Between Heaven and Earth (15 page)

I pulled myself up over the rise, and I could hardly believe my eyes. We were at the top of the wall! Stretching out in front of me was a long, steady incline. We still had to climb, but we'd finished the Breakfast Wall. It had taken us just over two and a half hours to climb the
240
meters of cliff. I was so happy, so thrilled, to be done that I almost started to giggle.

“We did it,” I said with satisfaction.

“Yes, you have scaled the wall,” Mr. Odogo said. “You have finished the very
first
part of our day's safari.”

I'd been so focused on the wall that I'd lost track of the fact that it was only the beginning leg on today's trip. “How much farther is it?”

“Not much. Four hours if we move fast, not counting a break for lunch.”

“But how far is it? How much farther do we have to go?”

“Are you tired?” he asked.

I almost lied but didn't, because it never came naturally. I nodded.

“Then you will be much more tired at the end of this day. It is a
very
hard day.”

“Harder than the summit day?” I asked.

He laughed. “No day is harder than the summit.”

“Really?”

“Are you questioning my word again?”

“No…no, sir. It's just that the Breakfast Wall was
really
hard.”

“It is hard but it is not high.”

“There's a taller wall to climb than that one?” I gasped.

“Not
taller
, but
higher
.”

Now I was just as confused as I was tired. “I don't understand.”

“The Breakfast Wall, the Barranco Wall, is the tallest single climb, at over two hundred and forty meters tall, but it is not the highest.”

“Okay, you're saying it's the tallest but not the highest. I don't understand how that can be possible.”

He gave me the kind of look usually reserved for when you are trying to explain something very simple to a small child.

“It is tall, but it is also low. It starts at just below four thousand meters in height and then ends at four thousand two hundred and twenty. It is not high. It is low. High is the top of the mountain at five thousand eight hundred and ninety-five meters. So the wall is tall, but it is still not high. Do you understand?”

“Now I do.”

“You will see high and you will
feel
high as we climb. Nobody gets mountain sickness at three thousand meters. It starts now and with each step there is more chance. You will find that out.”

Or maybe I had already been finding that out.

“The secret is to go
polepole
.”

“I think you're preaching to the wrong people,” Doris said. She pointed toward the Finns who had gotten up from their rest and were already well along the trail, leaving us all behind.

Mr. Odogo muttered something under his breath, and his face changed into the expression of annoyance he usually reserved for me. He called out and the porters, who were sitting in two groups—Sarah by herself and the others all together—all got quickly got to their feet.

“I must catch those men and try to counsel them,” Mr. Odogo said.

I almost blurted out that they seemed to be doing fine without him but was smart enough to keep my mouth shut. At least this once.

“I have ordered the porters to go forward to set up camp,” he said. “Except for one. She will be your guide for this portion of the trip.”

She
could only mean one person. I was happy about that. There were lots of people in our group but only two other people on my team—Sarah and Doris.

“You must listen to her and remember to take it all slowly. You must remember that with each step you are closer to the top, but that each step is harder than the one before.”

“That's not a very reassuring thought,” I said, once again instantly regretting the words as they escaped my mouth.

“Do you want reassurance or honesty?” he demanded.

“Honesty, sir.”

“Good. Now I must leave.”

He turned to leave, yelling out a few words in Chachagga to Sarah as she came toward us. She replied, nodding her head. She looked as tired as I felt. Leading the porters, Mr. Odogo quickly set off on the path chasing the three Finns, who were almost out of sight. I had no doubt that he'd catch them but didn't understand why he was so upset with them. They seemed to be doing just fine without him.

“We must leave too,” Sarah said.

Doris was already on her feet, ready to go. She was a real trooper. I pulled on my pack and was ready to go as well.

It was strange, but I almost started to miss the climb of the Breakfast Wall. The slope we were on was much gentler but seemed to be without end. Short and steep now seemed more appealing. I never thought I'd think that.

Sarah led, followed by Doris and then me. As we traveled, it was apparent that Sarah was struggling even more under the load she was carrying. A few times she stumbled, once again almost toppling over before regaining her footing. She was sweating profusely and her breathing didn't seem that much easier than mine or Doris's. I was feeling increasingly guilty. It just didn't seem right to allow a girl—one who was younger and smaller and weaker than me—to carry so much more than me. I knew what she was going to say and that I'd regret asking, but I had to.

“Sarah, I was thinking that if you needed a little help I could—”

“I do not need any help!” she snapped, cutting me off.

“It's just that you look like you're really—”

“Would you offer to carry some of the load of another porter?” she demanded.

“I would if they looked tired and started to stumble.”

“You need not worry about anybody except yourself. You need to just walk. By the end of the day I might have to carry you!”

“No need to take offence,” I said. “You are just such a sensitive little
melon
. Are you feeling a bit overripe, Mambiri?”

