downing a liquid lunch. Zack tensed as he thought about him. Todd Mercer... Blew a .22 at the station. Made bail and went straight home to his wife without so much as a scratch.

  “Her death was so meaningless.” Zack shut his eyes, squeezing them tight. “So cliché.”

  There was a brief silence. Then: “Her death doesn’t need to be meaningless, Zack.”

  When Zack opened his eyes, Marvin was on his feet. “I’ll let you be now, but I’d like you to seriously consider going on to Kathmandu. You have the semester off. Make the most of it, kid.”

  Marvin slipped back into his trench coat and started toward the door.

  Unable to summon the energy to stand, Zack leaned his head back, gently rubbing his temples.

  As he wiped his face with his sleeve, he remembered. “Oh, wait, Marvin. Your hat.”

  Marvin turned back to him. “Excuse me?”

  Zack pushed himself off the couch. “Your hat. Where is it, upstairs?” He sniffled. “I’ll run up and get it for you.”

  Marvin smiled and twisted the doorknob. “Oh, that’s all right, Zack,” he said, stepping outside, back into the rain. “I didn’t wear one.”

  Chapter 4

  Kathmandu, Nepal

  Zack was still feeling around for his seatbelt when the tiny white four-door Suzuki peeled away from the curb into heavy city traffic. The taxi wove its way through the gridlock into what passed for a middle lane, then immediately slowed to a crawl. Horns blared all around. Most of the vehicles surrounding the cab belched thick black smoke; some appeared to be broken down. While the Suzuki jerked forward like an outdated carnival ride, Zack intensified his search for a belt.

  As Zack probed the torn upholstery, Dustin Blaisdell turned around in the front passenger seat, his lips peeled back in a thin smile.

  “I think it’s safe to do without that,” he said, pointing at Zack’s face.

  Zack reluctantly lowered his mask. Through the clouded rear window he could see the traffic’s dark thick emissions hanging over the pavement like poisoned gas. Just as he’d read in his guidebooks.

  “Sure I can’t talk you into climbing, Zack?” Dustin said over the incessant grunts of the idling engines. “It’d certainly be of some comfort having a fellow American up there on the mountain with me.”

  It was Dustin’s call Zack missed the night of Nadia’s memorial service when Marvin returned under the pretext of retrieving his hat. Zack recalled the message now, recalled calling Dustin back. With his mind soaked in scotch and Marvin’s idea still fresh in his head, it was no time to talk, no time to make plans. Certainly no time for Zack to agree to a rendezvous with one of his teammates at Tribhuvan Airport two months hence.

  Francesca Corsi shot Dustin a look from the backseat as a motorcycle zipped by, nearly
clipping a pair of pedestrians. “An Italian is not good enough for you?”

  Dustin winked at her, then turned back to Zack. “Careful what you say around this one,” he said, pointing his square jaw in her direction. “You could end up in print.”

  Francesca laughed. “I promise,” she said, placing a slender hand on Zack’s lap, “you do not need to watch your words around me. We are entirely off the record unless you tell me otherwise.”

  Francesca had just flown in from Milan to cover the climbing season on Everest. She had originally planned on joining a team ascending from the north, before China abruptly closed off its border. “Probably it is for the best,” she’d told Zack in carefully measured English back at the airport. “You know how the Chinese government is about journalists. Particularly in Tibet.”

  Zack had been immediately taken by her eyes, as green as the Caribbean, and by her full pink lips.

  “So how about it, Zack?” Dustin asked as their driver leaned on the horn. “Anything I can say to get you to climb?”

  The red of embarrassment crept up Zack’s neck, advancing on his pale New England cheeks. He wished Dustin would let the matter lie. But Dustin had the look of someone who didn’t let things go too easily. In fact, he seemed to possess the fierce tenacity of most amateur mountaineers.

  Even before meeting him, Zack could have picked him out of a line-up. The rugged face, the ice blue eyes, the beginnings of a light brown beard. Dustin was every bit the part-time climber. He perfectly fit the mold.

