by John Shors
THE PEAKS THAT IAN HAD BEEN THINKING about loomed large above them. He’d climbed the Himalayas once, following Kate as she summited the highest pass in the world. That day remained vivid in his mind. He remembered singing marching songs to kill time as they rose higher and higher, into air that didn’t seem to fill their lungs. A time came when they weren’t able to sing, or even talk. And so he stepped where she stepped, their shadows merging when their voices could not. The world fell away beneath them as they climbed into the sky.
The trek with Mattie was far different from his last journey through the Himalayas. Now he followed her footsteps, and Kate was gone. And these mountains bore little resemblance to the barren peaks that had encircled the pass. The world he saw now was lush, as if grown in an infinite greenhouse. Deciduous trees of every shape and size bordered the trail, which skirted the contours of a large valley. Flowering azaleas grew in clumps around boulders and next to streams. The flowers were red and violet, and Ian knew that Mattie would have paused to sketch them had she not been beside Leslie and Blake. Tiffany walked alone, behind Ian, at the end of the column. The women all carried large backpacks and used worn walking sticks that Ian was sure had accompanied them on other treks. Tiffany and Blake wore bandannas over their hair. Blake had tied her guitar case to the back of her pack. Mattie was dressed in a khaki-colored hiking outfit that Ian had purchased in Kathmandu. He wore shorts, a T-shirt, and an olive-colored nylon and mesh traveling hat.
Mattie had been talking with Leslie and Blake for almost an hour and had been able to keep up with them surprisingly well. Ian wasn’t used to staying silent around her but was glad to do so. Since Kate had died, he’d often worried that Mattie didn’t spend sufficient time with women. He knew enough about fatherhood to understand that, try as he might, there were some things he couldn’t teach her. And the closer she got to being a teenager, the more he worried about failing to provide her with a balanced childhood. The fact that she seemed so eager to talk with Leslie confirmed his suspicions.
Though Tiffany walked right behind him, and sometimes next to him, Ian hadn’t spoken much with her. She seemed forlorn, unlike the previous day when she was first reacquainted with her friends. Ian was certain that something troubled her, but he didn’t want to ask. And so he simply kept near her, sometimes glancing at her face, which was soft and unlined. Her sun-bleached hair was barely visible beneath the bandanna.
When Mattie started to laugh alongside Leslie and Blake, Ian felt awkward walking in silence beside Tiffany, who seemed smaller than her pack. As she came to an immense log that had fallen on the trail, he extended his hand, which she took until crossing the barrier. “It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” he asked, breathing in the scent of the mountain flowers.
She nodded, her walking stick in constant, practiced motion. “Usually.”
“Leslie said that you live in the mountains. Is that right?”
“For more than a year.”
“How’s that going?”
She waved to a boy in the distance, who sat on the roof of a stone home. “It’s going okay. The Nepalese are good people. And they live in a beautiful place. But life’s hard here. Really hard. It’s still winter in my village. The pile of firewood on top of my roof, which was six feet deep, is almost gone.”
“Crikey.”
“What?”
“Oh, sorry. ‘Wow’ is what you would say.”
The trace of a smile alighted on Tiffany’s lips. “This beautiful place makes for a hard life. That’s what a local once told me, when I first got here. And he was right. And a hard life leads to some terrible things.”
“Like what?”
“You don’t want to hear about it. Trust me. Better to look around and enjoy the day.”
“I can do both. Three things would be a real stretch for me, I reckon. But I can manage two.”
Tiffany glanced up at him and adjusted her bandanna. “A couple of months ago, a woman in my village, who I was friends with, got married. And then her family didn’t pay her dowry. And so her husband . . . he killed her. With oil and fire. And I . . . I was by her side when she died. And that was as ugly as these mountains are beautiful.”
Ian looked again at her face, thinking that, like Mattie, she was too young to carry such a burden. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s bloody awful.”
“It was. It is.”
