The Lion of Khum Jung

Chapter 1-3

As they drove through a maze of narrow, dark streets, Sarah listened to Greg pepper Frank with questions about the mountain and the prognosis of the Ice Fall region. Last year, the warm weather in the perilous pass had shut down all of the expeditions from attempting a summit. It had been the first time since the commercial climbing of the mountain began, and it had cost those who’d ponied up enormous amounts of their own money. Those, who were sponsored suffered losses as well.

Sarah stared off through the window at the passing street-level shops. Although her son was sponsored, he still had plenty of “skin in the game” as he liked to call it; she wouldn’t mind a repeat of last year’s ditched attempt. Having heard enough talk about the mountain for the night, she spoke up. “So, Mr. Kincaid, how long have you lived in Nepal?”

Frank turned around in the front seat and smiled at her. “Call me Frank . . . please. To answer your question, I guess around forty years. My Pop moved us here when I was just into my tweens.”

“And prior to that?” Sarah said.

“Luanda.”

“Where’s that?” Greg said.

“Angola, Africa,” Frank replied.

Sarah was astonished. She never would have guessed he came from that part of the world. “Why’d you leave?”

“Civil war.”

“Oh. So, what made you choose Nepal?” Sarah asked, a little curious, but mostly to keep the conversation from reverting back to Everest.

The driver hit the horn and swerved to avoid a motorbike barreling past them. Frank diverted his attention to the road in front of them, then turned back to her. “My father had friends here.” He fixed her with an enigmatic gaze that put her on guard, as if he already knew her. She smiled, trying to shake the feeling, and said, “So, you live in Kathmandu, I take it?”

“Oh, no. Up in the mountains.” He turned to Greg. “When’s your O2 supposed to arrive?”

Greg pulled a stick of gum out of his pocket and popped it in his mouth. “Wednesday.”

“Got it from POISK, right?”

Greg nodded. “Not cheap either.”

“You don’t want cheap up there, believe me,” Frank said. “How many bottles?”

“Thirty.”

“Good,” Frank said. He pulled a small pad out of the glove compartment along with a pencil. “Got the flight number?”

Greg dug into his knapsack and pulled a folder out. As he went through it, Sarah said, “Any idea how much longer to the hotel?”

“Actually, we’re here right now,” Frank said as the van came to a halt.

As they started backing down an alleyway, Sarah looked around her. Seeing only broken-down brick buildings around her, she wondered what kind of hotel it was that Mr. Kincaid had set them up with. It wasn’t like she hadn’t stayed in one-star hotels before, but the building they were headed for right now appeared as though it was ready for the wrecking ball. In fact, from what she had seen so far, the whole city looked like it was ready for one. She could only imagine what the light of day would reveal.

Greg handed Frank the flight itinerary for the oxygen delivery as the van stopped. After Frank wrote it down, he handed it back and opened the door, letting Sarah out with Greg following close behind. Trudging into a small closed-in lobby, Sarah felt her stomach knot up. It was shabbily furnished and there was a foul, pungent odor in the air she couldn’t quite place. There were a lot of things she could tolerate, but a flophouse wasn’t one of them.

She turned to Greg. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Greg shrugged.

Suddenly Frank was behind them. After chatting in Nepalese with the hotel receptionist, he said, “You should be all set.”

Sarah stared back at him, wondering if the man had lost his mind. “Mr. Kincaid, this is not a hotel!”

Frank studied her a moment as the receptionist handed him a pair of room keys. For a minute, she thought he was going to read her the riot act, but he nodded toward the front door and said, “Looks are deceiving in this city. Follow me.”

He led her around back into a softly lit courtyard dotted with flowering trees and shrubs. Scattered among them were wrought iron tables and chairs. Sarah looked up at the enclosing verandas draped with leafy vines and then glanced down to one of the lower windows that peered into an occupied room with drawn back curtains. Inside was a freshly made bed topped with a colorful quilt. Beyond the bed, she saw freshly painted pastel walls dotted with a lovely painting of the mountains. Finally, she said, “Well, I guess I stand corrected.”

Frank eyed her impassively. “Right. And don’t get too comfy here. It’s the best you’ll see for quite some time.” He turned to Greg. “I put the rest of your gear in storage ’til our flight to Lukla. Breakfast is at six over there under the veranda by the stairway. Just tell the server you’re with KJM and go help yourself. We’ll meet here in the courtyard afterward, say around eight for introductions and a brief chat on how things are going to go for the next few weeks until we get to Base Camp.”

He gave Sarah one last long look then said, “’Night now.”

Sarah watched him walk back the way they came in as the bellhop brought their luggage around. As Frank faded into the dark shadows of the passageway, she wasn’t convinced she should trust him with her son’s life. But there was little she could do about it for the time being.