‘We set up camp one beyond that next ridge,’ Bob shouted.
‘Sir!’ Gygme called out, blinking as the rain ran down across his forehead and into his eyes.
‘OK, people, we’re good to go,’ Bob continued, not hearing his sherpa’s note of protest, and then strode off purposefully. A few metres from the rock, Luca had dropped his pack on to the snow and was pulling out a few personal items before
sealing
it up again. Bob turned to see him readying himself to leave.
‘What the hell is this?’ he boomed, running back down the slope.
Luca didn’t respond, just continuing to tie his few possessions into a bundle, while Gygme looked on. The head sherpa had both hands raised to the straps of his pack, trying to ease the strain.
‘But, sir,’ Gygme explained, ‘we have been speaking about this in Kathmandu. I told you one of my porters was not crossing the snowline. This is why I asked for more men.’
‘What do you mean, not crossing the snowline? We’re climbing the Himalayas, for Christ’s sake!’
Bob raised his hand and pointed at Gygme, his finger so close it almost caught one of the droplets of water running off the end of his nose.
‘It’s about money, isn’t it?’ he asked.
Gygme swung his body out from under his pack and slowly wiped his forehead. He stared at Bob, trying to control his voice.
‘No, sir, it is not the money. It is always this way with Luca. He does not cross the snowline and we respect his wishes. I already agreed with him before starting that we will divide his share of the load.’
‘You remember Gygme saying that at the hotel, Bob?’ Sally interrupted, her face almost completely hidden under the hood of her Gore-Tex jacket. They could just see her eyes switching between them both. ‘You know, when we had that meeting?’
‘No, no, no,’ Bob said, drawing out each word as he shook his head. ‘It’s about the money. It always goddamn’ is.’ Reaching into the front of his jacket, he then pulled out a Ziploc plastic bag. Thick bundles of rupee notes were rolled together inside.
‘You!’ Bob shouted down to Luca, pointing at him instead of Gygme. ‘You can take your pay now, and I’ll also give you an extra half each day if you man up and carry that pack beyond the snowline.’
‘But that’s not fair on the others,’ Sally whispered.
‘Why don’t you just shut up for once in your goddamn’ life?’ Bob snapped, not bothering to turn towards her. He watched as Luca slowly turned towards him and reached out his hand.
‘That’s what I’m talking about,’ Bob said, smiling as he hurriedly counted out the notes and pressed them into Luca’s hand. ‘Your name’s Luca, right? Come on, man, I know you speak English, otherwise you wouldn’t know I was offering you a better deal.’ Bob smiled again, trying to see past the hair falling in front of Luca’s eyes.
Luca counted through the money, folding the notes into the fist of his left hand. A long scar ran back from his wrist, the red of the wound angry in the cold. After he had finished counting, he took six notes from the wad he had been given and handed them back to Bob. Without a word, he then turned to go back down the hill.
‘Hey, what is this?’ Bob protested, his eyes flicking between the notes and the back of Luca’s head. ‘We had a deal. Hey! Don’t you walk away from me.’
Lunging forward, he grabbed hold of Luca’s shoulder, swivelling his body round. As their eyes met, Bob saw anger flash across Luca’s face before he reached up and wrapped his entire hand over Bob’s, yanking it from his shoulder.
‘The deal was to the snowline,’ Luca said, his voice low but steady. There was an unshakable certainty in the way he spoke, as if there could never have been any other way. ‘And you’d better pay the others their share, especially the boy, or I’ll tell him how much those laptops he’s carrying are worth.’
With that, Luca continued down the path, stopping for a moment next to the sixteen-year-old and tucking a few of the notes he had just received into his hand. The entire group simply watched as he then walked on, eventually becoming lost in the cloud rolling up the side of the mountain ridge.
Gygme was the first to break the silence, moving a few paces to his right until he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Bob.
‘You must not take it too hard, sir. Mr Matthews has always been his own man and I have never heard of him changing his mind for anyone. Especially when it comes to crossing the snowline.’