“Did you think about going home?”
“More than half of our original group already has. A lot of people can’t take . . . certain things. Just a few weeks ago, a girl from Atlanta was found naked and screaming in a tree. Her parents came and took her home.”
“But you’re staying?”
“Yeah. I’m staying. This is something . . . something hard but good. And I won’t leave until my tour is up.”
She dropped her walking stick and he picked it up, which wasn’t easy with the weight of his pack. “What you’re doing,” he said, “what all of you are doing is lovely. When I was your age, I was teaching English in Japan. For piles of loot.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“No, but I wasn’t out saving the world.”
“Neither am I. Not by a long shot.”
A herd of yaks approached—buffalo-like creatures that Ian remembered seeing at much higher elevations. The yaks were kept in order by three boys in dirty clothes who carried bamboo poles. The biggest yak had a shaggy brown coat, immense curved horns, and a rusty bell the size of a grapefruit that hung from its neck. The bell rang to the rhythm of the animal’s footsteps.
Ian nodded to the boys. “Namaste,” he said, pressing his hands together and bowing slightly.
The boys grinned and returned the greeting. After they’d left, Tiffany turned to Ian. “You did that just right. How did you know how? I thought you just landed in Kathmandu.”
“I’ve been here before. My wife and I did the Annapurna trek, fifteen years ago.”
“Really?”
“My knees were a lot younger then. I doubt I could do that walkabout today. Reckon I’d have to hire a porter to carry me up.”
“And your wife? Is she in New York?”
Ian looked to the sky, to Mattie. “She passed on. A storm blew in and wouldn’t leave her be.”
Tiffany put her hand on his elbow, squeezing it. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”
He kept walking, staring at the distant mountains, wondering if Kate could see them. “Might I ask you something?” he wondered.
“Sure.”
Stepping closer to her, he whispered, “Do you think my little girl seems happy? I try—I try bloody hard—to make her happy, to give her hope. But I’m not always good at it.”
“Is that why you came here? To make her happy?”
“Her mother wanted her to come. Us to come. But I’m not so sure. It’s a lot to ask of a ten-year-old.”
“Well, look at her now. She seems happy.”
Ian watched Mattie as she spoke with Leslie and Blake. “I think . . . with her mother gone . . . she wants to grow up too fast. And I don’t want to see that happen.”
Tiffany nodded, a bead of sweat running down her cheek. “I grew up faster when I saw my friend. Saw what the fire did to her. So I know what you mean. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t seen it. Sometimes I think that if she had to die, I’m glad I could be with her.”
“So what should I do?”
“Let’s catch up to them. How about a game? Something fun to pass the time?”
“A game. That’s always a good ticket, I reckon. Many thanks, Tiffany. It’s been a real pleasure.”
“For me too.”
Ian increased his speed, trying to remember one of the many diversions that he and Kate had used while climbing all day. He greeted Leslie and Blake, and took Mattie’s hand, determined to make her giggle like a little girl. “Do you mind if I teach you a game?” he asked the older women. “It’s something you Yanks invented, but I fancy it just the same.”<
br />
“What is it?” Leslie said, looking for a walking stick for Mattie, as she had promised.
“A marching song. A trick to pass the time. Any dimwit can do it, which is perfect for me. All you have to do is repeat whatever I say.”
Mattie looked up at him. “Please don’t embarrass me, Daddy.”
“Embarrass you? Like you did to me in Tokyo with those students?”
“Daddy!”
“No worries, Roo. I’ll spare you. Now, ladies, shall we have a go at it?”
Leslie smiled. “Let’s have a go at it.”
Ian moved to the head of their column. “Remember, repeat after me. All together. And lift those knees high and swing those sticks. We’re a bunch of soldiers, all right?”
“Yes, sir,” Blake said, slowing down so that Mattie could follow her father.
Ian took a deep, melodramatic breath. “I don’t know, but I’ve been told!” he shouted, trying to sound and move like a drill sergeant.
