Waiting for the Window

Lily Carter arrived at base camp on a bright, cold morning in April.

She was twenty-four years old, and she walked fast.

She had always walked fast.

At home in Colorado, her friends often laughed and called after her, "Lily, wait for us!"

But Lily did not like waiting.

She never had.

Base camp was a small village of yellow and orange tents.

It stood on a wide field of rocks and ice at the bottom of a great mountain.

The local people called the mountain Chandi.

In their language, the word means "silver."

When the morning sun touched the snow at the top, the whole mountain shone like a silver tower in the sky.

Lily put down her heavy bag and looked up at it for a long time.

"Hello, Chandi," she said quietly.

"I have come a long way to meet you."

She had wanted to climb this mountain for many years.

When she was a little girl, her father had shown her an old photo of it.

He was a climber too, and he had always dreamed of standing on the top of Chandi.

But he became ill when Lily was fifteen, and he could not climb anymore.

Now he lived in a small house near Denver, and he walked slowly with a stick.

"Climb it for me," he had said to her at the airport.

"And send me a photo from the top."

Lily had promised.

Her team was small.

There was Marco, an Italian mountain guide with a gray beard and kind eyes.

He had climbed in the Himalayas for more than twenty years.

There was Jonas, a quiet young man from Germany who always carried a book in his coat pocket.

And there were two Sherpa climbers, Nima and Tenzing.

They were very strong, and they laughed a lot.

"The sky is so blue," Lily said to Marco that afternoon.

"We can start climbing in a week, right?

Maybe sooner?"

Marco smiled, but he did not answer.

He only looked up at the mountain.

In the middle of the camp there was a kitchen with stone walls and a blue plastic roof.

Smoke was rising from a metal pipe on the top.

It was the warmest place at base camp, and it smelled of onions and tea.

Inside, an old man was standing over a big pot.

He was small and thin, and his brown face was full of lines, like a map.

He was wearing a red wool hat.

When he saw Lily at the door, he smiled so widely that his eyes almost closed.

"Come in, come in," he said.

"You look cold.

Sit down."

Lily sat on a wooden bench.

The old man gave her a cup of hot tea with milk and sugar.

It was sweet and warm, and she held it with both hands.

"My name is Pemba," he said.

"I am the cook here.

I have cooked for climbers at this mountain for more than thirty years."

"Thirty years!" said Lily.

"Then you must know Chandi very well."

Pemba laughed softly.

"Nobody knows Chandi very well.

But I have learned to listen to her."

"Listen to her?" Lily asked.

"Yes.

The mountain always tells you when she is ready.

You only need to wait and listen."

Lily smiled politely and drank her tea.

She did not really understand.

She did not want to wait, and she did not want to listen.

She wanted to climb.

Three days later, the storm came.

It started in the night.

Lily was sleeping in her tent when the wind woke her.

At first it was only a soft sound, like someone breathing outside.

Then it grew louder and louder, until the whole tent was shaking.

Snow was hitting the walls like tiny stones.

Lily lay in her sleeping bag with her eyes open.

She did not sleep again that night.

In the morning, the world was white.

The mountain had disappeared behind thick gray clouds.

Snow covered the tents, the rocks, and the long lines of colorful prayer flags that hung across the camp.

The flags were flying wildly in the wind.

At breakfast, Marco sat down with the team.

"I have looked at the weather forecast," he said.

"It is bad.

There are very strong winds high on the mountain.

It may last for five days.

It may last for ten.

We must wait."

"Ten days?" said Lily.

"We can't wait ten days!"

"We can," said Marco calmly.

"And we will.

The mountain does not care about our plans."

Jonas took a book out of his pocket and smiled.

"Good," he said.

"I have brought four books.

Now I will have time to read them all."

Nima and Tenzing laughed, but Lily did not.

She went back to her tent and sat there with her arms around her knees.

She thought about her plans.

She had saved money for three years to come here.

Her flight home was in six weeks.

Every day of waiting was a day lost.

