Miracle In The Andes Chapter 7 PDF

"An astonishing account of an u Chapter Seven 1East....... 4 1,"'"', -.,_.,,.i- ~r_,.-. ,,, _,- ~~ ' , 72 Days on ,the Mountain and My Long Trek Home NDO PAR R A DO J !,' \/if~Cf. fl A !J S E ,, THE BLIZZARD FINALLY ended on the morning of November 1. The skies were clear and the sun was strong, so...

"An astonishing account of an u Chapter Seven 1East....... 4 1,"'"', -.,_.,,.i- ~r_,.-. ,,, _,- ~~ ' , 72 Days on ,the Mountain and My Long Trek Home NDO PAR R A DO J !,' \/if~Cf. fl A !J S E ,, THE BLIZZARD FINALLY ended on the morning of November 1. The skies were clear and the sun was strong, so a few of the guys climbed out onto the roof of the fuselage to melt snow for drinking water. The rest of us began the slow process of removing the tons of snow that packed the Fairchild's interior. It took ~ight days to clear the fuselage, chipping at the rock-hard snow with our flimsy plastic shovels and passing each scoopful back through the cabin, man to man, until we could toss it outside. As an expeditionary, I was officially excused from such grueling labor, but I insisted on working anyway. Now that the date of our escape had been chosen, I could not rest. I had to keep busy, fearing that idJe moments might weaken my resolve, or drive me insane. While we worked to make the fuselage livable again, my fellow eiq,editionaries Numa, Fito, and Roberto prepared for the trek. They made a sled by tying a nylon strap to one half of a hard-shell plastic suitcase, and loaded it with whatever gear they thought we could us~: the nylon seat covers we would use as blankets, Fitos's seat-cushion snowshoes, a bottle in which we would melt water, and other supplies. Roberto had fashioned knapsacks for us by tying off the legs of trousers and threading nylon straps through the pantlegs in such a way that we could sling them over our backs. We packed the knapsacks with more gear, but left room for the meat that Fito and his cousins were cutting for us and cooling in the snow. We all watched the weather closely, waiting for signs that spring was on its way, and by the second week in November it 146 / Nando Parrado MIRACLE IN THE ANDES \ 147 seemed that winter was easing its grip. When there was sun, temperatures were mild, as high as the mid-forties. But overcast days were cold, and even the slightest wind gave the air an icy edge. Nights were still frigid and storms still swept the mountains, often with little warning, and the thought of being trapped on the open slopes in a blizzard was one of my greatest concerns. In the first week of November we decided to add Antonio Vizintin to the ranks of the expeditionaries. Antonio, or "Tintin" as we called him, was one of the strongest of all the survivors. Broadshouldered and with legs like tree trunks, he was a prop for the Old Christians, a position he played with the strength of a bull. He also had a bull's temperament. Tinlin could be just as hot-tempered and overbearing as Roberto, and I worried that facing the mountains with these two great hardheads at my side might be a recipe for disaster. But Tintin was not as complicated as Roberto; he lacked Roberto's raging ego and the need to tell others what to do. In terms of physical strength, Tintin had endured our weeks on th,e mountain as well as any of us, and despite my concerns, I was happy he would join us, thinking that with five expeditionaries rather than four, we would improve the odds of at least one of us getting through alive. But as soon as we added this new member to our team, we lost another, as Fito was stricken by a case of hemorrhoids so severe that they bled down his legs and made walking even short distances an agony. There was no way he could cross the mountains in such pain, so it was agreed that we would travel with four, and Fito would stay behind. As the day of our departure grew nearer, I felt the spirits of the group rise as.their confidence in the prospects of our mission increased. I didn't share their confidence. I still knew in my heart that the only way to escape these mountains was to follow the path that led up the slopes of the terrifying peaks to the west, but I didn't resist the decision of the others to try the eastern route. I told myself that, if nothing else, the easier trek to the east would be a good training mission for this more difficult journey to come. In truth, I think it was simpler than that. I had suppressed my anxieties and my maddening urge to escape too long. I couldn't stay at the crruih site one moment longer. The idea of leaving this place, no matter what direction we headed, wa, too attractive to resist. If the others insisted on going east, I would go with them. I would do anything to be anyplace but here. But, deep down, I knew this trek wa, nothing more than a prelude, and I worried it would cost us precious time. All