Chapter 5 people are talking

My countrymen, why is freedom not in the beautiful eyes of a beautiful woman? They go through men like bullets, they cut down like swords. — Graffiti on the oldest known Buddhist stone carving in the world, In the Shapara Valley of Baltistan San Francisco International Airport is full of tense mothers clutching their babies.With Christmas approaching, thousands of weary travelers flock to catch their flights, hoping to get home in time to celebrate the festive season with their families.But the faint radio in the terminal building announced the news of flight delays again and again, and the stuffy air in the airport lobby was filled with palpable anxiety and panic.

Mortenson walked to the luggage carousel and waited for his battered backpack to emerge from the pile of suitcases.Throwing his backpack over his shoulders, with a slight smile typical of inbound passengers, Mortenson began to scan the crowd with expectant eyes like when he just got off the plane, hoping to see Marina.But no matter how hard he searched, he couldn't see Marina's black hair. They had a phone call four days ago.He was at the telecom office in Rawalpindi, talking to her over an echoing and noisy phone line.Mortenson heard that she was coming to pick him up, but before he could repeat the flight information, his scheduled six-minute phone call was cut off. He was worried about spending money, so he didn't call again.At this time, he called Marina again from the pay phone booth, but the answer was an automatic recording. "Hi honey," he heard the joy clearly in his voice, "it's me, Greg. Merry Christmas. How are you? I miss you. I made it to the San Francisco airport and will take the Bay Area Express. shipped to you—"

"Greg," she answered the phone. "Hi." "Hi, how are you?" he said, "You sound a little..." "Listen," she said, "we've got to have a good talk, things have changed a bit since you left. Can we talk?" "Of course." He felt the sweat under his armpits prickling his skin, and it had been three days since he last took a shower. "I'm going home now." He hung up the phone. He was terrified of returning home with no progress on his school plans.But during the long journey across the ocean, just thinking about Marina, Blaze, and Dana eased all fears.He thought that if he failed to fly away, at least he could fly back to his loved one.

He first took the bus to the nearest Bay Area MRT station, then took the MRT to the center of San Francisco, and then took the streetcar to the outer sunset area.He thought about Marina's words over and over, feeling uneasy all the way, guessing the hidden message in her words.He knew he hadn't spoken to her in months, other than that call from Rawalpindi, but she should understand that he couldn't always spend the money to keep the school on budget. Money for international calls.He'd try to make it up, and he was going to take her and the kids somewhere for a vacation with what little money he had in Berkeley.

When he arrived near Marina's residence, it was already two hours later, and the sun had already sunk into the gray Pacific Ocean.He walked the streets, past the neat stucco houses adorned with Christmas lights, out into the cold sea breeze, and up the stairs to her apartment. Marina opened the door, hugged him with one hand, and then stood at the door, expressing clearly that she did not intend to invite him in. "I just wanted to tell you," she said.He waited, the backpack still on his shoulders. "Me and Mario are dating again." "Mario?" "You forgot Mario, the anesthesiologist who graduated from UCSF?" Mortenson stood, looking at her blankly. "My ex-boyfriend. I remember telling you that we..."

Marina went on, presumably to remind him that he'd met Mario a few times, that they'd worked together in the emergency room, and so on, but the name meant nothing to him.Looking at her lips, full lips, he thought, that's the most beautiful part of her.Looking at her full lips, he couldn't think of anything until he heard "...so I booked you a motel." Before Marina had finished speaking, Mortenson had already turned and left, walking into the cold sea breeze.It was already dark, and he found that the backpack suddenly became so heavy that he couldn't walk the other street.Fortunately, the red neon sign of "Beach Motel" hangs around the corner, like a huge wound waiting to be treated.

After saying goodbye to the last cash in his pocket, Mortenson checks into a plywood-furnished guest room that smells of smoke.He took a shower, rummaged in his backpack for clean shirts, and put on the least wrinkled one.Dim lights and an on TV made him drowsy. An hour later, a knock on the door woke Mortenson from a dreamless sleep. He sat up and looked around, thinking he was still in Rawalpindi.A guy named Newt Gingrich was on the TV, and an American was saying something he couldn't understand: "The Minority Party wants the Republicans to govern." He staggered over to open the door, as if the room was floating on the sea.Marina stood at the door, wearing his favorite yellow coat. "I'm sorry, this is not what I imagined. Are you okay?" she asked, wrapping up the yellow coat that had belonged to him.

