Hell Is Above Us: The Epic Race to the Top of Fumu, the World's Tallest Mountain (16 page)

Hoyt was taken aback. The man writing the letter seemed legitimate. The other facts and opinions in the letter were all reasonable. Why should he doubt the Fumu information? Sure, this Tendi fellow had latched on to English curses a little too tightly, but he otherwise seemed well-grounded. Hoyt’s urge to find out about Fumu for himself was overwhelming. Minutes after reading the letter, he almost started to pack. How could this information not be acted upon? How could an opium addict not react when learning of the existence of a thing called an “opium den?” But Hoyt did not write back to Chhiri Tendi. He saw Wizzy needle-pointing in the living room, looking as domestic as a pioneer woman on the Great Plains. For Wizzy’s sake, he did not act on his urges. But he also thought to himself: “Tell no one.” Maybe some day he would climb again, and when he did, he wanted to be the first to conquer the tallest mountain in the world.

Underneath all of these other thoughts that William Hoyt likely had that night driving to see his mother, there was another thought Hoyt was probably intentionally
not
having. Thoughts of Aaron Junk and the disaster at the top of Everest were off-limits to Hoyt’s consciousness. They brought him too much discomfort. The amount of shame he felt regarding his behaviour that day was too great, and the residual anger for losing the summit was too vexing. In a letter of apology to fellow Everest climber Gilford Taylor one year after the accident (an apology Taylor never dignified with a response) Hoyt wrote “Memories of the summit – visible but unattained - make my eyes close tightly and my jaw clench.” He was haunted.
Indeed, with the Manhattan State Hospital sign in his headlights, rain coming down, William Hoyt was likely not thinking about Aaron Junk…with every fiber of his being.

“
I am going to grab Hoyt by the berries and twist until he swallows his own tongue” Aaron Junk wrote to Patrick McGee while on brief holiday in the town of Truro on Cape Cod. “I am going to show him the meaning of a ‘forearm shiver’ but he’ll only know its meaning for the fraction of a second before the bridge of his nose lodges in his God damned brain.” Junk had been in this state for a year. McGee was frightened. Aaron had been capable of anger and brutality before, but it had never lasted very long, and certainly never long enough to escalate to a point where Junk considered murder a viable option. In the past, the moment his anger set in, Junk would simply hurt the offending individual, or he would whisper in McGee’s ear and then McGee would hurt the offending individual. But his anger toward Hoyt was another story. After the
Everest debacle, Junk had spent the remainder of 1939 in a hospital in Bombay and then in another hospital in Boston, recovering from a laceration on his chest, two broken ribs, and a punctured lung.
There was no chance for him to get back at the monster who had simply walked away from a dying man at the top of the world. Then, after leaving the hospital, there was too much publicity around the rivalry for Junk to exact revenge. Comedians in the Catskills were telling Hoyt/Junk jokes. Life Magazine ran a twenty-page article on “Infamous Rivalries Throughout History,” culminating in the story of Hoyt and Junk. The English populace was able to distract itself from the war at least enough to be enraged by the inclusion of Junk on the 1939 British expedition to Everest (The consensus was the American was the cause of the failure). If the world was caught up in their story, if every eye was trained on the two of them, Junk felt there was no way to get back at his rival with physical brutality.

Junk’s letters to McGee from Cape Cod kept arriving:

Dearest McGee, my oldest friend,

Now that I am out of the hospital, I must begin hatching a plan. I am not yet sure what it will be, but rest assured it will be the biggest shock to Protestantism since The Gunpowder Plot of 1605. I will offend every sensibility that man has. He will be so arrested by my actions he will simply stop getting out of bed in the morning. But what should it be?

Perhaps I need to get back at him through that Jezebel Spirit he calls a wife. The one who slapped me and drenched me with her cocktail. I could flirt with her on afternoons in Washington Square Park and win her over. Perhaps that’s the ticket? Or maybe his boys? I could befriend his boys at Princeton, invite them to a friendly game of poker and take them for their trust funds? No. Monetary damage is not enough. I need to ruin him spiritually, and there is no easier way to do that than through Family.

