by John Shors
Ian started to say no but changed his mind, trying not to gaze at the boy’s thinness, which made it appear as if nothing resided within his tattered shirt. “That’s right, mate. We’re looking for . . . for Thamel Street. We want to have a gander at the Rum Doodle.”
“The Rum Doodle?” the boy asked, grinning.
“Might you show us how to get there?”
“Me?”
“All of you. You three.”
The boy spoke in Nepali to the girls, who smiled and climbed down the trash pile. Ian was glad that they could still smile. He’d seen children who couldn’t. Still holding Mattie’s hand, he followed the children back to Thamel Street. They took a left, walking alongside battered cars stuck in traffic. The boy drifted back, closer to Ian and Mattie. “Your first time to Kathmandu?” he asked, pointing out a pile of cow dung that they should avoid.
“Not for me,” Ian answered. “But for my daughter, Mattie.”
Mattie glanced at the boy, smiled, but said nothing.
“Be careful of brown piles on the street,” the boy said. “Stepping on one will destroy your day.” Pretending to beep like a car, he passed a broken motorcycle and its passenger. “You need guide for mountains? I could take you. I could carry your pack.”
“Oh, no worries. If you can just get us to the Rum Doodle, we’ll be happy.”
“You be happier after the Rum Doodle.”
Ian followed the children, wondering if he should be taking Mattie to a pub, even if it was famous. “Will you do me a favor, mate?” Ian asked the boy. “Will you tell my daughter here about the Rum Doodle?”
“I never go inside before. I try once, but . . . but that was not so smart.”
“That doesn’t matter. I reckon you know all about it, and we might as well chew the fat a bit.”
The boy picked at a bug bite on his arm. “People tell me Sir Hillary sign his name there. On the wall. So do Uemura, Tabei, Rob Hall. Many of the people who climb Everest. They have wall for them to sign. Even Jimmy Carter go there. But his name not on Everest wall. Jimmy Carter fly over Everest in his golden plane, but he not climb up it.”
Ian looked at Mattie. “Tabei was the first woman who climbed Everest. She wasn’t even five feet tall, but she climbed that bloody beast.” He shook his head, remembering the story, which their guide had told as Kate and he had approached the world’s highest pass. “She was Japanese,” he added.
“Was she from Tokyo?” Mattie asked.
“No, luv. A small town to the north. When she was a little girl, people said she was weak. Quite weak, really. And so she began to climb mountains.”
“And they still thought she was weak?”
“I reckon they changed their tune after she topped Everest.”
She smiled and he squeezed her hand.
Their guides turned a corner, eased their way past a group of backpackers, and pointed to a nondescript door. “The Rum Doodle,” the boy said. “You have good day, and no get lost on mountain. Then they have to rescue you, and everyone know, and you never get to go into the Rum Doodle again.”
“Wait,” Ian replied, reaching for his wallet, pulling out some Nepalese bills. He gave two thousand rupees, roughly twenty-five dollars, to each child. Their eyes widened at such wealth. “You’re top-notch guides,” Ian added. “And we’d like to thank you for showing us the way.”
The boy glanced around, closing his fist quickly, hiding the money. “Thank you, mister,” he said, shaking his head, not fully understanding how such luck had befallen him. “My friends thank you too.”
“Good-bye, then,” Ian said.
“Good-bye, mister. Thank you. So much. I will pray, every day, that you and your daughter have the long and happy life.”
Ian watched the children hurry away, chatting excitedly. “That was a great idea, Roo,” he said, playfully tugging one of her braids. “A real stroke of genius.”
“We helped them, didn’t we, Daddy?”
“Aye, my first mate. I’m dead cert of that.”
“I’m glad.”
“Me too.”
He leaned down and lifted her up, hugging her tight. “Are you ready to go into that waterhole? Into a real pub? Do you want to see where Sir Edmund Hillary and Tabei wrote their names?”
“Can I get a Sprite? I’m thirsty.”
“Sure, luv.” He kissed her cheek. “We’ll get two Sprites. But before we do that, might I ask you one more little question?”
