Hell Is Above Us: The Epic Race to the Top of Fumu, the World's Tallest Mountain, Jonathan Bloom [best ebook reader TXT] 📗

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 10th, 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 13th 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