Between Heaven and Earth (11 page)

I dug in a little deeper, straining up the little hill and over the top. Doris was there, just in front of me, doubled over! She'd collapsed! I rushed over, only to find her sitting on the ground, camera in hand, taking a picture of one of the little flowers that littered the floor of the forest.

“I love flowers,” she said.

“Yeah, they're nice.”

“I think as you get older you learn more and more to stop and smell the flowers…and take pictures of them.”

“My grandfather loved flowers.”

“Loved…past tense,” she said. “Your grandfather died?”

“A little while ago.”

“And you're here now?” she questioned. Instantly she looked sorry for asking. “I understand. It's hard when plans have been made and it's impossible to rearrange things. I'm sure your grandfather wouldn't have wanted you to miss this.”

“I'm here because of him.”

“He arranged your trip?” she asked.

“Arranged and financed. It was one of his last requests. He asked me to climb the mountain to…” I stopped myself. I wasn't supposed to tell anybody what I was doing, but it felt like I needed to tell her. “He asked me to scatter his ashes at the top. They're here in his walking stick,” I said, turning around slightly so she could see the stick tied to the back of my pack.

“That is such a wonderful thing for you to do!”

She got to her feet, reached up and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me down with such force that I almost tumbled over on top of her. She was shockingly strong. She released me from her grip and I straightened up. She wasn't just old, but small, very small.

“He must have been very special to you.”

“He was the best.” I felt tears coming to my eyes.

“I'll do anything in my power to help you.”

I couldn't help but think that the best thing she could do was to drop out of the climb right now so she wouldn't slow me down.

“I know you're probably asking yourself what an old woman like me can do to help you.”

I felt guilty. “No, that wasn't what I was thinking at all,” I lied. Hopefully it was a convincing lie.

“I'll be with you every step of the way,” she said.

“Thanks, and I'll be there for you,” I said. Why did I say that?

“That is so sweet,” she said. “I guess we better get climbing again. The summit isn't coming to us. We just have to remember to go
polepole
.”

“Yeah, slowly,” I muttered.

“That comes a little more naturally at my age, but remember that slow and steady wins the race.”

I smiled at her and nodded, although I really didn't agree at all. Moving slowly had never won
any
race, game or assignment that I'd ever been involved in. But right now, at least for the next hour or so, I'd be moving slowly whether I wanted to or not.

FOURTEEN

Darkness came quickly and early. It was only six thirty and it was already completely black, the only light coming from the small campfire and the millions of pinprick stars that filled the sky. The three Finns had already turned in for the night. I could hear them talking in their tent. Finnish was certainly a strange language, and I didn't understand a word of it. I didn't understand our porters either. They spoke among themselves in Chachagga, and they seemed to be having a good time, talking and laughing. They seemed very happy and were very friendly—except to me and Sarah. None of them had said a word to me or given me a glance. My things had been carried up, my tent set up, my meal cooked and things were cleaned up, all without a word being exchanged. That left Mr. Odogo, Doris, Sarah and me sitting around the little fire. All the other porters sat well off to the side.

“And you say that this is one of the hardest days,” Doris was saying to Mr. Odogo.

“Many think it is the second hardest.”

“And which is
the
hardest?” I asked.

“The day we summit. We will rise at midnight and walk six or seven hours to Uhuru Peak so that we can see the sun rise over the summit.”

“That sounds lovely,” Doris said. “I can't wait.”

You might have to wait for another lifetime, I thought.

“And then we must start down,” Mr. Odogo continued. “We will walk another seven or eight hours. Some people think down is easy, but for many it is even harder.”

Everybody sat quietly around the fire, staring into the flames. There wasn't much more conversation. I thought it was a combination of the thin air and the dead tiredness. I wasn't going to admit it to anyone else, but today's hike had been more than a simple walk in the park. I was tired. As well, my stomach was upset. It grumbled noisily, as if it knew I was thinking about it. Either nobody heard it, or they were being polite and pretending that they didn't.

Slowly I got up. I had to go to the toilet. Again. I felt a little embarrassed. It wasn't like there was really anything to be embarrassed about. We all had to go. I just seemed to be doing it more than anybody else and more than I wanted to.

I knew that the gurgling in my stomach would quickly become a rumbling in my intestines, which would soon become an explosion down below. There was an equation I had to figure out each time. I had to go far enough and fast enough to get privacy, but not so far that I could potentially fall off the side of the mountain.

At least at this elevation, the rainforest behind and below us, there really wasn't much chance of running into a leopard, an elephant or even a semi-poisonous snake. At least that was the conversation that I was having with myself to induce a little bit of confidence. My stomach called out a warning shot, and I hustled a dozen more steps before I ducked down behind a big rock, sure that I was now hidden from those sitting at the campsite. Of course, if that rock was big enough to hide me, wasn't it also big enough to hide a leopard?

I unbuckled my belt, pulled down my pants and squatted down. I hate squatting, but what choice did I have? It wasn't like there was indoor plumbing on the mountain. Going to the toilet hadn't really been something I'd thought about at all before I got here. But now that I was on the mountain, it had become a serious concern. Funny, I wasn't as worried about not reaching the summit or falling off the mountain as I was about having a different type of accident…in my pants.

The cool air chilled my bare butt and I felt myself clench up. Being cold wasn't the best condition for going quickly and I did want to go fast. Being exposed to the elements this way—pants down and squatting—made me felt incredibly vulnerable. I concentrated and things got rolling…well, running. As quickly as possible I finished up, including the paper work. Now I just had to—

“I need to talk to you.”

