Dead Lucky (29 page)

Simon hoped desperately that it was true but saw it as a dangerous rumor. If it was true, there were still too many ways for me to die to risk exposing Barbara to the heartache that would come with the crushing of resurrected hope.

He rang Greg and Margaret to warn them of the breaking story and cautioned them that at this stage it could not be regarded as fact. As he reminded them, the press was prepared to believe anything in the cause of a good story.

The story of David Sharp became even more appealing to the press when there was a possibility that after being left for dead, I had been rescued. It would be the happy ending that David Sharp had not been blessed with. The cloud of argument about climbers passing by Sharp as he died could be given a silver lining. My rescue would be an example of the triumph of altruism over the selfishness of ambition.

Friday was the day that Margie Hamilton worked with Simon on Australian Himalayan Foundation matters, but instead of her foundation duties, Simon asked her to come to his home office to help deal with the impending crisis. Christine Gee, another of the directors, also arrived. Simon was furiously attempting to nail down some hard facts about what had happened to me so that he could pass the details on to the press. He wanted them to be publishing and going to air with facts rather than fantasy.

Queries were coming not just from the press but also from members of the Australian Himalayan Foundation. Others had realized that the foundation's website might be a good place to find answers. An obvious task now was to create a news page that could provide accurate information.

At this point, Jenny Hunter, Simon's partner in life, became involved. Jenny took all the incoming calls on Simon's mobile so that Simon could return calls on the landline according to priority and relevance.

He was able to establish that most of the information was coming from a South Australian website that had links to Jamie McGuinness, whose Project Himalaya team had been camped next to us at Advance Base Camp. The information was absolutist, stating in black and white that I was alive, and yet farther down the page, it said that it was not certain I was alive. Simon was stunned. This level of reportage was the source of the media stories that were beginning to make headlines around the world.

Simon rang Wentworth Falls and, as he hoped, Julia answered the phone. He got straight to the point.

“I shouldn't really be telling you this,” he said, “but there are half-cocked news reports that Lincoln might be alive.”

“Really?” asked Julia.

“Yes, but I have no idea if they're anything more than rumors. But we're trying to get confirmation from the mountain.”

“In that case, I won't mention it to Barbara and the boys until I hear back from you.”

“Yes,” he said. “That's the best approach. We need to establish to our own satisfaction that the facts have been corroborated and it's confirmed that Linc is alive and in good enough shape to be likely to stay alive.”

“Okay,” said Julia. “I'll make sure no one who arrives announces the good news until we know it is good news.”

GLEN JOSEPH had spent the whole day at home, handling queries from his staff by phone. By late afternoon he was glued to his computer screen, watching the story unfold. He was flicking between three different sites. One had put forward the possibility that I might have survived the night. A posting appeared on a blog that I was definitely alive, but Glen knew better than to put faith in a blog. But there it was on the
Sydney Morning Herald
site at 5:01 P.M., May 26. The headline read EVEREST CLIMBER “STILL ALIVE,” and the report included a photo of me taken from the back flap of my biography of Sir Douglas Mawson.

GREG AND MARGARET left Wentworth Falls at 5:00 P.M. because Greg was booked to fly to St. Petersburg only twenty-four hours later. Margaret's phone rang as they drove. It was Simon telling her that there were more indications that I was alive, and they should come direct to his home office because the media would soon be going crazy. When Greg and Margaret reached Manly, not long after 7:00 P.M., Simon explained how the media seemed more convinced that I was alive, but the problem was that the sources were the same unreliable websites. So their first priority was to contact someone at Base Camp who could speak directly about the situation as it had occurred. It was a long shot because almost all the Everest expeditions had packed up and gone home. While the Sherpas packed up the camp, there was only a skeleton 7Summits-Club staff in residence.

NOT LONG AFTER Simon's warning call, Julia received her first inquiry about the rumors. It was from Mary-Anne Marshall, who had visited earlier in the afternoon with her husband, Ian, son Aidan, and daughter Charlotte, who was Dylan's age. Ian had designed and updated the Christopher's Climb sponsorship document and had been following the expedition's progress. After seeing Web reports that I was alive, Mary-Anne had been in two minds whether or not to call.

