Between Heaven and Earth (18 page)

“No arguing,” Doris said. “Didn't you offer to take my bag when I wasn't able?”

“Of course.” I paused. “I just thought that… that—”

“That you'd be the one carrying somebody else's extra bag? Perhaps that of an old woman?” Doris asked.

“Perhaps an
older
woman,” I said.

“You've been carrying a lot of weight around on those shoulders,” she said. “It's a sign of strength to know when you need help. We're all here to help each other.”

I brushed away a tear. “I don't know what to say.”

“You don't have to say anything. We're a team, remember? Just climb. All the way to the top.”

“All the way to the top,” I said.

TWENTY-THREE

I heard noise coming from above and looked past Doris and Sarah. It was hikers coming down the mountain. Had they given up this close to the top? No, that wasn't it. They had reached the summit and were coming back down!

I'd seen the three men and two women before at the base camp and on one of the other days' hikes. They were all in their twenties and fit.

“It's not much farther!” one of them yelled out. He had a strong Australian accent.

“You're doing great!” one of the women said.

“What's it like?” Doris asked.

The woman smiled. “You're going to find out for yourself soon enough.”

One of the men moved in close, wrapping an arm around me and putting his mouth right by my ear. “What you're doing for your grand-mum is pretty special, mate.”

I needed to correct him about one of those things. “What she's doing for me is even more special.”

He slapped me on the back. “No more talking. Get climbing.”

The hikers slipped past us and down the slope, kicking up a cloud of volcanic dust as they braced themselves, fighting gravity in a different way.

“Sarah,” I called out. “Can I have my pack…please.”

She didn't answer.

“I need to carry Grandpa. I have to keep my word.”

She hesitated.

“I'm all right. I can do it.”

She took the pack off her back and handed it to me. I put it on. Strangely the added weight seemed to make me feel lighter.

Sarah turned up the slope and began shuffling forward. We fell into line behind her.

It was becoming lighter. The sun was still not up, but the rays were bouncing above the horizon. I could almost feel them and the warmth that they were bringing. It gave me renewed energy.

With the light came the opportunity to see farther. The slope had become wider, opening up so there seemed to be multiple paths rather than one path. Turning back, I saw there were other hikers lower down, still struggling over the parts that we'd completed. I wanted to yell back encouragement to them. They were strangers, but we were all in this together.

There was no longer solid rock underneath our feet. There was loose ash, shifting down as we pushed up, and loose rocks, some rolling back as I pushed against them to gain my footing. Another party—two women—slid down the hill off to the side on another path. Another group had made it. It didn't matter that they'd gotten there first. It just mattered that we were going to get there. I was almost certain.

“Stop here,” Sarah said.

I almost bumped into Doris. I felt like I could go farther and I didn't want to stop. Then I saw the sign:
Welcome to Stella's Point!
We were almost there. My mind raced back to what I could remember. The slope was supposed to flatten out now. There was less than
200
meters left to climb.

Doris took out her camera. “I want a picture of you two here before we go on.”

Sarah and I bookended the sign, and Doris snapped a picture.

“Now you,” I said.

I took the camera as she took my place. I slipped off my glove and realized that my fingers felt fine. The chill was gone from them. I looked up. I was going to say “smile,” but both of them already were. I snapped the picture and then took a second, just in case.

As we stood there, two more parties came by on their way down. They were smiling and laughing and every single person offered us encouragement, cheering us on. And each word just gave me a little more energy, a little more incentive, a little more inspiration. Without saying another word, we started up again.

We pushed up the slope, reaching the crest. I looked beyond Sarah, over her head. As we climbed one side, the sun rose over the other. It was blindingly bright. I shielded my eyes with a gloved hand until they adjusted. I looked out in front of us. The ground flattened until it was barely rising. And there, no more than
200
meters away, was a small group of people crowded around a sign post—
the
sign post.

“Is it?” I asked.

“We are here,” Sarah said. Her voice was filled with wonderment.

“Almost there,” I said. “Still a few more steps to go.”

“One step at a time,” Doris said. “DJ, you should go ahead.”

“What?”

“You go ahead. You and your grandfather.”

“No. You, Sarah, me and my grandpa. Together.”

I reached out and took her hand and then Sarah's. “All the way to the top. Together.”

Three astride, we walked up the little slope. The rush of adrenaline pushed aside the tiredness in my legs, the strain in my lungs, the pain in my head. For the first time in days I was certain we were going to make it.

“I wish my husband could see me now,” Doris said.

“He can,” I said. “The same way my grandpa can see me.”

As we reached the sign, the crowd parted. They offered smiles, and a man—a stranger on the same journey—shook my hand and offered congratulations.

“Let me take your picture,” he said.

Doris gave him her camera, and the three of us climbed in front of the sign and stood there.
Uhuru Point—the Highest Point in Africa
. All the way to the top. I felt like laughing. I felt like crying. I just felt…so alive.

TWENTY-FOUR

I stood off to the side, clutching the cane. I'd done what I'd been asked. I was at the top of Mount Kilimanjaro. I could sprinkle the ashes and then go down, go home. It would be over. Now that I was here, I didn't want it to be over. Until the ashes were sprinkled, it was like he was still with me. But that was wrong. He'd
always
be with me.

“We need to get going,” Sarah said. “Soon.”

I nodded. “I understand. Just another minute.”

“We understand, dear,” Doris said. “Do you want to be alone?”

