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

Christian looked great and ready to go. Curtis was looking a bit haggard and Chris looked like I felt. “Tough night?” I asked.

They nodded in response and we ate our breakfast without enthusiasm. It had snowed during the night and there was a light covering that Bim assured me would be gone by lunch.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “We are going to stay here another day; we’ll try and adjust before going higher. I had a pretty hard night.”

“Me too,” said Chris. “I kept waking up and couldn’t catch my breath.”

“Sleep apnea,” I said. “Altitude brings it on. Maybe another day here will help. We won’t see anything up there, anyway. Not with this weather.”

They nodded and after breakfast wandered off. Christian took a hike up the side of the mountain on the south side of the pasture and Chris and Curtis went off by themselves. I sat in the restaurant drinking tea and reading. My knees would not appreciate me bushwhacking up into the mountains in the snow.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

I looked up and saw a tall blond man standing politely and waiting. I nodded.

“I hope you were not offended last night, by our interest. We did not mean to intrude. Did you know the man who died?”

I placed him. He was one of the Germans. “No,” I said. “They asked me to look at him. They think westerners know something about medicine. Obviously I didn’t.”

“No.” He looked unperturbed.

“I thought if it was something I could bandage or a wound that I could dress and that he could then be taken to the hospital. It was way beyond that. I couldn’t help him.”

“Are you a doctor?” he asked.

“No, I’m not.”

“And yet you thought you could help this wounded man.? Ja?”

I was becoming annoyed and did not like his attitude at all. “I saw a lot of wounds and badly hurt men in Viet Nam. I never minded helping when I could.”

“Most people would be sickened to see something like that, no?”

“That sort of thing has never bothered me. It’s just a body. Just like a deer or any big mammal. Just a body.” I repeated.

“So you are an American hunter? A soldier in Viet Nam, too? Quite a killer, yes? Such an American…” He smiled broadly.

I didn’t need this crap. I also did not want to get drawn into a verbal battle where we relived the last two world wars and the Jewish atrocities, but I could feel myself wanting to say something to him. I decided to let it just go by me. I did a little verbal aikido. It might have been a high point in my life.

“Have you been up here long? Are you going up or going down?”

“We have been waiting for the weather to clear in order to summit Gokyo Mountain, but three days is long here and they say it will stay like this. We will go back to Namche Bazaar and then visit Tengboche Monastery. I would like to see Sagarmatha as well. At least try to go to the base camp. Ja?”

I felt suddenly overwhelmed. I’d basically talked Christian into this trip and so far he had seen nothing. “Well, that is disappointing,” I said.

“We had considered visiting Khundjole near the Chinese border, but now we are running out of time.”

I’d heard of it, once or twice but was not familiar. “Where is that?”

“It is on the back side of Gokyo Mountain. If you continue northwest from Gokyo you travel down to the base of the glacier and cross the stream. There is a bridge and Khundjole is on the other side of the bridge. It has a couple of new lodges and is becoming a bazaar. It is so close to the Chinese border that yak trains come there and deliver goods then turn around and go back... you see? Rather than go all the way to Namche Bazaar? I have not been there. It is a long, steep descent from Gokyo, but it is only 3,500 meters compared to over 5,000 at Gokyo. I considered it as an alternative to summiting this mountain, but now it is too late for us and we must return if we are going to see anything of interest.”

I nodded at him and thought about it. It was worth knowing about and at least an alternative to staring at fog and low-lying clouds. I pointedly looked at the book I was reading and slowly turned a page. I was still annoyed at his remark; calling me an American, as if that was an insult in and of itself. He got the message and stood.

“So I will leave you reading your very interesting book. Ja? Okay.”

He turned and slowly walked back to his group. I heard him say something in German and they all laughed. I let it go. But now I wondered if there would ever be a break in the weather and if we would have to return without ever having seen the most magnificent mountain views in the world. I closed my eyes and must have fallen asleep because after a moment I opened them to find the Germans gone and Chris sitting across from me reading and Curtis improvising on my mandolinden. It is tuned four steps higher than a guitar and has a mandolin body, but plays the same as a guitar, just not the same step-notes. A G chord on my mandolinden is a C chord on a guitar. He was finger-picking it like a guitar and it sounded very sweet, very nice. I closed my eyes again and the next time I opened them Bim was helping Cook set up lunch. I sat upright.

He put the dishes on the table and a smell assaulted my nostrils powerfully enough that I started to salivate in anticipation. When he uncovered the dishes I saw pieces of