“There’s oxygen here, George.” He hadn’t meant to tell anyone that, certainly not George.
“What?” George peered at him. Even in the dim of the tent it was clear something had shifted, a switch had been thrown. The air between them sharpened.
“I brought it up.”
“Why? You weren’t supposed to. It wasn’t in the plan.”
Sandy could feel the flicker of irritation from George, all because he’d done something he hadn’t been told to do. He’d followed orders up to now, and look where it had got him – left behind, nannying the porters and watching one of them die. How could George be so bloody clueless?
“Dammit, I brought the oxygen up just in case. If it had been up here all along maybe Lapkha wouldn’t have died.” His voice was harsh and there was a sharp pain in his throat, but the anger felt good. To hell with it. It was over anyway. “All any of you ever talk about is how hard it is up here. How the altitude gets to us, is slowing us, killing us. So I brought the oxygen in case it would keep someone bloody well alive.”
He panted, short of breath after his outburst. There were small explosions of light in his head.
George didn’t respond.
“Forget it,” Sandy finally said, and moved for the flap of the tent. He didn’t know where he was going to go, but he didn’t want to sit there with George anymore.
“No, wait.” George’s hand was on his arm, insistent. “How much?”
“What?”
“How much did you bring?”
“Six bottles. Two rigs.”
“You’re a genius, Sandy. If Teddy and Somes don’t make it, if the weather holds, then you and I will get one more shot.” George clapped both his hands on his shoulders, leaned forward and kissed him, hard and fast. His chapped lips swelled and then they split as Sandy smiled.
“Sahib! Sahib!”
At the end of the following day there was shouting, and Sandy was out of his tent. George was beside him, a smile fixed to his face. This was it, thought Sandy. If they’d done it, it was all over. If not, then he’d finally get a crack at the summit. But they were back, and they were alive, and that was something. His own smile spread across his face in a ripple of pain.
George hurried on ahead while he grabbed a Thermos of tea and some cups. Were they celebrating? Disappointed? They were huddled close together: Norton, Somervell, and now Odell and George, hugging. They had to be congratulating each other. He raised his hand in greeting as he moved up the slope; there was no response.
Then he realized Norton wasn’t walking on his own. George and Odell weren’t hugging or celebrating, they were holding him up, with Somervell collapsed behind them. The three of them lurched into camp like a dying creature.
He hurried towards them. They didn’t look good. His heart throbbed. Norton and George stumbled past him, Norton’s eyes covered with a piece of cloth torn from his puttees. Snow-blindness. It could have been so much worse.
But the snowblindness might have happened on the way down. After the summit.
He went to Somervell, hauled him to his feet, took some of his weight on his shoulder. When Somervell met his glance, he shook his head. There was a smear of blood near his mouth. Failure was written all over him.
The possibility was physical, a rush of adrenaline in his stomach so that his limbs tingled, and he tasted blood. He stumbled and Somervell grunted in pain.
He and George would have their chance.
“HOW WAS IT, Somes?”
“Bloody awful.”
Somervell’s voice was a rough scratch, barely audible in the small tent. George handed him a cup of tea and leaned him back into his sleeping bag, propped up against a pack. When Somes was comfortable, George settled back next to Sandy. Sandy’s leg fidgeted against his. “Tell me,” he said.
“I thought we were doing well,” Somes croaked, so it hurt to listen to him. “Made it into the Yellow Band.” Somervell’s hands fluttered close to his throat, touching it under his muffler, stroking it like a pet.
So they had gone higher than he had with Odell. They had done better. If they left now, thought George, he wouldn’t even hold the height record. He’d have nothing.
“I stopped. Coughing. Teddy kept on.” Somervell sipped and winced. “Left there for hours. Only thing kept me awake. My cough. The bloody pain of it. Throat. Ribs. Everywhere.”
Somervell paused for a long time, closed his eyes, his breath evening out and then coming in a gulping gasp. George was going to leave when Somes opened his eyes again and held out his hand. Sandy handed him a lozenge.
