by Roland Smith
Zopa pointed out the window. “And yet Tibet is passing by.”
“Okay, I get your point.” I put my journal away.
“I’m hopeful that one day you will get my point, but I don’t think you are ready yet,” Zopa said. “I want to tell you about a place not far from here called Pemako. Have you heard of it?”
I shook my head.
“It is the hidden lotus land, the earthly representation of the Tibetan goddess Dorje Pagmo. The mountains and rivers of Pemako are thought to be her body, with her center, or womb, being somewhere in the Tsangpo River gorge.
I’d read about the Tsangpo River gorge. It was the deepest canyon in the world, plunging down seventeen thousand feet in places, inaccessible, or at least very difficult to reach.
“Have you been to Pemako?”
“No. But it is not from lack of desire. The first time my pilgrimage was interrupted by rescuing your friend Zhang Wei, or as he calls himself now, Chin, from the avalanche on this side of Hkakabo Razi. It was many years ago. I was very young. My most recent attempt was a few years ago, but it was interrupted by the death of my son.”
Zopa’s son, Ki-tar, was my friend Sun-jo’s father. He had died of a heart attack after rescuing the sole survivor from a disastrous K2 attempt. The sole survivor was my father, Joshua Wood. Josh had told me about the terrible climb when I was on Everest with Sun-jo. We’d been snowed in for three days. No food, no O’s, no hope of survival. I watched my climbing party die one by one until I was the only one left. I should have been next, but Ki-tar came up the mountain through the worst blizzard I’ve ever seen. He came alone. None of the other Sherpas would go with him. He all but carried me back down. When we got to base camp, we stumbled into the aid tent. I took one cot; Ki-tar took the other. While our doctor, Leah, was treating my frostbite and giving me IV fluids, the man who saved my life died not four feet away from me. His heart gave out. I didn’t even get a chance to thank him . . .
This was a debt that Josh and I could never repay. What happened to me on Everest was in large part due to the death of Ki-tar, a man whom I had never met, but who had saved my father. Josh’s joining me on Hkakabo Razi was also due to Ki-tar. He had joined the climb for the simple reason that Zopa had asked him to.
Zopa continued, “I had just entered the Tsangpo gorge when word reached me of Ki-tar’s death. I had to leave to help his family. Without Ki-tar’s Sherpa income they would have been in serious financial trouble. I would like to try to reach Pemako one last time. Perhaps this is the reason we are here.”
Like Josh said, Zopa always has a hidden agenda, or ulterior motives, for everything he does. I knew better than to ask Zopa directly if the Tsangpo gorge was the reason we had descended Hkakabo Razi into Tibet. He rarely gave direct answers to direct questions, but this reminded me of another question I’d been meaning to ask since he had appeared in Myanmar to take me over the mountain.
“How did you get to Hkakabo Razi?”
“Yash, Yogi, and your father flew most of the way by helicopter from Nepal.”
“I know, but how did you get to Myanmar and find me in the middle of the rainforest?”
“By other means.”
Star Trek transporter? Broom? Quantum shift? Time machine? I had seen him suddenly appear where he should not have been on several occasions, without warning, without explanation.
“How did you know where I was? I didn’t even know where I was.”
“I found you the same way you found me a few days ago.”
“I found you by climbing a tree and seeing smoke.”
“How did you know which tree to climb?”
“I didn’t. I just picked a tree. It was luck.”
“There is no luck.” Zopa closed his eyes. “I am going to rest now.”
Which meant the conversation (the longest I’d ever had with him) was over.
Zopa began to snore.
Bāyī
Bāyī, or Eight One, was crowded with cars, motorcycles, bicycles, and swarms of people, most of them soldiers. I hadn’t been in a city since I left Yangon, and it was a little overwhelming despite my being tucked safely away in the back seat of a Land Cruiser next to a sleeping monk.
