Through the Chinese Mountaineering Association, a caravan of sixty yaks – each
able to carry seventy pounds – had been contracted to ferry gear up to Advance Base
Camp. With them the expedition would move two solid tons of rope, shelter, food,
oxygen and film equipment up to 21,700 feet in the span of two days. Without them,
the climbers would simply waste their strength humping loads. Worse, they would
waste their time. Using a laptop computer, Jorgens estimated it would take
sixty-three good-weather days for the climbers to pack the gear in and begin
climbing... and by then the monsoon would be looming and they would fail.
And so they waited. They sat and tinkered with gear. They read novels and snacked
on popcorn and grumbled. 'It's like being an animal in a zoo,' J.J. complained. 'Every
time I look up there, it's watching us.' It was true. All morning long the mountain
taunted them with its silence and light. At sunset it smothered them in shadows.
Whenever they turned around, Everest was there.
Ten miles shy of their grail, the climbers stewed. Li Deng quit showing the glum
Americans his dog-eared, rubber-stamped CMA contract with the yakherders. He
quit making promises or inventing excuses or cursing the 'minority nationals,' as he
called the Tibetans. He even quit playing chess games with the climbers, and that had
been his one pleasure.
April approached. Jorgens soured. Everything seemed to rankle him. From what
wags were calling their 'yak gap' to the manner in which they pitched their tents,
nothing pleased him. He had visualized setting camp in something like an iron cross,
with straight lines and right angles that would speak to their souls and declare that
here in this netherland, under the hand of man, lay order. But the only tent sites
available were on patches of soft tundra which projected above the rocky floor like
small islands. This archipelago of tundra patches rambled here and there, and as a
result Base Camp resembled less a cross than a mutilated starfish with arms cast out
in every direction.
Every morning Jorgens was freshly assaulted by the camp's chaos. Every morning
he scowled and cursed and his displeasure would orbit his head in a puff of frost. It got
so that every morning Robby or Carlos or J.J., each to needle or fawn or just find out,
would ask, 'What's wrong, Captain?' or 'Problem, Boss?', and Jorgens would glare at
them, then wheel around and walk off into the distance to take his morning relief, a
tiny figure squatting on the immense valley floor with his bare ass turned impudently
to the sun.
Along one of these starfish arms, on a yellowed tundra patch, Abe set up his big
'hospital' tent, a peach-coloured dome with an eight-foot ceiling. His site was remote
enough from the mess tent for him to suppose there wouldn't be any neighbors, which
suited him fine. But he got neighbors anyway, and that suited him fine, too, because
who he got were the women and Daniel.
Daniel and Gus set up their dome to one side. Farther out, in a direct line between
Abe's front door and the morning sun, Kelly pitched her own tent. Abe knew he was
lucky. But he didn't appreciate the other climbers' envy until one drowsy afternoon
when Thomas paid a visit.
He came into Abe's tent the way everyone did, without announcing himself or
asking. The hospital – and Abe's services, for that matter – were considered public
property, like the mess tent and Krishna's cooking. It wasn't unusual for people to
enter Abe's tent at strange hours in search of drugs or surgical tape or just some
company. For all his love of privacy, Abe was actually enjoying his lack of it. He'd
heard how some expedition doctors could be completely ignored for months at a time
by fanatical climbers who considered their diagnoses bad omens. So far, this bunch
was having no trouble assimilating their shaman, and Abe had found the impromptu
visits a chance to try to figure out what – if anything – made these Himalayan
climbers different from ordinary humanity.
Abe was lying on a ground pad flipping through his big
headache?' Even before Abe could answer, Thomas was on his knees in front of a box
that had been pawed through by others. Judging from the looks of it, the climbers
seemed to know Abe's medicine cabinet better than he did. Abe went back to his book.
'Talk about a room with a view,' Thomas said. He was looking out the door at Kelly's
tent. 'Your neighborhood's a lot cozier than mine.'
'Lady luck,' Abe joked.
'Lady luck,' Thomas muttered to himself. 'You know,' he said more loudly, 'you
better watch out for that one.' It was a warning, Abe could hear its tone, and it took
him off-guard. 'What's that?' he said.
Thomas rummaged idly through the supplies. 'I'm talking about her.'
'Kelly?'
'Call it the fruit of a bad harvest,' Thomas said. 'I'm just suggesting you want to
watch your headset with her around, Doc.' Thomas tapped his skull. 'She'll dial the
tune on you. Before you know it, you're on her program.'
Abe didn't know how to respond. He was still sorting out the group's braided
strands. Some of these people had climbed together before. All seemed to have heard
of one another. They shared a powerful, interwoven history, all except Abe, who was
new to it.
'You two were on the South Col, weren't you?' Abe seemed to recall that connection,
a failed attempt a year ago on the classic route up Everest's sunny side. 'You climbed
with Kelly?'
'Carried Kelly is more like it,' Thomas snapped. His reaction made Abe suddenly
cautious. There was something raw here, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be an
audience to it.
'She cost me my summit,' Thomas added darkly. He had lean-cut pilgrim jowls, good
for deep dimples when he was smiling, which was seldom.
He looked over at Abe. 'Don't get me wrong, Doc. I'm a consenting adult. I should
have known better. But she has a way, you know. Like a witch.'
Abe decided to make light of it and snorted. 'A witch?' The man was obviously
talking about love, or maybe just fornication. It didn't escape him that Kelly had
placed her tent far from Thomas's. Abe didn't even try to guess at the meanings.
'Yeah,' Thomas said. 'You'll see. A woman like that can wreck an expedition. She
needs a man. That's how she works it, on the backs and heads of men.'
'Well, it won't be me,' Abe said. 'I'm already carrying around a broken heart.' That
wasn't exactly true. It was just something to say. In spite of himself, Abe felt a touch
of championship toward his solitary blond neighbor. She was pleasant, a welcome
contrast any day to Thomas's sour moods.
'Tell me,' he asked. 'I thought you were a taken man.' They had all been treated to
Thomas's photos of the woman he was going to marry upon his return to the States.
'I am,' Thomas replied.
'So what's the beef?'
'We're not in the World anymore, Doc. We're on expedition now. And that's my
advice.'