"It's really... I guess... not good," Mortenson replied. "Were you sleeping just now?" Marina asked. "yes." "I don't want to make things like this, but I can't contact you when you are in Pakistan." The door was wide open, and Mortenson, who was only wearing his underwear, was shivering from the cold wind. "I sent you a postcard," he said. "Tell me the price of the roofing material... oh, and how much it costs to rent a truck to Skardu... so romantic! You never mentioned us except for the constant stalling." "When did you start dating Mario?" He forced himself not to look at her lips.Maybe it would be better to look into her eyes, but he felt that it was still too dangerous, so he turned his eyes away.

"That doesn't matter," she said. "Your postcard tells me that when you leave, I don't exist." "It's not like that," Mortenson said.But I was asking myself in my heart: Is this really the case? "I don't want you to hate me. You don't hate me, do you?" "Not yet," he said. Marina put down her arms crossed on her chest and sighed.She held the bottle of Irish Baileys in her right hand and handed it to Mortenson.He took it, about half a bottle left. "Greg, you're a good man," Marina said. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye." Mortenson closed the door so as not to say anything he regretted. He stood in the empty room, holding a half bottle or only half bottle of wine in his hand.This is not the kind of wine he would drink, Marina should know that.Mortenson didn't drink often, much less alone, and there was no alcohol he hated more than rum. A high-pitched voice on television is telling the interviewer: "America has begun a second revolution, and you should believe me. Life is going to be different for the American people in a Republican-majority Congress. It's the people speaking. .”

