by Roland Smith
"Your skyscraper stunt was beamed all over the world. I knew about it before your mom called and asked if I could help out. Someone in our Chiang Mai office saw it on TV, figured out the connection, and called up here suggesting we try to put you on top. At first I told them no way, but then your mom called. I thought I could take care of your problem and mine at the same time."
"Did you talk to Mom about what we're doing?"
"Yeah, before I left Kathmandu."
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her I was going to take you on a climb, but I didn't tell her where."
"She's not going to like it when she finds out."
"Don't be so sure. She may not climb anymore, but she understands what it's all about. That's why she let you go to those climbing camps. She knows that I might risk my own life to summit, but I would never risk anyone else's, especially my own son's, to get to the top of a mountain."
"What's going to make her mad is your not telling her beforehand," I said.
"You're probably right, but the reason I didn't tell her is that we can't let this out until you're back down."
"What about the film crew?"
"They're not going to say anything. We're paying them. They work for us."
"What about Holly Angelo?"
He gave a deep, foggy sigh. (It was cold in the tent.)
"Blackmail," he said. "Or what amounts to it, anyway.
Somehow she figured it all out. I think she might have a line to Dr. Woo.
"And by the way, if you had flunked the physical I wouldn't have brought you up here. Period. I would have sent you on to Chiang Mai. And I did enroll you in the International School there.
"Anyway, Holly called me here last week and said that she was going to print a story about your Everest attempt unless I gave her an exclusive."
"And now she wants to climb the mountain herself," I said.
"Yeah, and it looks like I'm going to have to give her a shot. Otherwise, she's going to start filing reports as soon as she gets up here."
"Why do we have to keep it quiet?"
"Because of the Chinese," he said. "There's no age limit on this side of the mountain, but if they find out we're trying to put a fourteen-year-old on the top, they might pull our climbing permit. They've been trying to get a teenager to the summit for years. They wouldn't be too happy if an American teenager topped it before one of their own."
He let out a harsh laugh. "Politics, publicity, advertising, sponsorships, endorsements: Climbing has really gone downhill. I can't tell you how much I miss our rock rat days when we showed up at the base of a wall with a bag of trail mix, a bottle of water, and an old rope. We're rock weasels now, and it will never be the same."
"Josh!" A high-pitched scream pierced the cold mountain air.
"That would be Holly," Josh said.
"You know her voice?"
"I haven't heard it in fifteen years, but I'd recognize it anywhere. Kind of like fingernails scraping on a chalkboard."
"Josh!"
We both winced.
"Holly was on the circuit writing freelance articles when your mom and I were climbing. She actually wrote a couple of good pieces about us. She climbed, too—kind of." He shook his head. "It was a scary thing to watch."
"Josh!"
"So, I'll take you to the top," Josh said. "But only if I can do it without killing you. If you make it you'll be famous ... and you'll help your old man live in comfort for the rest of his life. My plan is to sell the business in a few years and retire on the proceeds. Are we square?"
I wasn't sure about the famous part, and I wasn't happy about his reason for bringing me to Everest, but I did want to get to the top.
"We're square," I said. "But no more caginess. I want to know what's going on."
"It's a deal." He stuck out his gloved hand and we shook.
"Josh!"
He unzipped the flap and peeked out. "We'd better go and say hello before she causes an avalanche."
GASP
HOLLY ANGELO LOOKED like a redheaded scarecrow dressed in pink goose down.
She was over six feet tall with limbs like a daddy longlegs. As soon as she saw Josh she wrapped her arms around him with a shriek so loud every head for a quarter mile popped out of its tent like turtles coming out of their shells.
Standing next to her were several curious Sherpas, three camera guys, a personal chef, and a massage therapist. The chef and the massage therapist were shivering and would be dead before morning unless somebody found them warmer gear.
Josh wriggled out of her tentacles and held her at arm's length so she couldn't snag him again. "You haven't changed a bit," he said with his trademark grin. (Meaning, I think: "Holly, you are still a pain in the crevasse.")
Her hawklike brown eyes darted around for her next victim, which happened to be me. "Peeeeak!"
Luckily the drawn-out version of my name doubled her over with a coughing fit and she wasn't able to get to me. You would think that her chef or massage therapist would have come to her aid, but they just stood there shivering, watching their employer bent over clutching her knees.
"Bad cough," Josh said, when she was finally able to right herself.
"No big ... gasp ... deal. You know ... gasp ... the altitude and ... gasp ... dry air ... gasp..."
"We'll have Doc Krieger take a look at you." He was still smiling but the grin looked a little more genuine. He did not want to take Holly Angelo up the mountain any farther than he had to. In her current condition it didn't look like she was going to get very far.
I followed him over to meet the film crew: JR, Will, and Jack. They all looked fit. He thanked them for coming up.
"Happy to be here," JR said, then whispered, "Do us a favor, Josh. Put us as far away from Holly as possible."
"No problem." Josh looked over at the gasping reporter.
Holly was already telling the Sherpas where to pitch her pink tent, which was only slightly smaller than the HQ tent.
