Upper East Rongbuk Glacier, Mount Everest—20,750 Feet
May 14, 1939
10:25 a.m.
Ang Noru fought all the way, but Zazar was unbending, relentlessly pulling the Sherpa across the snowfield that stretched before them. The Tibetan paused once to go back and stop him struggling, but his pack was heavy and the snow so deep that he decided to save his energy with a different idea. Whatever the promises he might have made, he would simply kill the Sherpa when they were within the cover of the glacier’s ice pinnacles. Carrying his head might increase his load still further, but it would be a lot easier than enduring the Sherpa’s continued resistance all the way to Kampa Dzong. He tramped onward.
Slowly nearing the spiky horizon of ice that marked the beginning of the glacier proper, Ang Noru scanned the landscape for what Josef said he should seek, but the new snow and the bright morning sun made it difficult. Squinting into the light, squeezing his eyelids until they were slits, he tried to break down the view ahead until it was nothing more than light and dark. Eventually he thought it revealed what he sought: a faint line of shadow running straight across their path. Ang Noru dearly hoped that Josef was right as he stepped slowly toward it, pulling back on the rope whenever he could to keep Zazar roughly tugging him forward. The nearer they got, the more awkward he became, just as Josef had told him to be.
Enraged by the Sherpa’s growing resistance, the Tibetan stopped again, shouting back at him, “You can try and delay all you want, Sherpa, but once we are in the ice, your head is mine. I will enjoy cutting it from your neck with you still alive to watch me do it. There will be none of your famous hawk spirits to save you there, only vultures to eat what remains of your body.”
Zazar grabbed at the rope and pulled the Sherpa once again. This time Ang Noru did move, letting them both make easier progress through the soft snow, allowing the Tibetan to feel he was winning his battle. Following quietly behind, he waited until Zazar was stepping above the line of shadow, the faint depression in the snow he had identified. Then, with all his remaining might, the Sherpa tugged on the rope once again, throwing himself back into the deep snow as far as he could go.
The Tibetan lunged in instinctive response to the Sherpa’s fall, stepping hard ahead to tug the Sherpa back up onto his feet. When his heavy boot touched the snow, it broke through the new crust.
It didn’t stop. The surrounding snow splintered and collapsed to reveal a yawning crevasse that ripped open beneath the big man as he plunged forward, his heavy body and pack pulling him down into the narrow ravine of ice. The force of the Tibetan’s unchecked fall snatched the rope, wrenching the Sherpa up into the air and onto his face, dragging him helplessly toward the gaping black hole that had sliced open.
Thrashing his legs and wriggling his body, his bound hands useless, Ang Noru tried desperately to stop himself from following the Tibetan down into the slot; but the rope dragged him relentlessly on until he heard the sound of something making hard contact with the ice below followed by a loud grunt.
In that brief moment, Ang Noru was able to turn his body, dig his heels into the snow, and bring himself to a stop just before the edge. For some minutes it was all he could do to sit there in the snow, breathless, as the Tibetan’s shouts boomed and echoed from within the glacier and the straining rope that connected them cut into the snowy lip of the crevasse.
Slowly Ang Noru recovered enough to be able to lean forward and, with his teeth, open the small pocketknife Josef had secretly placed in his hands as they said their goodbyes.
Its cold blade stuck to his warm lip. Ang Noru ripped it away, tasting blood.
Gripping the knife in his bound hands, he forced the razor-sharp blade under the taut rope that led from his body down into the hole. Its tension pushed it down onto the blade.
Ang Noru rocked the knife slightly from side to side, the cords splitting and unraveling until the final strands burst apart and the frayed end before him vanished like a fleeing snake.
There was another heavy thump and a shout as the Tibetan’s body slipped deeper down into the crevasse.
Pulling himself up, the Sherpa stood to look over the edge. Letting his eyes grow accustomed to the shadows below, he saw that Zazar’s body was jammed between two sheer walls of ice about thirty feet down. The man’s pack was still on top of him, but ripped open, the contents strewn over his horizontal form. To his surprise Ang Noru could see, amongst the many cans and provisions, two big rocks resting on the upper side of the Tibetan’s body.
The Sherpa spat the blood from his torn lip down onto it. He then cut away the rope that tied his hands, listening as he did so to the man hunter’s panicked curses becoming interspersed with the sound of the ice snapping and cracking as it closed ever tighter on the man’s imprisoned body.
Tossing the remnants of the rope down into the crevasse, Ang Noru turned back up the glacier to return to Becker and the mountain. He walked a long way before the valley fell silent once more.