Marriage. Family. What a laugh. Why Marriage and Family? Why do it? Why do people feel their life is meaningless unless their death devastates at least one other person? I will feel more than content if I die with only you by my side, old friend.

Bah! This Hoyt thing tortures me. The young filly who I brought on this vacation wants nothing more to do with me. She wants to go home. I do not blame her. I sit around in my undergarments, food in my beard, wearing only one black sock. To be sure, not a good look on any man, but especially not on one who wanders around mumbling things about wrath and revenge.

In the end, I’ll come up with something to get back at that arrogant prick. Looking down on me for drinking. Judging me as not having what it takes to climb. How dare he judge me? HE IS NOT MY PARENT! If anything…

Good lord, McGee. That’s it…

Hoyt likely had to go through the usual procedures to gain entrance into the hospital: signing in, identification checked, massive metal doors opening and then slamming shut behind him. As always, Frances and a nurse would escort him to Maddy’s room. Hard rubber shoe soles clicking and echoing on long linoleum floors.

According to Hoyt’s recollection to his wife (later shared by Wizzy in an interview with the author), the door to Maddy’s private room opened and there stood a radiant soul. She was literally dancing; dancing in a room lit by one flickering light bulb. Dancing at four in the morning. A waltz. An imaginary partner leading. When “he” dipped her, Maddy apparently fell but got right up and laughed. When she saw William, she screamed with joy, ran over, and threw her arms around him. She then sat her son down on the bed and took a seat next to him. The nurse recalled the whole conversation. She shared it with the author on condition of anonymity (Nurses are not supposed to share the private conversations between wards and their guests):

“
William! Oh dear, dear William!”

“
Hello mother.”

“
I am overjoyed you’ve come to see me. I have great news. I didn’t want to contact you until it was official.”

“
Official? What are you talking about mother?”

“
Are you ready? I got married!”

Hoyt apparently laughed at this comment. It was a frustrated laugh. He had been awoken in the middle of the night for this. She was happy and celebrating a delusion. For this, Frances had contacted him. Since he was there, he decided to play along.

“
And who is the lucky man, mother?”

“
I am not sure you could call him a man.”

“
What should I call him?”

“
The father. The son. The holy spirit. It’s Jesus, William! Jesus and I got married!”

Hoyt was made uncomfortable by this last declaration. More uncomfortable snickers to cover the unease. “That is great news, mother. You have good taste. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to…”

“
He’s been visiting me for a while now. But before that, he was even a patient here. For a short time mind you. Years and years ago. Back then, he used to flirt with me and call me ‘Gorgeous.’ After he left, I was sad. The hospital was a little less fun without Jesus around. When he came to visit me last year out of nowhere, a dozen roses in his hand, I said ‘What do you know? It’s the second coming!’ Oh we both laughed and laughed at that. Now almost every day he visits. And then a few weeks ago, he proposes! How could I say no?”

Hoyt was now interested. Or concerned. This delusion was somewhat detailed. “So how did Jesus propose mother?”

“
Like a true gentleman. He got down on one knee, took a huge rock out and asked me to marry him. Funny thing, William, throughout all my years at church, going with Spalding and you and Randolph, I learned so much about the good carpenter
of Nazareth. But never in a million years would I have expected Jesus to have a Boston accent.”

The nurse recalled silence. She recalled a look of concern on Maddy’s face. Her son had slowly, intentionally, slid off the bed and onto the floor. His face was buried in his hands, his hands resting on his bent knees.

Frances broke the silence. “We’re sorry, Mr. Hoyt. We felt, given the scarcity of your visits and the regularity and kindness of Mr. Junk’s visits – and given that we knew from his stay many years ago he was actually a decent man – that Maddy would be well taken care of in such a relationship. We sought legal counsel and found it was well within our rights to do what we felt was best for the patient. We…”

Frances’ explanation was cut off. Hoyt the climber of incomparable speed rose to his feet in a flash and was upon Frances in a second. “Scoundrel!” yelled Hoyt. “Monster! Quack monster! How could you let such a thing happen?” Frances’ answer from a moment ago was apparently insufficient, but even if he had wanted to continue his explanation, he could not because Hoyt was blocking his windpipe. The nurse recalled hitting the alarm and within moments, men in white suits were swarming around Hoyt, pulling him away from the throat of their employer. Hoyt used his powerful legs to administer two well-placed kicks to Frances’ stomach and groin before being pulled from the room. His mother called after him. “Oh! I almost forgot to pass along a message from your father! He wants you to know Jesus loves you!”

