Beyond the Summit (2 page)

The Otter did a sharp left turn and dove straight at the cliff with its engines roaring in protest. Straining against the back of the seat, Beth abandoned breathing as they prepared to touch down. “We’re going too fast!”

“But remember the pilot saying the uphill slope of the runway would help slow the plane.”

Instead of landing, the plane veered sharply to the right in a valley seeming too narrow for turns and immediately rose to avoid slamming into the mountain.

“The wind is angry today,” the pilot shouted over his shoulder. “We’ll have to try again tomorrow and hope for no fog and little wind.”

None of the fourteen passengers complained about turning back. An elderly woman seated across from Beth vomited into a paper bag, and she wasn’t certain her own stomach would ever return to its rightful place. Anxious to begin writing about the Sherpas and Everest region, she hoped they wouldn’t be delayed too long.

Two Days Earlier

Beth and Eric’s flight from Bangkok landed mid afternoon at the international airport in Kathmandu. They quickly searched for a rickshaw taxi large enough to carry all their gear for several weeks in the hills plus Eric’s equipment. He was a much sought after photographer, her intimate companion and co-worker for almost a year now. They had traveled to Botswana, Kenya, and the jungles of Borneo where she wrote and he took photographs. Because this trip meant so much to her, Eric had given up his dream assignment photographing the war in Viet Nam.

After refusing the common three-wheeled- bicycle rickshaws crowding around them, they finally located one with both a front and back seat. The five wheels and cloth roof were covered with brightly painted images of Hindu gods and spirits, and marigolds adorned the arched, open front. Eager to experience every sight, smell, and sound, Beth leaned forward with her arms on her knees and hair flapping in the wind like a dog with its head out a car window.

Kathmandu. The very name evoked exotic images and she absorbed every possible one as they drove along potholed, twisted lanes lined by wall-to-wall brick buildings covered with broken tiles and mud roofs sprouting grass. She tugged at Eric’s sleeve as they passed ancient, elaborately carved wooden windows and doorways where the decaying figures of gods and goddesses still quietly guarded the houses. “Great images. Let’s start shooting here.”

Several blocks later, Beth spotted carvings on a temple of naked men and women in various positions of intercourse. She asked the driver to stop and jumped out of the rickshaw with Eric and camera in tow. “You’ll never find this in a western church.”

He broke out laughing. “You mean having explicit sex in every possible position? It’s a true photo op if I ever saw one.”

As Beth watched him snap pictures of the Hindu worship of carnal love and genitalia, she thought what a good team they made and how comfortable they were with each other. Eric was a tall, well-built football player in college. With a long, narrow face and light brown hair, he appealed to her physically and intellectually. Yet there was something missing in their relationship, something elusive.

They climbed back in the taxi that slowly threaded its way through cows, pigs, goats, and vendors carrying heavily loaded baskets in a current of humanity flowing past like rapids rushing around a boulder. Twice, they had to wait several minutes while a sacred cow meandered in front of them. It had the right of way. Every side street and alley was filled with years of refuse, and the stench from choking dust and open sewers permeated the air, making it thick, putrid, and suffocating. But who cared? This was the Shangri-La Beth had waited 15 years to experience.

Wearing only a shirt, a small boy squatted at the side of the dirt road to defecate. When two chickens immediately scurried over and fought for the droppings, Eric quickly swore he’d eat no poultry in Nepal. Minutes later, he swore off all meat when they drove down a street of fly-blackened butcher shops with buffalo heads and hooves lying on the ground next to skinned goats with their legs sticking straight up in the air.

Arriving at their three-story graying hotel, even Beth was a bit put off by the pig and two mangy dogs rummaging through a knee-high pile of garbage only ten feet from the entrance. And the flies! Buzzing from rubbish heaps to steaming piles of shit and back, they swarmed in a dizzying, black cloud.

After laboriously climbing three flights of winding, rotting stairs to the top floor, Eric threw himself onto the bed with his arms flung out to the side. “God, I’m tired. Let’s just crash until dinner.” The exhaustion of two straight days of travel and numerous time changes soon overcame them both.

Just before dusk, a howl straight from
The Hound of Baskervilles
pierced the stillness, followed by blood-curdling yelps, growls, and incessant barking. Beth shot bolt upright, heart pounding. Then she flopped back down chuckling as she remembered reading about packs of wild dogs that roam the city. She gently nudged Eric. “Are you awake? I’m starved.”

Rolling over, he yawned and draped an arm across her. “What can we find?”

“I don’t know.” She pulled him off the bed.
“But let’s go. My stomach’s growling.”

They wandered through a maze of twisted streets and alleys that opened every so often into small squares containing communal fountains for bathing and doing laundry. Beth washed her hands under a handsomely carved spout but knew better than to drink from it. Drying her hands, she wondered where everybody was rushing. Men clad in white pants with long-sleeved, button-less tunics and the women in colorful saris all headed in the same direction.

“Come on. Something’s happening. Let’s see what it is.”