“There are those reports,” Julia admitted, “but no one knows how much truth is in them. I haven't told Barbara, so please don't say anything.”

THE NEWS OF MY DEATH arrived at the Australian International School in Singapore late on Friday morning, Singapore time. Johanna Nutall took Barbara's ex-colleague Helen Toppin aside, saying, “I've got to tell you something before you learn of it by any other means.”

Helen was shattered to hear the news, but she realized that Dorje's two closest friends needed to be informed privately. Both Rowan Cocks, Australian, and Jonathan Joseph, Jewish Singaporean, had been frequent weekend sleepover guests at our apartment, so we knew them well. While I was away on Everest, Jonathan's family had holidayed in Australia, with Jonathan staying at our house for a few days.

When Rowan's mother, Elaine, arrived at the school, Rowan and Jonathan were taken out of class. Helen and Elaine had remained close friends with Barbara, and they had to control their sobbing before speaking to the boys. Rowan was very practical and was concerned about Barbara, Dorje, and Dylan but was able to return to class. However, Jonathan was deeply shocked and needed to be taken home.

The teachers thought that Dylan's Singapore friends, being three years older and more mature, would be able to manage better.

Every Friday afternoon at the school there were drinks in the main common room. The news of my death had already spread among the staff. Many of them of course remembered Barbara. I was not altogether unfamiliar to them either, as I had spoken to several classes about glaciers, Antarctica, and the Himalaya. I had also given a presentation at an assembly, and I had brought Sue Fear to speak at the school while she and I were working on her book. The teachers who knew us treated the afternoon as a wake, and drinks loosened a few teary eyes.

Half an hour after drinks began, Peter Bond, the principal, made his weekly announcements, among them the fact that I had been found alive on Everest. The wake became a celebration, and much more was drunk than was generally the case at Friday afternoon drinks. Sandra Salamacha, a teacher who had lived in the same condominium complex, was heard to remark, “Only Lincoln Hall could do something like this to us.”

Meanwhile, Jonathan had been on the Internet, the electronic tool which perpetuated Dorje's international friendships. Dorje logged on to his MSN online chat not long after 5:00 P.M. Sydney time, 3:00 P.M. in Singapore. Jonathan immediately wrote to him: “Check this out! Your dad's not dead!” Jonathan directed him to the
Sydney Morning Herald
website, where there was a picture of me, a detail from an expedition publicity shot taken at Taronga Zoo. The headline read: LINCOLN HALL FOUND ALIVE.

“Mum! Mum! Come here and look at this!”

Julia heard the call and intercepted Barbara, explaining that news was out that I might be alive, but that lots of people had died and the survivor might not be me. Barbara listened but could not stop the sudden feeling of hope that rose within her.

She hurried into Dorje's room and looked at the photo of me on the screen.

“It's such a nice photo of Dad,” she said to Dorje, “but we can't be sure it's true.”

“When will we find out?”

“I don't know. I'll have to ask Greg.”

“Barbara, it's true,” Greg said when she called. “There are reports, but we're trying to verify them. Someone has been found, but there are all these other people who've been reported dead. We don't know for sure whether it's Lincoln; we haven't been able to speak to anyone at Base Camp.”

FOR FIVE OR SIX HOURS, people had been arriving at the house, most of them optimistic, only to be told that celebrations were not yet in order. As he had promised, Paul Stephens returned to repair the outside light. He was armed not only with his tools and stepladder but also with a huge amount of food cooked by his wife, Janet. As he worked on the electrical fault, he talked to Barbara about a range of topics, none of which had any relevance to all the current circumstances.

Barbara looked at him as he talked, wondering why he was speaking to her about things like that when her husband was still believed to be dead. As a doctor, perhaps Paul was simply adapting his bedside manner to this stepladder situation, attempting to distract Barbara from her emotions, but the hurt was too deep and too real.

