Beyond the Summit (25 page)

Waking suddenly, Dorje gasped for air, unable to move. The roof and sides of the tent had collapsed under the weight of the snow and were burying them alive like the porter in his dream. “Wake up!” he yelled at Beth as he wriggled his arm out of the bag into a narrow space between the roof and floor. With aching lungs, he searched for the door and fumbled with the zipper, desperately trying to pull it with stiff, awkward fingers. Dizzy and almost out of air, his face tingling, Dorje tugged once more and ripped the door open. Freezing air shot into the tent and he gulped convulsively as the cold burned his lungs. He quickly enlarged the hole to let air travel down to Beth who gasped as the icy air struck. “It’s okay,” he said trying to calm her. “The roof fell. That is all.” He kissed her forehead. “Are you all right?” When she nodded, he whispered he would return soon.

Reaching back through the hole, he dug with bare hands, gradually widening a space large enough to crawl through, and pushed to his feet against powerful gusts threatening to blow him over. While yelling at the others to wake up, he quickly scraped snow from the roof and sides to take the weight off Beth. Then he searched for the Norwegians and dug with numb fingers until the men slowly emerged quite shaken. Roy, Kirk, and Hamar followed him to the dining tent that was covered with a thick, powdery blanket that had broken loose and tumbled from a rock above. With a flurry of hands, the rescuers created an opening and pulled out the gasping porters, cook, and kitchen boys. After clearing all the roofs and sides, everyone was too exhausted to think of anything other than their beds.

Although it was still snowing heavily as night faded into a gray dawn, the wind had died when Dorje cleaned the tent again. With enough light to survey the camp, he discovered that their frequent assaults on the roofs had packed the area next to the tents, but surrounding their small camp was a five-foot snow barrier that was still growing.

“Jesus!” Royd exclaimed when he stuck his head out the door. “Would you look at that.”

“Oh, shit,” Kirk added. “How in the hell are we going to get out of here?” He looked at Dorje. “You do know where we are, don’t you?”

Not having the faintest idea, Dorje answered, “No problem,” and strolled casually to the dining tent. “Do you know where we are?” he whispered to Sangbu who had crossed the pass many times.

“Not until it clears and we can see the way. Never in my memory has there been such a storm this time of year.”

All day the snow fell. Dorje sat with Beth through a fitful sleep. Breathing heavily and shuddering, she frequently woke screaming as if hallucinating or having a nightmare. He’d seen it before and knew it was a bad omen. She’d been too high too long and had to go down. Every hour as he swept the roof, he searched the sky for signs of clearing. Meanwhile the Norwegians read and wrote in journals while the Sherpas joked, played cards, and smoked
bidis
that filled their tent with fumes. By nightfall, everyone was bored, despondent, and cold. To cheer them up, the cook prepared a special meal he’d been saving to celebrate reaching Base Camp: SPAM, the precious canned meat that arrived by plane all the way from Kathmandu.

After making sure everyone was settled for the night, Dorje stepped outside to return to Beth. By now so accustomed to snow pelting him in the face, he didn’t notice its absence at first. Then the realization that he was gazing at stars in a clear, black sky returned his stomach to its resting place after its having been perched at the back of his throat for more than thirty hours. All was well now and tomorrow they would go down to a safe, warm place.

Morning sunlight danced on the roof and shimmered along the walls: the first warmth in days. Dorje gently lifted a wisp of hair back from Beth’s cheek. More radiant and beautiful than ever, her face was softer around the edges and her body more comfortable and relaxed in his arms. He lay holding her while she slept making a gentle purring noise that delighted him. Yawning, Beth snuggled closer with her arm across his chest and her head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder. “Good morning,” he whispered into the top of her hair. “You slept well last night.”

Playing with his hair, she whispered, “Hush, I’m here now and want only to be with you.” Though she seemed content, Dorje knew he could never offer the life Eric did. She would soon grow bored and yearn for the excitement of their world. “Why so quiet?” she asked.

“Nothing.” Giving her a hug, he decided to simply enjoy the moment and not think about the future. He faced more immediate problems now. Hearing others rustle about in camp, he said, “I hate to leave this wonderful, warm place, but I must prepare for us to leave.”

As he pulled his jeans and shirt on, she ran her hand down his back and along his thigh. “And I will stay a few minutes longer daydreaming about making love tonight.”

He was surprised at how quickly his body reacted to a few simple words. After he exited the tent, Phuri and Tashi shot knowing glances at each other when he walked past. Not a cloud anywhere. A perfect day for traveling. If they started early and kept moving, perhaps they would reach Periche by nightfall. Dorje searched the sky. When he had crossed the pass once before, the sun warmed his back in the afternoon, so he must go toward it in the morning.

“I think that way,” he told Sangbu and received the confirmation he sought. Walking the perimeter of the now seven-foot snow barrier, Dorje wonder what was just beyond. Wanting to show off for Beth, he took a small wood axe to chop stairs. However, instead of the grand ascent he envisioned, he was quickly clambering on all fours as the soft snow caved under him. Only sheer agility got him to the top where he immediately sank with a loud whoomph!—and disappeared. An outburst of laughter skidded across the snow. Humiliated, Dorje chopped his way out sending powder flying in every direction and causing big clumps of it to cling to his hair and face as he emerged.

“Does this mean we won’t be walking out?” Royd asked, not even attempting to hide his amusement at Dorje’s appearance.