  “I’m a veterinarian,” he’d told Zack over the phone. “I have a small practice outside Seattle.”

  Dustin was in his early forties, divorced with two teenage girls. Climbing, he’d said, was therapeutic. An attractive alternative to spending three hundred bucks a week on a shrink.

  “Nah,” Zack said, as casually as he could. “Climbing was my wife’s thing. I prefer to stay at sea level where it’s safe.”

  But it wasn’t just heights; it was water, too. The ocean and a lot of other things. He thought about Nadia, about how she nearly cried when he refused to swim with stingrays on their honeymoon in Grand Cayman, about how disappointed she was when he wouldn’t ride horses with her along the beach on the Big Island of Hawaii.

  Taking climbing lessons had been a concession. Zack figured he’d clamber up a few relatively harmless rocks now and then if it would provide Nadia the rush she needed. At least it was safer than jumping out of planes.

  But after ascending a few peaks, Nadia began setting the bar higher, started pushing for taller mountains. And once she noticed how deft a climber Zack was, she suggested more technically difficult ascents. After a while, she insisted dry rocks were no longer challenging enough for them; she wanted to scale snow and ice.

  “Your wife?” Francesca said as a rickshaw overtook their cab. “You left her back in the States?”

  Zack shook his head, tapping the top of his blue carry-on. “Actually, she’s right here.”

  As he explained, he fished around in the pocket of his duffel bag for his wallet.

  Once again, the Suzuki lurched to a halt.

  Zack looked up. “Is that...” He peered out the dust-laden windshield, past the mob of peddlers and patrons toward an open ground floor window. “Is that a rhesus macaque?”

  “A what?” Francesca followed his glare.

  Dustin laughed. “A rhesus monkey, yes. Yes, it is.” He stared at Zack in the rearview mirror. “You’re familiar with the species?”

  Zack watched as the monkey jumped from the window onto the sidewalk and scurried virtually unnoticed down the narrow crowded street.

  “I teach an advanced zoology course.”

  The rhesus monkey was well known to the scientific community, given its relatively easy upkeep in captivity and its close relation to the human species. Still, it was startling to see one running loose in a city.

  “There are more than a thousand rhesus monkeys living in Kathmandu,” Dustin explained. “The Hindus consider them holy; they’re very well-protected.”

  Zack tore his eyes from the swelling crowd on the street and found his wallet, an amused smile lingering on his face. It faded as he felt around in his billfold and found only U.S. dollars. Although American currency was accepted pretty much everywhere in Nepal, his guidebooks had suggested exchanging a few hundred dollars for rupees, just in case.

  He extracted Nadia’s picture from its plastic sleeve. Stuck to the back of it was another photo. He peeled the two apart. The second photo took him by surprise. It was the picture of Corinne Combs he’d neglected to return to Marvin that evening at his house. He handed Nadia’s photo to Francesca and returned Corinne’s to its sleeve.

  “She is so beautiful,” Francesca said.

  The Suzuki suddenly shifted and sharply turned right, barely missing the corner of the curb. Zack fell into the door with a hard smack. He quickly recovered, pushing himself upright, resuming his search for a safety belt.

  A Nepalese chant, which first sounded like a mumble, grew louder as they continued down the street. From the corner of his eye, Zack could see a large crowd gathered at the end of the block.

  As the Suzuki slowed behind vehicles stopped at the next intersection, Francesca turned back to him and pressed Nadia’s photo into his hand. “I am so sorry she is gone. But, Zack, what you are doing for her is very swee–”

  The window next to Zack’s head suddenly shattered and she screamed, shielding her eyes against the flying pieces of glass. Outside, the sea of people on the sidewalk spilled onto the street.

  “What’s going on?” Zack shouted. He covered Francesca, keeping their heads low.

  “Protestors,” Dustin yelled over the chaos. “We’re near the U.N. complex.”

  The so-called People’s War was over, had ended when the Communist Party of Nepal was popularly elected to power in 2008. The monarchy had been abolished, and the kingdom was now a republic. Since then, according to Zack’s guidebooks, Kathmandu had become relatively safe. So much for that.

