Beyond the Summit (35 page)

After a hard emotional day, Dorje leaned back on his elbows with his legs stretched out in front to relax. “I had many things to do. The sirdar hired me to carry from Base Camp to the Western Cwm. My father, my aunt, and brother were all angry when I told them.”

Releasing his hand, Beth sat up and locked her arms around her knees, staring straight ahead. “They’re not angry . . . just scared like I am.”

“Don’t be. I’m strong.”

“So is the mountain.”

“I don’t want to waste time talking.” He grabbed her around the waist from behind and pulled her down on top of him. Making love to her was like communing with the gods and left him numb all over. Transported to a different realm, he wasn’t aware until he awoke an hour later that she had covered him with her bag and crawled inside. “Look what you did to me,” he whispered. “Now I am too weak to climb a mountain.”

“Then we’ll make love every night until you’re like an old grandpa waving your walking stick over your head.”

Once again, Dorje departed just before dawn and slowly strolled north to Khumjung, not wanting to arrive too early. Finding Shanti bathing at the village spring, he remained out of sight watching her discreetly remove one arm at a time to wash her torso. Her traditional wrap-around tunic and blouse were designed for expansion. To accommodate her growing belly, she needed only to loosen it. When Shanti leaned down to wash her long, black hair, Dorje rushed to help. Her eyes closed, she wasn’t aware of him until he slowly poured water over her head and gently rubbed her scalp. Such affection he felt for her and their child. His stomach tightened at the thought of telling her; he couldn’t do it now. Later. After he had climbed Everest and could offer her something.

He drew the wet strands back from her face and kissed both of her high round cheeks. “I’ve been helping my father with the Dumje.”

“And now?”

Dorje touched his forehead to hers to avoid the inevitable, disappointment in her eyes. “I can’t tonight. I have to get ready to leave early in the morning.”

“For what?”

Even this much of it was harder than he thought. Stealing himself emotionally, he said, “I hired on as an expedition porter and will be gone many weeks.”

When she tried to pull away, he cupped his hand behind her head and held her, whispering, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back long before our child is born and bringing you many rupees.”

“I don’t want rupees. I want you here with me.” Shanti arched back and peered into his eyes. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

“I did. You know about meeting Hillary and Tenzing and wanting to climb. I just found out yesterday that an American I worked for last fall came back. He hired me to go with him.”

“And what if you never return? What if something happens?”

With his warmest smile and most confident tone, he answered, “But nothing will and I’ll be back before the monsoon. Remember making love on the hill at summer pasture?” he added to distract her.

They spent the morning talking about names and how their child would go to Hillary’s school in Khumjung to become a great teacher. All the while, Dorje sensed she knew something wasn’t right, but he still couldn’t tell her.

Nor did he speak of being with the beautiful Sherpani when lying with Beth that night. Nothing could interfere with making love to her. Discussion of Shanti and the baby would come later, perhaps when he got the courage to ask about Eric.

To reach the summit, Dorje would have to move up the hierarchy of porters: those who carry only to Base Camp, those who shuttle loads through the icefall and Western Cum, and the climbing Sherpas who save their strength for the final ascent by not carrying until they are on the mountain itself. From this group, two or more would be selected to accompany assault teams to the top. And for this, he would need Marty’s help, so he wanted to delay the American’s discovery of his relationship with Beth as long as possible.

When he returned from Shanti’s, Dorje talked to his father about hiring their animals out to the expedition. “I want nothing to do with these strangers. Don’t speak of this again,” Mingma snapped with his usual tone of finality.

A man worthy of a beautiful woman’s love, Dorje was no longer easily held down. “You were once the wealthiest trader in Namche,” he reminded his father. “But now you borrow from your cousin in Phakding. How will you repay Kancha? By selling dung when you can get ten times that amount without even working.”

“It’s better than selling my soul like you and Pemba. I thought you understood me now,” Mingma said with sadness in his eyes.

“Yes, but I don’t like watching you suffer. They will pay well, enough to return your rupees and still have enough to buy grain for the finest
chang
in Namche.”

After an hour of such discussion, Mingma finally relented. As Dorje was explaining to the sirdar and expedition leader that he could provide fifteen yaks, Marty approached wagging a finger through a hole in his shirt. “Hey, Buck buck, need to talk to you when you’re done.” Dorje put him off as long as he could, assuming the man had heard them in the tent last night. In a confidential voice, Marty said, “If you’ll do me this big favor, I promise to get you to the top. I think Beth really likes me. We played cards all morning and talked about how much we both love Colorado. When we get back to the States, I’m going in for some serious date-ness.” With one brow raised, he whispered, “And if I’m lucky, I’ll get into her tent at Base Camp.”

Eyeing him, Dorje tried to assess if there was a remote possibility he was right and finally concluded the man was hallucinating the way
mikarus
do at high altitude, even though they were only at 11,300 feet. “What favor?”

“I planned on hiking all the way to Base Camp with her. You know, getting a little friendlier each night. But instead, we’re going to practice on your 20,000-foot hills for about ten days before tackling serious altitude-ness on Everest.” He draped an arm over Dorje’s shoulder and hung on him. “So, Geronimo, I want you to take care of her for me until then. The sirdar speaks a little English, but he’ll be with us. That leaves only you and I know I can trust you to make sure she’s all right and answer any questions about Sherpas. Deal?”