of us were growing weaker by the hour, and a few seemed to be sinking at an alarming rate. Coche Inciarte was one of the weakest. Cache, a longtime fan of the Old Christians, was one of the ones who dwelt in the background. He was famous for bumming cigarettes and wheedling his way into the warmest sleeping positions, but always with great charm, and it was impossible not to like him. Cache had an open and amiable spirit, a sharp wit, and an irresistible smile. His jovial spirit brightened our mood even in the darkest moments, and his gentle humor was a good buffer for the more aggressive personalities in the group. By diffusing tensions and making us smile, Cache was helping, in his way, to keep us all alive. Like Numa, Cache was one of those who had refused to eat when we first cut meat from the bodies of the dead. He had changed his mind a few days later, but he was still so repulsed by the idea qf eating human flesh that he had never been able to force down enough food to keep himself strong. He had grown shockingly thin, and his immune system had been so severely compromised that his body could no longer fight off infection. A,; a result, minor wounds on his legs had gone septic, and now large, fierce boils bulged from his reed-thin legs. "What do you think?" he asked me, as he drew his pantleg to his knee and swiveled a calf flirtatiously from side to side. "Pretty skinny, huh? Would you go for a girl with legs as skinny as these?" He had to be in great pain from those angry sores on his legs, and I '' ' 148 / Nanda Parrado MIRACLE IN THE ANDES \ 149 knew he was as frightened and weak as any of us, but still, he was Coche, and he still found a way to make me laugh. As bad as Coche might have been, Roy Harley seemed worse. Roy also found it hard to eat human flesh, and so his tall, broadshouldered frame had been rapidly stripped of fat and muscle. Now he walked with a hunched and uncertain stride, as if his bones were a flimsy collection of sticks held together by pale, sagging skin. Roy's mental state was also deteriorating. He had always been a rugged and courageous player for the Old Christians, but the mountain had depleted all his emotional reserves, and now he seemed to live constantly at the brink of hysterics, jumping at noises, weeping at the slightest provocation, and always with his face drawn tight in a grimace of apprehension and extreme despair.. Many of the younger boys were weakening, especially Moncho Sabell~, but Arturo and Rafael were the worst off, by far. Although he had suffered terribly from the first minute of the crash, Rafael had lost none of his fighting spirit. He remained courageous and defiant, and he still began every day with a loud proclamation of his intention to survive, a brave gesture from which we all drew strength. Arturo, on the other hand, had grown even quieter and more introspective than usual, and when I sat with him now, I sensed he was nearing the end of his fight. "How are you feeling, Arturo?" "I'm so cold, Nanda," he said. "There's not much pain. I can't feel my legs anymore. It's hard to breathe." His voice was growing soft and thin, but his eyes brightened as he motioned me closer and spoke with gentle urgency. "I know I am getting clo;er to God;' he said. "Sometimes I feel His presence so close to me. I can feel His love, Nanda. There's so much love, I want to cry/' "Try to hold on, Arturo:' "I don't think it will be long for me:'he said. "I feel myself being pulled to Him. Soon I will know God, and then I will have the answers to all your questions:' "Can I get you some water, Arturo?" "Nando, I want you to remember, even in this place, our lives have meaning. Our suffering is not for nothing. Even if we are trapped here forever, we can love our families, and God, and each other as long as we live. Even in this place, our lives are worth living:' Arturo's face was lit with a serene intensity when he said this. I kept my silence, for fear that my voice would crack if I tried to speak. "You will tell my family that I love them, won't you? That's all that matters to me now:' "You will tell them yourself:' I said. Arturo smiled at the lie. "I am ready; Nando," he continued. "I made my confession to God. My soul is clean. I will die with no sins:' "What's this?" I laughed. "I thought you didn't believe in the kind of God who forgives your sins;' Arturo looked at me and managed a thin, self-deprecating grin. "At a time like this;' he said, "it seems wise to cover all the angles:' All through the first week of November, Arturo grew weaker and more distant. His best friend, Pedro Algorta, stayed close to him through it all, bringing him water, keeping him warm, and praying with him. One night, Arturo started to cry softly. When Pedro asked Arturo why he was sobbing, Arturo replied, with a faraway gaze in his eyes, "B,ecause I am so