Following them, Beth and Eric discovered a crowd gathered at the upper end of Durbar Square where officers in full uniform stood proudly while a military band played and guns boomed. As they politely made their way through the crowd, a sudden rush of warm liquid sprayed over them.

“Jesus, what’s this?” Eric growled as he quickly flicked it off his cheek and then stared at the blood on his hand.

A bearded American in his early twenties was so filthy that he must not have bathed in weeks. He lit a stone pipe and inhaled. “It’s from the buffalo.”

“What buffalo?” Beth asked.

“For the sacrifice. Today’s the big day when Hindus worship the goddess Durga who saved them by destroying some evil demon buffalo.”

A young Caucasian woman with pale green eyes, stringy brown hair, and a delicate mouth added, “She chopped his head off with her sword and loves to drink blood and eat raw meat. So every year they offer sacrifices by slaughtering thousands of buffalo, goats, and chickens. Pretty soon, the square will be ankle deep in blood.”

“They’re getting ready to kill another one,” the man said as he handed the pipe to Eric. “Smoke a little of this and you won’t give a damn. Don’t worry. The hash is plentiful, cheap, and legal. They sell it like spices here.”

The woman spoke softly. “Come closer. They’re ready to slaughter another.”

Determined to experience everything,
Beth reached for Eric but he held both hands up as a barrier. “Do whatever you want, but leave me out of it.”

She knew Eric was a wildlife advocate after their trips to Africa and Borneo, but Beth was still disappointed. “We stumble onto the biggest festival of the year and you’re not interested?”

Eric returned the hash pipe. “I don’t need any of this stuff either.”

“We came to experience another culture,” Beth grumbled under her breath as she followed the man and woman to the front of the crowd where torches dimly lit an open area in the center. Two men were holding a large buffalo, one by the tail and the other by a rope around its neck.

“It must always be a male animal and a perfect one at that,” the green-eyed woman explained. “And the buffalo must give his consent by shaking his head. But look, they cheat by dribbling water in his ear to make him do it.”

Swinging his sword high in the air, a soldier brought it down with the full force of his body. A mass of blood shot four feet across the square spraying everything as the head dropped to the ground with the tongue and mouth still moving, the eyes open and glaring.

The woman smiled. “Perfect. He did it in a single blow, releasing the animal’s soul to be reborn as a man.”

Listening to the terrified cries of the animals and sickened by the smell, Beth’s enthusiasm waned and she’d seen enough for now.

When they returned to Eric who was pacing with his hands in his pocket, the woman addressed him quietly. “I came here to study the teachings of Buddha. He says that until we can accept life as it is and exist in the present moment, we will never be content.”

“I’m not content watching animals being slaughtered.”

“But, if we are to be truly aware like Buddha, we must be unflappable and accept whatever comes along as part of a divine and perfect universe.”

When he started to open his mouth again, Beth shot an angry look that shut him up. She bowed to the man and woman and bid goodbye. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“Why? Because I didn’t want to get high on hash and don’t buy into being unflappable and accepting whatever comes along as part of a divine and perfect universe? How perfect was that buffalo’s universe?”

Eric caught up to her and put his arm around her waist. “Let’s not fight. We also came here to have a good time together and do your story.”

Not wanting to ruin the trip she’d waited for so long, Beth let out a long, deep breath. “You’re right. And I agree that being sprayed with buffalo blood isn’t the most enjoyable experience. Let’s just forget about it.”

He gave her a hug. “You’ll be excited when we meet the Sherpas tomorrow.”

Both too tired to search for something to eat, they went back to the hotel, skirting the pig and dogs still rummaging in the garbage heap. With Eric lying wrapped around her and his breathing growing deeper and longer, she was relieved they wouldn’t make love that night even though it was the last time they’d sleep off the ground for weeks. The disagreement was rare and probably resulted from fatigue. Laughter and sharing good times together wasn’t the missing element in their relationship nor was good sex. It was a kind of emotional emptiness that she hoped would pass in time.

The next day, they waited for the Twin Otter to Lukla for over three hours. The room was small, hot, and stuffy with urine stench wafting from both bathrooms. A Nepali in a
lightweight, helmet-shaped
topi
hat entered and announced the flight to Lukla had been canceled because there was too much fog in Kathmandu and the plane couldn’t land on its return because the airport had no radar. With a growing uneasiness about the trip, Beth tried to convince herself that nothing was wrong. Her Shangri-La was simply an adolescent country struggling to make up for hundreds of years of isolation.

As the luggage cart was unloaded from the plane, Beth noticed two elderly ladies also waiting for their bags. “Are you up for trying again tomorrow?”

The lady with tight, gray curls turned to Beth. “Honey, my name’s Ruth and we didn’t come this far to be turned back by a little fog.”

So thin her spine showed like a miniature mountain chain through her shirt, the second lady pulled her wig off and pointed to her head. “We’re here to celebrate the end of my chemotherapy for breast cancer. See my hair is already starting to grow back.”

Inspired by the women’s attitude and pleased with Eric’s comment, Beth shoved all portentous feelings aside and convinced herself that she would complete her journey and find what she was seeking.