Mortenson walked across the room to the trash can, a large, well-worn trash can of dark metal.He moved his hand over the trash can, straightened his arm, and let go.The bang of the Baileys falling into the metal trash can was like the sound of an iron door being slammed.He fell back on the bed. Money and pain vie for dominance in Mortenson's mind.After a short vacation, he wanted to withdraw two hundred dollars from the ATM. The balance on it showed that there was only eighty-three dollars left in the account. Mortenson called the director of the University of San Francisco Medical Center, hoping to start scheduling as soon as possible before the financial crisis became worse. "You said you'd be back to help on Thanksgiving," said the supervisor, "and now it's past even Christmas. Greg, you're one of our best nurses, but if you don't show up, you mean nothing to us .You're fired." The words he heard on TV that night haunted him for days: "The people are speaking." He repeated bitterly. He made three or four phone calls to friends in the mountaineering industry, trying to find a temporary place to stay before making plans.For a month he lived in the porch of an old Victorian house on Lorena Street in Berkeley.Whether they are Berkeley graduate students and climbers who have just returned from Yosemite, or are planning to go, there will be a rave party downstairs every night until midnight.Sleeping in a sleeping bag in the second-floor hallway, Mortenson tried to ignore the sounds of lovemaking coming from the paper-thin cubicle.When he was sleeping, people going to the bathroom had to step over him. As long as they are motivated enough, a qualified and competent nurse will not be out of work for long.For several days in a row, he took public transportation to the interview, especially on rainy days, and he would suddenly realize that the "Legend of Youth" was no longer there.A few days later, both the General Trauma Center in San Francisco and the Burn Unit at Atta Bates Medical Center in Berkeley notified him that he had been admitted to nursing the long night shift that no one wanted to do. He managed to save some money and shared a room in a third-floor apartment with no elevator on the harsh Wheeler Street.The second landlord's name is Vito Dudzinski, a Polish handyman and a heavy smoker.During the nights he spent with Dudshinski, Mortenson found him drinking—an unnamed blue vodka of which he bought dozens at a time—and delivered a monologue about Pope St. Paul II. .After filling his vodka, he ignored Mortenson entirely and began talking to himself.So most nights, Mortenson retreated to his room, trying to forget Marina. "I've been dumped by girlfriends before," Mortenson said, "but this time it's different. This time it's really painful, but I have no other way out of it, just time to heal everything." Sometimes at night, the rush of first aid can make him forget about himself and all his troubles.Facing the five-year-old girl who suffered third-degree burns on a large area of ​​her body, he couldn't feel sorry for himself.In a well-equipped Western hospital, all medical equipment, medicines and dressings are at hand, and the patient's pain can be relieved immediately, unlike Korfy, where he stayed for seven weeks, who had to drive eight hours in a jeep to get the medicine.It's the only thing that makes him happy. Sitting in the lobby of Ali’s house, listening to the old man tell him about the construction of the bridge, Mortenson felt that his heart was like a small animal escaping from a trap. At first, it ran wildly, then gradually slowed down, and finally settled down, surprisingly. calm.He knew very well that he had run to the finish line: Korfei, the last village before the eternal frozen land.The situation was complicated, and stomping away as he had done in Kouardu was not going to solve the problem, and he had nowhere else to run.The smile on Changaji's lips was widening, and Mortenson knew the man thought he had won. Even though he was disappointed, Mortenson couldn't be mad at Cole Flyer.Of course they need a bridge, otherwise how would they build a school?Was it necessary to transport every plank, every sheet of tin roofing in a slippery box across the Blaudu River?He began to get angry with himself at not being able to think more thoroughly, to plan better in advance.He decided to stay at Korfy until everything was sorted out--everything that had to be done before the school could be built.What does it matter if he took such a long detour to get back here? The house was crowded with the whole village's strong men, but there was no sound. "Tell me about the bridge." He broke the silence and asked Haji, "What do we need? How do we get started?" He is still hoping that the bridge can be repaired quickly and without costing too much. "We had to use a lot of dynamite and cut through a lot of rock," said Haji Ali's son Tawaha.A discussion in Balti ensued. Should the local stone be cut or brought from the lower valley in a jeep?Apart from the lively discussions among the villagers about where the stones are of the best quality, there is basically unanimity: steel cables and planks must be bought and shipped from Skardu or Gilgit, which costs Thousands of dollars, and thousands more for skilled labor—a total close to five figures.Mortenson couldn't come up with that much money. He told them that most of his money had been spent on building materials for the school, so he had to go back to America to raise money for the bridge.He thought that the villagers of Korfei would suffer as much as he did, but waiting was as normal to them as breathing thin air at an altitude of 3,000 meters, and it had long been a part of their lives. Every year, they have to wait for six months in a room burning with yak dung until the weather warms up before returning outdoors.Balti hunters would stalk an ibex for days at a time, stalking slowly for hours and hours until they got close enough to fire their single shot.A balti groom can wait years to marry—until the twelve-year-old girl his parents pick out for him grows up.The distant government once promised to build schools for the residents of Blaudu River, but decades later, they are still waiting.Patience is their greatest quality. "Thank you." Hadji tried to speak English.To be deeply thanked for making it this way was overwhelming for Mortenson.He took the old man