Bob’s expression clouded over as Gygme’s words resonated in his head.
‘Matthews,’ he repeated. ‘You mean, Luca Matthews … the English climber? Jesus Christ, that’s
Matthews
? But he’s climbed every damn’ route …’
Bob trailed off, lost in his own thoughts as Gygme slowly nodded.
‘That is indeed Luca Matthews. One of my finest porters, but I don’t believe he has ever been a climber. Apparently, it is mostly flat in his country. Only hills.’
Gygme then turned, hoisting his pack into a more comfortable position, and with the ambivalence of one born to the mountains, continued up towards the snow line.
IT TOOK LUCA
only three hours to descend to the nearest village. Without the load and travelling alone, he moved in a continuous flow, his feet instinctually finding a grip on the slippery path.
He arrived at the outskirts of the village and pulled himself to a halt just as the rain became heavier, descending in vertical sheets across the black sky. Rivulets of water channelled through the muddy ground, passing directly in front of a small collection of dilapidated huts built in a semi-circle on the edge of the mountainside. It was a desolate sight, the only sign of life coming from the smoke wafting up through the wooden roofs before it was beaten back down again by the rain.
Luca stood in the centre of the village, his sodden clothes steaming from his body heat. He tilted his head up and let the rain splatter down on his face. He could feel his heart pumping in his chest and, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt truly alive.
As he stood there, one of the doors creaked open and a huge bear-like man ducked his head under the low frame. He peered cautiously out, revealing thick black hair that melded into an equally thick beard. His eyes squinted at Luca, etching lines deeper across his craggy face, before a cigarette was raised to his lips and he inhaled deeply, drawing on it with such force that it looked as if he was trying to finish the entire thing in a single breath.
‘I have heard the one about Englishmen and the midday sun, but I never knew they went out in the rain as well.’
Luca’s eyes clicked open in disbelief, making him blink against the rain. His mouth opened too as he tried to speak, then he simply shook his head.
‘René,’ Luca breathed at last, a smile lighting up his face. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
René’s face broke into an equally wide grin and he cast his eyes up to the sky.
‘If you bother to get out of the pissing rain, I’ll tell you. Or is this how you usually spend your days?’
Luca laughed, slowly shaking his head as he trudged over to the open door, his feet sinking into the soft mud. Before he had even had time to step up on to the porch, René grabbed him in his huge arms and hugged him.
‘You always were a crazy bastard,’ he said, pulling the younger man back a little so he could look into his eyes. Despite the layers of clothing, he could feel how wiry Luca had become, his hands gripping on to bands of pure muscle. There couldn’t have been more than an ounce of fat on his whole body.
‘You look well,’ he lied, taking in Luca’s hollow cheeks and faint beard. ‘And you’ve been out here so long, you even smell like a mountain goat!’
Shepherding Luca inside the small hut, he helped him off with his coat and motioned for him to sit on a low wooden bench in the corner of the room. Luca sat heavily, resting his boots almost in the ash of the fire, and wiped his hair back from his face, sending a spray of water out behind him. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom and smoke, he could see an old woman waiting at the back of the room, clutching a heavy pot of tea.
Without being asked she approached, balancing two small wooden cups on the top of a low stool, and poured. She handed one to each of them before smiling at Luca, revealing a mouth containing only three blackened teeth.
‘
Dhanyabaad
,’ Luca said, pressing his hands together. Thank you.
He took a few noisy slurps from the cup, enjoying the feeling of the steam rolling up his damp face, and then looked across at René. He was eyeing the viscous liquid suspiciously before his right hand went to the side pocket of his coat and fished inside. A moment later, he triumphantly pulled out a half-litre bottle of brandy and sloshed a heavy measure into both their teas.
‘I’ve been in the Himalayas for over twelve years now and you want to know something?’
Luca nodded, knowing full well that conversations with René were rarely more than one-sided.
