Authors: Linda Leblanc
“Who is this?” she demanded, too tired to play guessing games.
“Marty!” he chirped. “Ready?”
A vague image of this strange man who had accosted her in Lukla popped into her head. “You’re talking about Everest.”
“Yep. I signed on with an expedition and am going to the top. Told you I’d give you the real dope on the Sherpas.”
Beth sank to the bed holding the phone to her ear, too stunned to speak.
“You still there?”
“Yes.”
“So are you coming with me? We’ll have great fun-ness. I’ll be going back and forth from Base Camp, but you could stay there and I’ll bring frequent reports.”
With a long, shaky exhale, Beth asked, “When are you leaving?”
“Twelve days.”
“I . . . I don’t know if I can be ready that soon.”
“I’ve been calling for weeks but nobody answered.”
“I’ve been out of town.” Still dazed, she opened the desk for a pencil. “Give me your number. I’ll have to think about it.”
When he hung up, Beth fell backwards onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Decision time. The intellect that had kept her sane through childhood and ruled her life ever since had done a perfectly good job, but she didn't want to listen now because her life had been painfully void of any real emotion. In Nepal, she had found missing parts of herself and learned she was capable of loving someone. Since her return, however, the damn intellect had been questioning whether she had simply been caught up in the romance of the place and time. This odd character with the crazy hair had just given her the opportunity to discover whether her love was real and capable of lasting. And she could do so without telling Eric about Dorje.
Her stomach too bound up to eat at dinner, she dabbed at the mashed potatoes. “Got a phone call out of the blue today,” she began, forcing the words to march boldly out.
Checking the movies, Eric didn’t look up. “Oh yeah?”
“From this character at Lukla.”
He slowly put the paper down. “Who are you talking about?”
“I’m not sure you even saw him. You were off searching for our guide and porter.”
“And how did this
character
get your phone number?”
“Ohhh, I gave him my card because he said he was coming back to climb in the spring and would give me the inside story of Sherpas on Everest.”
Hands folded, Eric leaned forward on the table across from her. “So is he going?”
“Yes.”
With an unwavering gaze fixed on her, he asked in an agitated voice, “And you?”
She wanted to simply disappear and not have to go through this. “I told him I’d think about it.” Her stomach clutched waiting for his response. When he just sat there staring and not speaking, she felt like throwing up.
Finally in a deliberate voice as if he were calculating each word, he asked, “When are you going and for how long?”
“I haven’t said I would. I wanted to talk to you first. But if I did, we’d leave in twelve days and return around June 1. Climbers use a window just before the monsoon arrives.”
Leaning on his elbows with his hands still clasped, Eric tapped his thumbs together impatiently. “Just two weeks before the most important day of your life and then assuming you don’t get sick again.”
Eric was a good man but she had to listen to her heart too. Still not having the courage to call off the wedding, she said, “I won’t get sick and I’ll be back in time. This will cement my career forever. No one has described the climb from a Sherpa point of view other than Tenzing Norgay and his story was unique.”
“I turned down the biggest shoot of my career so I wouldn’t endanger our wedding, but you think nothing of running off to Nepal again.”
“It’s no—” she began but he held his hands up to hush her.
“Forget it. I’m canceling the wedding.” He stood up and walked across the room and then turned. “I’ve been as accommodating as hell. I put up with your foolish wish to stay longer last time, but enough is enough. Go to Nepal. Do whatever it is you feel you must. And I’ll go to Nam for the shoot that will cement my career forever.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure how I’m going to feel after this and refuse to make any promises. I’m too angry now and might say things I’ll regret later.”
As she watched him walk out the door, Beth wondered if she had just made the worst mistake of her life. “Eric,” she called running after him. “I won’t leave. I’ll stay here and we’ll get married as planned.”
His back to her, Eric simply raised a hand. “Not now, Babe. The damage has already been done. Please just let me go without a scene and we’ll talk when we both get back.”
But what if one of us doesn’t return,”
she murmured to herself, feeling faint. “
What would the other one do or feel?
A jumble of emotions arrived with Beth when they landed in Nepal. She still felt guilty about choosing the trip over Eric, had no idea if Dorje had given up on her and married Shanti or fallen for another tourist, and wasn’t even positive she’d view him the same way now. Although her passion for him seemed very real at the time, what if the romance of an exotic setting and foreign culture had skewed her emotions?
Intruding in her thoughts, Marty asked, “Hey, my lovely lady, why such quiet-ness?”
She glanced at Marty who had shaved the hair growing down his neck and clipped the rest to a reasonable length. His socks now matched, albeit bright green, all in an attempt to win her over she presumed because he’d been coming onto her.
“Just a few things on my mind.”
“Missing your boyfriend?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The guy who put his arm around you at Lukla.”
“Oh. He’s doing a photo story in Nam right now and couldn’t come.”
Marty’s voice rose and fell as if on a swing. “So how about cutting expenses by sharing a room in town. Separate beds, of course. No hanky-panky-ness.”
“Thanks,” she answered, trying to be gracious, “but my trip is paid for. They want a follow-up to the first successful story.” With his Bassett Hound droopy eyes, it was impossible to not like the man.
