Hell Is Above Us: The Epic Race to the Top of Fumu, the World's Tallest Mountain by Jonathan Bloom (freenovel24 .TXT) 📕

the spate of lung detachments was entirely his fault. Drake decided then and there to retire. He lives to this day off of his GM pension in total isolation in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

The members of the two expeditions arrived in Calcutta on October 15th, giving them more than two weeks before the scheduled arrival of The Souls At Sea. Zeigler knew of many American expatriates who lived in Calcutta. Before he left them in Darjeeling Zeigler was able to secure lodging for all of the expedition members at their next stop. They mostly spent the two weeks in Calcutta staying in their respective guest quarters and resting, rarely seeing or speaking to one another. Chatham, who was still in terrible condition, spent the remaining weeks in yet another hospital (Thornton was now well enough to move about on his own). No one saw the burned oilman except when visiting the hospital to tend to their own sunburn and frostbite. Junk was not the only poor American sod who would have to go under the knife; both expeditions would leave an unfortunate number of toes and fingers behind in Asia.

Tensions were growing between the Allies and Japan; within India, the Japanese were beginning to align themselves with the Indian resistance. Given the state of things, if any British soldier had seen Yuudai Ubugai walking the streets of Calcutta at that time, the results would have been immediate imprisonment. He had to spend the entirety of his Calcutta stay dressed as a porter and hiding out in the home of a porter from the expedition who was also a member of the All India Forward Bloc and therefore sympathetic to the Japanese. His loneliness on Fumu was simply continuing uninterrupted upon their return to civilization. But slowly that changed. Junk and McGee were staying at a British hotel very near Yuudai’s lodgings. Junk began to feel a compulsion to speak with Yuudai possibly because he wanted to learn more about Hoyt through the Japanese soldier. They started spending a considerable amount of time together as the end of October drew near. It turned out Yuudai was a baseball fan and so he and Junk shared stories about their home teams, the Tokyo Kyojin and the Boston Red Sox. The friendship that flourished between Junk, McGee, and Yuudai was only increased by information passed on from Chhiri Tendi to the Bostonians: Chhiri Tendi let them know Yuudai had saved Hoyt’s life while passing the Maw on the ascent. Junk hugged Yuudai in response, all the while thanking him for his bravery and honor.

On October 31st, the night before the expeditions were to set sail, Yuudai was invited by Junk to drink – heavily – to celebrate their survival and toast those who had died. The party had been planned to take place at the hotel but that could not happen due to Yuudai. Instead, it was held at the home of several nearby porters. With the exception of River Leaf who did not make an appearance, everyone including Yuudai celebrated and stumbled around drunk, arms around the shoulders of new friends. Then in the darkest depths of the early morning, somewhere in twisting catacombs of Calcutta’s poorest district, the expedition members received quite a surprise when Yuudai broke his silence and began to sing. It was “A Wand’ring Minstrel I” from The Mikado. His voice was strong but gentle, as smooth and as warm as freshly-melted candle wax. For once, the others were silent as Yuudai held court. In the case of Thornton and Drake who had seen the murder of Randolph Hoyt at the hands of Yuudai’s father, tears fell. The awed silence continued once Yuudai had completed his crooning. He said “My father is wrong. That is a good opera. It is not white men trying to control us; it is white men trying to understand us.”

When dawn broke on the first of November, Yuudai, Junk, Chhiri Tendi, and McGee had not yet slept. They arrived at the docks still gassed and still singing and having completely forgotten about Yuudai’s personal effects or climbing equipment. In the hazy, prematurely hot sun, with the scene smacking of low tide and the sound of fishermen barking out orders in Bengali, they bid Yuudai a slurred farewell. “Thank you for saving Hoyt” Junk blubbered.

“Bushido!” Yuudai yelled while stumbling and shooting his fist into the air.

“Bushido!” the others responded.

Yuudai’s escorts appeared from everywhere, mercenary men of varying origins and unvarying aggressions. While surrounding their charge, they pulled knives on Junk, Chhiri Tendi and Yuudai. One particularly greasy fellow pushed Junk up against a rickshaw while another asked Yuudai “Did you make it to the top?”

“Yes” Yuudai lied.

The men let Junk and the others go and unceremoniously rushed Yuudai away. And so ended Yuudai’s relationship with our tale. Nonetheless, Yuudai went on to weave his own tale. He fought for the Japanese Army at Coregidor and won accolades from his superiors. But then, when those same superiors began to order atrocities at Baatan and elsewhere, Yuudai refused to follow their commands. He was forced to retire from the Japanese military and his father stopped speaking to him. Once again, Yuudai was the outsider. He moved away from everyone he knew to make a new rural life for himself as a pear farmer in Shikoku. While he was out in the countryside, the cities of Tokyo, Nagoya, Kobe, Osaka, Yokohama, and Kawasaki were firebombed, and the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were turned to glass. Japan surrendered. After the war ended, the Allies remained in Japan to get the place back in working order. And subsequently when the Allies left in 1952, Japan was trying its damnedest to recover from the anguish on its own. Widespread famine shrouded the nation, smashing Yuudai’s go at a solitary, agrarian existence. This crisis turned out to be rather fortunate: Yuudai moved to the remains of Tokyo and began a life in music. Small crowds