The porters were already snickering. When a wet clump dropped from Dorje’s hair and slid down his cheek, he too chuckled and then started laughing to hide his concern from Beth’s eyes.

“The six-foot dining table.” Questioning Girmi who had carried it, Dorje learned the porter had left it outside the first night of the storm and couldn’t remember where. Everyone dug through the surrounding area until Hamar finally uncovered it.

Sliding the table into Dorje’s escape route, Royd jumped on, but the snow sank only a few inches. Kirk joined him with little more success. At Hamar’s turn to show off, he pushed the others away and gave Lhamu a glowing smile. Like a baby trying to climb onto a cabinet, he threw first one arm onto the table, and then the other, his legs kicking until Royd gave him a shove. Finally on top, Hamar jumped up and down, waving his arms and hollering as his great body weight compressed the snow. Everyone cheered, especially Lhamu, and he took a bow before hopping down to push the board forward another six feet and climb back on. When he tired, the others took over, working in shifts while he sat with Lhamu teaching her to say,
I love you
in English. Progress was slow and by late afternoon they had only cleared a path that took ten minutes to walk.

Dorje returned to camp exhausted and in despair. Unless the snow melted, it would take days to go a distance normally covered in a few hours. Tomorrow they must start at first light. His only consolation was having more time with Beth. Their lovemaking was nothing like he had with Shanti who was eager and playful, but Beth made his entire being quiver with every touch and every breath. She had crawled inside and carried his heart away when he would have given it freely for it had truly never belonged to anyone. While he cared deeply about Shanti, Dorje realized that lust had driven him to her bed most nights. With Beth it was different. Such things he had wanted to tell her that night standing wrapped in their bags at Machhermo but didn’t have the courage.

Now passion warmed their naked bodies wrapped in bags zipped together. Using all five senses, he explored every inch with his fingers and tongue: her full breasts, flat stomach, slender legs, and firm rear. Her sinuous responses and their bodies flowing in perfect unison took Dorje to realms never experienced before in an explosive orgasm that left him trembling and light headed. When his heart quit racing and he could breathe again, he pulled her on top of him to retain their heat. His mouth at her ear, he longed to tell her he loved her but was still afraid. They had ridiculed Hamar’s love for Lhamu saying it was too soon, but the big Norwegian had recognized his feelings immediately just as Dorje had known from the moment Beth gazed at him in Lukla that he would fall in love with her.

Trailing her fingers ever so lightly over his face, shoulders, and chest, she had a mesmerizing touch that cast him under her spell. He would do anything for her. Beth kissed his lips, eyes, and cheeks and whispered, “I love you.”

She’d struck him with the thunderbolt that was his name and sent his insides sprawling with unhinged, uncontrollable joy. “And I love you. I love you,” he repeated over and over like a prayer he was sending to the gods. Rolling her onto her back, he lay on top with his weight on his arms and gazed at her. “I was afraid to tell you before.”

“And I was scared too. I didn't think I could ever really love someone. When my father left, I stopped feeling and let my mind take control over my emotions because it was safer. But when you turned and looked at me that day, I toppled off center and have been at risk ever since.”

The next morning, Dorje wanted to stay with Beth reveling in their love but the cook hastened him outside. “We’re getting low on fuel,” he said.

“How can that be?”

“We brought only enough kerosene for one night on the pass and were supposed to use dung we find in the Everest Valley. I tried melting snow in the sun but it takes too long.”

“And almost no water to boil it,” Dorje said. “Four trekkers and twelve Sherpas to go another four or five days. Ration it,” he ordered. His head throbbing, Dorje found Sangbu and instructed him to break camp in the late afternoon and move it to the end of the day’s path. They must sleep lower that night.

The Norwegians were already at work. To buoy his spirits, Dorje asked them about America. When they explained it had 50 states and half of them were larger than Nepal, he spent the rest of the day trying to grasp the size of it and wondering how one could find his way in such a place. The sun beating down in an unrelenting glare, Dorje removed the sunglasses Marty had given him and wiped sweat from his forehead. Putting them back on, he estimated four more hours of daylight.

After a dinner of boiled rice for Beth and the Norwegians, the cook confided to Dorje that all the kerosene was gone. Ashamed of his earlier outburst, Dorje whispered, “Keep melting snow in the sun and do the best you can.”

When he made love to Beth that night, something was wrong. It was subtle and intangible but not quite the same. He hesitated to question her because it was nothing she said or did, only a feeling he had. Afraid that she was too scared and had changed her mind, he decided to let it go and hoped it would pass.

After a restless sleep, Dorje rose before dawn and started work on the path. He could no longer distinguish between gnawing hunger and the queasiness of worry. With the trail dropping steeply into a long ravine and no place wide enough for a camp, they would have to push all the way through or sleep high one more night. Dorje explained this to the porters who until now had refused to help, saying it was not their job. But having not eaten yesterday or today, they finally understood his urgency and worked feverishly, especially Lhamu who had tended to an ailing Hamar and not left his side until now. A merciless sun reflected off the snow. Squinting painfully, the porters complained about not having glasses. Sangbu showed those who still wore their hair long how to wrap it across their eyes to filter the sun. Those who had cut theirs short like the
mikarus
were cursed with swollen, weeping vision. Having seen the clouded eyes of old yak herders who spent winters on snowy slopes with their animals, Dorje feared his porters were going blind and prayed to the gods for cloud cover.