Peak by Roland Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

"My father was usually up on the mountain during those times."
    Hearing about his sisters caused a little ache in my belly for Paula and Patrice, but it went away as I watched Sun-jo casually tie a length of Spectra cord to a hex slung with a triple fisherman's knot.
    "Where did you learn to climb?" I asked.
    "My grandfather instructed me," he answered.
    His English was better than mine. He had kind of a British/Indian accent. Mine was kind of a Bronx/Cody, Wyoming, accent—which did not sound nearly as cool or refined as his.
    "So, you're on holiday?"
    "No," Sun-jo answered. "When my father died we did not have the funds to keep all three of us in school. The tuition is very expensive. My sisters are still in school and I am here to find work so they can stay there. Without a formal education there is no future for girls in Kathmandu. I would like to go back to school myself, but it is unlikely I will be able to. It is more important that my sisters attend school than it is for me."
    Sun-jo wasn't much older than I was, and I wondered what kind of job he could get that would pay the tuition.
    He looked at my altimeter watch, which he had been playing with throughout lunch. "We should leave soon. Zopa is waiting for us at the Indrayani temple."
    I turned off the stove and put the dishes in the bathroom sink.
    "Did you know there is a dining room here in the hotel?" Sun-jo asked. "I have not dined there myself, but I hear it is quite excellent."
    "Yeah, I ate there this morning. It's great. The reason I cooked ... well, you know ... the new gear..."
    Sun-jo smiled. He knew exactly what I was talking about.
     
     
    OUR TRANSPORTATION to the temple was the saddest motorcycle I had ever seen. There was more silver duct tape on it than chrome.
    It took him six vicious kicks to get it started, and when it finally caught, the motorcycle belched out a column of gray smoke so thick I thought the bike had burst into flames along with my new friend. But the smoke cleared, revealing a coughing Sun-jo with tears running down his face and a mostly intact motorcycle—except for the bolt lying in a pool of oil under the engine.
    "It is much better when we are moving forward." He gasped. "In this way the smoke cannot catch us."
    I thought about running up to the room and grabbing my climbing helmet, but I was afraid Sun-jo might die of asphyxiation before I got back out, so I climbed on behind him and we lurched into traffic.
    Sun-jo yelled something that sounded like, "Only two root beers, last go!" But I think he meant that the motorcycle only had two foot gears, fast and slow. He was right about our exhaust being behind us; the problem was that we were now speeding through everyone else's exhaust. For the next twenty minutes I squeezed shut my burning eyes and buried my face in his back, thereby missing most of Kathmandu.
    "We have arrived," Sun-jo announced.
    I unclutched my sweaty hands and opened my eyes.
    "You must remove your shoes before entering the temple."
    I took them off and put them next to about fifty other pairs of shoes and sandals.
    "If you don't mind my asking," Sun-jo said, "what happened to your face?"
    "It got frozen to a building."
    Sun-jo laughed. "No, really..."
    "Climbing accident," I said.
    "That's what I thought."
    I followed him into the Indrayani temple, which was like walking into another world. One where people whispered rather than shouted. There were no wandering cows (we had narrowly missed three of them on the way over), no horns honking, no screeching tires. The smell of flowers and incense saturated the air. Worshippers were kneeling in front of shrines, spinning prayer wheels, lighting butter lamps. Mystery, possibilities—this was the Kathmandu I had expected.
    Sun-jo led me to a teak bench in the shade of a banyan tree. We sat for a while watching the orange-robed monks talking quietly to visitors and offering them blessings.
    "Which one is Zopa?" I whispered.
    "None of these."
    "Shouldn't we let