“What?”
“Are you glad that you’re here? In Nepal?”
Mattie glanced around. “I want to see the mountains. Where you and Mommy went. I want to draw something and leave it for her in another tree.”
“You do?”
“In a tall tree. On a tall mountain.”
He kissed her other cheek, loving her more than himself, wanting to show her the mountains but afraid of what the mountains might do to her. “Just don’t get sick, luv. Or hurt. You stay hopping like the little roo you are, and we’ll find a tall tree on a tall mountain.”
THE BUS RIDE OUT OF KATHMANDU WAS exactly as Ian had feared, and without question it placed Mattie in danger. The interior of the bus was crammed with eighty or ninety people. Only the elderly were allowed to sit. Everyone else stood, shoulder to shoulder, swaying with the movement of the vehicle. People were so close to one another that they might as well have been the colored pencils bundled together in Mattie’s art kit. Ian had taken one look at the compact mass of humanity and decided that Mattie wouldn’t fare well. She’d only rise to the bellies of the passengers, most of whom were men. And he hadn’t wanted to make her endure such an experience for the hour it would take to drive to Kakani, the starting point of their four-day trek.
With some reservation, Ian had decided to sit atop the bus, along with about thirty other travelers. A two-foot-high metal railing had been welded to the roof, providing passengers with a pretense of safety. Thinking that the railing was about as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike, Ian had been the first to climb up and had positioned his backpack at the front of the roof, directly over the driver. He’d strapped his pack to the railing and had let Mattie sit with her belly against it, almost as if she were hugging it. His pack contained all of their possessions and was about three feet long and two feet wide. Most of it was filled with clothes. If they were in a wreck, he figured, the backpack would protect her, acting like an air bag. He’d taken her much smaller backpack, as well as his day pack, strapped them to the railing, and sat behind them.
Many of the rooftop passengers had copied Ian’s tactics, and soon the railing was padded with an assortment of packs, suitcases, bundles of wool, and rolls of carpets. Most people sat in the middle of the roof, spreading out on blankets. The Nepalese drank tea as the bus idled, filling the air with the scent of diesel fuel. The foreigners took pictures and tried to get comfortable. Three Western women sat near Ian and Mattie, applying sunscreen to one another as the bus finally got going.
Though Ian had continued to fret about the safety of the drive, Mattie’s face brightened as they left Kathmandu. She’d never ridden on top of any vehicle, and the sensation of the bus moving beneath her was liberating. From fifteen feet up, the streets of Kathmandu had taken on a new perspective. She told her father that she felt like an adventurer, and feeling invulnerable as only a child might, she smiled as the bus dipped and rose amid the city’s hills.
It had taken about twenty minutes to leave Kathmandu behind them. Now, as they started to climb into a low range of mountains, Mattie repositioned herself against the pack, holding on to its straps as her father had asked. The road began to wind its way up, following the contours of a river far below. The nearby vegetation was thick and unruly, dominating hillsides. Occasionally, parts of the forest had been cleared and were peppered with roadside stalls. Scooters and motorcycles tended to congregate at these stalls as people sipped on sodas or shared cigarettes.
The traffic on the road was an odd collection of smok
e-belching vehicles. Ancient buses tried to pass one another on the descents, casting cars, tractors, and scooters aside. The buses were inevitably filled far beyond capacity and carried passengers on their rooftops. Some were occupied mainly by tourists. Others ferried Nepalese to and from Kathmandu. At one point, Mattie looked far below, toward the bottom of the valley, and saw the carcass of a bus that had careened down a cliff. Suddenly aware of how close their bus came to the edge of the road, she grabbed her father’s hand.
Though the scenery continued to mesmerize Mattie, she was equally intrigued by the three young Western women who sat near her. They seemed at ease on top of the bus, moving in rhythm with it, the way they might ride a horse. The women wore shorts and tank tops, as well as a variety of rings and necklaces. Two had blond hair that they’d pulled back into ponytails. The other’s dreadlocks bounced whenever the bus hit a pothole.