“No. I want you here. I'm just trying to figure out what to say. I should say something.”

“Would you mind if I said a few words?” she asked.

“No, of course not.”

Sarah and Doris removed their hats and I pulled off my balaclava. In my one hand was the cane, and in the other my grandpa's beret.

“We are here to say goodbye to David McLean,” Doris said. “I did not have the good fortune to know the man, but I have been blessed to know his grandson. David, they say that you can tell a tree by the fruit. I have known the fruit. To produce such a fine grandson, you must have been a fine man. You are missed.”

I felt myself choking up, trying to fight back the tears, and then I heard sobbing. I turned. It was Sarah and she was crying, her whole body convulsing.

“You asked a favor of your grandson, a favor we will now complete. I have a favor of you. Could you say hello to my husband, and make sure he isn't causing too much trouble up there?”

I unscrewed the top of the cane and slowly dumped the ashes into the palm of my hand. The wind, which had been strong, seemed to pause, waiting.

“Thanks for taking
me
along on this trip,” I said to Grandpa.

I tossed the ashes into the air. The wind picked them up and they flew up in an iridescent white cloud and then were grabbed and lifted higher and higher until I couldn't see them anymore, until they were someplace between heaven and earth.

“It's not goodbye,” I said softly. “You'll always be with me.”

TWENTY-FIVE

My eyes popped open, and in the pitch black my hand went up to my head to push on my headlamp. It wasn't there. And then I realized that
I
wasn't there…on the mountain. I was in a bed in a room at the Springlands Hotel in Moshi. I let out a big sigh of relief and satisfaction. I'd gotten to the top and back down to the bottom. I closed my eyes again. The bed felt good.

In the morning I'd be flying out. From Moshi to Nairobi to Amsterdam to home. It would be a long journey, and I needed to get back to sleep, but I couldn't help thinking about the day ahead. I'd get dressed, finish packing, take my grandpa's cane and meet Doris, Sarah and Mr. Odogo in the lobby. They were going to be driving us to the airport. I'd be sharing the first flight with Doris and then we'd go our separate ways.

I wasn't looking forward to saying goodbye to her, but it wasn't going to be a forever goodbye. We'd promised to get together next summer. It wasn't the usual “see you sometime” arrangement. We'd agreed that I'd fly over to England and she'd show me around. She even threatened me with a granddaughter she wanted me to meet. If she was anything like her grandmother, it wasn't a threat. Maybe she'd even have two granddaughters worth meeting. I'd already asked Steve to join me, and he'd said yes. It would be a great trip for us to share.

I really missed him. I didn't know if that would last once we were together again, but who knew? He was my brother, and more than that, my twin brother. I was sure that within a couple of weeks we'd start to drive each other crazy again, but still, wasn't that what brothers did? And probably what brothers and sisters did too.

That's what Sarah had become—my sister. Despite all the kidding around, she'd never be my girlfriend or my wife, but she would always be my little sister. My annoying, irritating, bossy, opinionated little sister who I cared for very much—even if I never saw her again. Maybe I could help her realize her dreams the way my grandpa had helped her grandpa. I'd already been part of one dream, although she probably didn't need much help from anybody to achieve the others. Maybe she'd remember me kindly when she became the first female president of Tanzania.

I was going to miss Mr. Odogo as well. A few days ago I wouldn't have believed that was possible.

We had arrived back at the base camp from the summit about an hour before Mr. Odogo arrived. As soon as he got there, Sarah told him what we had done. I'd held my breath, waiting for the explosion. How he reacted wasn't what I had expected. He offered us each congratulations, a handshake and a hug. He said that he was “too proud to be angry” with us. In fact, he said that he had expected us to climb, that he knew his daughter too well, and knew that I was going to keep my promise to my grandpa. It seemed that he had faith in me even when I didn't.

That didn't stop him from punishing us though. Instead of allowing us to stay and rest at the base camp, he marched us partway down the mountain. After ten hours and
1,300
meters up to the summit and back down to base camp, the last thing I needed was to move again. He pushed us another
10
kilometers, down another
1,400
meters. Sarah had told me that if Doris hadn't been with us he would have marched us all the way off the mountain, shedding another
1,500
meters over another 8 kilometers. Thank goodness for Doris. Not just for up there on the mountain but for down here at the hotel…and in the future.

I sat up in bed—my nice comfortable bed. It was becoming clearer as my mind came alive that I wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep. Maybe it was almost time to get up. I sat up, turned on the light and reached for my phone. It was almost five—too early to get up but too late to go back to sleep. And then I noticed I had emails and texts. That wasn't surprising.

Since I'd gotten down from the mountain, I'd been exchanging messages with all my cousins. Up there, pushed to the limit, it had been easy to forget that I wasn't the only one on an adventure. I had no idea where Rennie was, but the rest of us were scattered around the world—Steve in Spain; Adam in France; and Spencer, Bernard and Webb in North America. In those brief messages I'd gotten little snippets of their adventures.

I couldn't wait to sit down and tell them about my journey, but more important, hear all about their quests. I could picture us all sitting around at the cottage with our parents, sharing our stories with each other. But there would always be one person missing. The person who launched us on our trips and gave us so much, the person who would have enjoyed the stories more than anybody. But really, he wouldn't be missing. He'd been right there beside me the whole way up the mountain and he'd still be with me—with us—when we gathered again.