The camp had a small satellite internet connection, and Lily checked the weather on her phone again and again.

She looked at one website, then another, then another.

They all said the same thing.

Wind.

Snow.

More wind.

In the afternoon, she went to the kitchen because it was the only warm place.

Pemba was standing at a wooden table.

He was pushing and turning a large piece of soft white dough with his hands.

"What are you making?" Lily asked.

"Bread," said Pemba.

"For tomorrow."

"For tomorrow?

Why not for today?"

"Because it is not ready."

Pemba put the dough into a big metal bowl.

"First I make it.

Then I put it in a warm place, and I wait.

Slowly, slowly, it grows big and soft.

If I put it in the fire too early, it becomes hard, like a stone.

Nobody wants to eat stone bread."

He covered the bowl with a clean cloth and put it near the stove.

"Have you ever watched bread grow, Lily?"

Lily laughed.

"No.

I've never had time.

I usually buy my bread at the supermarket."

"Then today you can watch," said Pemba.

"Now you have lots of time."

So Lily sat on the bench and looked at the bowl.

One minute passed.

Then five minutes.

Then ten.

Outside, the wind was still crying around the stone walls.

"It isn't doing anything," she said at last.

Pemba was cutting potatoes, and he did not look up.

"It is doing something," he said.

"You just cannot see it yet."

For the next few days, Lily could not sit still.

She walked around the camp again and again.

She did push-ups and sit-ups in her tent.

She packed her climbing bag, and then she unpacked it, and then she packed it again.

"I'm getting weak," she told herself.

"If I sit here all day, I'll lose my strength."

On the fourth day of the storm, the wind became a little quieter.

Lily put on her boots and her warm jacket.

Above the camp there was a steep hill of rocks and snow.

She decided to climb it alone, and she did not tell anyone.

She climbed fast, the way she always did.

But the air was very thin.

Base camp was more than five thousand meters above the sea, and each breath gave her only half the air that she got at home.

Soon she was breathing hard, and her heart was beating like a drum.

"Keep going," she told herself.

"Don't be weak."

After an hour, her head began to hurt.

At first it was a small pain, but it grew worse and worse.

She stopped to rest, and the rocks around her seemed to move.

The sky and the snow were turning slowly, like water in a bowl.

She sat down on a big rock and closed her eyes.

"Miss Lily!

Miss Lily!"

Somebody was calling her name.

She opened her eyes and saw a boy running up the hill.

It was Dawa, Pemba's grandson.

He was sixteen, and he was helping his grandfather in the kitchen this season.

He was thin and fast, and he moved over the rocks as easily as a goat.

"Grandfather saw you go," said Dawa.

"He sent me.

Come, we must go down now."

Dawa put Lily's arm over his shoulder, and they walked slowly back down to the camp.

With every step down, her head felt a little better.

In the kitchen, Pemba made her sit near the stove.

He gave her a big bowl of hot soup with lots of garlic in it.

"Eat," he said.

"And drink water.

A lot of water."

Marco came in.

His face was serious.

"You have altitude sickness," he said.

"You went too high, too fast.

Your body is not used to this thin air yet.

It needs time to change.

That is why we wait between climbs.

That is why we go up slowly."

Lily looked down at her soup.

She felt stupid, and she felt ashamed.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I just hate sitting still.

I have always been fast.

At school, at work, in everything.

Being fast has always helped me."

Pemba sat down next to her.

"Your body is like my bread," he said gently.

"It also needs time to grow strong up here.

In my village, the old people have a saying.

The slow yak reaches the village.

The fast yak falls into the river."

Lily laughed a little, even though her head still hurt.

"On the mountain," Pemba went on, "fast is not always good.

Sometimes the strongest thing is to sit still."

On the sixth day, there was news.

A large team was camping near Lily's team.

Their leader was a man named Victor.

He was tall and loud, and he wore a bright orange jacket.

He owned a big company in Chicago, and he had climbed mountains all over the world.