I jumped up, spinning and pulling up my pants all at once. Mr. Odogo was standing in front of me.

“I need to talk to you,” he repeated. He didn't look any happier than he sounded.

“Yes, sir, what would you like to talk about?” I asked as I scrambled to do up my belt. This was embarrassing.

“Do you know why I am bringing you up my mountain?”

“Because of my grandfather,” I said, thinking about his ashes.

“Because of him and what he did for my father,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“My father informed me that your grandfather was a great man,” he said. “Do you think that
you
are a great man?”

I didn't know what to answer. I was shocked and surprised by the question.

Mr. Odogo continued. “Because you are barely a man and greatness has not come to you, nor may it ever.”

“Um…yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.”

“Do you think you have the right to come to this mountain and give orders?” he asked.

“I haven't given any orders or—”

“You demanded that my daughter be one of your porters, did you not?”

“I don't think I really demanded,” I said.

He looked at me questioningly. “My daughter said to me that you
insisted
—demanded—that she come along.”

Okay, this was all starting to make sense. This had to do with Sarah—again. It had been nothing but trouble, having her along.

“I didn't really demand…it was more of a polite request.”

“Are you calling my daughter a liar?”

“No, sir. I'm just sort of saying that she's… she's very…very…
determined
.”

“She gets that from her mother.”

“That sounds a lot like
my
mother,” I said.

He smiled. Slightly. But even slightly was better than the scowl that had been there.

“So why then did you
politely request
that my daughter be one of your porters?” he asked.

Now I was caught. I couldn't tell him the truth. That would be breaking my word.

“Um, I guess I just wanted somebody around who was my age.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen, well, at least on my next birthday.”

“My daughter is only fourteen. That is
not
the same age.”

She had told me she was fifteen, hadn't she? “It's closer than anybody else on this trip.”

“Four years. In my country many men marry girls who are four years younger,” he said.

“I guess that's true in my country too.”

“So is that your intent? Did you invite my daughter along because you wish her to become your wife?”

“No, of course not!” I exclaimed.

“Do you think you are too good for my daughter?”

I was almost too stunned to answer, but I had to. “No, sir, of course not. It's not that I'm too good, sir. It's just that…just that…she really wanted to be a porter and I was trying to make her happy. That's all there is to it, sir, honestly.”

His expression didn't change. He stared right into my eyes like he was trying to see inside of me to tell if what I'd said was true. He stepped forward until he was standing so close that our chests were almost touching. I had to fight the urge to step back even though I was so much bigger, so much taller than him that he had to look up at me.

“I think I believe you,” he said.

I felt a rush of relief.

“But you need to know,” he continued, “that while you are bigger and taller and younger, and probably even stronger, than me, I am her father. If you were to do something that harmed or dishonored my daughter—”

“I would never do that, sir!” I said, cutting him off.

He reached up and placed a hand on my shoulder. “That is good to know.” He smiled. “Because this is a high mountain and there are many dangers. I certainly wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you on this climb.”

My stomach answered—a big, thundering gurgle that we both heard.

“Maybe you need some more privacy. I will go back to the fire.” He turned and walked away.

I took a deep breath. The cool air traced a path down to my lungs. I took another breath. I suddenly felt so very tired. I needed to climb into my tent, get into my sleeping bag and fall asleep—pass out. My bowels rumbled. One more thing to do first. I undid the buckle one more time.

“Perhaps you should wait a minute before you do that.”

I turned around, shocked and surprised again. It was Sarah. Was the whole family going to sneak up on me tonight?

“I followed my father. I overheard.”

“You heard him threaten to throw me off the mountain?” I asked. “He wouldn't really do that, would he?”

“Of course not,” she offered reassuringly. “He is a guide. He is sworn to protect those he takes up the mountain.”

“Yeah, I figured he was just—”

“He would wait until he brought you safely down off the mountain before he was to harm you.”

I startled slightly before realizing that she was just fooling…or was she?

“I am grateful you did not tell my father the truth about why you had to bring me. He would not be happy that either of us went out to retrieve your belongings from the street kids.”

“I gave you my word.” Besides, I didn't want him to be any angrier at me than he already appeared to be.

“Thank you.”

She got up on her tiptoes and before I could step away she kissed me on the cheek! What was she doing! If her father saw us, there was no way I was ever going to make it out alive!

“You
are
much too old for me.” She walked away, leaving me stunned and scared, and with my bowels about to let loose again. I decided I had better get used to unexpected crap. Of all kinds.

FIFTEEN

Doris and I sat in the little eating tent, finishing up our breakfast. The Finns had already finished and left, which didn't really matter. It wasn't like we could communicate with them.

“You're not eating your porridge,” Doris said.

“Calling it porridge is stretching it.”

“I must admit I've never eaten anything quite like this before,” Doris said.

“I've never
seen
any food this color,” I replied. “It's sort of cement gray.”

“I think that makes sense. It does taste like what I imagine cement would taste like. Thank goodness for the sugar.”

Doris dropped in another heaping spoonful of brown sugar. I didn't bother. I wasn't going to eat it anyway.

“Even that wouldn't change the texture,” I said. “It looks sort of like…like…”

“Diarrhea?”

I nodded. I hadn't wanted to say it.

“At least the fried egg and potatoes are good,” I said.

“It would be hard to do those wrong,” she agreed. “Although I'm not really sure what this is.” She held up the little sausage-like thing they had given us.

“I wonder what type of meat it is?” I said.

“I believe it is wise that we don't ask,” she replied. She held up her cup. “Cheers.”

We clinked our little plastic cups together and drained the last of our tea.