But, in fact, Paul was already convinced that I had been found alive, and because he had immediately commenced the repairs outside, Julia had not managed to brief him on the matter. The food that Janet had cooked was not intended as a comfort but as celebration of my survival. She had almost included a bottle of champagne but decided that perhaps it was just a little too early for that.

FOR THE 7SUMMITS-CLUB CLIMBERS, it was a full day's drive from Base Camp to Zhangmu, with only a brief lunch stop at Tingri. They arrived at the Tibetan border town at 6:00 P.M., which was the first opportunity for Richard and Mike to set up the sat-phone. Richard called Cheryl Harris, and his wife told him about a report that I had been found alive. At first he dismissed the news as nonsense, because that morning the Russians had been unequivocal about my death.

At 9:15 P.M. Sydney time, Mike Dillon in Zhangmu rang Simon Balderstone, who immediately began telling him the optimistic reports that were coming through to Australia.

“Any way that you can contact Base Camp, mate?” asked Simon. “We've got to confirm this. The news we're getting is all rehashes from websites. We need corroboration.”

From Zhangmu, Mike managed to get through to Luda at Base Camp. She had spoken directly to Doctor Andrey, who was now treating me at the North Col, where a medical tent had been set up. I had frostbite and signs of cerebral edema and was manifesting a shock psychosis. The details were convincing.

Simon put the phone down and turned to Greg and Christine. “It's true,” he said. “Linc's alive. It's amazing that he is, but he's alive.”

THE KITCHEN WAS STILL full of food and the dining table still piled high. The Marshalls had returned, as had Roley Clarke, this time with his wife, Robbie. Julie Clarke and Richard Neville were there as well. In such circumstances nobody knew what to say to one another. Dorje, Dylan, Tanya, and Cameron decided to watch
Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.
There were a dozen people sitting there, watching the fantasy saga set in a different world. Somehow, the mood of the film—the incredible drama and violence, and then the sense of redemption and hope—seemed to resonate with everyone present.

The epic movie had just finished and the credits were beginning to roll when the phone rang.

Barbara had been standing by the wall, next to our huge wooden carving of Krishna holding a five-headed serpent. She snatched the phone with her now-customary anticipation and dread.

It was Richard Harris calling from Zhangmu, his hoarse voice announcing, “It's true, Barbara, it's really true! It's Lincoln!”

So she put down the phone and jubilantly exclaimed, “It is him. He is alive!”

Then everyone was hugging and kissing.

After the excitement had peaked, the phone rang again. It was Greg with a more serious message, “Barbara, it is Lincoln, but he's only been given a fifty-percent chance of surviving. Simon has just been speaking to Mike, who had just talked to the Russian lady.”

“Luda . . .”

“Yes, Luda. It turns out that he's in a really bad way. But he's lasted this far, which is incredible. And he is with the doctor now.”

Greg's update instantly dampened the brief moments of celebration. However, now that everyone knew that I was alive, there was a strong conviction that I was going to make it.

PRAYERS BEGAN TO BE said that evening. There was no prayer meeting but many phone calls to Barbara. Some people, such as Greg and Slate Stern, had never quite accepted that I was dead. Barbara had never truly believed it either, as Robbie Clarke had perceptively remarked. However, Robbie and Roley had themselves set up a small shrine on their hall table. At their home in the coastal bushland of northern New South Wales, Iain and Trish were keeping a candle burning, and next to a Buddha statue and a small vase of flowers lay their signed copy of
White Limbo,
my first book, which I had given them twenty years ago. Most people had believed there was no way I could have survived overnight that high on Everest, so when the news came through that I was alive, for the time being at least, it definitely felt like a miracle.

People were phoning Alison Lockwood, saying, “We know you know Lincoln, and we're praying for him. We've lit a candle for him.”

A committed atheist herself, she summarized the mood with the comment, “Atheists are praying and cynics are lighting candles.”