He liked to tell people about them.

That morning, Victor walked into the middle of the camp with his phone in his hand.

"Tomorrow the wind will stop!" he shouted.

"One good day!

We are going up tonight!"

Some climbers cheered.

Others looked at each other and said nothing.

Lily hurried over to him.

"Is it true?

The storm is ending?"

"Look."

Victor showed her the forecast on his phone.

There was a small green space between two big red areas.

"One day of low wind.

That's all we need.

A real climber doesn't sit in a tent and drink tea all day."

He looked at her with a big smile.

"We have space for one more person.

You look strong.

Why don't you come with us?

Why wait here with the old men?"

Lily's heart was jumping.

This was her chance!

She ran to Marco's tent.

"Marco!

Victor's team is leaving tonight.

There's a good day tomorrow.

He says I can go with them.

Can we go too?

Please?"

Marco was sitting in his tent and cleaning his climbing tools.

He listened to her, and then he shook his head.

"No," he said.

"But why not?"

"Because one good day is not a window," said Marco.

"A weather window is three or four good days together.

You need time to go up, and you need time to come down.

Everybody thinks about the top of the mountain, Lily.

But the top is only halfway.

Remember that."

"You don't know that the wind will come back!"

"I have looked at the same forecast as Victor.

The wind will come back on the second day.

Very strong.

Maybe stronger than before."

Lily's face grew hot.

Then she said something unkind.

"Maybe you're just too old," she said.

"Maybe you're afraid."

Marco looked at her for a long moment.

He did not look angry.

He looked tired and a little sad.

Then he went back to cleaning his tools, and he did not say another word.

Lily walked away quickly.

She was angry, but something in Marco's quiet face had stopped her, and she did not go with Victor.

All afternoon she could not stop thinking about her own words.

Why did I say that, she thought.

He has been so kind to me.

That night, Victor's team left base camp in the dark.

Lily watched the small lights of their headlamps moving slowly up the mountain, like a line of stars.

Lily could not sleep that night.

At midnight she got up and walked through the snow to the kitchen.

There was a soft yellow light inside.

Pemba was sitting by the stove with a small candle.

He was moving a string of wooden beads through his fingers and whispering prayers.

When he saw Lily, he smiled and put some water on the stove for tea.

"You cannot sleep," he said.

It was not a question.

Lily sat down and told him everything.

She told him about Victor, and about Marco, and about the unkind words that she had said.

Pemba listened without speaking.

When the tea was ready, he gave her a cup and sat back down.

"I will tell you a story," he said.

"I have not told it to many people."

Lily waited.

"When I was young, I was not a cook.

I was a climbing Sherpa, like Nima and Tenzing.

I was strong, and I was fast, faster than all my friends.

I have stood on the top of Chandi two times."

"Really?" said Lily.

She looked at the small old man in the red hat, and she tried to imagine him high on the icy mountain.

"Really," said Pemba.

"Thirty-five years ago, I was working for a foreign team.

The leader was a man a little like Victor.

He was always in a hurry.

One day, the weather was not ready, but he said, 'We go.' My best friend, Mingma, and I went with him.

It was our job."

Pemba looked into the fire.

"High on the mountain, the wind came.

It was like a wall.

We could not see our own hands.

We were lost in the cloud for a whole night, and it was very, very cold.

In the morning, the wind stopped, and we came down.

Everybody lived.

We were lucky.

But Mingma's hands were badly hurt by the cold.

After that, he could never climb again."

Lily did not know what to say.

"After that, I stopped climbing too," said Pemba.

"I became a cook.

I thought, I cannot stop the wind.

But I can make people warm while they wait.

I can help them to wait well."

"To wait well?" said Lily.

"Yes.

There is bad waiting, and there is good waiting.

Bad waiting is when you sit in your tent, and look at your phone, and feel angry at the sky.

It makes you tired, and it makes you foolish.

Good waiting is different.

You rest.

You eat.

You sleep.