into his arms, smelling the smoke of wood and wet wool on him.Haji happily called Shachina out of the kitchen, and poured another cup of freshly made buttered tea for the guests—a tea Mortenson liked more and more. Mortenson told Changaji to return to Skardu by himself, and was pleased to see a look of shock flit across his face - though he regained his composure quickly.Mortenson had to get everything cleared up about the bridge before returning to America. He and Hadji took a jeep ride to the lower valley to study the bridges.Back in the village, he drew the sketches of the villagers' bridges in his notebook, and then discussed with the elders in Korfei, which piece of land in the village could be used to build a school when he came back from the United States, if Allah wanted to . When cold winds from the Bartolo Glacier blanket Korfey with snowflakes, the long season of staying indoors begins.Mortenson said goodbye to them all.In mid-December, after more than two months at Korfy, he could no longer delay his return journey.After a farewell tea at the homes of half the residents, Mortenson bumped back to the south bank of the Blaudu River in an overloaded jeep—the eleven Korfi villagers in the car insisted on taking him to Skardu.When the car bumped, they fell into a ball and leaned against each other for balance and warmth. On the way back to the apartment after being on duty in the hospital, the world seemed to be at the hazy junction of night and dawn. Mortenson was exhausted physically and mentally from loneliness, and it seemed that he could no longer find the kind of sincere friendship he had in Korfer.And calling Gene Horney, the only person who might help him get back to Korffy, was so frightening that he didn't even think about it. Throughout the winter, Mortenson climbed in the climbing gym.Without "Legend of Youth", the road there has become very troublesome, but he still takes the bus, partly for sports and partly because of company.He was a hero to gym members as he prepared to climb K2 and put his body in top shape.But now, when he opens his mouth, it's all about failure: a mountain that hasn't been summited, a girlfriend who broke up, a bridge to be built, a school that hasn't been built. Walking home late one night after get off work, Mortenson was robbed across the street from his apartment by four boys under the age of fourteen.A boy held a pistol to Mortenson's chest with trembling hands, and his companions rummaged through Mortenson's pockets. "Damn it, the bastard only has two dollars." The boy pocketed the money and handed the wallet back to Mortenson. "How did we end up with the most useless white guy in Berkeley?" Bankruptcy, failure, a broken life—from winter to spring, Mortenson sank into a deep depression.He thinks back to the faces of the Korfi villagers who sent him all the way to Islamabad, the faces of hope.Surely, if Allah wills, he will come back with money soon.Why did they have so much confidence in him, but he had no confidence in himself? Lying on his sleeping bag one evening in May, Mortenson thought it was time to wash it while struggling to figure out whether to pay for a laundromat.The phone rang, and it was Dr. Lewis Rohde.Luo Hede and his partner Jim Wakewell successfully summited K2 in 1978, becoming the first American to summit the second highest mountain in the world.Mortenson called him before he climbed K2 for advice, and they kept in touch after that, although not often, but they talked very speculatively. "Horney told me you wanted to build a school," Rohde said. "How are things going?" Mortenson told everything, starting with the five hundred and eighty letters, all the way to the bridge-building bottleneck he was now encountering.He also told the elder about the difficulties he encountered: losing his girlfriend, losing his job, and the most frightening thing for him-losing his direction. "Cheer up, Greg. Of course you're going to run into some problems," Rohde said. "What you're going to do now is much more difficult than climbing K2." "These few words from Lewis Luohede encouraged me a lot." Mortenson said, "He is the hero in my heart." The hardships he experienced have become legends in the history of mountaineering.As early as 1975, Wickwell had attempted to reach the summit.The mountaineering team photographer Guy Ren Rowell also wrote a book describing the hardships experienced by the team and recording the most regrettable failure in the history of mountaineering. Three years later, Luo Hede and Wickwell returned to K2 again. This time they climbed from the most dangerous western ridge to a place less than 1,000 meters away from the peak, but they encountered an avalanche and were forced to evacuate.But they did not give up. Instead, they crossed K2 at a height of 7,600 meters and changed to the traditional Abruz ridge route, and they succeeded in reaching the summit.Rohde, who was running low on oxygen reserves, wisely decided to descend quickly, but Wickwell lingered on the summit, waiting for the camera lens to thaw, so that he could take pictures to record his pursuit of success in his life.This blundering decision almost killed him. Unable to descend in the dark without a headlamp, Wickwell was forced to camp overnight on the mountain—one of the highest camping records in mountaineering history.Wickwell ran out of oxygen and suffered severe frostbite, pneumonia, pleurisy and a near-fatal pulmonary embolism.Lo and the rest of the team kept him alive with medication until he was rescued down the mountain by helicopter and flown back to Seattle for major breast revision surgery. Lewis Rohde's life experience made him understand that there must be hardships in the pursuit of goals.He knew how difficult the path Mortenson had chosen was.His words made Mortenson feel like he hadn't failed, he just hadn't done the job -- not yet. "Call Hoerney and tell him everything you told me," Lawrence advised Mortenson. "Make him pay for the bridge. Believe me, he can afford it." For the first time since he came back, Mortenson felt that he was back to the old Mortenson.He hung up the phone, and quickly found the paper with Horney's name and phone number in the sealed plastic bag. "Don't mess it up," the paper said.Well, maybe he's screwed up, maybe he hasn't - it depends on who you're talking to.While thinking about it, his fingers had already dialed the phone.