Beyond the Summit Read Online Free PDF Page B

afraid,” Marty yelled but Dorje waved his arms and pointed to the unstable mass, certain that any noise or movement would bring it tumbling down. “What’s the matter? Are you scared?” Marty asked, his voice bounding on the words.
     
    “Yes. If you do not respect Miyolangsangma, the goddess of the mountain, you will make her angry and bad things will happen.”
     
    “Nonsense. I don’t believe in goddesses except for those in the flesh. Geronimo,” he yelled and strutted defiantly beneath the overhanging ice.
     
    “That was a stupid thing to do.”
     
    “But we made it past, Buck buck. And now I’ll teach you how we ski in Colorado.”
     
    Dorje was afraid to unleash his errant voice again. Out of anger, he had called a mikaru stupid and that was offensive to his own ears. Never had he spoken his true feelings to them, but Marty was different with an odd fascination and hold over Dorje that made him uneasy. Managing to restrain his tongue, he simply asked, “What is skiing?”
     
    “You wear these long pieces of wood on your feet and go like this.” Legs together, Marty bent his knees, held his arms out in front, and leaned forward slightly. Swinging his rear from side to side, he made Dorje laugh and forgo his misgivings momentarily. Suddenly Marty yelled, “Geronimo,” again and took off sliding down an ice chute.
     
    Since this reckless and frustrating American had defied the gods of the mountain, Dorje now had to prove himself equally fearless or lose face. With his heart banging in his throat, he took a deep breath and flew down the chute after him, whirling out of control. He crashed into Marty waiting at the bottom and tumbled head over heel. Instead of the expected terror, he felt a wild exhilaration. So that’s what head smacking is all about.
     
    When they reached the glacier again and easier footing, Marty asked if Dorje had climbed Everest. “No. But I must someday because Hillary carried me on his shoulders and they called me the Tenzing of the future.”
     
    Eyeing him suspiciously, Marty crimped the corner of his mouth. “You met them, Hillary and Tenzing, the first two to reach the top?”
     
    “When I was five.” He hoped that would be enough because telling more would stir up memories of how things used to be with his father, but Marty insisted and Dorje’s responsibility to keep mikarus happy overshadowed all else. So he would relate only the facts of the meeting and not reveal of the emotions of a young boy. Those would remain hidden in his heart.
     
    He began by talking about the day he met Hillary. Dorje’s father had been gone many months taking 100 crossbreed zopkios and zhums over the Nangpa La into Tibet to trade for horses, which he would then drive south to India to barter for goods and grain. As Dorje had done every morning, he ran to the head of the trail and positioned himself to wait for his father. Porters continually arrived carrying loads of grain, handmade paper, and incense from southern Nepal to be bartered for Tibetan goods with the Sherpas of Namche acting as middlemen. Rushing to meet them, he searched for his father’s sweeping dark robe and braided hair tied in a red ribbon, but as each group passed, his heart sank and the lonely place inside grew larger.
     
    Late one afternoon, he heard shouting coming from the upper end of the village as men and women poured from their houses onto the narrow dirt paths. Dorje joined them lining the trail as strange men passed, taller than Sherpas with light skin and hair, speaking an unknown language, their heavy shoes leaving peculiar imprints in the dirt.
     
    Tugging on the skirt of an old grandmother, he asked, “Bajai, what is it? What?”
     
    “Men returning from Chomolunga, the mountain they call Everest.”
     
    When porters arrived carrying a Sherpa on their shoulders, everyone shouted, “Long live Tenzing!”
     
    “Bajai, who is Tenzing?”
     
    “Tenzing Norgay. He and a white eyes named