Moans disappearing down the hall. Frances had Hoyt placed in a padded cell until he could calm down. Then he was released, given some coffee, and set free into the cold, grey morning dawning before him.

Junk received a letter from Hoyt on May 10
^th
, 1941. Given what Junk had just done, he was surprised the penmanship of the letter was legible and the wording clear and brief. In the letter, Hoyt requested Junk’s company for tea at 2 p.m. on May 13
^th
at Fraunces Tavern in New York City. The letter went on to assure Junk no physical harm would come to Junk upon his visit.
The letter actually read “I promise on the souls of my children harm will come to you upon your visit to New York City.” Unsure whether it was a “Freudian typo” or a threat, Junk had Simon Phelps wait outside the Tavern (McGee was in Providence on “business” so he could not help out).
Hoyt simply wanted to discuss “an idea that will end this disagreement for good.” He wrote “Both of us run the chance of ending up victorious, vanquished, or dead.”

The afternoon of the 13
^th
was beautiful in New York
City.
The weather was warm enough to permit the opening of windows, but cool enough to keep the stench of the city at bay. The stepfather and stepson met at the specified date and time. No food or drink was had. Too much bad blood existed between them for anything to transpire other than quick, efficient conversation.

Hoyt showed Junk the letter he received from Chhiri Tendi. The comment about Junk being a “prick” likely caused a brief chuckle from the reader, but the subsequent information about Fumu surely gave Junk pause. Fumu was the tallest mountain on Earth? How could that be? Hoyt likely told Junk to keep the information about Fumu a secret. Many respectable climbers knew about the existence of Fumu, but as far as Hoyt could tell, none of them knew it was the tallest mountain in the world. For now, it was a secret to be kept between the two of them and this Chhiri Tendi fellow.

Hoyt went on to propose a contest. The idea was simple: A race to the top of Fumu, the tallest mountain in the world. The victor plants a flag with his name on it at the summit and walks away the better man. The loser returns home quietly and graciously, never to bother the other again. Both men were free to independently choose the size of their respective teams, the means of reaching the mountain, and the route up the mountain. The hope was they would not have to see each other along the way, but if they chose the same route and the same time frame, so be it. Every last penny of corporate and government funding was accounted for by the war effort. Therefore, they would need to use their own money. Hoyt asked for Junk’s opinion on the proposal.

According to a letter written to McGee about the lunch, Junk wrote “I was immediately thrilled by the idea, but had to remind Hoyt the world was at war. In a very un-Christian manner, Hoyt snapped back ‘Fuck the world.’ We would have to work around that ‘snag.’ He said if I wanted to wait until the War was over to make my bid for the summit, then that was my bad decision to make. As for him, packing and planning would begin the moment the lunch was over.”

There was still some hesitation on the part of Junk. Could he trust this man? After all, Hoyt had not paid Junk any money at the end of the Mount Washington trip. On the Everest ascent, Hoyt had also broken the unspoken pact among mountain climbers that you help other mountain climbers in need. Why should Junk trust Hoyt now? Maybe Hoyt was concocting some scheme in which he would never actually leave the United States and just pay off some Sherpa to climb for him and plant a flag with his name at the top. Maybe Hoyt had already climbed Fumu, planted a flag there, and was now sending Junk on an excursion to inevitable defeat. Hoyt assured Junk no one had reached the top of Fumu yet and he wished to be the first. Too much personal dignity was at stake. Junk quoted Hoyt in the letter to McGee: “He said ‘I am a fifty-year-old mountain climber who has never bagged a single Himalayan peak. I probably have one trip left in me, and it is going to be to the top.’” Basically, Junk was not required. Either way, Hoyt was going to try. This was apparently enough to convince Junk. Even if Hoyt pulled some trick, Junk would still walk away having climbed the tallest mountain in the world. Hoyt finished his soliloquy by saying “We have both gone as low as we can. There is nowhere to go but up.”