Josh frowned when he saw she was erecting the monstrosity right next to his and my tent, but he didn't say anything to her. He looked back at JR and pointed to a spot about seventy-five feet away.
"Best I can do."
"Fine," JR said. He and the others headed over to the spot with their gear.
Josh rubbed his temples. "I probably don't need to tell you this, but you need to be very careful about what you say to Holly. She's a reporter and anything you tell her is fair game. Just remember that she is more interested in herself and her career than she is in you."
"What about the film crew?" I asked.
"No worries there. We own the footage. When we edit it down we'll make you look good no matter how you screw up." He grinned. "Just kidding. Let's go over to the mess tent and I'll introduce you to the other climbers. Just keep in mind, they know you're my son, but we haven't told them that we're trying to get you to the top."
"Why?"
"Because they've paid upward to a hundred grand to summit. In a way, we're using their money to get you up there. They might get upset."
"So, what am I supposed to tell them?"
"That you're here with me and don't expect to make it past Camp Four or Five." He looked back over in Holly's direction. "I guess I better fill her in, too, so she keeps her big mouth shut. I'll meet you over at the mess tent." He sighed, put on his charming grin again, and headed toward Holly, who was shrieking orders at the Sherpas. The Sherpas, for the most part, were ignoring her every command.
THE MESS TENT was nearly as big as the HQ tent, but a lot more crowded. It was also smoky from the kerosene lamps and stoves, and cigarettes. None of the clients were smoking, but almost every Sherpa had a cigarette dangling out of his mouth as he stood to the side holding a plate of food.
Sun-jo was manning the noodles. I went over to say hello.
"How's it going?"
"What was that terrible sound outside?" he asked. "A reporter."
"Injured?"
; "Not yet."
I looked around and noticed Zopa wasn't there. "Where's Zopa?" Sun-jo shrugged.
A climber walked over and held out his plate. Sun-jo scooped some noodles onto it with a big smile. The man sniffed the pile, grunted, then walked away.
"What do you think of your fellow climbers?" Sun-jo asked.
"I didn't like that guy," I said, then looked around the tent and did a head count. Seven women, sixteen men (including the rude grunter). Ten of them had signed up for a summit attempt. I tried to pick out which ones they were, but it was hard to figure out. Fitness helped, but getting through the death zone was more about your blood oxygenation, and luck: things even the fittest climber had absolutely no control over. Most of the climbers appeared to be in their thirties or early forties, and of these, only five or six looked in good enough shape to get to the top. I could see why Josh was worried about the climbing season.
I told Sun-jo that I was surprised to see the Sherpas smoking.
"Most of them believe they will die on the mountain," he said. "So, why not enjoy themselves while they wait?"
"But doesn't smoking mess up their climbing?"
"Only if they run out of tobacco," Sun-jo answered. "But Zopa brought up several cartons of cigarettes to sell to them."
Monks weren't supposed to use any stimulants. I guess this rule didn't preclude them from selling them.
"Don't look so surprised," Sun-jo said. "Zopa will give the profits to the Tibetan monks. They are very poor. As you saw on the way here, the Chinese are not favorable toward them."
"Cagey monk reason number two," I said.
"What?"
"Never mind," I said. "I guess I'd better mingle with the other climbers."
"Do you want some noodles? They are very good."
"Sure."
They were good.
I'm not much of a mingler, which drove Rolf crazy, since he is perhaps the greatest mingler on the planet. I have seen him go up to a complete stranger and ask for the time (even though Rolf always has a perfectly good watch on his wrist) just to get a conversation started. But I don't think even Rolf could have cracked this crowd.
They had been at Base Camp for a couple of weeks now and had bonded into inseparable groups. This wasn't the first time I'd run into this. GSS always got out late for summer. By the time I arrived at climbing camp the other kids had already picked their climbing partners. This left me with the kids who had virtually no previous climbing experience, or if I was lucky, the climbing instructor.
Vincent told me that good writers are lousy minglers. They are too busy eavesdropping, or as he puts it: Gathering grist for their literary mills.
So, because no one was paying an iota of attention to me, I just wandered around gathering grist....
"WE SHOULD HAVE been up at ABC by now."
(ABC stands for Advance Base Camp, which is the next permanent camp up the north side of the mountain.)
"We would have been if Josh hadn't ditched us for his so-called son."
(The so-called son was standing five feet away from the two guys talking.)
"I didn't even know he had a son"
"Neither did I—and I read every article ever written about him before I plopped down my life savings."
"I hear the reason we're stuck down here is because he's waiting for a film crew and reporter from NewYork"
"They came in today. No film, no glory, I guess. Josh is a publicity hound."
"DR. LEAH KRIEGER is the coldest fish I've ever met"
"Straight from Nazi Germany, if you ask me. I think she's here to perform experiments on us, not treat us"
"Poor George. Do you think he really had a heart condition?"
"I don't know, but I heard that George's wife begged Krieger to put in a bad report. She never wanted him to climb the mountain in the first place, and she's the one with all the money. Before they got married, George didn't have two pennies to rub together."
"I WANDERED OVER to William Blade's camp this morning. I couldn't tell if I saw him or not, but I think I got close because one of his bodyguards rushed over and blocked my way as I tried to walk past his tent."
