Beyond the Summit (16 page)

“
Namaste
,” she yelled back and slid down. Sauntering toward him, she opened the bag and tossed a potato to him.

Crouched with knees bent and heels flat on the ground in the familiar Sherpa position, he patted the grass beside him and said, “Basnos.” Having observed this posture with great admiration ever since arriving in the Khumbu, Beth had even secretly practiced with zero success. Embarrassed by her complete inability to achieve this squat, she pretended not to comprehend what he wanted. When she didn’t move, he repeated louder, “Basnos.” Determined to give it one more try, she bent down with her heels flat against the ground. Either her seat was too heavy (a quality no man had ever complained of) or her ligaments too short. Either way, she fell backwards onto her butt to his great amusement and hers.

Even though it would be painful, she couldn’t let him show her up again. “Fall,” she cried and hit the ground. “Ouch!” The latter needed no translation.

They lay among the wildflowers munching boiled potatoes and watching clouds swell into giant, fantastical shapes and then disperse to form anew. He babbled and pointed, naming imaginary creatures she presumed, and Beth did the same knowing he didn’t understand a word. As she was describing Pegasus galloping across the sky carrying lightening bolts to Zeus, Beth felt something tug her hair. She tipped her head back and encountered a mobile upper lip and long tongue. “Yikes!” she yelped and dug her heels in to scoot downhill and roll away.

The boy exploded with laughter. “
Nak
.”

She must have looked confused because he reached under a coarse coat of outer wiry hairs covering fine woolly fibers to reveal a teat. So it was a male/female thing. Beth crawled back up to him to continue sharing a delightful afternoon with this boy of sixteen or seventeen with a gap-toothed grin and tiny dark freckles across his cheeks and nose. The trip to Khumjung could wait. Touching herself, she said, “Beth,” and then pointed to him.

“Nima.”

Indicating both of them together, she walked her fingers up the hill. “Khumjung?”

He rocked his head slightly to one side and back to the other in a manner she had learned meant
yes
but still found a bit confusing and too much like a western
no
. If only she knew the word for
tomorrow
. The sun slowly slid behind the snow capped peaks leaving a sky dappled with pink clouds. Gathering the smaller animals, the
naks
, Nima drove them onto the trail with Beth in the rear choking on dust churned up by their hooves. Between that and smoke from unvented fires, it was no wonder half the population suffered from lung disease. When they reached Namche, she smiled and repeated, “Khumjung?” Another head-swaying affirmative left her uncertain of their plans. Her hands clasped together, she bowed and said, “
Namaste.
” He replied with a smile puckering the freckles on his nose.

At breakfast the next morning, two fried eggs floating in oil and fried potatoes convinced her that only climbing up and down these mountains kept Sherpas lean. Sipping the last of her morning tea before departing, Beth heard footsteps as if someone were taking the stairs two at a time. Nima raced into the room with his usual boyish grin and hopped onto the bench beside her. With no words to express how pleased she was, Beth started to tousle his hair affectionately but remembered it was an insult to touch an adult Nepali’s head—the most sacred part of the body. Smiling, she asked once more, “Khumjung?”

This time, Nima's entire body swung from side to side in an emphatic
yes
. He leapt off the seat and ran to the door like a dog eager to go outside; she could almost see his tail wagging. Like the beagle she used to own, Nima covered twice the ground by climbing onto rock walls and prancing along the top with his arms out for balance, hopping down, and racing to the other side. He wore her out. “Nima,
bistarai,
” she called to slow him down.

An hour later, they arrived in Khumjung at 12,507 feet. Unlike the close-quartered houses of the traders in Namche, barley and potato farms spread over a wide area on the southern slope of the 19,000-foot holy Mt Khumbila. A long
mendan
with three-foot prayer stones stood outside the schoolyard. Constructed in 1961 of aluminum sections with translucent panels on the roof to admit light, the building was cold inside. When they entered, Nima spoke to the teacher who then addressed Beth in English and invited them to stay.

Lopsang came from Darjeeling, India, and had been here five years. “Edmund Hillary asked the Sherpa people what he could do to repay them for their help in climbing Everest,” he explained. “They said they wanted a school. Their children had eyes but could not see.”

Staring at the rows of smiling children seated on a dirt floor behind low tables, two or three sharing a tattered book, and most without shoes or sweaters, Beth shivered involuntarily thinking how cold and dark this would be in winter with no artificial light or heat source. “And what do you teach them?”

“At first to read and write the national language, Nepali. Then English. It is their only hope for a future in the tourist industry.”

“But what of their own Sherpa language?”

“It is not a written language and there are far too many dialects. A Sherpa from the Khumbu cannot even understand one from the Solu in the south. It would be impossible.”

“How long do they attend school?”

Frustration and disappointment spread across his face. “Most only a year or two until they learn basic communication and enough math to barter. Then their parents want them back working to support the household.”

“What about Nima here,” Beth asked, glancing at her cheerful companion whose eyes never left her.

