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

“What is repression? Good question, River Leaf [she had not asked]. Herr Freud described everything in terms of the most advanced technology of his time, which happened to be hydraulics. He saw the psychological life of the human as a cadre of different forces asserting pressure on one another; the Superego on the Ego, the Id on the Ego, the Conscious on the Unconscious, etcetera. Repression is merely the Ego actively keeping certain fears and unacceptable desires in the Unconscious. Certainly, repression brings about side effects such as neurotic behaviors, but such side effects are certainly better than facing the horror of reality, despite what the psychoanalytic community claims.”

Being an academic himself, Cole was able to follow up to a point, although his background was in the hard sciences and so some of Morrow’s words seemed alien and silly to him. Morrow continued:

“The problem is, how does one intentionally repress a memory? That is the question I have been addressing for the past decade. My solution? I call it ‘repression through regression!’ The subject simply simulates life in the womb for several minutes and when he emerges, he is right again. The irony and the difficulty of this approach is that memory of the womb has itself been repressed by the trauma following shortly thereafter: Birth. None of us remembers birth because it was a trauma we could not stand to carry around with us. Sadly, memory of the womb went with it. So, in the process of simulating the womb, we are revisiting that most wonderful of lost memories and in so doing we displace, or more appropriately, repress, the new trauma.

“I am the subject today. I was scarred to the core by watching Fenimore die and then almost dying myself. If I do not treat the mental scar soon, it will become infected. How will I simulate the womb? Well, I will use the gift provided to me by the mountain.”

Morrow stopped at the lip of the Icy Bellows as its terrible wind hit him like one thousand fists. He shielded himself as best he could, but he had to lean almost completely forward, as if lying on a bed of air, so as not to be blown back down the incline he had just ascended. River Leaf and Cole had to do the same. In front of them, through squinted eyes, they saw the Icy Bellows for the first time. It was an enormous bowl, a wasteland. It was so enormous a large town could fit in it, a town with no laws other than those enforced by the cruel, unfeeling constables Cold and Despair. And beyond the Icy Bellows they saw – and heard - the summit. Or at least they saw the grey cloud covering the summit.

“Stop straining to look into the distance” Morrow yelled over the din. “Look at your feet!” There stood the hot springs Junk had mentioned earlier. Cole counted six of them, each a different size and shape. Steam rose from them and then scattered chaotically, caught up in the Bellows’ unruly wind currents. Scientists today believe the volcanic activity under Fumu’s cone must escape through vents other than those near the summit. Some of those vents lead to aquifers before reaching the surface. The result is steaming holes full of hot water, cooled somewhat by exposure to the frigid air.

“The womb” Morrow exclaimed. He did not waste any more time. Within moments, he had stripped down to nothing despite the frigid air and risk of instant frostbite. A reasonable man might have tested the water with a toe or at least walked in slowly. Morrow dove in. Moments later his head surfaced. A smile spanned his face. “It is lovely! Come in and experience the Majesty of your origins!” River Leaf pleaded with Morrow to get out. They were cold and Junk was waiting for them. They needed to climb back down to the team and start the final descent to Base Camp. Morrow was unreachable in his joy.

“I am being renewed!” he said through tears of joy. “Each muscle is like dough. Each nerve tingles with pleasure. My needs completely fulfilled by the warmth around me. There are no past pains because there is no past. This is the beginning.”

Cole spoke up. If Morrow did not get out immediately, he and River Leaf were going to abandon him. River Leaf gathered Morrow’s clothing and held it in a bundle, awaiting his return to Reason and emergence from the pool.

Eyes closed, Morrow remained motionless, head bobbing above steaming bubbles, smile etched permanently onto his face. With the speed of a minute hand, he turned his head to them and opened his eyes. “You see,” he said with an air of complete understanding and confidence. “Doctor Freud was right. It all boils down to hydraulics.”

One moment later, with a thunderous roar, one of the other pools burst heavenwards in a geyser eighty feet high. Then another. Morrow’s smile faded. His eyes were wide. Another geyser. He looked around for a foothold or handhold. Another geyser. River Leaf dropped the clothing and came forward as the bubbles in Morrow’s pool became more chaotic. Another geyser. Morrow cried and flapped his hands helplessly. Cole had had the good sense to bring a rope even though they had brought no other climbing equipment. He threw one end to Morrow who quickly tied it around his waist so the rope protruded out from his belly button.

It was too late. “The sound was deafening” Cole wrote.

“The mountain ejected Morrow. He shot into the air along with millions of gallons of water. The other end of the rope pulled free from me. Had I not been wearing gloves, it would have damaged my hands beyond repair. Morrow’s scream rose into the air, changing pitch due to the Doppler Effect. With that, the geyser ended as quickly as it had begun. The wind of the Bellows