Pretending to study the landscape, Mattie watched the women. She was impressed that they didn’t seem scared or uncomfortable. They were covered in mosquito bites, yet they hardly scratched them. Wearing oversized sunglasses, they laughed, studied a map, and spoke about their time in Nepal. Mattie listened intently, trying to follow their conversation despite the frequent honks of the bus or passing cars.
Mattie wondered if any of them had seen their father or mother die. They seemed so happy and confident. So strong. Though she tried not to be, she was envious of their smiles and laughter. If the nearby cliffs made them nervous, they didn’t show it. If someone they loved had died, they had somehow managed to not feel older than they were. The women were everything Mattie wanted to be.
Finally, as the bus swooped down a mountain, the woman in dreadlocks saw Mattie looking at her. “Hi, there,” she said. “Like it up here?”
Mattie glanced at her father, thinking that he might respond. But he only smiled, and so she answered, “I feel like a bird.”
“A bird? How so?”
“Well, we’re flying through these mountains.”
The woman smiled, her white teeth contrasting with her black skin. “I’m Leslie. And you?”
“Mattie.”
“Where are you from, Mattie?”
“New York City.”
“Really? You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”
Mattie nodded. “Can I . . . can I ask you a question?”
“Ask away.”
“Does it hurt to have your hair like that?”
Leslie vigorously shook her head, as if she were a dog stepping from a lake. “See that? Doesn’t hurt at all. It would only hurt if I tried to comb it.”
“And your mother, she doesn’t mind?”
“You know, she actually likes it,” Leslie replied, scooting closer to Mattie.
“I like it too.”
The bus rounded a corner, and Leslie reached forward to grab the bottom of Ian’s day pack. “Sorry about that,” she said.
“No worries,” he answered, smiling. “Thanks for keeping my daughter company. I think she’s a bit knackered of listening to me yammer away.”
The stranger extended her hand. “I’m Leslie.”
“Ian. A real pleasure.”
Leslie looked at Mattie. “What brings you to Nepal?”
“I want to . . . to draw something for my mother. And climb a tall mountain.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. I’ve been here fourteen months, and I’ve seen so many tall mountains that I don’t know what I’ll do without them.”
Mattie nodded, not wanting Leslie to turn away. “Do you go to school here?”
“School? No, I’m with the Peace Corps. And so are my friends. I’m stationed in a city called Pokhara. Tiffany works in the mountains, in a village. And Blake, she’s in Kathmandu.”
“And you all . . . what do you do here?”
“We’re here to help the Nepalese. I teach English. Tiffany helps villagers understand sustainable farming. Blake runs an AIDS-awareness campaign. We all started out together in Kathmandu, in our orientation program, and we’ve been friends ever since.”
“And you like living in Nepal?”
“I like it, and love it, and hate it. Totally depends when you ask. Back in Pokhara, I might as well live in a zoo. My apartment is full of bugs and geckos. Hundreds of them. And I miss my family. And, you know, the Nepalese can be frustrating. Really frustrating. But still, coming here was the best decision of my life. Makes up for a lot of bad ones.”
Mattie looked at Leslie’s necklaces, which swung to and fro as the bus continued to snake up the mountains. To Mattie’s surprise, a Nepalese woman sitting behind Leslie began to nurse her crying baby, holding the swaddled child against a swollen breast. Mattie lowered her gaze. “You miss your family . . . and you still like it here? Why?”
“Just a second,” Leslie replied, turning to her friends. She spoke to them and then twisted back to Mattie. “When you’re in the mountains, you’ll see why. Are you doing the Shivapuri trek?”
“I don’t know. Are we, Daddy?”
Ian, who had been listening to every word of the conversation, leaned forward. “That’s right, luv.”
Leslie nodded. “Want to trek with us? Sometimes it’s better to travel in a group, you know. In case something happens. It’s a lot safer.”
“What do you think, Roo?” Ian asked, gripping her arm as a turn approached. “You fancy doing a walkabout with these ladies?”
Mattie glanced up at her father, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “If it’s all right with you, I think it would be nice.”