close to God;' The following day Arturo developed a high fever. For forty-eight hours he was delirious, slipping in and out of consciousness. On his last night, we helped him down off the hammock so he could sleep beside Pedro, and sometime before morning, Arturo Nogueira, one of the bravest men I've ever known, quietly died in the arms of his best friend. ON THB MORNING of November 15, Numa, Roberto, Tintin, and I stood outside the fuselage, looking down the valley that sloped off 150 / Nando Parrado MIRACLE IN THE ANDES \ 151 to the east ready to begin our escape. Nu.ma was beside me, and though he was tryiog to hide it, I could see he was in pain. Since the avalanche, he had forced himself to eat, despite his revulsion, knowing he'd need all his strength for the expedition. Still, like Coche, he could not stomach more than a few scraps at a timesometimes he could not make himself swallow at all-and while his will remained strong, it was clear that his body had weakened. A few nights earlier, someone trying to make his way across the dark fuselage had stepped on Nu.ma's calf as he lay on the floor. An ugly bruise quickly appeared, and when Roberto saw how badly the leg had swollen, he advised Nu.ma to drop out of the expedition. Nu.ma assured Roberto that the bruise was nothing to be concerned about, and he firmly refused to let us leave without him. "How are you feeling?" I asked him, after we had gathered'our things and said good-bye to the others. "Are you sure you can make it on that leg?" Nu.ma shrugged. "It's nothing;' he said. "I'll be fine:' As we set off down the slope, the weather was overcast and the air was chilly but the winds were light, and despite all my misgivings about the eastern trip, it felt good to be leaving the crash site at last. At first we made good progress moving down the slope, but after an hour or so of hiking, the skies darkened, temperatures dropped, ap.d snow began to squall in violent spirals all around us, In the blink of an eye, a heavy storm rolled over us. Knowing that every second counted, we fought our way back up the slope and stumbled into the fuselage, frightened and half-frozen, just as the storm matured into a full-blown blizzard. As stiff winds rocked the plane, Roberto and I exchanged a sober glance. We understood, without spea!Ung, that if the storm had hit just an hour or two later, trapping us farther from shelter on the open slopes, we would now be dead or dying. The blizzard, one of the worst we'd had in all our weeks in the Andes, kept us penned in the fuselage for two long days. While we waited out the storm, Roberto grew more concerned with Numa's leg. There were two large sores now, each almost as large as a billiard ball. As Roberto lanced and drained the sores, he realized Numa was In no shape to hike through the mountains. 1 ' Your legs are getting bad;1 said Roberto. "You'll have to stay behind:' For the first time on the mountain, Numa's temper flared. "My leg is fine!" he shouted. "I can bear the pain!" "Your Jeg is septic," said Roberto. "If you would eat more, your body would be strong enough to fight off the infection:' "I am not staying behind!" Roberto glared at Numa and, with his characterjstic bluntness, said, "You are too weak. You will only slow us down. We can't afford to take you:' Nu.ma turned to me. "Nando, please, I can make it. Don't malce me stay." I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Numa;' I said, "I agree with Roberto. Your leg is bad. You should stay here:' As others gave the same advice, Numa fumed and drew into himself. I knew how badly he wanted to be with us, and how hard it would be for him to watch us leave. I knew I would not be able to stand such a disappointment, and I hoped this setback would not crush Numa's spirit. THE BLIZZARD FINALLY spent itself, and on the morning of November 17 we woke to find a clear, calm day. Without much fanfare, Roberto, Tintin, and I gathered our things and set off once more down the slopes, this time in bright sunshine and light breezes. There was little talking. I quickly fell into the rhythm of my strides, and as the miles passed the only sound in the world was the crunching of my rugby shoes in the snow. Roberto, who was dragging the sled, had pulled ahead of us, and after about an hour and a half of hiking I heard him shout. He was standing on a tall snowdrift, and 152 / Nanda Parrado MIRACLE IN THE ANDES \ 153 when we joined him there and looked beyond the drift we saw what he was pointing at-the remains of the Fairchild's tail section were lying a few hundred yards ahead. In minutes we had reached the tail. Suitcases were scattered everywhere, and we tore through them to get at the treasures inside: socks, sweaters, warm trousers. Happily we tore off the tattered, filthy rags on our backs and dressed in clean clothes. Inside the tail we