Descent

by Roland Smith

  Shek continued to hold his hand out. “You must carry passport on your person at all times.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that. Why don’t you walk down to the river with me? It’s not far.”

  The river was in the opposite direction from the hotel, and I’d have a better chance of ditching him on the street than I would in the soldier-infested restaurant.

  “Or I could bring it back to you,” I continued. “I need to get this food to my friends. There’s nothing worse than cold takeout.”

  “Or I could arrest you now.”

  “I guess you could.” Which would be better than leading him to Josh and Zopa. Unlike them, I wasn’t wanted by the Chinese. I had seen Tibetan prison gangs breaking boulders with sledgehammers and spreading the handmade gravel on the roads. That’s where Josh and Zopa would end up if they got caught. I wondered if Percy used forced labor to build his roads.

  Shek reached into his tunic pocket and pulled out a business card. He wrote something on it and handed it to me. He had written Sgt. Shek at the top. No doubt about it now. It was the former Captain Shek, now demoted to Sergeant Shek. Probably for what happened on Everest. What lengths would he go to get his hands on Josh and Zopa, the two people responsible for his demotion?

  Underneath Shek’s shaky scrawl, printed in Chinese, Tibetan, and English, was the address and phone number of the army barracks where he was stationed.

  “You will report to me, passport and papers in hand within hour. Failure will result in arrest.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, putting the card in one of the takeout bags.

  I started weaving my way around the tables of hungry soldiers, holding my breath, expecting with every step for Shek to change his mind and shout for me to stop. He didn’t. When I got outside, I turned to the right toward the river, certain that Shek was watching me.

  Chinese Takeout

  Josh sat on the edge of the bed, still groggy from sleep, eating Chinese food out of a carton with chopsticks. As he expertly pushed the food into his mouth, I told him about my encounter with Shek. The news did not affect his appetite. He looked at Shek’s card with his free hand without pausing his food intake. He was up on me by two cartons. I picked up my pace. I wasn’t nearly as good with chopsticks as he was.

  “Good food,” he said. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started eating. Didn’t know how tired I was either until I lay down. I think I might have passed out instead of falling asleep.”

  “You don’t seem very upset about Shek.”

  “It’s incredible bad luck. I mean, what are the chances? As to Shek being busted down to sergeant, I’d heard that through friends on Everest. Mountain gossip. I guess the guy that replaced him makes Shek look like a saint. Do you happen to remember how many stars he had on his collar?”

  “Three,” I answered. “In the shape of a pyramid.”

  “Then he’s a staff sergeant, which means he has men under him. I memorized PLA insignia a long time ago. It’s always good to know the rank of the person you’re dealing with when they start to hassle you.” He opened another carton of food. “How did he look?”

  “Older. Diminished. I think he was drunk.”

  “Really? That’s a new wrinkle. Captain Shek wasn’t a drinker. He didn’t allow his men to drink on the mountain, even when they were off duty, and he didn’t like climbers drinking either. He tried to get alcohol banned on Everest, but that didn’t fly, although I wasn’t totally against it. Alcohol and altitude can be a bad combo on the mountain. Shek must have been off duty. Even in his state, I doubt he’d be drunk if he was on duty. That’s why he let you go.”

  “He didn’t let me go,” I reminded him, looking at the beat-up clock next to the bed. “I was supposed to be at barracks fifteen minutes ago, papers in hand.”

  Josh laughed. “Now you’re a wanted man like me and Zopa.”

  “Except he doesn’t know who I really am.”

  “Yet, Ethan Todd,” Josh added, smiling.

  “Yeah, I wasn’t thinking too clearly when I dropped Ethan’s name.”

  “I doubt it would have made any difference. Shek is pretty sharp. He’s going to figure it out sooner or later. Hopefully later, after we’re outta here.”

  “Maybe we should leave tonight.”