Percy pulled up to the Nyingchi Shangbala Hotel, proclaiming it to be the best hotel in town. The lobby looked like base camp on Everest. Backpacks, duffels, suitcases, and people were strewn everywhere, sitting in chairs, on sofas, and sprawled on the floor. If it weren’t for my desire and strong need to take a long, hot shower, I would have fled. We’d passed a beautiful river called the Nyang on the way into town, which would have made a fine camping spot.
Percy pushed his way through the grumbling throng surrounding the front desk. The frowning clerk, whose head barely topped the desk, broke into a grin upon seeing the bear-like Percy looming over him. Percy held out his pudgy hand and the clerk slapped a key into his palm.
“I need a second room for my friends,” Percy said.
The clerk frowned again, but only for a moment. The smile returned, and he handed over a second room key. The people around the desk started shouting in outrage.
Percy ignored them and said to me, “I’m a regular customer. A good tipper. I believe in tipping people well if they have a job that I would never want to do. Follow me.”
He led us to an elevator with an Out of Order sign. “It hasn’t worked in seven years, but one of these days I’m going to press the button and it’s going to move.” He punched the button. Nothing happened. “Hope springs eternal.”
We took the stairs to the top floor. For the best hotel in town, the room wasn’t much to look at, not that I cared. Two small beds with rumpled comforters, a scarred table in between the beds, a lamp with a tattered shade. I stepped over to the window and looked through the grimy glass at the green hills in the distance beyond the Nyang River. It was beautiful despite the haze of pollution from the city. Josh sat down wearily on the edge of a bed. Zopa stood in the doorway as if he didn’t want to enter the room.
“I am leaving,” he announced.
“There’s plenty of room for all of us,” Josh said. “I’ll sleep on the floor. I’m so tired I could sleep comfortably on broken bottles naked.”
“I don’t mind the floor either,” I said. I hadn’t slept in a bed in weeks. I wasn’t sure I was ready to sleep on something soft.
Zopa shook his head. “I need to check in with friends. I will return.” He retreated down the hallway.
The bathroom was small, but clean, and there was a real flushing toilet. It had been a while since I had seen one of those. When I came back out Josh was sprawled on the bed, sound asleep. I took a shower. Poor water pressure, lukewarm, then ice cold, but wonderful all the same. I was surprised the drain didn’t clog with all the dirt I scrubbed off. The person that looked back at me in the mirror as I dried my hair didn’t look like me. He was very thin. His deeply tanned skin was pockmarked with scratches and insect bites. I was as emaciated and as wiped-looking as Josh, but I hadn’t climbed the seven summits.
I found some relatively clean clothes, put them on, then stuffed my really filthy clothes into a pillowcase. I suspected we wouldn’t be here more than a night and I didn’t want to show up in Yangon to meet Alessia smelling like takin and rancid yak butter. I walked down to the lobby, which was even more crowded than when we arrived. Instead of busting my way to the front desk, I walked over to the bell captain and asked how long it would take to launder my clothes. He held the pillowcase up as if he were weighing it.
“One. Maybe three hours. Your name?”
“Uh . . . Pete.”
He smiled. “It is very good to meet you.” He held his hand out. “My name is Norbu. In your language this means ‘jewel.’ ” We shook hands. “What room is yours?”
I had no idea. I hadn’t looked. “Top floor. I don’t remember the num—”
“Yes, yes, of course. You are with Joshua Wood.”
I stared at him in shock. So much for Josh’s su
nglasses and sock cap. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “We’re trying to keep that a secret—no one is to know.”
“Of course, of course. The lips are sealed.”
“Who else knows?”
“Not too many, I think. I read magazines the trekkers and climbers leave in rooms. He is on the cover very much.”
Great. I wanted to run upstairs, grab Josh, and get outta town, but it would cause too much commotion. Most of the people hanging around the lobby were trekkers and climbers. If a Tibetan bell captain recognized Josh, most of them would too. But I decided that it might be better to sneak out at night after the lobby thinned out.