After checking into the hotel, they met the other expedition members at dinner: two French men, three Brits, and two other Americans. Listening to their combined climbing experience, Beth felt confident they would make it. After a four-year ban on climbing by the Nepali government, Everest was once again under siege and so was her stomach when Marty announced to the others that they should hire this Sherpa he’d met last year. “He’s strong, brighter than most, and speaks very good English.” Marty then laid his hand on her arm as if they shared some special kinship. “Beth did this fantastic article on Sherpas last fall. I promised to help her finish the story and Dorje will be my liaison with the porters to get the inside scoop.”
Hearing none of their conversation after that, Beth could think only of Dorje. Even if he was married, there was now a good chance she’d see him for an extended period. Marty had become her ally. “Have you been in touch with this Sherpa?” she asked out of nowhere, causing an abrupt halt to their climbing discussion.
“No,” Marty answered, seeming somewhat surprised by her question. “There’s no way to communicate with them, but he said I could find him through this teahouse in Namche.”
Pemba,
Beth thought and let them continue while she attempted to get food down a quivering, nervous stomach.
She and Marty shared the seat directly behind the pilot as they approached the airstrip at Lukla. She still marveled at how he calculated the angle of the short incline; however, the lump in her throat had nothing to do with landing but with the possibility of seeing Dorje when she disembarked. Going down the metal stairway, she searched a huge crowd of porters.
“Most of them are for us,” Marty explained. “They carried our supplies fourteen days from Kathmandu.”
“And now will go all the way up Everest?”
“No. I’m told they only go to Namche. There we hire porters for high altitude-ness.”
Dismayed that Dorje wasn’t there, she tried to focus on getting her gear loaded and heading out on the afternoon trek. Fortunately Marty and the other expedition members were too excited about their climb to interrupt her solitude on the trail, and she needed time both to adjust to being back and to sort out her feelings. She’d hurt two men: Eric by coming here and Dorje by not coming sooner. After five months, he had probably decided she never intended to return. If he was angry, she couldn’t blame him but hoped he possessed a forgiving heart. All the way to Phakding, she fantasized about seeing him again: how their eyes would meet, the pounding in their hearts, the shortness of breath. Keeping that image in mind, she wrapped up in her sleeping bag at night. Only then did visions of Eric shove Dorje aside. Guilt was a powerful force stealing her thoughts and reminding her that if anything happened in Nam it would be her fault. Instead of loving two men, she might have destroyed them both.
Climbing the interminable, 2,000-foot Namche hill the next day, Beth imagined Dorje standing at the entrance to the village, his black hair wet from having just washed in the spring. Would they still stir each other’s emotions? Stopping to rest, she removed a brush from her shirt pocket and did her best with sweat-soaked hair and wiped the moisture from her face. After a series of long, deep breaths, she began the final ascent certain that he’d be waiting. But when she rounded the last mountain and saw only empty terraces where the Saturday market had been, tears welled in her throat.
Putting his arm around her shoulder, Marty asked, “What are you waiting for?”
“Nothing,” she said blinking to hide the tears.
“Hey, you’re crying.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just sweat. I’m hot, tired, and covered with dirt. I’m going to wash in the spring.”
“See you in camp then. I’m going to find Dorje and hire him before someone else does.
Pacing at the window, Dorje watched yet one more party of trekkers and porters arrive. For more than five months he had raced down to every foreign camp, but each time she wasn’t there, disillusionment chipped away at his heart until he was convinced Pemba was right. Beth had liked the idea of being with a Sherpa more than the Sherpa himself. Having resolved not to suffer another disappointment, he swore not to go down there again. Sitting on the floor with his back to the window, he helped Droma Sunjo prepare buckwheat cakes for the next day’s Dumje: the greatest of all Sherpa festivals that seeks to bring prosperity and health to the entire village by driving out hostile spirits.
“Why are you as nervous as a dog with a thousand flees?” she asked. “You watch for her every day.”
“Just more trekkers. It’s useless. She won’t be there.” Agitated, he rose to check the barrels of fermenting
chang,
their lids plastered with dung to retain the heat.
In her self-imposed exile, his aunt had quietly studied the household and understood everyone better than they knew themselves. She gave the necessary nudge. “Go. And do it now.”
One more piece of his heart eroded when Dorje observed an all-male camp. To mask his frustration, he casually asked a porter why they had set up so far from the center of the village.
“An expedition is coming and needs that area. I saw their porters in Lukla two days ago.”
“And did you also see a woman with golden hair and eyes as blue as a morning sky?”
“No one like that. Only these trekkers and some expedition porters coming from Kathmandu. The climbers hadn’t arrived yet.”
Trudging back up to the house, Dorje pushed all thoughts of Beth from his head and heart to concentrate solely on helping his father who would bear the onerous task of providing food and drink for the entire village as one of the eight
lawas.
Responsible for the economic burden that rotated among families once very twelve years,
lawas
tried to show off and outdo each other. Unfortunately, Mingma had drawn the stone to serve the day after Pemba and couldn’t begin to rival his ex partner’s wealth, especially after spending all he had on prayers and the shaman at Tengboche plus Dorje’s recent
dem-chang.