  “That’s a good idea, but we can’t. We have to wait for Zopa, and I have no idea when he’s coming back.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  Josh shook his head. “But I do know what he’s doing or trying to do. He’s getting me a false passport and visa. Without them I won’t be able to get a flight. If I show my real passport, I’ll be arrested. Zopa’s tight with the Tibetan underground, many of them Buddhist monks. That’s where he and Sun-jo got their phony IDs when Sun-jo climbed Everest last year. I think Zopa came back after you left and grabbed my passport. I say think because I was asleep.” He unzipped a pocket on his pack. “Yep, it’s gone. I wasn’t dreaming. Sometimes Zopa appears in my dreams.”

  Sometimes Zopa appears out of nowhere when I’m wide awake, I thought.

  “So we’re stuck here until he gets back. It’s probably better to wait for light anyway. Hopefully we’ll be able to get Percy to give us a lift to the main road. Have you seen him?”

  I shook my head.

  “No worries. We’ll be safe enough here. This room is in Percy’s name, not ours. He knew who I was, and that I was wanted by the Chinese. But you probably heard that on the drive here.”

  “I didn’t,” I said. “I was talking to Zopa.”

  “Well,” Josh continued, “Percy offered to give us a hand. That’s why he grabbed the room under his name. He followed my seven summit climb pretty closely. He’s the only one who knows I’m here.”

  “Not exactly.” I told him about Norbu.

  “Sounds like he’ll keep our secret. What’s the lobby like?”

  “Still crowded with a lot of people waiting for rooms. The streets are filled with soldiers.”

  “Eight one,” Josh said, opening the last carton.

  * * *

  I took Josh’s dirty clothes down to the lobby and picked up my clean clothes. I gave Norbu another tip. As he was pocketing the money, the lobby door burst open and a platoon of armed soldiers swept inside, led by Sergeant Shek.

  Norbu grabbed me by the arm and yanked me behind his desk. “Hide behind suitcases. Do not move. I handle.”

  I didn’t want to hide behind the suitcases. I wanted to get upstairs and warn Josh, but it was too late for that. The soldiers had already spread throughout the lobby and were blocking the exits and the stairs, which I had a clear view of from my precarious hiding place.

  “Call Joshua Wood,” I hissed.

  Norbu picked up the phone. The lobby had gone completely silent except for Shek shouting at the desk clerk in Chinese. I didn’t understand the clerk’s meek response, but it led to a group of soldiers running up the stairway, led by Shek.

  “No answer,” Norbu whispered.

  I started to back out from behind the luggage, but Norbu blocked me.

  “It is not safe. We all get trouble if you get catched.”

  He was right. At least half the soldiers that had burst inside with Shek were still in the lobby, watchful, tense, rifles ready, waiting. It didn’t take long. A few minutes later Shek and his men came stomping down the stairs surrounding Josh and Percy, both in handcuffs, Josh with a wet towel wrapped about his waist. He had been in the shower when Norbu called. The soldiers coming down the stairs behind them were carrying our backpacks on their shoulders. I was surprised they had arrested Percy, too, but I guess he had violated some law by putting us in a room under his name. Both of them looked angry. Shek looked triumphant. He was smiling, an expression I didn’t think he was capable of. He went back to the front desk and spoke to the clerk. His voice was raised, but he wasn’t shouting. The clerk said something to Norbu, whose knees were inches from my face. Norbu answered, then pointed at the front door. Shek was o
bviously asking about me, and Norbu was covering for me. He’d be breaking boulders too if he were caught.

  Shek barked out some orders, then marched Josh and Percy through the entrance, leaving several soldiers behind guarding the lobby.

  “Stay where are,” Norbu said. “I let you know when safe.”

  He walked away, and I lost sight of him. I was tempted to stand up and turn myself in, if for no other reason than to find out what they were doing with Josh. I doubted that lying to Shek was punishable by death, or even boulder-breaking. But I thought better of it. I couldn’t help Josh if I was in jail too. I had no idea what the diplomatic situation was between China and the US in Tibet. I didn’t even know if the US has an embassy in Tibet, but I did know someone who would know. Alessia’s mom. I wondered if the telephone company was still open. But first things first: I needed to get out of the hotel without getting arrested.