“Their father wouldn’t let either boy attend. He said yak herders don’t need to speak English or read and write. But his older brother, Dorje, is the most brilliant boy I’ve encountered in many years of teaching. He came to me four years ago begging to enter school, but he was too old at sixteen. We only have primary grades. So he stood outside my door every day just listening and refused to go away.”

“Dorje and Nima are brothers?” Beth asked in shock.

“Yes, yes.” Lopsang’s body swelled with excitement. “Dorje comes often to talk when I am so lonely for conversation, and he learns everything I teach him.” Lopsang asked the children to sing. As Beth stood at the wall listening to a chorus of happy voices filling the air, her eyes watered. It was a new generation of Sherpas with the promise of a better life tugging at her heart—a moment she’d never forget.

After leaving the school, she and Nima returned via the Everest lookout. From her pack, Beth dug out two apples, several slices of nak cheese, and four chapatis for lunch. Seated flush against her on the rock she and Dorje had shared, Nima grinned, his knee gently rocking against hers. She wanted to adopt him as her little brother and give a big sisterly kiss but knew it wouldn’t be appropriate. What a shame that such loving people couldn’t openly express affection for the opposite sex. Instead, she chose to tease him by secretly picking up a rock and flinging it behind them. When it hit the ground and clattered, she jumped and screamed, “Yeti!” Nima whipped around, dropping his cheese, obviously saw nothing, and stared at Beth who couldn’t keep a straight face after observing his stricken expression. He caught onto her game, threw his arms in the air making himself as large as possible and began a high, piercing yell. Pretending to be terrified of this horrific, hairy monster, Beth grabbed her pack and raced downhill, her arms flailing wildly with Nima right behind her giggling between yeti screams.

Spending the entire afternoon and next two days together, they played Frisbee and tag. He showed her how to use the carom board and she taught him yo-yo basics, the latter requiring many patient hours because she had observed earlier that Sherpas appeared to have no natural talent for it. Even Dorje hadn’t been able to master a yo-yo in camp. In the afternoons, they lay watching clouds, drawing pictures, and teaching each other new words such as
zopkio
and
zhum
. She learned the latter two referred to the yak/cow crossbreeds used at Namche and lower. Larger, with shorter hair, and less pronounced horns than yaks, the male
zopkio
s were not as likely to dump their loads or knock travelers off a cliff while the female
zhums
gave richer and more plentiful milk than
naks
.

Nima seemed giddy at times and always smiling, always watching her every move. He was the childhood she never had—carefree and innocent, intoxicated with pure joy. And things were so easy with him, none of the complexities and intellectual or emotional games of the modern world. She was free to just experience life in its most elemental form for the first time in her memory. And it felt good.

On his way down, Dorje had stopped in Khunde where the doctor assured him Helen would be all right if he immediately took her even lower and gave her plenty of water. To pass the time while waiting for Ruth, he sat with Helen on a bench outside a teahouse in the village of Lukla. They chatted about Helen’s son who had moved to New Zealand, Hillary’s home. When she explained the first man to climb Everest had been a beekeeper, Dorje couldn’t believe it. A beekeeper turned god! If Hillary could do that, Dorje could be the Tenzing of the future.

In the early afternoon, a woman with tight gray curls strode boldly down the village path waving a walking stick. Screaming with joy, Helen ran to her and they laughed and hugged as if they were children again. Watching them, Dorje knew the physical and emotional demands of the trip had given both renewed confidence in themselves. Seemingly, ten years younger than when they had arrived, these loving grandmothers would take part of him with them. He’d fetched their sweaters when they were cold, knew how they liked their tea and who wanted her egg scrambled instead of fried—the little, personal things of life.

While the ladies chatted, Dorje wandered up the trail a short way wondering if Beth and Eric were taking the next day’s plane also. Their cook and kitchen boy passed, followed by Eric ten minutes later who shot a threatening glance. “You’d better take good care of her.”

Not knowing the word
tenacious
or anything about pit bulls, Dorje intended to stay far away from this dangerous woman. “I am taking three Norwegians to Gokyo and over the Cho La to Everest Base Camp. She must watch after herself.”

“We plan to marry when she returns home so I’m warning you. If anything happens to Beth, I’m coming back after you.” Then Eric headed for the village leaving Dorje distraught but also more at ease. Since she’d given her heart to Eric,
The Sherpa
was no longer in danger of her stealing his.

The next morning, the ladies boarded after Eric following a final round of teary-eyed farewells. Dorje watched the plane roll down the dirt runway and then lift and soar before disappearing behind rows of hills that seemed to fade into nothingness. Feeling unsettled with too many people and emotions crowding into his life, he turned to the next strangers wondering what challenges they would bring. Eyeing the tall men in their early thirties, strong and eager looking, he sighed
easy trip
as he clasped his hands in a greeting. “
Namaste
.”

“
Namaste
,” they replied and he suddenly wondered what language they spoke. “Do you know English?” he asked, envisioning far fewer tips if they didn’t.

“You have to if you’re Norwegian,” answered Kirk, a square-jawed man with a toothpick protruding from the corner of his mouth.

“Because when you come from a country of less than four million,” added Royd, “you wouldn’t have anyone to talk to otherwise.” Dorje chuckled and immediately liked these Norwegians.