found more luggage, filled with more clothing. We also found some rum, a box of chocolates, some cigarettes, and a small camera loaded with film. The plane's small galley area was in the tail, and there we found three small meat pastries that we immediately devoured, and a moldy sandwich wrapped in plastic, which we saved for later. ~ We were so excited by all this unexpected booty that we almost forgot about the radio batteries, which Carlos Roque had told us were·somewhere in the tail. After a short search, we found the batteries in a recessed space behind a hatch in the tail's exterior hull. They looked larger than I expected. We also found some empty Coca-Cola crates in the luggage hold behind the galley, which we took outside and used as fuel for a fire. Roberto roasted some of the meat we'd brought with us, and we ate with great appetite. We peeled the mold off the sandwiches we'd found, and ate them, too. As night fell, we spread clothes from the suitcases on the floor of the luggage hold and laid down to rest. Working with wires he'd stripped from the walls of the tail section, Roberto connected the airplane's batteries to a light fixture bolted to the ceiling, and for the first time we had light after sunset. We read some magazines and comic b9oks we had salvaged from the luggage, and I took some pictures of Roberto and Tinlin with the camera we had found. I thought that if we didn't make it out alive, someone might find the camera and develop the film, and they would know that we had lived, at least for a while. For some reason, this was important to me. It was luxuriously warm and spacious in the luggage holdwhat a pleasure to stretch my legs, and to roll into any position I chose-and soon we grew drowsy. Roberto extinguished the light, we closed our eyes, and all of us enjoyed the best night of sleep we'd had since the plane fell into the mountains. In the morning we were tempted to stay for a while in these cozy quarters, but we reminded ourselves of the others and their hopes for our expedition, and soon after waking, we were once again trekking east. It snowed that morning, but by late morning the skies cleared, the sun was hot on our shoulders, and we perspired heavily in our warm clothing as we hiked.After so many weeks of frigid temperatures, the sudden heat exhausted us quickly, and at noon we were forced to rest in the shade of a rocky outcrop. We ate some of our meat and melted some snow for water, but even after we'd refreshed ourselves, none of us had the energy to continue, so we decided to camp at the rock for the night. The sun grew stronger as the afternoon passed, but at sunset, temperatures began to plummet. We dug into the snow for shelter and wrapped up in our blankets, but as the hard chill of night fell upon us, these things seemed to offer us no protection at all. This was my first night outside the fuselage, and it only took a few moments to understand how terribly Gustavo, Numa, and Maspons must have suffered when they spent their long night on the open slopes. Qur night was no better. The cold bore down on us so aggressively that I feared my blood had frozen solid in my veins. Huddling together for warmth, we shuddered in each other's arms. We discovered that by making a sandwich of our bodies-one of us lying between the others-we could keep the guy in the middle of the sandwich warm. We lay this way for hours, taking turns at the middle position, and though we didn't sleep at all, we survived until daylight. When morning finally came, we climbed out of our poor shelter and warmed ourselves in the first rays of the sun, staggered by what we'd lived through, and stunned to be alive. I }. I 154 / Nando Parrado "We won't last another night like that;' said Roberto. He was gazing to the east, at the mountains that seemed to have grown larger and more distant as we trekked. "What are you thinking?" I asked. "I don't think this valley ever turns west;' he said. "We are only walking deeper into the cordillera." "You may be right;' I said. "But the others are counting on us. Maybe we should go a little farther:' Roberto scowled. "It's hopeless!" he snapped, and I heard that angry falsetto creeping into his voice. ''Are we any good to them if we're deadt, "Then what should we do?" "Let's get the batteries from the tail and take them to the Fairchild;' he said. "We can drag them on the sled. If we can make the radio work, we can save ourselves without risking our lives." I had no more faith in the radio than I had had in the prospects of trekking east, but I told myself we had to explore every hope, no matter how slim. So we gathered our things and returned to the tail section. It took only moments to remove the batteries from the plane and set them side by side on our Samsonite sled. But when Roberto tried to drag the sled forward, it dug deep into the snow and