"Think he'll make it to the top?"
"He already has, as far as I'm concerned"
"You know what I mean: the summit."
"If he can't do it on his own two feet, his bodyguards are big enough to carry him up there on their backs."
(William Blade was a famous actor. I'd seen most of his films and thought he was great.)
"I heard there are three people up at ABC with HAPE. They're coming down tomorrow."
"Well, they're luckier than the guy who died on the south side yesterday. Stepped out of his tent in the middle of the night to pee. Idiot was wearing slippers. He slid two hundred yards down a slope into a crevasse so deep the Sherpas say he's probably still falling."
"He should have been wearing crampons."
"Or at least carrying his ax so he could self-arrest"
(SELF-ARREST HAS NOTHING TO DO with law enforcement. It's one of the first things they teach you in mountaineering. If you start sliding down an icy slope with nothing to grab on to, you'd better know how to stop yourself by digging in your crampons, or punching your ax into the ice and hanging on for dear life. All steep slopes end badly, in trees, solid walls, or deep holes. "Screaming in terror doesn't slow you down one bit," one of my instructors told me. "If you want to live you'd better learn to avoid the void." Self-arrest wasn't my best climbing skill. Hearing about a guy dying because he stepped out to go to the bathroom made my skin crawl.)
"JOSH IS SO CUTE! What do you think he'd do if I snuck into his tent one night?"
"I don't think that's included in the permit fee."
"If you wait until you're above twenty thousand feet nothing will happen. More than your lungs shut down at—"
THE MOST INTERESTING PART of my grist gathering got cut off by the entrance of Holly Angelo.
"Hello everyone!...gasp ... My name is Holly Angelo. I'm a journalist from New York and I'll be joining you ... gasp ... on top of the world!"
Holly did not mingle, she mangled. Her gasps were met with other gasps, but not because of the thin air, although a lot of the oxygen was sucked out of the mess tent when she walked in.
All conversation stopped.
A plate of food dropped.
A Sherpa nearly swallowed the cigarette he was smoking, then made a mad dash for the back entrance with five or six other Sherpas. I was going to join them, but I was too slow. Talons with bright red fingernail polish latched onto my parka.
"Where ... gasp ... do you think ... gasp ... you're going?"
Holly whipped me around to face her with surprising strength.
"Uh...,"I stammered.
"I need to talk to you."
"Uh ... okay."
"Now ... gasp ... I have seen your pitiful ... gasp ... tent and I think you will be a lot ... gasp ... more comfortable ... gasp, gasp ... in my tent."
I thought I would faint.
"I have a lot ... gasp ... of room ... gasp ... an extra cot..."
No one hauled a cot all the way up to Base Camp, but she had a spare.
"...and my food is much better than ... gasp ... this swill. Pierre is creating something right now ... gasp ... and Ralph has his massage table set up if you need a rubdown."
"Uh..."
"Your father said it was up to ... gasp ... you."
Thanks, Dad.
Coughing fit...
I thought about sneaking out while she was coughing.
She would straighten up and ole Peak would just be gone. Poof! Then I thought about what Josh had told me: Be very careful about what you say ... and figured that it also applied to what I did. It's rude to disappear when someone is hacking their lungs out.
"We have so much to discuss," she said when the fit was over, which seemed to have helped her gasping. "Your mom and I go way back. We've been friends for years."
If that had been
the case I would have recognized her name the first time I saw it in the byline above the article she'd written.
"She would never forgive me if I didn't watch out for you up here."
"I appreciate the offer," I said, trying to give her my version of Josh's charming grin (which probably looked more like a scowl), "but I think I'll stay in my own tent."
This was returned with a genuine scowl. I didn't care. There was no way I was going to become her tent mate.
"But you will have your meals with me," she said, as if this wasn't even open to question.
I was holding the plate of noodles, which had cooled and congealed and wasn't looking its best at that moment.
"Not every meal," I hedged. "But yeah, I'll eat with you once in a while."
Her scowl deepened and I think she was about to say something nasty, but I was saved by Josh coming into the tent.
"Okay, people," he announced. "Tomorrow we head up to ABC."
A cheer went up.
"It'll take us three days and two nights to get up there if everything goes well. We'll spend two nights at ABC, then come back down. You know the routine."
"Climb high, sleep low," the team chanted in unison.
"Leah will check you tonight to get a baseline on your blood, et cetera, then check you again up at ABC to see how you're doing."
This news was met with much less enthusiasm.
"She's waiting for you in the Aid tent." He pinned a sheet of paper on the tent pole. "She wrote down your exam times. Don't be late."
"Heil Hitler," a climber muttered under his breath.
Josh shot him a look and he turned bright red. Nobody got up to the summit unless the expedition leader said they were going up. It was best to stay on the captain's good side.
"What about the puja ceremony?" someone asked.
A puja is a Buddhist blessing ritual that most climbing parties went through prior to going up the mountain.
"We'll be going up to ABC two more times in the next few weeks," Josh said. "We'll hold our puja before one of those. I want to get an early start tomorrow."