  The lobby resumed its former activity in spite of the soldiers, who had visibly lightened up after Shek’s exit, but they were still alert, checking out everyone entering and leaving the hotel.

  A kid about my age with long hair the same color as mine walked into the lobby. Two soldiers immediately stepped up to him, demanding his passport. He gave it to them with a polite smile. His politeness was rewarded by the soldiers’ dumping the contents of his backpack onto the floor and giving him a thorough pat-down. The kid stopped being polite and started swearing at them. He was an American by the sound of the curses.

  Norbu came running up. “The soldiers understand some words. Don’t say them. They arrest you.”

  “What the hell are they doing?” the kid asked. “My papers are in order!”

  “They think you someone else. Be calmer. I talk to them. Explain.”

  Norbu explained as they emptied the last pocket of the kid’s backpack. The pack looked like a deflated orange balloon, now surrounded by dirty clothes. The soldiers listened to Norbu, gave the kid an insincere bow, then resumed their post near the stairs.

  “Are there any rooms available?” the kid asked, restuffing his pack.

  “No rooms. Sorry.”

  “Great. How about at another hotel?”

  “No rooms in Bāyī Town. Army’s birthday.”

  “Perfect.”

  He shouldered his pack and headed outside. The more I looked at him, the more he looked like me. He might be in for a rough night of mistaken identity. I was in for a rough night too, if I didn’t get out from under the desk soon. My legs were starting to cramp. Norbu went about his duties, chatting with people, checking luggage, and giving directions as if he didn’t have a fugitive stowed under his desk. An hour passed, then another. If Norbu was waiting for the soldiers to leave, I might be buried for days. They looked as permanent as the shabby lobby furniture, but crisper, alert. I watched the clock above the broken elevator. Another hour passed. I had to pee. (Note to self: Before you hide from the People’s Liberation Army, make sure you pee first.) Another half hour clicked by. I was about to burst. I didn’t care if they shot me. A bullet would have been a relief, but Norbu saved me, again. He wheeled an empty luggage cart behind the desk, squatted down, and whispered, “Get on trolley.”

  I sidled onto the cart like a worm because I’d lost the feeling in both of my legs. Norbu proceeded to bury me under a mountain of bags, and with an audible grunt, started wheeling me across the lobby, stopping once in a while to chat with the soldiers as if he weren’t smuggling a wanted criminal out of the hotel right under their unsuspecting noses. I couldn’t believe he was risking his life, or at least his freedom, to save a total stranger, to say nothing about other hotel staff, who must have seen Norbu hide me behind the desk when Shek charged in.

  We bumped along for what seemed like an eternity, turning right, left, then straight, then right, then I lost track. The hotel didn’t seem that big from what I’d seen. Where was he taking me?

  “Cameras in hotel,” Norbu said. “Soldiers watching. No sound, but they see. Understand?”

  I told him that I did, but I doubted he heard me from beneath my luggage avalanche.

  “No camera soon. Living quarters. We break video so bosses no keep eyes on us.”

  The cart bumped into what seemed like an elevator, and according to the drop of my stomach, this one worked. I heard the door slide open and we were on the move again, right, left, then the cart came to a stop.

  “Okay. Safe. Soldiers already search quarters. No come back.”

  He dug me out. I rolled off the cart, unable to stand because of my lifeless legs. We were in a small apartment, half again as big as our hotel room, but with no windows. Holding on to the arm of a sofa, I stood on my tingling legs. The walls were decorated with Humphrey Bogart movie posters, The Maltese Falcon, The African Queen, Casablanca.

  “You like the Bogie?”

  I did like Bogart films. My stepfather, Rolf, had all of them on DVD.

  “Can I use your restroom?”

  “Of course. Of course.”

  He showed me to a room smaller than my closet at home. When I came back out I asked him if he had any bottled water. The salty food had made me thirsty. He pulled a bottle out of a tiny fridge and passed it to me.

  I gulped down half of it. “Thank you for helping me,” I said, but what I really wanted to know was why he had.