I gave Norbu two fives, remembering what Percy had said about tipping.
“It is too much,” Norbu said, handing one back. “I keep one for the laundry. My silence is free.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”
Sir? This was the first time I recalled anyone calling me sir. “I need to make a phone call. I don’t have a cell phone.”
“You will have to go to telephone company . . . the telephone exchange. Hotel phones are very expensive and . . . how do you say . . . very scratchy. Exchange has good phones. Cheap.”
“I don’t want to buy a phone.”
“Cannot buy phone there. Use phone there. Telephone company phone no scratchy. I will give you directions.”
“Thank you,” I said, although I still wasn’t sure Norbu understood what I needed. “I have one more favor to ask.”
“Of course, of course.”
“If you see Joshua coming down the stairs, can you, very quietly, tell him that he has been recognized and that he should stay up in his room where he cannot be seen.”
“Of course, of course. Lips sealed. Got it.”
* * *
It was strange jostling my way down the crowded sidewalk with honking cars belching a choking, eye-burning haze of exhaust. What felt even stranger was moving along solid, level ground without a backpack. It gave me the sensation that I was floating through the crowd like a ghost.
The telephone exchange was easy to find. People were lined up along the sidewalk, waiting to get inside. I was tempted to forget it and walk back to the hotel. I’m not good at waiting in line, but I really wanted to talk to Alessia and find out how Ethan was doing. I got in line, hoping it was the right one. I’d never made a telephone call this way. It took a couple of hours to get inside. They ran my credit card, then sent me to another line to wait for an open phone. This took another hour. Finally I was in the little booth, hoping that Alessia picked up. She did on the third ring.
“Allô?”
“It’s Peak.”
“Oh, Peak! It is so good to hear your voice. How are you? Where are you?”
“A town called Bāyī in Tibet. How’s Ethan doing?”
“He has good days and bad days. The bad days are because he wants to leave the hospital but the doctors will not let him.”
I laughed. Ethan is the most impatient, impulsive person I have ever met. I was certain that being cooped up in a hospital was driving him insane.
“They allow him to walk the hallways two times a day, but a nurse accompanies him so he does not go too fast or too long. They have threatened to restrain him to his bed if he misbehaves.”
It sounded like he was more a prisoner than a patient and I was sure he was very unhappy about it. “Are you at the hospital?”
“No, I am at the residence. His sister and I are taking turns keeping him company. Between us we never leave his side. But she must return to work in a week. When will you be here?”
“Here” was the French embassy. Alessia’s mother was the French ambassador of Myanmar. “I’m not exactly sure when I’ll be there. I have to get to Lhasa, where I can catch a flight. I’m calling from a public phone. Jack has Ethan’s sat phone.”
“Jack is not with you?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it when I get there, but he left ahead of us with Yogi and Yash and most of our electronic gear.”
“You do not have your cell phone?”
“I’m afraid not. Cell phones don’t work here anyway.”
We talked until I started to feel guilty about the people staring at me waiting for their turn. Regretfully, I told her that I should go and that I would call her from the airport in Lhasa.
“I miss you, Peak.”
“And I miss you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
That could be as soon as the next night, or the morning after, if we got lucky. It was a tremendous relief to talk to Alessia and to hear that Ethan was okay, or at least on the mend. I was about to leave, then remembered that I should have told her to call my mom and tell her what’s going on. I was going to call her back but decided to call Mom myself.
Her cell rang several times, then went to voicemail, where I was robotically informed that the voicemail box was full. We didn’t have a landline in the apartment, and I didn’t have my stepfather’s cell phone number memorized. Rolf’s voicemail box would have plenty of room for a message. In fact, he probably would have answered. As a lawyer he virtually lived on his cell. Something that irritated Mom to no end, but that was pretty much the only gripe she had about him. Rolf was a good guy. I called Alessia back and asked her to let my mom know we were okay and that I would call her when I got to the embassy. Alessia said she would email her.