wouldn't budge. "Damn, these are too heavyt he said. "There is no way we can drag them up to the plane:' 1 ' We can't carry themt I said. Roberto shook his head. "No;' he said, "but we can get the radio from the Fairchild and bring it here. We'll bring Roy with us. Maybe he can figure out how to connect it to the batteries:' I didn't like the sound of this. I was certain the radio was damaged beyond repair, and I feared that Roberto's attempts to fix it would only distract him from what we now knew more clearly than ever was our only chance to survive: climb the mountains to the west. MIRACLE IN THE ANDES \ 155 "Do you really think we can make it work?" I asked. "How do I lmow?" snapped Roberto. "But ifs worth a try." "I'm worried we will waste too much time;' "Do you have to argue about everything?" he cried. "This'radio could save our lives:' "Okay;' I said, "I will help you. But if it doesn't work, then we climb. Do we have a deal?" Roberto nodded, and after allowing ourselves two more luxurious nights in the tail's luggage hold, we set off in the afternoon of November 21 to climb our way back to the fuselage. The walk down the valley from the crash site had been easy-so easy, in fact, that l hadn't appreciated the steepness of the slopes. Now, just minutes into our uphill trek, we found ourselves pushed to the limits of our stamina. In places we faced inclines as sharp as forty-five degrees, and the snow was often as deep as my hips. Battling up the mountain quickly sapped my strength. I was gasping for air, my muscles were burning with fatigue, and I found myself forced to rest for thirty seconds or more after every few steps. Our progress was excruciatingly slow; it had taken us less than two hours to descend from the Fairchild to the tail; it would take us twice as Jong to make the same trip in reverse. We reached the crash site in midafternoon, and the survivors at the fuselage gave us a somber greeting. It was six days since we had left theJll, and they had hoped we'd be close to civilization by now. Our return had dashed those hopes, but that was not the only reason for their low spirits; while we were gone, Rafael Echavarren had died. ''At the end he was delirious," Carlitos told me, "He kept calling to hls father to come get him. On his last night, I made hlm pray with me and that calmed him a little. A few hours later he began to gasp for air, then he was gone. Gustavo and I tried to revive him, but it was too late:' Rafael's death was a serious blow. He had become such a symbol 156 / Nanda Parrado MIRACLE IN THE ANDES \ 157 of courage and defiance for us that to see him struck down after all his brave resistance was one more reason to believe that the mountain would sooner or later claim us all. Was there no rhyme or reason to our suffering? This one struggles bravely and is taken away, that one doesn't fight at all and still survives? Since the avalanche, some of the others had clung to the belief that God had seen nineteen of us through that disaster because we were the ones he'd chosen to survive. Rafael's passing made it harder to believe that God was paying any attention at all. As we settled into the fuselage that night, Roberto explained the reason for our return. "The route to the east is no good:' he said. "It only leads deeper into the mountains. But we found the tail section, and most of the luggage. We brought warm clothes for everyone, And lots of cigarettes. But the good news is we found the The next morning, Roberto and I started working to remove the Fairchild's radio. The cockpit was packed with dials, toggles, and complex instrumentation, and in our ignorance it took some guesswork to decide what was part of the radio and what was not. Finally we figured out that the radio was made up of two components, one anchored in the cockpit's control panel and the other hidden behind a plastic panel in the wall of the luggage compartment. The component in the control panel, to which the earphones and microphone were attached, came out easily after we'd removed a few screws. The second component, tucked into a dark, cramped, and shallow cavity in the wall, was anchored more firmly and was much more difficult to get at. Working clumsily with our fingers and the bits of metal and plastic we used for tools, we struggled to loosen the bolts and clips holding the transmitter in place, but it was two frustrating days before we were able to remove it from the wall. When we finally pulled it free and set it beside the component from the cockpit, I saw the futility of our efforts. "Carajo!" I cried. "Look at this mess!" Bristling from the back of each component was a crazy tangle of tiny electrical wires. "This is impossible, Roberto! How will we ever batteries.'1 The others listened quietly as Roberto explained his plan to fix the Fairchild's radio. It was worth a try, they