[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Moments later, Nyima had reached the top of the obstacle, and all George could see was a hand beckoning him to follow.George tracked the route the Sherpa had taken, and grabbed a ledge he had not noticed before, but that opened up a direct path all the way to the summit.This simple maneuver had saved him an hour, perhaps two, while at the same time Nyima had become George’s climbing leader.It was not long before he had joined the Sherpa, and as they made their way up the mountain it was clear to George that Nyima was familiar with the terrain, as he set a pace George could only just keep up with.When they reached the summit, they sat down and looked toward the north, but everything was enveloped in a bank of thick cloud.George reluctantly accepted that he would not be introduced to Chomolungma today.He opened his knapsack, took out a bar of Kendal Mint Cake, broke it in half, and handed a piece to Nyima.The head Sherpa did not take a bite until he had seen George chewing away for some time.As they sat staring at the unmoving clouds, George concluded that Sherpa Nyima was the ideal climbing partner—experienced, resourceful, brave, and silent.He checked his watch, and realized they would have to leave soon if they were to be back in camp before sunset.He rose, tapped his watch, and pointed down the mountain.Nyima shook his head.“Just a few more minutes, Mr.Mallory.”As the Sherpa had proved right about which route they should take, George decided to sit back down and wait for a few more minutes.However, there comes a moment when every climber has to decide if the reward is worth the risk.In George’s opinion, that moment had passed.George rose and, without waiting for Nyima to join him, began to descend the mountain.He must have covered about 150 feet when he felt the breeze picking up.He turned around to see the clouds drifting slowly away.He quickly retraced his steps and rejoined the silent Sherpa at the summit, when he found that, like Salome, Chomolungma had already stripped away four of her seven veils.As the breeze grew stronger, Chomolungma removed yet another veil, revealing a small range of mountains in the foreground that reminded George of the French Alps, and then another.He didn’t believe that such beauty could possibly be surpassed, but then a gust of wind removed the final veil, proving him wrong.George was lost for words.He stared up at the highest mountain in the world.Everest’s radiant summit dominated the skyline, making the other peaks of the mighty Himalaya look like a kindergarten playground.For the first time, George was able to study his nemesis more closely.Below her furrowed brow projected a sharp Tibetan nose made up of uneven ridges and unapproachable precipices beneath which wide nostrils belched out a wind so fierce that even on level ground you would have been prevented from advancing a single stride.But worse, far worse, this goddess was two-faced.On her west face, the cheekbone was made up of a pinnacle of rock that stretched high into the heavens, far higher than George’s imagination had ever dared to soar, while the east face displayed a mile-long sheet of ice that never thawed, even on the longest day of the year.Her noble head rested on a slim neck, nestling in shoulders of granite.From her massive torso hung two long, supple arms, attached to large flat hands that offered a slight hope until you saw her ten thin, icy fingers, one of the nails of which was where they hoped to set up base camp.George turned to see Nyima gazing at Chomolungma with the same fear, respect, and admiration that he himself felt.George doubted if, alone, either of them would be capable of climbing onto even the shoulders of this giant, let alone scaling her granite ice face—but perhaps together…CHAPTER FORTY-ONEAFTER THEIR MIDNIGHT dispute in Bombay, George was relieved that the General invited him to be a member of the diplomatic mission that would present their credentials at the border post.Thirteen members of the expedition team, thirty-five porters, and forty-eight mules had bedded down for the night on a flat piece of land by a fast-flowing river on the India–Tibet border.George and the rest of the party spent a convivial evening enjoying the General’s excellent wine and cigars over dinner.At 5:45 the following morning, the General was standing outside George’s tent in full dress uniform, carrying a black leather attaché case.Sherpa Nyima stood a pace behind him, wearing his traditional woolen bakhu and carrying a large black box with the words LOCK’S of London printed on the lid.George crawled out of his tent a few moments later, dressed in the suit he’d worn for the Governor-General’s reception and his old school tie.He accompanied Bruce out of the camp toward the border post.“Now, I am not expecting any problems, Mallory,” said the General, “but should any misunderstanding arise, leave everything to me.I’ve dealt with these natives in the past, and have the measure of them.”George accepted that the General had many great strengths, but feared he was about to witness one of his weaknesses.When they reached the border post, George was taken by surprise.The little bamboo hut was well camouflaged by the dense undergrowth, and certainly didn’t look as if it welcomed strangers.A few paces later, George spotted a soldier, and then another, holding ancient rifles pointing in their direction.This show of hostility didn’t cause the General to slacken his pace—if anything, he speeded up.On balance, George felt he would have preferred to die on the top of a mountain rather than at the bottom.A few paces further on, George could see exactly where the Tibetan border lay.At the only break in the bamboo barrier that stretched across the narrow path, two more soldiers sat in a dug-out fortified by sandbags, their rifles also aimed directly at the advancing British army.Still undaunted, the General marched straight up the wooden steps of the hut and through the open door, as if the border post was under his command.George followed cautiously in his wake, Nyima a pace behind.Inside the hut, the General came to a halt in front of a wooden counter.A young corporal seated behind the desk stared at the three strangers in disbelief and, although he opened his mouth, he didn’t speak.“I wish to speak to your commanding officer,” barked the General.Sherpa Nyima translated in a soft voice.The corporal quickly disappeared into a little room behind him and closed the door.It was some time before the door opened again, and a short, thin man with sunken cheeks and a battle-hardened face stepped out and glared at the General as if his private territory had been invaded.The General smiled when he noticed that the post commander only held the rank of captain.He saluted, but the Tibetan did not return the compliment.Instead, he looked directly at Sherpa Nyima and, pointing at the General, said in his native tongue, “I am the Dzongpen of the district of Phari.Who is this?”Once Sherpa Nyima had translated his words, only adding the final word “gentleman,” the General replied, “I am General Bruce,” then opened his attaché case and removed some papers, which he placed firmly on the desk.“These are the official permits that authorize my party to enter the district of Phari Dzong.” After Nyima had translated the General’s words, the Dzongpen gave the documents a cursory glance, then shrugged his shoulders.“As you can see,” said the General, “they have been signed by Lord Curzon, the British Foreign Secretary.” The General waited for Sherpa Nyima to complete his translation before the Dzongpen came back with a question [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

zanotowane.pl

doc.pisz.pl

pdf.pisz.pl

listy-do-eda.opx.pl