I left the booth and stepped outside. It was dark now and the line was just as long as it had been when I joined it in the afternoon. I walked passed the waiting people nodding and smiling, feeling a lot better about everything, and realized that I was famished. If I was hungry, Josh would be hungry, and probably Zopa as well, if he had come back to the hotel. We couldn’t very well eat in a restaurant without people recognizing our celebrity climber. I walked past a crowded restaurant with no empty seats, figuring that it must be good. I weaved my way to the takeout counter at the back of the restaurant and picked up what turned out to be an indecipherable menu, at least to me, because it was written in Chinese and Tibetan. I was about to leave and find a restaurant for ignorant Westerners when a man behind me asked, “You need help?”
I turned around with a grateful smile, which faded when I saw the man. He was wearing a People’s Liberation Army uniform and I knew him. It was Captain Shek from Mount Everest. I wasn’t that familiar with PLA military insignia, but I didn’t think he was wearing a captain’s uniform, which made me think that maybe he wasn’t Captain Shek after all. I’d only seen him a few times on Everest. The man I was facing looked ten years older than the Shek I knew from a little over a year ago. He didn’t appear to recognize me, although I had changed, too. My hair was a foot longer, and I had bulked up some with weight training.
“Menu. I help you,” he said.
The voice. There was no mistaking it. Of the one and a half billion Chinese, I, of course, would have to bump into the only Chinese person I never wanted to see again. My choice was to run or try to bluff my way through this. I decided for the bluff, telling myself that I could still run if he recognized me.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. I pointed at the menu. “Can you tell me what some of these dishes are?”
Shek went through the menu item by item, translating them into English. I ordered several dishes, more than the three of us could possibly eat. After I finished, Shek put his order in and we stepped to the side so other people could order.
“Where you from?”
Here we go, I thought. I might be leaving without my takeout. “Vancouver, British Columbia,” I lied.
“Nice city. I have been there.”
Of course he had been there. I had not. (Note to self: When you lie about where you are from, pick a place that you have been to.) I glanced at the entrance, trying to figure out my exit strategy. More than half the tables were filled with groups of soldiers. It wouldn’t be easy to get by them if Shek shouted for them to grab m
e.
“What is name?”
“Ethan Todd.” It was unlikely that Shek had ever heard of Ethan Todd. Ethan had climbed several mountains, but Everest was not one of them.
“The daredevil?”
(Another note to self: When you lie about who you are, pick a completely random first and last name.)
“I thought you from British Columbia. Ethan Todd is from United States.”
“Oh, you must be thinking of Ethan Todd the climber. That’s not me. And you’re not the first person to make that mistake. He’s a lot older than I am. I’ve never climbed a mountain in my life. I’m a hiker, not a climber.”
Shek’s expression turned from polite interest to full-blown suspicion. “How long you in Bāyī?”
“A few days. My holiday is nearly over. I have to get home.”
“Where you stay?”
Our friendly conversation had morphed into a grilling.
“I’m camping along the Nyang River, not far from here.”
“Alone?”
“No. I’m camped with a group of trekkers. My turn to make dinner.”
“Make?”
“Provide. Bring.”
“Ah. Where your friends from?”
“All over.”
“What their names?”
“I don’t know everyone. My tent is next to a couple named Mary and Bill Smith.”
Not very original.
“Where they from?”
“Oregon.”
He leaned in close to me.
By the smell of his rank breath, I could tell he had been drinking, perhaps a lot, which may have accounted for him not recognizing me. His running into me in Bāyī was just as unlikely as me running into him. The alcohol may have dulled his senses. Captain Shek had been pretty sharp on Everest.
“You look familiar.”
I shrugged. “I get that a lot.” My three bags of food arrived. I grabbed them. “Thanks for your help.” I turned to go.
“Passport.”
I looked back. He was holding his hand out.
“It’s with my gear on the Nyang,” I said, with as much casual cheerfulness as I could fake.