all agreed, but there was little enthusiasm in their reaction. There was a new look in their eyes now, of weary acceptance. Some of them had the dim, vacant stare I'd seen in pictures of concentration camp survivors. Just weeks ago, these were all vigorous young men. Now they stooped and wobbled when they walked, like feeble old men, and their clothing hung loose on the hard angles of their bony hips and shoulders. They were looking more and more like animated corpses, and I knew that I looked no better. I felt their hopes were flickering, and I couldn't blame them. We had suffered so much, and the signs were so bad: despite his brave resistance, Rafael was dead. Our escape to the east had failed. Two attempts to climb the mountains to the west had ended in near disaster. It seemed that every door we tried to walk through was slammed in our faces. Yes, they agreed, we shoufd try the radio. But none of them seemed to see any reason to expect that it would work. match these wiresr' Roberto ignored me, and carefully counted the wires on each component. "There are sixty-seven wires coming out of the back of this piece;' he said, "and sixty-seven coming out of the transmitter:' "But which wire connects to which?" I said. "It's impossible! There are too many combinations:' "Do you see these markings?" he replied. "Each wire has a different mark. The marks will tell us which wires match:' "I don't know, Roberto," I said. ''.All this time we are spending, and we don't even know if the radio still works." '' ,f'. 158 / Nando Parrado MIRACLE IN THE ANDES \ 159 Roberto's eyes flashed with anger. "This radio can save our Jives!" he snapped. "We owe it to ourselves to try this before we go off blundering into the mountains and throw our lives away:' "Okay! Okay!" I said, to calm him. "Esta bien. But let's ask Roy to take a look:' I called Roy over and showed him the radio. He frowned and shook his head. "I don't think this can be fix:edt he said. "We are going to fix it;' Roberto replied. "You are going to fix it:' "I can't fix this!" Roy cried, his voice growing thin and shrill in protest. "It's much too complicated. I don't know the first thing about a radio like this!" "Get hold of yourself, Roy;' said Roberto. "We're going to take this radio to the tail. You are coming with us. We are going to make this radio work and we are going to use it to call for help:' Roy's eyes went wide with terror at the news. "I can't go there!" he shrieked, "I'm too weak! Look at me! I can barely walk. Please, I won't make it to the tail and back!" "You'll make it because you have to: Roberto replied. "But this radio is ruined!" he wailed. "It's impossible!" "Maybe it is;' said Roberto, "but we have to try, and you're the only one who has a chance of making it work:' Roy's face crumpled and he began to sob. The thought ofleaving the fuselage terrified him, and in the following days he pleaded with anyone who would listen that he should be excused from the mission. Fito and the cousins were firm with him, insisting that he go. They pressured him to think of the good of the others. They even forced him to train for the mission by walking back and forth ' outside the fuselage. Roy reluctantly obeyed, but often he would weep as he paced in_ the snow. Roy was no coward. I knew that about him long before the crash, from the way he played rugby and from how he lived his life. In the early days of our ordeal, while he was still strong, he had been a productive member of our group. Roy had been at Marcelo's side as they organized the plane in the immediate aftermath of the crash, and had helped Marcelo with the difficult work of building the wall that kept us all from freezing. And I couldn't forget that if not for Roy's quick action in the wake of the avalanche, we all would have suffocated beneath the snow. But he was very young. I knew his suffering had shattered his nerves, and it was clear to see how the ordeal had ravaged his body. He was a skeleton covered in skin now, one of the thinnest and weakest among us, and I should have felt as much compassion for him as I felt for the others. In all our time on the mountain, I had rarely grown angry with any of my fellow survivors. I understood their fears, and the pressures they were under, especially the younger guys, so it was easy to be patient with them when their suffering made them selfish or lazy or afraid. Roy had suffered as much as any of the others, and he deserved the same consideration from me, but as he weakened and his emotional state continued to crumble, I found myself infuriated by his frequent displays of distress, and for some reason it became more and more difficult for me to show him kindness. So, when he begged me, in desperation, not to make him go with us to the tail, I didn't even look him in the eyes. "We are leaving soon:' I snapped. "You'd better