Sarah turned and scowled at me. I smiled back, and she seemed to be working hard to keep the scowl in place. Finally the scowl broke into a smile.

“Could we take a short break?” Doris asked.

I knew Doris was tired, but I think she was trying to help Sarah not lose face.

“We should rest,” Sarah agreed. “And eat. It is almost time for lunch break, so we can eat now.”

We each put down our loads and took seats on the rocks that littered the route. Sarah went into one of the packs she was carrying and pulled out something wrapped in aluminum foil and then a large thermos and three cups.

“It is chicken and tea,” she said.

She unfolded the foil, revealing three pieces of chicken, and then handed us each one. It was the same chicken we'd had yesterday for lunch. It had been dried in a way that it didn't need refrigeration. At the same time, Doris poured out three cups of tea—the sugar and milk already added.

“I know the other porters are not pleased with you being here, but I find it such a pleasure to have another female along,” Doris said.

“It is good to be here…although not a pleasure. Much work. It is very hard.”

“I never thought I'd hear you say that,” I said.

“It is hard, but I will succeed.”

“I wish I had that confidence,” Doris said.

“Confidence is good, but I have seen many, many fat people who have made the top.”

“Fat people climb this mountain?” I asked.

“Yes, some who are even fatter than you.”

“Me? I'm not fat!”

“How much do you weigh?”

“I weigh around one hundred kilograms,” I said.

“That is even fatter than I thought! You are fatter than me and my brother and baby sister all put together.”

“That's because I'm taller and bigger than the three of you put together. This isn't fat, this is muscle,” I protested, holding up my arm.

“I do not think so. If you had muscle, you could carry more on your back.”

“I
offered
to take some more of the load.”

“It is no good making an offer you cannot fulfill. You are having enough trouble moving yourself, so we cannot talk about extra weight. Now eat your chicken.”

I looked at the piece of chicken. It had absolutely no appeal for me. “I don't think so. I'm too fat to eat any more.”

“You are fat, but you need to eat,” she said. “I am only your guide. Do not make me act like your mother or your wife. I pity the first and question whether you will ever have the second.”

Doris chuckled.

“He is like a little baby who needs to be cared for,” Sarah said to Doris. Then she turned back to me. “You did not eat much breakfast either. Do you not have an appetite?”

“Not for this.”

“If you wish to summit tomorrow you need to eat today. It does not matter if you have an appetite; you
must
eat.”

“If I eat, will you leave me alone?”

“Start eating and I will decide.”

I picked at the chicken and used my other hand to rub the back of my neck. The stiffness was spreading right up into the base of my head.

“Are you all right?” Doris asked. “You look like you're in pain.”

“I've got a bit of a headache. It feels like my head is a bit swollen.”

As soon as I said it, I realized that it could mean more than just sleeping funny.

“A swollen head?” Sarah asked. “That could be because of the altitude or because you always have a swollen head.”

“Or it could just mean I have a headache. I get those occasionally, even at home.”

Doris began to laugh and then stopped. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I don't find your headache funny. But you two act like an old married couple.”

“Us?” I gasped.

“Yes. It's as if you both enjoy these little spats, but neither of you means what you say.”

“I do not wish to fight with him, but somebody has to tell him what to do,” Sarah said. “He is practically helpless.”

“My Samuel always said a good husband needs to listen to his wife,” Doris said.

“Could we just finish eating so we can get to the base camp?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.

“For once he is right,” Sarah said. “We need to get to the camp as early as possible so that you both can rest. Sleep will be short before you attack the summit.”

I tried to force down the rest of my chicken. I didn't have an appetite, my head was hurting and my stomach was feeling uneasy. I had to convince myself that none of these things meant anything, but I didn't have much success.

By the time we reached camp, the tents were already up and supper was waiting for us. The three Finns had eaten and gone to bed. I wanted to go to bed, but I had to eat. I tried to force down the meal. It was different than the others. There was a big plate of fried potatoes mixed with eggs. This was the meal that was supposed to power me to the top. Instead it just turned my stomach. I had to walk a fine line: eat enough to give me power but not so much that my stomach would throw it all back up.

I was tired. My muscles were sore. And then there was the headache. It had grown and spread until it was the whole back of my head and was starting to migrate along both sides and toward the front. Add in the poor appetite and feeling nauseous, and I was the poster child for mountain sickness. But still, it was only one more day—really only one more night of climbing. I'd written my final exams last year when I was under the weather. I'd played a football game when I had a high fever. I could play through sickness. Of course this wasn't just playing a game, this was climbing a mountain. The best thing to do was to get to sleep and recharge my batteries. When I woke up, I'd feel better.

I pushed away the food, half eaten, got up and headed toward my tent. If I went straight to sleep, I'd get almost four hours before they woke me. Before we started for the summit. I knew the start was certain. I just wasn't feeling very positive about the ending. Could I really do this?