“Then I reckon we’ve found our traveling companions.”
Leslie motioned for her friends to introduce themselves. Tiffany was slight, with an almost boyish body. Big-boned and tall, Blake held a guitar case on her lap. The women swayed to the contours of the road like palm trees in a strong wind.
The bus reached a summit. In the distance, much larger, snow-capped Himalayas rose to touch the sky. Mattie glimpsed the mountains, in awe of their proportions. Even as she smiled and said hello to Tiffany and Blake, her eyes wandered back to the peaks, and she wondered if her mother might be up there, atop one of them. Did her mother know that she was making new friends? That she would soon climb high so that they might sense each other?
Mattie hoped her mother knew the answer to such questions. She wanted her mother to see her, especially now, when she was trying to be brave, when so many parts of her were scared, when, despite the presence of her father and the three friendly women, she felt so alone.
IAN LAY IN THE DARKNESS, EYEING THE small room they had rented. The day’s first light crept into this space, illuminating stone walls that had been painted white. A faded poster of orange-robed monks studying a bronze Buddha was taped to the far wall. A frayed ornamental rug covered the cement floor. The room was otherwise unadorned.
Turning to his right, he faced the same direction as Mattie, who was about a foot away. He’d zipped together two sleeping bags that they had bought in Kathmandu, creating an oversized bag that they could share. For months Ian had wondered if they should still be sleeping in the same bed. He was sure that most people would say she was too old to share a bed with her father. But most people hadn’t seen their little girl lose her mother, and if sleeping with him kept Mattie from crying at night, from being scared, well, then he would gladly sleep with her. And, if truth be told, he enjoyed their nights together. He often read to her in bed, or made up a story. And when she rested her head on his chest and fell asleep, his sorrows were momentarily pushed away.
Mattie mumbled, still half asleep, instinctively reaching for him. “Sssh,” he whispered, easing closer to her, putting his arm over her shoulder. He thought she would go back to her dreams, but instead she turned to him, opening her eyes. For a few heartbeats she looked around the room, clearly confused. “No worries, luv,” he said, stroking her brow with his thumb. “We’re in Nepal, remember?”
She nodded, looking so young, far too innocent to have seen so much
. He kissed a freckle on her nose. “Daddy,” she said, “your breath stinks.”
“Oh, sorry about that. Shall we get up and have a go at our teeth? Mine need a bath.”
“One of mine’s a teeny bit loose.”
“Really? Reckon the tooth fairy could find you up here?”
Mattie scratched at her scalp. “She couldn’t find me up here because she isn’t real. I’ve known that for two years.”
“For two years? No, not that long. A year, tops.”
“For that long, Daddy. For at least that long.”
He stretched his legs, enjoying the cool fabric of the sleeping bags. “Well, anyway, I disagree. About her being real, that is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your mum and I always slipped you a dollar, putting it under your pillow and taking your tooth. Just because we didn’t have wings doesn’t mean that we weren’t fairies. A few times your mum even sprinkled a bit of glitter on the floor, leaving her magical dust. So if she wasn’t the tooth fairy, I reckon I don’t know who could be.”
Mattie smiled. “Do you think Leslie is awake? Let’s go have breakfast with her.”
“You fancy that lass, don’t you?”
“She’s nice. And I like her hair.”
He twisted Mattie’s locks around his finger. “You want hair like that?”
“Would you let me?”
Sitting up, he pulled the sleeping bag down from his chest. “Well, dreadlocks aren’t exactly my bowl of rice, but I want you to be whoever you want to be. Whoever makes you happy. You know, my mum and dad weren’t too keen on me leaving Australia. And we fought about that. Fought like three cats in a sack. They’re still quite vexed about it, actually. So I’m not going to tell you how to walk in your own shoes.”
“But you don’t like her hair?”
Ian smiled. “I think she’s a beaut of a person, Roo. And because of that, yeah, I fancy her hair.” He reached for his toothbrush. “Now, how about cleaning up, and getting a bit of chow so that we can start looking for our mountain?”