“Deal,” Dorje answered, suppressing the huge grin eager to sprint across his face. The problem of acclimatizing that had caused so much grief when working with trekkers had just given him a 10-day reprieve by getting rid of Marty. “I will go tell her we leave tomorrow after the yaks are loaded.” He would also explain he didn’t want to risk Marty seeing him come to her tent that night and they would soon have much time alone.

The following morning, Dorje said good-bye to the expedition members and then sent Beth ahead to Tengboche with the porters so no one would see them leaving Namche together. Single-handedly driving fifteen heavily laden yaks
up rocks taller than their short legs proved more grueling than Dorje anticipated. And keeping the recalcitrant beasts from tossing their loads 500 feet down to the Dudh Kosi sent him running back and forth always on the uphill side so an angry horn didn’t shove him off. He was exhausted by the time he turned them loose to graze in Tengboche.

After finally removing most of the day’s dust and sweat, Dorje crawled into Beth’s tent to make love in the afternoon. As they lay together afterwards, she asked the question he was dreading but knew had to be answered sometime. “I had a lot of time to think while trekking today and wonder if you’re still engaged to Shanti?”

Nervous about admitting the truth, he was more afraid of lying and having her find out. His voice faltered and then rose as if the muscles in his throat had stretched too thin. “Yes, because she is large with my child.”

“She’s pregnant?”

As she shrank from him, Dorje tried to explain. “I went to her because I thought I was not important to you. I was just another Sherpa.”

“No, it’s all right. Our families rushed the
dem-chang
so our child will not be born in shame.”

“So you’re even closer to marriage.”

“But Shanti and I don’t live together and we are still free to be with others.”

“It’s a strange set up, if you ask me, but what do I know. I’m sure our customs will seem strange to you too. What’s this
dem-chang
like anyway?”

“My family and friends wore their best clothes and walked to Shanti’s home in Khumjung. Her family served them beer and tea followed by rice and vegetables. Then my family gave
katas
to hers and her father talked about how the two families are now joined. When all of that was done, everyone drank
chang
and danced all the night. Mingma and Nima stayed at her uncle’s house partying until the next morning.”

“And you and Shanti?”

“We were not there. The man and woman who will be married a year or two later are not part of the
dem-chang
.”

After an interminable silence, Beth asked, “And does she know about us?”

Wanting to savor the after-glow of lovemaking, Dorje wished Beth would stop asking these awful questions. Moving closer to bury his face in her hair, he said, “No. I went to her yesterday and spoke of the climb. I said I would be gone for weeks but nothing more.”

Beth’s voice seemed detached from the woman lying beside him. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

He forced Beth to look at him. “It has nothing to do with not loving you. I didn’t want to hurt her now. I’ll tell her when I return from Everest and can give her and the baby all the rupees I earn. Now I ask the same question. Does Eric know about me?”

“No,” she admitted. “He doesn’t even suspect you, but he does sense that things aren’t right between us. We’ve put off the wedding until I get back and we see how things are.”

Now Dorje rolled over and turned away with a long, exasperated exhale. “And just how
are
things?”

He clasped both hands around her buttocks and murmured, “Come here. I will show you how much I remember.” He made love to her again and with no more secrets and no more uncertainty, he was ecstatic beyond anything he’d ever dreamt.

Beth woke to the deep, sustained tones of the long
dung-chen
horns coming from the monastery. It seemed an eternity ago that the lamas had prayed for her, almost as if the storm and all that followed weren’t real. But the man lying beside her was. Afraid of loving, her mind had tried to resist Dorje by continually injecting doubts and shoving temptations in her path like the trip to Mt. Roraima. But it had failed and nothing mattered now except lying here in a frigid tent at 12,680 feet with an unschooled man who had taught her how to feel. She would never give that up no matter what the cost.

As they dressed, Beth said, “I want to hike with you and the yaks. Might as well get used to them, hadn’t I?”

Dorje chuckled. “You won’t like it.”

He was right about the yaks. They grunted and balked on steep sections, kicked a constant flurry of irritating dust up her nose, and generally made life miserable. But she loved giggling with Dorje, giving him spontaneous kisses, holding his hand when the trail was wide enough, walking single-file to tickle his butt when it wasn’t. To give her plenty of time to acclimate, he said they’d only travel about four hours a day and sleep at each new altitude before moving higher again.

On the way, he took her to the monastery in Pangboche to see a yeti scalp and hand. An old man with skin seamed by wrinkles and darkened by wind and smoke carefully guarded the relics. Holding the iron-hard scalp with red bristles, Beth didn’t know what to believe. The Sherpas were adamant about the creature’s existence and many reputable climbers had found tracks, including Hillary and Tenzing in 1953. However, Hillary’s yearlong search in 1960 had been fruitless. Beth smiled and returned it to the old man. Real or not, the possibility of a yeti pursuit above Namche had been the most thrilling and romantic evening of her life.