You make your body strong and your mind quiet.

Then, when the window opens, you are ready to go through it."

He smiled at her.

"Waiting is also climbing, Lily.

It is the first part of the climb.

Many people do not understand that."

Lily thought about this for a long time.

Then she asked, "What happened to Mingma?"

Pemba laughed.

"Oh, he is fine!

He has a little shop in my village.

He sells tea and biscuits and batteries.

He has six grandchildren, and he is fatter than me.

Every year, before I come here, he says to me, 'Pemba, tell the young ones to wait.'"

Lily laughed too.

And for the first time in many days, the tight feeling in her chest became a little softer.

The next morning was clear and bright.

There was almost no wind, and the whole mountain was shining.

Lily stood outside her tent and looked up.

Somewhere up there, Victor's team was climbing.

She felt a little jealous.

But by the afternoon, long thin clouds were growing around the top of Chandi.

By evening, the wind was back.

That night it was stronger than ever, and Lily lay in her tent and thought about the people high on the mountain.

Two days later, Victor's team came back down to base camp.

They walked very slowly.

Their faces were red and burned by the wind and the sun.

A young woman named Rosa was walking between two Sherpas.

She could not use her left leg, and her face was white with pain.

Victor walked at the back.

He was not shouting now.

He was not smiling.

He looked ten years older.

Everyone at base camp ran to help.

Lily took Rosa's heavy bag and carried it to her tent.

Pemba and Dawa brought hot soup and tea for everyone.

A doctor from another team looked at Rosa's leg.

"It is not broken," the doctor said.

"But she cannot climb anymore this year.

She must go down to the valley."

Later, Lily sat with Rosa in her tent.

"What happened?" Lily asked quietly.

"We reached the second camp," said Rosa.

"The first day was beautiful.

But on the second morning, the wind came so fast.

In ten minutes, we couldn't see anything.

I fell on the ice and hurt my leg.

We had to turn around.

We were so lucky to get down."

She shook her head.

"Victor thought one good day was enough."

That evening, Lily saw Victor standing outside Marco's tent.

The two men were talking quietly.

"You were right," Victor said.

"I should have waited."

Marco put his hand on Victor's shoulder.

"Everybody makes mistakes on the mountain," he said.

"The important thing is to come home and learn from them."

After Victor left, Lily walked over to Marco.

Her face was hot again, but this time it was not because of anger.

"Marco," she said.

"I'm sorry.

What I said to you was wrong.

You're not old, and you're not afraid.

You're wise.

I was stupid."

Marco smiled, and the lines around his eyes became deep and kind.

"You were not stupid," he said.

"You were young and in a hurry.

When I was your age, I was just like you.

The mountain taught me to wait.

Now it is teaching you."

After that day, something in Lily began to change.

She stopped checking the weather on her phone every hour.

Instead, she went to the kitchen every morning and helped Pemba.

She learned to make bread with him.

She learned how to push and turn the dough, and how to cover it and leave it in a warm place.

She learned that the waiting was the most important part.

"Look," she said one afternoon.

She lifted the cloth from the bowl.

The dough had grown to twice its size, round and soft.

"It really did grow!"

"Of course," said Pemba.

"It was growing all the time.

You just could not see it."

Dawa taught her some words in Nepali.

Her favorite word was bistarai.

It means "slowly."

"Bistarai, bistarai," Dawa said, and he walked around the kitchen with very slow, big steps, like an old yak.

Lily laughed until her stomach hurt.

Pemba also taught her how to read the sky.

In the evenings, they sat outside the kitchen together and looked at the mountain.

"Do you see that long white cloud at the top?" he asked one evening.

"It looks like a scarf, yes?

That is snow.

The wind is blowing it off the top of the mountain.

When the scarf is long, the wind up there is very strong.

When the scarf is short or gone, the wind is quiet."

He pointed to some black birds with yellow beaks.

They were flying and playing in the air above the camp.

"And watch the birds.

When they fly high and play in the sky, good weather is coming.