“Martha was there. Offered me tea. She wanted me to walk with her. Wanted me to follow her, right off the mountain. Told her, thank you, love, but I’d wait right where I was.”
It was something Somes had said could happen at altitude. “Lack of oxygen makes you hallucinate,” he’d said on the California, at one of his lectures. “It’s your brain shutting down. When that happens, it’s time to descend. Fast.” As George understood it, this was entirely different from his half-remembered conversations with Ruth; Somes had really believed his wife was up there with him. That hadn’t happened to him. Not yet. George imagined those were the only real monsters up there. The ones they took with them.
“Then Teddy was there. Goggles gone. And a glove. He stumbled past me. We didn’t rope up. Should have.” Somervell’s breath was in long, ragged gasps. “The world closed in. Bloody snow. Swirled to a single white pinpoint. Couldn’t see Teddy. I stopped. Don’t know how long. Everything hurt. Ribs. Head. Lungs. My throat. Like someone stabbing me in the throat. Couldn’t breathe. I knew. I was going to die there.”
George couldn’t imagine the horror of that. Of dying alone. Of dying and having no one even know it had happened.
“Tried to breathe. Wished I had a knife to cut my own throat. Emergency. Tracheotomy. Then coughed and coughed. I was being ripped apart. I coughed it up. Blood on the snow. And something fleshy. The whole bloody lining of my throat.”
Somervell slipped a stained cloth from his pocket, unwrapped a lump of flesh like a skinned animal, and poked at it with his surgeon’s fingers. “It was frostbitten,” he said. “You can see. Here, here.”
There was bile at the back of his own throat; he wanted to spit.
“Felt better after.” Somes smiled a little, then folded the flesh back into his pocket.
George wanted to let Somes rest, but first he had to know what had happened. “And Teddy?”
“Couldn’t see this morning. Didn’t tell me. Tried to melt snow first. Almost set his sleeve on fire. Didn’t want me to know. Said he felt stupid.” Somes shook his head. “I roped him up, led him down. Slowly. And here we are.”
“And here we are,” he echoed.
“Teddy will need. Few days to rest. Then we’ll go home.”
“I’ll go talk to him.”
“Let him rest, George.”
“You should be resting too. I’ll just check on him, bring him some soup.”
“You go, George,” Sandy said. “I’ll stay with Somes.”
George knelt in front of Teddy and handed him the soup Sandy had made. A weak beef broth with chunks of some dried meat floating in it, flecks of something unnameable in an oily sheen. It made him want to retch, but Teddy couldn’t see it. A damp cloth was tied over his eyes and he moaned softly every so often, seeming to forget that he was not alone. George couldn’t bring himself to look directly at him, even though he knew Teddy couldn’t see him.
What if Teddy said no? Maybe he should. Maybe it was a terrible idea. Teddy might think enough had already been risked for the mountain, enough had been lost. After all, he and Somes had barely made it back to Camp IV alive.
Teddy slurped noisily at his soup before groping for a flat spot near his knee to set it down on. With his other hand he reached out towards George, his fingers landing on his cheek.
“George,” Teddy said, “how’s Somes?”
Teddy’s fingers moved ov
er his features, into his hair, along his jawline, before cupping the back of his head. Teddy would die up here without them now. Leaving him would be a death sentence. He’d starve without food, or could take a false step and tumble down the mountain.
Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking about the summit. Maybe he should stay put here with Teddy, for just a day or two, keep everyone safe. Then they’d go home.
“Fine. He’s fine. Worried about you.”
“Worried that I’m a bloody idiot.” Teddy dropped his hands. His breath heaved out of him in a cough. When he finished he said, “Home, I guess, eh, old man? Once I can see at any rate. She’s beat us fair and square.” There was a long silence. He didn’t know what to say. Teddy went on. “I think I’m done, George. With these mountains. Give me the Lake District and the Alps. That’ll be enough for me. You?” Teddy tilted his head as though he was looking at him.
“No.” He didn’t mean it to sound so abrupt.
“You’ll come back? A fourth time?”