be ready." Roberto spent several days studying the radio, and as I waited for him to finish, I grew more and more concerned about Numa. Since we had dropped him from the expeditionary team, his spirits had tumbled. Withdrawn into a brooding silence, he had grown furious with himself and the way his body had betrayed him. He was irritable and morose, and, worst of all, he refused to eat anything at all. As a result, he lost weight more rapidly, and the sores on his legs got worse. There were two large boils on his leg now, each larger than a golf ball, and each of them clearly infected. But what worried me most was the look of resignation in his eyes. Numa was one of the strongest and most selfless of all the survivors, and he had MIRACLE IN THE ANDES \ 160 / Nanda Parrado 161 Numa smiled and nodded. "I will try;' he said. But later, when they brought him some meat, I saw him wave it away. We left the next morning at 8:00 a.m., and made fast progress down the slope. As we approached the tail, I spotted a red leather bag lying in the snow, and immediatelyrecognized it as my mother's cosmetics case. Inside I found some lipstick that I could use to protect my lips from the sun, some candy; and a little sewing kit. I stashed these items in our knapsacks and kept hiking. Less than two hours after leaving the Fairchild, we were once again at the tail. We rested that first day. The next morning, Roy and Roberto started working on the radio. They worked hard, trying to make the proper connections to the battery, but they were feeling their way by trial and error, and just when it seemed they were making progress, the wires would flash and sizzle and we'd hear a loud electrical pop. Roberto would swear and badger Roy to be more careful, and they'd start over. Daytime temperatures were milder now, and the snow around the tail was melting fast. Suitcases that had been buried only days ago, when we first found the fuselage, were now lying in plain view. While Roy and Roberto tinkered with the radio, Tintin and I rummaged through the suitcases scattered around the tail. In one of the bags we found two bottles of rum. We opened one of the bottles and took a few swigs. "We'll save the other;' I said. "We can use it when we climb:' Tintin nodded. We both knew the radio would never work, but Roy and Roberto were still working furiously. They tinkered with it all afternoon and into the next morning. I was getting anxious to finish this experiment, and get back to the fuselage, where we could prepare for the climb. "How much longer do you think, Roberto?" I asked. He glanced at me with irritation in his eyes. "It will take as long as it takes:' he grumbled. battled as bravely as anyone to keep us all alive. But now that he could battle for us no longer, and had only himself to care for, he seemed to be losing heart. One night I sat beside him and tried to raise his spirits. ''.Are you going to eat something for me, Numa?" I asked. "We are going to the tail soon. It would be nice to see you eat before I leave:1 He shook his head feebly. "I can't. It is too painful for me:' "It's painful for all of us;' I said, "but you must do it. You must remember it is only meat now." "I only ate before to strengthen myself for the trip," he said. "Wbat reason do I have to force myself now?" "Don't give up;' I told him. "Hold on. We are going to get out of here:' Numa shook his head. "I am so weak, Nanda. I can't even stand anymore, I don't think I'm going to last much longer." "Don't talk that way, Numa. You will not die:' Numa sighed, "It's okay, Nando:' he said. "I have examined my life, and I know that if I die tomorrow, I have still had wonderful years." I laughed. "That's exactly what Panchito used to say," I said. "And he Jived his life according to those words. He was reckless, daring; he always thought that things would go his way. And usually they did:' "He was famous for that:' said Numa. "How old was he?" "He was only eighteen. But he lived so many lifetimes, had so many adventures, and, macho, he made love to so many beautiful girls:' "Maybe 'that's why God took him:' said Numa. "So that there would be a few gir!s for the rest of us." "There will be plenty of girls for you, Numa," I said. "But first you must eat, and live. I want you to live." I 'I 'I ' e ,j '. MIRACLE IN THE ANDES \ 163 16Z / Nando Parrado "We're running low on food:' I said. "I think Tintin and I should go back and get more:' "That's a good idea:' he said. 