  “You cannot stay. I take you through kitchen soon. I arrange. You need change how you look. They catch if don’t. I come back.”

  I wasn’t exactly sure what Norbu meant until I caught a look at myself in the mirror through the open bathroom door. I needed to disguise myself. The only way to do that was to change my clothes and cut my hair. I found a pair of scissors on top of the vanity, thinking, How hard could it be?

  snip . . . snip . . . snip

  Wow, a lot harder than I thought. I cut it shorter and shorter, trying to make it even. That didn’t go well. I wasn’t cutting my hair—I was butchering it. I was still snipping away when Norbu walked in and started laughing.

  “You look like dog with skin disease. Sit on toilet. I try fix.”

  He fixed it by giving me a buzz cut with an electric razor. I looked like Zopa a week out of the monastery. On the bright side, I barely recognized myself in the mirror, which meant that no one else would recognize me either.

  “I got you new pack,” Norbu said.

  It was hardly new. It looked like it had been to the top of Everest and back several times. The straps had been repaired with silver duct tape. No doubt a guest had tossed it, but it was serviceable. It would do. All I had now, aside from the things in my cargo pants pockets, were my clean clothes. Shek had taken everything else. I checked my pockets to see what I had. Journal, pencil, passport, compass, Josh’s digital tape recorder, multitool knife, cash, credit card, and Ethan’s beloved spoon that his mother had given him, which was important to me because it was important to him. I put some of this stuff into the pack so my pants weren’t so weighted down. I had dropped at least two sizes in my waist.

  “You must leave hotel,” Norbu said. “Not come back.”

  “Again, I can’t thank you enough. If it hadn’t be for you, I . . .”

  “It is nothing.”

  I pulled out my wad of cash.

  “No, no. No monies. Tricking army is my pleasure. You follow me.”

  Before stepping out into the hallway behind him, I put several bills on his dresser.

  We serpentined our way through a maze of hallways, ending up in a busy kitchen, where everyone studiously ignored us as Norbu led me to a small door along the back wall.

  “You wait. I check.”

  I watched the food prep. Norbu was gone longer than I expected. I wondered if something had gone wrong. But then the door opened with Norbu’s smiling face.

  “All clear.”

  I followed him up a short set of metal steps. The door at the top led to an alley.

  “You go right.” Norbu held his hand out. “Here is looking at you, kid.”

  “C
asablanca,” I said. “One of my favorite Bogie films.”

  “Yes,” Norbu said. “My too.”

  * * *

  There were still a lot of people wandering the dark streets, most of them soldiers out celebrating, but some of them on duty as well, watching everyone. None of them pulled me aside to ask for my papers.

  I walked for several blocks with no destination in mind. My shaved head was cold. Shek had taken everything I hadn’t washed, which included all my caps. I passed a couple of shops that sold them, but I didn’t go in because every shop had a soldier standing outside the door. Shek must have known I would have to replace the gear he had taken. I walked over to the telephone exchange with the intention of calling Alessia’s mom to ask what to do when your dad is hauled away in cuffs by the People’s Liberation Army. I wanted to get the diplomatic machine in gear. Let them know that Josh had been arrested. But as I turned the final corner, I came to a halt. The line was just as long as it had been that afternoon, but now there were four soldiers standing outside the entrance, checking everyone’s papers. I slipped back around the corner. Across the street was a small park. I walked over and sat down on a bench beneath a dim streetlamp. I got my journal and stubby pencil out and sharpened it with my pocketknife.

  Choices

  A thick fog has rolled in. It hides me from curious eyes, not that people are paying attention. They’re too busy celebrating August 1, 1927. Last year at this time I was in Afghanistan with Mom in the Pamir Mountains, climbing. Actually, we weren’t climbing—we were running for our lives, but that’s a different story. A couple of months before the Pamirs, I was on the northern side of Mount Everest with Josh. Three major climbs in a little over a year. Zopa had been with me on all of them, sometimes in the background, sometimes in the foreground, but always quietly directing things, seen or unseen, influencing the outcome by knowing, or appearing to know, what was going to happen long before it happened.