“No, Teddy. I can’t come back here.” He laid it out carefully. “I want to make another push.”
“George, it’s over. We’ve thrown everything we have at her. We’ve tried.”
“We haven’t tried the oxygen.”
“It doesn’t matter. The oxygen isn’t in place.”
“Sandy brought up the oxygen. I want a chance with it.” His voice was speeding on ahead of him. “We can’t move down yet, Teddy. Not with your eyes. We’re stuck here for at least another day, maybe two, until you’re capable of negotiating the Col and the Icefall. We have to use the time we have left. We can’t just sit here while the summit is up there waiting to be claimed.” He could hear the pleading in his voice and tried to lighten his tone. “I’ll be back before you’re ready to descend.”
“Sandy brought the oxygen up? Who ordered him to do that?”
“No one. He was thinking ahead. Showed initiative. There’s enough for a final push.”
“George, it doesn’t matter. About the oxygen. It’s not a good idea. There isn’t time. The weather’s going to close in on us. The monsoon is on its way whether you like it or not.”
“We just need three days. That’s it. The monsoon isn’t a definitive indicator of how much time we have, you know that. The weather is holding. We have the time.”
“Sandy’s too young.” Teddy’s tone was measured. Careful. He leaned his head back and stared blindly. George had heard this tone before. Teddy was weighing the arguments, talking it out. He might be persuaded. “Too inexperienced, we already decided that. You and I.”
“But he’s fresh. Everyone else has already been beaten back.”
“Including you.”
“I can do this.” A beat. “I have to do this.”
“That won’t cut it, George. You want to risk your life? Sandy’s? I need more.”
“Because I can do it.” The words came quickly. “You know that and I know that. Let me do it and we’ll all go home heroes. All of us.”
“Pass me some water?” He handed Teddy his canteen. Listened to him swallow it down. “And you think Sandy can do it?”
“I think Sandy doesn’t know that he can’t. He hasn’t been beaten yet.”
“He’ll follow you anywhere, George. He’ll push himself to keep up with you. To not let you down.” Teddy was waiting for him to say something, but he remained silent, determined to wait him out. “You’ll be responsible for him. He won’t turn back. You’ll have to do it.”
“I know. I will.”
“I’m asking you not to go, George. Just wait it out and we’ll all go home. I’m asking you.”
“But you’re not ordering me.”
“No.”
“If you’re ordering me, I won’t go.” Neither of them wanted to concede. “But if there’s the slightest chance, Teddy, I’m taking it.”
Teddy nodded in the dim tent and removed the cloth from his eyes. He squinted at him and then winced. Teddy’s sharp intake of breath pained him.
“George, don’t do this.”
He took the bandage from Teddy and replaced it gently. “I have to.”
There was a lull between them. George kept still, not wanting to hurry Teddy. He was considering it. He had to be considering it.
“You and Sandy then,” Teddy eventually said. “One more chance. Take Odell to Five. Someone to carry the gas partway up for you. Then you and Sandy use the oxygen to continue on to Six.” Teddy shook his head again. “Three days, George, and then we go. We are all on our way back to Base Camp. No more delays. Three days.”
Three days. Ascension Day.
DINNER
7 O’CLOCK
There is something interminable about the moments before a dinner party is meant to begin. That is when you worry about what more you should have done, when you wonder whether the lamb will be properly cooked. And the clock on the mantel ticks, ticks, ticks. There is one cardboard box left in the corner, opposite the door.
“Vi?”
Her head pokes around the door. Her hair is neater than it was this morning, there is a blush along her cheeks. I think about telling her she looks lovely, but point instead at the box. “Can we do something about that?”
We. Of course I mean her.
“It’s too heavy.”
I walk to it, bend, the dark silk of my dress stretching over my knees, and put my arms around the box. It is heavy. Standing, I gaze at the ugly box full of goodness knows what – books or climbing gear, or the ephemera of our life. “Is there a cloth? Can we cover it?”