‘I’d prefer to drink my own piss than yak butter tea. Every
time
I go into the bloody mountains it shocks me how horrible it is. You know what I say? Drown out the rancid taste with brandy. The problem is … the brandy here’s not exactly much better.’
He raised his cup to Luca then took a heavy gulp from it, pulling his lips back across his gums as the cheap spirit burned his mouth. Luca drank his without flinching, holding the wooden cup in the palm of his hands as he let the warmth of the tea spread through his fingers. René looked on curiously as they sat facing each other over the fire. He could scarcely believe how much Luca had changed.
And it wasn’t just the weight he had lost; his whole demeanour seemed to have changed as well. He had become shrunken and withdrawn, as if crushed by some invisible weight. The villagers had already told him that Luca refused to go past the snowline and that each day he volunteered for the longest treks and the heaviest packs. It was as if he hoped each minor act of suffering could help to alleviate his guilt; the punishment spread over a thousand of paces in the Himalayas.
Even as René stared at the reality before him, he still had a mental image of Luca visiting his restaurant all those years ago. He had been loud and outgoing then, even arrogant at times, with a mischievous grin to accompany each one of his mad-cap schemes. He had come looking for permits for a climbing expedition into one of the most remote regions of Tibet, and after only a few days together, Rene had found himself risking everything to help him. That’s the way it always was with Luca. You got swept up by his energy.
But now, there was nothing left of the old Luca. There was only this tortured soul before him. It was like watching a cancer consume someone before his very eyes.
After a moment’s pause, René took another cigarette from his pack and lit it with the end of one of the logs in the fire. He winced as the hairs on the back of his hand singed from the heat, sending a pungent smell into the air. Drawing on the cigarette, he looked across at Luca, his expression draining of joviality.
‘I know it’s been tough for you, Luca, but you could at least have responded to Jack’s letters. It’s been over three months now.’
Luca looked up from the fire.
‘What are you talking about? I didn’t get any letters.’
René raked his fingers through his beard and winced.
‘Shit,’ he breathed, exhaling a plume of smoke from somewhere deep within his lungs. ‘I guess that makes some sense then. Look, Luca, Jack Milton has been trying to get hold of you for the last couple of months. When he didn’t get any answer, he asked me to try and track you down. And you know how I hate leaving Lhasa and coming out to the mountains. It’s three days just to get across the border and then those endless bloody trails …’
‘The letter, René,’ Luca interrupted, sitting forward attentively. ‘Tell me what Jack wants?’
‘Yes, yes, the letter. Well, it’s not Jack that’s in trouble. It’s his nephew, Joshua. He went missing six months ago somewhere in the depths of the Congo. Nasty country, that. He was working for
Médecins Sans Fronti
è
res
and the truck he was on
just
disappeared. No one has been seen since.’ René paused to take a sip from his cup, wincing again as the brandy went down. ‘You know how resourceful Jack is, but he’s tried everything – the UN, the consulate in Kigali, Amnesty International. You name it. He even thought about going to look for Joshua himself, but even he realises that he’s just not up to it any more. I think the drink’s finally caught up with him.’
Luca shook his head, his eyes resuming their blank stare. Jack Milton. He hadn’t heard his name in over two years, but just the mere mention of it brought his childhood rushing back. It had been Jack, not his father, that had introduced him to climbing. From the very first day, he had recognised something special in Luca and had patiently encouraged it, spending hours with him at the climbing wall, the afternoons bleeding into evenings as they became absorbed in the next climb, then the next.
Somehow Jack always had enough time for Luca alongside his own nephew, Joshua. There was never a sense of competition between the two boys, but more a friendship that quickly developed into something deeper. They never thought of themselves as brothers, but to everyone else, that is exactly what they were. They were always together; in the same fights at school, chasing the same girls as teenagers. But their friendship had none of the jealousies or rivalry of family. Even when Jack presented Luca with his old climbing gear, including an entire sling full of expensive quickdraws and cams, Joshua didn’t complain. Climbing was what Luca did. Period. And from the very beginning, it was something that Joshua had always understood.