When they stay low near the ground and hide in the rocks, bad weather is coming."

Lily began to watch the scarf of snow and the black birds every day.

She wrote about them in a small notebook.

She also wrote letters to her father in the notebook, because the internet was too slow for long phone calls.

Dear Dad, she wrote one night.

I haven't climbed yet.

We're still waiting for the weather.

At first I was so angry.

But now I've started to understand something.

Waiting isn't doing nothing.

I've been getting stronger every day.

I sleep well now, and my head doesn't hurt.

I've made bread.

I've learned new words.

I've watched the sunrise turn the mountain pink and gold.

I've never noticed things like this before.

I was always too busy running.

She also read one of Jonas's books.

It was a long, slow story about a sailor on the sea.

She had never finished a whole book in one week before.

The days passed.

The storm came and went and came again.

But Lily was not angry anymore.

For the first time in her life, she was not in a hurry.

She was waiting well.

In the fourth week, Lily got an email from her mother.

Your father went to the hospital for a few days, her mother wrote.

Don't worry.

He is home again now, and he is fine.

But the doctor says that he must rest.

He asks about you and the mountain every single day.

Lily read the email three times.

She felt a sharp pain in her chest.

She wanted to be at home.

She wanted to see her father's face.

And her flight home was now only twelve days away.

That same evening, Marco called the team together.

"There is some news," he said.

"The forecast shows two good days, starting the day after tomorrow.

Some teams are getting ready to go.

Maybe we can go with them.

But two days is not much time.

I am not sure."

Nima and Tenzing looked at each other.

Jonas closed his book.

Lily looked at Marco, and she felt her old hunger come back.

Go, go, go, said a voice inside her.

This is your last chance.

Go now.

But then she remembered Rosa's white face, and Mingma's hands, and the stone bread.

"Can I ask Pemba first?" she said.

Marco smiled.

"That is a very good idea."

They found Pemba outside the kitchen.

He was standing very still and looking up at the mountain.

The sun was going down, and the snow was turning red and orange.

"Look at the scarf," Pemba said, before anyone could ask him anything.

They looked.

A long white cloud was flying from the top of Chandi.

It was very long, longer than the mountain itself.

"And the birds," Pemba said.

"Where are they?"

Lily looked around.

The black birds were not playing in the sky.

They were sitting quietly on the rocks near the ground.

"The wind is still angry," said Pemba.

"These two days will not be good days up high.

Wait.

After the full moon, in four or five days, the real window will come.

Then Chandi will be ready for you."

Lily looked at Marco.

"What do you think?"

Marco was quiet for a moment.

"I think Pemba has watched this mountain longer than any computer has," he said.

"But it is your climb, Lily.

What do you want to do?"

Lily thought about her father.

She thought about her flight.

She thought about everything that she had learned in the last four weeks.

"I'll wait," she said.

Two days later, three teams started up the mountain.

By the next afternoon, all three teams had turned around and come back.

The wind had been too strong above the third camp, just as Pemba had said.

And then, on the morning after the full moon, Marco came running to Lily's tent with his phone in his hand.

He was smiling like a boy.

"Four days," he said.

"Four calm days in a row.

Pemba was right.

The window is opening."

Lily went outside and looked up.

The scarf of snow had disappeared from the top of Chandi.

The sky was clear and deep blue.

And high above the camp, the black birds were flying and playing in the sunlight.

That night, before they left, Pemba held a small ceremony outside the kitchen.

He burned some green branches, and sweet white smoke rose into the cold air.

He said prayers for the team.

Then he tied a thin red string around Lily's wrist.

"For good luck," he said.

"And remember, bistarai."

"Bistarai," said Lily, and she hugged him.

They left base camp at two o'clock in the morning.

The moon was still big and bright, and the snow was shining like silver.

Lily walked behind Nima.

She did not hurry.

She put one foot in front of the other, slowly and carefully.

She breathed in, and she stepped.

She breathed out, and she stepped again.