  Zack poked his head up, saw the first placards reading free tibet.

  “I thought they were peaceful,” he shouted.

  “They are,” Francesca said, lifting her head. “But the Nepali police are not.”

  That was when Zack noticed who was doing the striking --uniformed officers in black and grey riot gear. They pushed forward with shields, swung long bamboo canes, and fired tear gas into the street.

  Zack tried to recall what he’d read online. More than twenty-thousand Tibetans living in exile in Nepal, and yet the government didn’t allow anti-China demonstrations. Nepal was an impoverished nation, and Beijing happened to be a vital trading partner as well as a major aid to the republic’s economic development.

  Sirens blared from all around. Only a few feet from the Suzuki, a policeman punched and kicked at a bloodied Buddhist monk on the ground.

  “We have to do something,” Francesca cried.

  “Keep your heads down!” Dustin shouted.

  On the floor, Zack could see Francesca digging into her bag. “What are you doing?”

  She pulled her hand out, revealing a shiny new Nikon.

  “Pictures,” she said breathlessly. “The world must see what is happening here.”

  Next thing Zack knew, Francesca’s door flung open.

  “No,” he shouted.

  He grabbed hold of her slim waist, but she quickly slipped out of his grip. Helplessly, he watched her vanish, swallowed by the growing mass on the street.

  For an instant, Zack froze, his eyes locked on the nearest placard. do something, it read. stop cultural genocide in tibet.

  Dustin shouted for him to stay in the car. Zack glanced back at him, then he too crawled out the door.

  Before he could even get to his feet, Zack was being pushed and shoved, pulled and tugged in every direction. A bamboo cane struck his calf and he screamed, pain shooting up his leg like a blade. He fell hard to the ground.

  Above his hea
d a thick white cloud hovered, and everyone around him started coughing. Quickly he reached for the mask around his throat, held it up to his nose and mouth. His eyes teared, but he pushed himself to his feet. Hacking into the mask, he searched the chaos for Francesca.

  He kept low. Scattered across the blacktop were fallen men and women of all ages, of all ethnicities. Light, dark. Some wearing modern clothes, others wrapped in ancient yellow and maroon robes. He looked up. A monk screamed, blood pouring from a deep gash on his shaven head, crimson flowing like water down his face and neck.

  A little past the monk he saw Francesca grappling with a policeman for her camera. He hesitated. Just one second, but one second was enough for the policeman to rip the camera from her hands and push her to the pavement.

  Zack rushed to her, shoving his way through the crowd. When he reached her, she was choking on tear gas. Her pants were torn, her knees scraped and bloody.

  “Here” Zack removed his mask and held it over her nose and mouth.

  “Grazie,” she managed between violent coughs.

  As he led her back toward the cab, she tried to pull away. This time he held on.

  “My camera,” she yelled.

  Zack glanced back and saw the Nikon on the ground between a machine of moving feet.

  “I’ll get it,” he said, holding tight to her arms. “You stay here.”

  Zack ducked back into the horde and took a shot across the lips. Dazed, he pushed his way in the direction of the fallen camera. The tear gas was now as thick as cumulus clouds.

  On his knees, Zack felt around, hoping his fingers wouldn’t be crushed under the parade of shoes. Climbing mountains, you risked your digits to frostbite; but it’d be a hell of a thing, he thought, to lose them here in the city on the very first day of the trip.

  Without warning he took a sharp kick to the ribs. He rolled onto his side and opened his eyes, protecting his head with his arms. When no blows rained down on him, he turned onto his stomach and slithered on his elbows toward the Nikon.

  At the moment he reached for it, a bamboo cane struck his lower back. Ignoring the pain, he reached out even farther, stretching his right arm as much as he could. He closed his eyes, fearing he was about to be trampled. Not quite there. He pushed himself forward on the blacktop, the gravel raking his chest. Finally he felt the cool plastic casing of the camera. He grabbed it and launched himself to his feet.