“I don’t know, but I’ve been told!”
“That my jokes are getting old!”
“That my jokes are getting old!”
“My little Mattie, she tells me these things!”
“My little Mattie, she tells me these things!”
“She pulls me along with rubber strings!”
“She pulls me along with rubber strings!”
“Did you hear she likes Leslie’s hair?”
“Did you hear she likes Leslie’s hair?”
“One day they may have to share!”
“One day they may have to share!”
“Now someone take over this song!”
“Now someone take over this song!”
“My tired lungs are none too strong!”
“My tired lungs are none too strong!”
Still longing to hear Mattie laugh, Ian pretended that no strength remained in him. Gasping for air, he stumbled, spun around, grabbed at her, and collapsed to the trail. Mattie giggled, falling on top of him, instantly reminding him why he continued onward, when so much of him longed to close his eyes and rest forever. He hugged her tight, tickling her sides—her laughter an answer to his prayers, a constellation in the dark of his mind. Soon he laughed with her, rolling in the dirt, his pains forgotten. His little girl was begging him to stop, laughing so hard that she could barely speak, and few sounds had ever filled him with such joy.
THE DINING AREA OF THEIR HOTEL LOOKED to have been built more than a century earlier. The walls and floor were composed of crudely cut stones that had been cemented together. The once white but now smoke-stained ceiling was supported by thick beams that ran from one end of the room to the other. In the far corner, an immense stone hearth sheltered a fire that filled the room with warmth and light. A battered wooden table occupied the center of the area, holding candles, as well as Ian and Mattie’s dinners. The two travelers were the only guests of the restaurant. Leslie, Blake, and Tiffany had opted for another hotel across the street, as a room there cost two dollars a night instead of the four that Ian had paid.
Mattie eyed the food in front of her, unsure what to think of it. She’d ordered dal bhat, one of the most popular dishes in Nepal. The meal consisted of steamed rice and a spicy soup fashioned from lentils, onions, chilies, tomatoes, ginger, coriander, and turmeric. She’d debated asking for pizza, which was on the menu, but her father had promised that the local food would be better than anything Western. The pizza, he was sure, would be little more than spaghetti sauce and yak cheese poured over flatbread.
“How far are we going tomorrow?” she asked, eating a spoonful of the soup, wishing that she’d ordered the pizza.
Ian sipped from a scratched bottle of mineral water. “A bit farther than we hiked today, I reckon. We’ll head higher too.”
“How much higher?”
“Oh, it should only be a few hops for you, Roo. A thousand feet up, so the guidebook says.”
Mattie had managed to finish about half of her dal bhat when the hotel’s proprietor—a woman who looked a decade older than she was—carried two pots to the table and scooped more rice and soup into their bowls. “You big girl,” the woman said, her English as rough as the walls of her restaurant. “Must eat more to walk higher.”
“Thank you.”
The woman, who was dressed in brightly colored robes and wore her hair in a bun, smiled. “I have girl like you. Three girl. But now they old. Now they have babies. So many babies.”
“How many?”
Their proprietor’s smile revealed several missing teeth. “Fifteen,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Before, I help daughters. But one day, my husband go into mountains to get wood. Big avalanche that day. Husband no come home. So I work alone in his hotel.”
Mattie nodded, unsure what to say. “Your soup is good. Thank you.”
“In Nepal, we eat dal bhat. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“Really? That much?”
“Dal bhat make you strong.”
“I’m . . . feeling strong.”
The woman smiled again, patting Mattie’s shoulder. “You have more. Then you sleep nice tonight.”
Ian and Mattie finished eating, paid their bill, and returned to their room. The hotel was a rectangular building with the restaurant on one side and six rooms on the other. The stone-walled hallway was clean, its wooden floors polished smooth by the passing of countless feet. Ian walked past the communal bathroom to the last door on the left and inserted a key into the padlock below the doorknob. Their room was small and nondescript. They’d zipped their sleeping bags together once again, and the purple bags dominated the bed.