For three days, they climbed up the mountain from camp to camp.

They crossed wide fields of ice and climbed long walls of snow.

They used ropes and metal ladders to cross deep blue holes in the ice.

Every night they slept in small tents, high above the clouds.

Lily was tired, but her body was strong.

The long weeks of waiting had made it ready for the thin air.

On the fourth day, they started for the top at midnight.

The sky was full of stars, more stars than Lily had ever seen in her life.

The air was so cold that it hurt her face.

Nobody spoke.

There was only the sound of their boots in the snow, and their slow, heavy breathing.

Bistarai, bistarai, Lily said to herself with every step.

Slowly, the sky began to change.

First it was dark blue, then purple, and then a soft pink.

When the sun came up, it turned the whole world gold.

Lily looked around, and she could not believe her eyes.

Below her, there was a great sea of white clouds.

Other mountains were standing up through the clouds like islands.

At nine o'clock in the morning, Lily took her last step, and there was nowhere higher to go.

She was standing on the top of Chandi.

There was no wind at all.

The sky was so blue that it was almost black.

Lily sat down in the snow, and she cried.

They were happy tears.

Then she took off her glove and took out her phone.

She took a photo of herself with the whole world behind her.

She held up her father's old photo of Chandi next to her face, and she took one more.

"I'm here, Dad," she whispered.

"I'm here for both of us."

Marco came and sat next to her.

"Well done, Lily," he said.

He looked at his watch.

"We can stay for thirty minutes.

Then we must go down.

Remember?"

Lily smiled.

"The top is only halfway."

"Exactly," said Marco.

Going down was slow and hard, but the weather stayed calm, just as Pemba had promised.

Two days later, the team walked back into base camp.

They were tired and dirty and very happy.

Pemba was standing at the edge of the camp.

He was wearing his red hat, and in his hands there was a big pot of tea.

Dawa was next to him with a basket of warm bread.

"I made it this morning," said Pemba, and he smiled his wide smile.

"It was ready at just the right time.

Like you."

That night, the internet was working well, and Lily sent the photos to her father.

The next morning, there was a voice message from him.

His voice was weak, but it was full of joy.

"Lily, my girl," he said.

"I've looked at your photos a hundred times.

I've shown them to all the nurses and all the neighbors.

I've never been so proud in my whole life.

You know, I was always in a hurry when I was young.

I never learned to wait.

You've become a better climber than me."

Lily listened to the message again and again.

On her last day at base camp, she went to the kitchen to say goodbye.

Pemba was making bread, of course.

"Pemba," she said.

"How did you know?

About the window, I mean.

How did you know that it would come after the full moon?"

Pemba pushed and turned the dough.

"I did not know," he said.

"Nobody can know the mountain.

I only watched, and I listened.

And I waited."

He covered the bowl with a cloth and looked at her.

"At home, you will have storms too, Lily.

Everybody has storms in their life.

Sometimes you will want to run through them.

But remember this.

The window always opens in the end.

And only the people who have waited well are ready to go through it."

Lily hugged him for a long time.

Then she hugged Dawa, and Nima, and Tenzing.

She walked down the valley slowly, and she did not look at her watch once.

A year later, on a quiet Sunday morning in Colorado, Lily was sitting on the porch of her father's small house.

The sun was warm.

On the table between them there was a big bowl, covered with a clean cloth.

"Is it ready yet?" her father asked.

"Not yet," Lily said with a smile.

"Be patient, Dad."

He laughed.

"When did you become so patient?"

Lily looked through the window at a photo on the kitchen wall.

It was a picture of a small old man in a red wool hat.

He was laughing, and there was a silver mountain behind him.

"On a mountain far away," she said.

"An old cook taught me."

They sat together in the sunshine and watched the clouds move slowly across the sky.

Inside the bowl, the bread was growing, quietly and slowly, even though nobody could see it.

Some good things cannot be hurried.

You rest.

You get ready.

You listen.

And when the window opens, you go.