There is the bob of her head and she leaves. And I pace the floor again. The light outside is the golden green of early summer evenings. The days are still growing longer. Before Vi returns, the doorbell sounds. I move towards it before I remember it might not be Will or Marby. It might be Arthur Hinks. And if it is Hinks I want to do things formally, properly.
When Vi finally returns I grab the cloth from her – “The door?” – and turn to cover the box. Now it’s a box covered with a white tablecloth, and it glows against the dark wainscoting.
“I’m here.” It’s Will, of course, just as the clock strikes. He hands his hat to Vi and bows elaborately to me. He’s wearing a sharp linen suit, the creases pressed to crisp lines. I feel hot and cold thinking about this afternoon, my hands pounding on his door, imagining him kissing me, and hope he cannot see it on my face. Glancing around, he says, “I assume I’ve beaten the rest of them.”
“Yes. Still waiting.” I gesture to the sofa but he walks to the drinks cart, plucks ice from the bucket, pours gin. No asking, he just moves around the room and then hands me my glass. We’ve long since stopped having to play host to Will. Uncle Will.
“You look beautiful.” And I flush again, gulp at my drink.
“So do you. Well, handsome, I mean.” And he does.
But not like George. When George is in the room everyone watches him. “You’re far too pretty for a man,” I teased George when we were on our way to some party or other, and he stood behind me in the hall mirror, his cheek pressed to mine.
“No one even notices me,” he said, “if you’re there.”
Which wasn’t true, but it didn’t matter. His glamour was cast on me too, making me alluring.
“I’m sorry, Will,” and he turns to me from where he has moved to the mantel, contemplating the photographs set out across it. “For this afternoon.”
“Nonsense. That’s why I’m here.”
“It’s just … some days it all feels too much. As though we’re ghosts and we’re waiting for life to begin.”
“Not much longer.”
“No. Not much.”
Even though it’s still light outside, the room is close and gloomy. I turn on a table lamp to hold off the dark and the air feels warmer already.
“When I come home everything will be different,” George told me. He’d already decided he was going. I was trying to steel my resolve, trying to be supportive, quiet. That’s what
Marby recommended, what I tried to keep in mind: Pretend! Act as if you’re happy and calm and proud and eventually you will be. What you have to do is hard, but it is what you must do. So smile and be kind and loving. Be a wife. And I was trying. How I was trying.
So I smiled, nodded, and said, “I know.”
George, encouraged by the smile, went on. “Then we’ll have our own adventure. Anywhere you want to go. Pitcairn? As you said.”
“That was so long ago. No. Let’s just stay here. You and me and Clare and Berry and John. We’ll get a cat. A pony for the girls.”
“And we’ll plant a garden. Roses for you, vegetables for me, and we’ll get old tending them. I’ll build you the fishpond you always wanted. Just there.” He pointed to a spot low in the back garden, shaded, quiet.
“Promise?” I tried to keep my smile in place. I tried to believe him.
“Of course! We’ll fill it with water from the river and we’ll buy strange, exotic fish from all around the world.”
“No. Only fish that belong here. No one should be far from home anymore.”
What I wouldn’t give for a mundane conversation like that, the bickering over what to have for dinner or the cost of buying a new suit. The planning for the future, for trips and adventures. For home.
“Do you remember, Will, that climbing trip in Wales? You must remember. It was the only time I went with the two of you. Not that I blame George for not inviting me again after what happened. And, of course, by then there were the children. They made it hard to get away in quite the same way.”
His face softens with remembering – “George was so excited you were coming. ‘Finally,’ he said, ‘we’ll all of us climb together.’ ”
“He said almost the same thing to me. Isn’t that like him? Trying to make us all get along. All of us love one another. We were supposed to go climbing for our honeymoon. He was going to teach me. But then the war began. And then after that there was always something else. He’d be off to the Alps, or it was only the old crew going. Never the right time for me. Then finally the three of us were going to Wales. He promised it wouldn’t be too challenging. Not the first time, he said. I’d be tied between the two of you and I’d be safe. It started off so perfect. The weather, the day. You two must have been bored stiff.”
Above All Things Page 25
