JOURNEY - on Mastering Ukemi Daniel Linden (feel good novels txt) 📖

shook his head. “They didn’t. They didn’t go. They said they were supposed to have breakfast with some guy that had summitted Everest and K-2 both. He’s making a big deal about all his climbing records and the ladies are all gaga about meeting him. I guess everybody is all in a-twitter because he’s here… like he’s some kind of rock star.” He smiled at me.

“Get it? C’mon. Rock star?”

Jesus. “Yeah, I got it. Well, that concerns me. Acclimatization is really important at this altitude.”

They looked at each other. Chris raised his eyebrows. Curtis spoke up,

“Sensei, I think they are staying here. They listened to some guy who said that Gokyo Ri is a boring climb and a dumb destination. They want to go up to Everest Base Camp and some other places. Sorry.”

I thought about it. They were not under contract. We were all here as friends and no one was in charge. They could do whatever they liked. I didn’t see a problem as long as they were willing to cover any additional expenses that I had not already arranged for. I didn’t have a problem with it at all.

“Do me a favor. I have to arrange the rest of the trip with Bim. I don’t want him contracting porters and kitchen boys we won’t need and our young ladies might want to arrange for porters or an extended stay in the lodge for themselves. We need to have a short group meeting with Bim and get these things handled. Can you guys find everybody and bring them here?”

“When?” Chris asked.

“As soon as you can, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay.” They stood up and left.

After they had gone Pemba came over and asked if I wanted anything else. I looked at the next item on the menu. I pointed and she smiled.

“…and another beer?” I asked.

She shook her head and walked away. An older gentleman had walked in and sat nearby while I had been talking with the guys and he smiled over at me and lifted his beer in a small toast. I lifted mine in response.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

He was American. I told him Orlando, Florida.

“You’re kidding,” he said.

“No, I live half the year in Maine, but I’ve lived in Orlando for twenty five years. What about you?”

“Winter Park, right next door.” Then he laughed. He was my height and big like me, but at least ten and perhaps as much as fifteen years my senior. His hair was white and he wore a full beard. He had eyes that were full of age and places far beyond my experience. His voice was deep and rich and reminded me of sun-warmed gravel on an ancient river bed.

“Are you eating?” I asked.

“Eventually, I just want to have a beer and see Pemba. She and I go way back.”

“Well, you’re sure welcome to join me, if you want. I’m eating my way through the menu. Damn, it’s a small world, ain’t it?”

He nodded. “You must have come up from Jiri to be that hungry.”

“We did.” I smiled.

“Not many come that way anymore.”

“I could have done without it. My knees are betraying me. Hurt like a bitch, and I don’t seem to recover like I used to.”

He nodded and took a sip of his beer. “I know what you mean.” He looked up and watched Pemba working in the kitchen.

“Did you know her cousin, Dorje?” I asked.

He looked down at the table and slowly nodded his head. “Dorje was a wonderful man. He was the kindest, smartest, most…” he stopped and looked down again. Then he sighed deeply.

I waited. He just sat like that for while and I realized too late that he must have known Dorje very well. I was sorry that I had brought up such a painful subject. He lifted his head and then stood and moved closer. Close enough that no one would have thought to sit between us, but still several feet away. He reached out his hand.

“Buz Donahoo,” he said.

“Dan Linden.”

“Are you with a group? You must be.”

“Well, it’s a pretty loose knit group,” I said. “We just lost two members to the Italians or the French, I don’t know just whom to blame, yet. We had a couple of young ladies, both attractive and one a real stunner.”

“They’re kind of a rare commodity up here and you know all those climbers from Europe think they’re such hot shit…” He stopped and suddenly smiled. “One is real tall and the other one half-a-head shorter and with this black hair… really black hair and white skin…” his eyes got dreamy. “I’ve seen them.”

I started to wonder who hadn’t.

“Yeah, that’s them.” I said.

“They’re not from Orlando. I heard them talking in the Everest Bakery. They were sitting at the next table. They were speaking some language that sounded middle-eastern and I didn’t have a clue what it was.”

“They’re Turkish,” I said.

“Ah, that explains it.” He looked at Pemba again and became still and silent.

“We’ve been up here for better than 12 days and have yet to see the mountains. Not a really good look at them, you know it’s been really cloudy and gray during the afternoons. Is this normal? Our whole bunch is pretty disappointed, I can tell you.”

He looked at me, “This is pretty normal,” he said. “When you get up into the really high country, you’ll have lots of time with clear skies. Mornings are magnificent. Even during the day once you get past a certain point you will have clear blue skies so bright you’ll need goggles or sunglasses.” He drank more of his beer and leaned back into the seat. “I was here nearly 20 years ago, and it rained the whole time. The fog was so thick you had to watch where you walked. You’ll be fine. What do you