“Shall we read a bit, luv?” Ian asked, removing two flashlights from his pack.
“Sure.”
“You change first. I’ll go outside.”
“Okay.”
Ian stepped out into the hallway, the scent of smoke still reaching him. He wondered how the woman got her firewood, now that her husband was gone. Did she have to gather it herself? She probably couldn’t afford to buy it. Perhaps one of her sons-in-law helped her with the wood. He hoped so.
After Ian reentered the room, Mattie eased into the sleeping bag and closed her eyes while he changed into his pajamas. He then used bottled water to brush his teeth, spitting carefully into a tissue that he then dropped in a rusted bucket serving as a trash can. Picking up an old copy of Newsweek that he’d purchased in Kathmandu, he lay beside Mattie and turned on his flashlight. She already had hers out and was reading the fifth book in the Harry Potter series, a heavy work to haul up the side of a mountain.
“Is our brave lad getting into his usual mischief these days?” Ian asked.
“He had a really boring summer, and now he’s back at Hogwarts, which should be good, but he’s fighting with his friends.”
“Fighting with his mates? Why?”
“No one else believes that Voldemort is back.”
“But Harry does?”
“Of course.”
Ian smiled, pleased that Mattie was so engrossed in the series, which sometimes they read together. “It’s not getting too scary, is it?”
“Well,” she said, partially shutting the book, “maybe you can tell me a story later. A happy story.”
“No worries, luv. You let me know when.”
Ian leafed through his magazine, scanning letters to the editor, political cartoons, and an article about rising sea levels. Occasionally he glanced through the room’s sole window, watching darkness creep into the world. Now that Kate was gone, darkness affected him differently. He thought about her more often at night, for once Mattie had been born, night had brought them together in ways that the day could not. If he wasn’t working late at the office, after putting Mattie to bed they had often sipped wine and recounted the highs and lows of the day. Sometimes he needed to catch up on e-mails, and she paid bills by his side. But even in silence, they’d been together, keenly aware of each other’s presence, grateful for the solace that this presence pro
vided.
Mattie set her book aside. “Daddy, will you tell me that story? I’m tired.”
“Aye, aye, First Mate,” he replied, shutting off his flashlight. She did the same a few seconds later and the room further darkened. “Feels as if I have my eyes closed,” he said. “Maybe this is what it’s like to be a bat.”
“But you can’t fly. And you don’t have radar.”
“No, luv. Not yet. But I’m working on it.”
“Why don’t they have electricity?”
“I reckon they will, in a few years. That road we came up here on, one day I figure it will run straight through this valley. And then they’ll have lights and idiot boxes and all that other nonsense.”
“You like it better like this, in the dark? That’s better than watching television?”
He pulled the sleeping bag higher up on him, careful not to move it past her face. “Sometimes it’s good to remember our roots,” he answered, feeling her feet brush up against his shins. “And idiot boxes don’t remind us of that.”
“Right.”
“You know, your mum never had one. Not even as a girl. So she read books and poems instead. That’s why she fancied poetry so much. Why she was always looking at things and describing how they made her feel.”
“She was good at that.”
“It helped that her mum was a teacher. I reckon they learned a lot together.”
“Like Mommy and me.”
He tugged gently on her earlobe. “Those toes of yours are like bloody ice cubes.”
“They’re freezing.”
“Sure you don’t want your own bag?” he asked, smiling.
“No way.”
“So, I get to carry both bags up the mountain, and now I’m your electric blanket as well?”
“Can you tell me a story? Something happy?”
“About what? An animal? A princess? A girl?”
“Just a girl. A girl like me.”
“A girl like you? A little ankle biter with frozen feet who tortures her father?”
“Daddy!”
“All right, luv. Just give me a few ticks of the old clock. I’ll think of something. And I need to get my radar working here in the dark.”
