JOURNEY - on Mastering Ukemi by Daniel Linden (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

talk, talk about what this person does or that person… but in the meantime, Hemingway is off writing another book!”

“So you’re saying that the first type doesn’t need other people?”

“No! Do you think Bill Gates or Steve Jobs would have gotten where they are without an entire phalanx of software engineers, writers, and designers? Do you think the old guys, DuPont, Edison, or Ford could have built empires without support from backers and family? Without the hard work and sweat from thousands of employees they gave good paying jobs to and supported for a lifetime? Of course not. But they are the ones who had the drive and the vision. Men like that attract others to them. Women come in droves, and friends and supporters are theirs for the choosing because they are the driving force on this planet.” I paused. “People who get together and decide how to take all that away from these men are the other kind.”

“Do you know anybody who is the first kind?” he asked.

I grinned at him and pointed up the trail. “Chris, Curtis, Bim, Nawang, and back in Namche Bazaar there’s Pemba, and Buz Donahoo, and before them there were people like Tensing Norgay and Sir Edmund Hillary.” I smiled broadly.

“Who are they?”

“Sir Edmund Hillary was the first man to summit Mt. Everest. He would not have made it except for the second man to summit Mt. Everest, Tensing Norgay, his guide. Even Sir Hillary needed people. We all do. But Christian, needing help and looking for answers don’t make you the second type of man, they just mean that you are human and open to the world and all that life has to offer to you. You must be steadfast and never falter if you want to live the type of life I know you have in front of you; to be the kind of man I know you can be. I’m proud of you.”

I turned, sucked it up, and started climbing.

***

We kept going and it was now one step at a time. At least for me, it was. One step, a breath or two, another step, another couple breaths, over and over. Going had become very slow and when we finally crested the final pass and looked down on the tiny village of Machermo, I felt huge relief and elation. Machermo is one of the highest continuously occupied villages in the world, perhaps the highest. It is over 14,000 feet in altitude and is situated in an immense rock and stubble plain that is an important summer pasture for traveling yaks and supply trains coming from Tibet and going back over the high passes. Somehow, it has a very comfortable lodge with individual rooms for trekkers and travelers and a nice kitchen and guest lounge. It has comfortable dining facilities and even a supply of both beer and the locally made Khukuri rum.

After getting settled into my private lodge room and changing into my camp shoes I went into the lodge. Chris had already found the bar; so to speak. It is mostly a large room with a window at one end where one could buy drinks and snacks, and I went over and quietly warned him to take it easy. We were now in a completely different altitude zone and alcohol doesn’t react in the body the way it does down below. He nodded and took a long drink, but put the cap back on the bottle. He would be all right. Chris has all the bravado and macho swagger of a pro wrestler, but I also know he is one of the most brilliant people in his profession. And that is saying a lot.

I walked around outside a bit, but found my breathing was labored and decided to come in out of the misting rain and light fog. Soon Curtis came in.

“Sensei, have you seen Christian?”

“No.” I looked over at Chris sitting with his feet close to the iron stove. “Chris, who are you bunking with?”

“Me,” he said. “I have the ultimate luxury. A private room. If I could breathe, it would be like being in a Motel 6 in Orlando.”

I looked back at Curtis. “Are you bunking alone?” He nodded. “Wow, very cool. Since we will all be practically living in each other’s pockets over the next four or five days, that’s pretty nice for a change. I guess you could go knock on doors or maybe find Bim and ask him where Christian’s room is.”

He left. In a half hour he was back and this time he had that weird little line between his eyebrows.

“Did you find Christian?”

“No. And his bag was completely unpacked and his down parka is gone along with his gloves and hat. I think he went for a walk!”

I sighed and got up. Dizziness made me lean against the table for a moment. “Curtis, you’re a sandan, a rocket scientist and 2nd in command. You worry about it. I need to lie down for a while.

***

I awoke to an urgent knock on the door. “Sensei, the sirdar wants to know if you are a doctor. I told him no, but he is begging you to come.” Christian looked very frightened. I got my down coat. The air coming into my unheated room had turned icy and I could see that snow now fell in the courtyard.

I walked out and Christian led me to a group of Nepali men standing and squatting in a circle in the falling snow. As I approached I saw another man laying on a rough blanket and rolling back and forth in obvious pain. Nawang came up to me and whispered that the man had been gored by a yak and could I please look at it for them and help him?

“I am not a doctor.”

“But you are a westerner, and you all know something of medicine. Please?”

I looked at Christian