'We'll keep working:' Tintin and I gathered our things, and in minutes we were climbing up the valley toward the Fairchild. Once again I was struck by how much more difficult it was to climb these slopes than it was to descend them. We trudged for hours, stopping frequently to gasp for air, and finally reached the plane in late afternoon. Once again we received a sullen welcome, and I couldn't help noticing that the others seemed to have grown even weaker and more listless than when we'd left them. "We came for more meat," I said. "The radio is taking longer than expected:' Fito frowned. "We are running low on food. We've been looking everywhere for the bodies that were lost in the avalanche, but the snow is so deep and we are so tired. We even climbed up the slopes several times to fetch the bodies that Gustavo found when he climbed." "Don,t worry;' I said, ('Tintin and I will dig:, "How is it going with the radio?" "Not well," I said. "I don't think it is going to work:' ''We are running out of time," said Fito. "Every one of us is weak. The food won't last much longer:' "We need to go west;' I said, "It may be impossible, but it is our only chance. We have to go as soon as possible:' ['Does Roberto think the same?'1 "I don't know what he is thinking;' I said. "You know Roberto. He will do what he wants to do:' 1 ' ulf he refuses," said Fito, ''I will go with you: I smiled war:"1y at Fito. "That's brave of you:' I said, "but with those sores in your ass, you can barely walk fifteen feet. No, we must persuade Roberto to go west, and to go very soon:' Tintin and I stayed at the fuselage for two days, digging through _, the snow in search of fresh bodies. When we found what we were looking for, Fito and his cousins cut the meat for us, and after resting a while, we hiked down the glacier once more. We reached the tail section at midmorning and found Roy and Roberto hard at work on the radio. They thought they had the connections right, but when they powered up the radio, they heard nothing but static. Roy thought the radio's antenna, which had been damaged in the crash, might be defective, so he made a new one from copper wire he stripped from the electrical circuits in the tail. Roy and Roberto attached the new antenna to the Fairchild's radio, and stretched tl1e long copper wires on the snow. The radio worked no better. Roy disconnected the antenna and attached it to the small transistor radio, which he'd brought along. The long antenna gave the transistor a strong signal. Roy tuned in a station with some mnsic that we liked, and went back to work. Moments later the music was interrupted by a bulletin, and we heard the surprising news that the Uruguayan air force was sending a specially equipped Douglas C-47 to search for us. Roy whooped in joy at the news. Roberto turned to me, smiling broadly. "Did you hear that, Nanda!? They're looking for us!" "Don't get your hopes up," I said. "Remember what Gustavo said-from the slopes the Fairchild is just another speck on the glacier:'. "But this is a specially equipped plane;' said Roberto. "And the Andes are huge," I said. "They don't know where we are. Even if they do find us, it could take months." "We need to make a sign for them," Roberto said, ignoring my skeptical glare. In minutes he had us gathering suitcases and arranging them on the snow in the shape of a large cross. When we'd finished, I asked Roberto about the radio. "I don't think we can fix it," he said. "We should go back to the plane." 164 / Nanda Parrado MIRACLE: IN THE: ANDES \ 165 ''.And get ready to go west," I said, "as we agreed:' Roberto nodded absently and went to gather his things. As I rounded up my own gear, Tintin came to me with a small rectangular piece of cloth insulation he had taken from the tail. "This stuff is wrapped around all the pipes in there," he said. "There must be some way we can use it." I felt the material between my fingers. It was light and strong, fluffy inside, with a tough, smooth fabric cover. "Maybe we can use it to line our clothes;' I said. "It seems like it would keep us warm:' Tintin nodded, and we went into the tail. In moments we had stripped all the insulation from the pipes and stuffed it into our knapsacks. As we worked, we heard a racket outside, and when we looked, we saw Roy angrily stomping the radio to pieces. "He should save his energy; I said to Tintin. "This climb is going to be tough:' We set off up the slope in midmorning. The skies were overcast as we departed, and the ceiling was very low, but temperatures. were mild and the weather was calm. Roberto and Tintin were in the lead, Roy was straggling behind me. As before, fighting up the slope through the knee-deep snow was exhausting, and we stopped often to rest. I knew Roy was suffering from the effort, so I kept my eye on him, and slowed my pace to keep him from slipping too far behind. About an hour into our trek, I glanced at the sky as I rested, and was startled by what I saw. The clouds had swollen and turned an ominous dark gray. They hung so low I felt I could touch them. Then, as I watched, the clouds rushed at us, like the crest of a killer wave. Before I could react, the sky seemed to fall, and we were swept up-in one of the blitzkrieg blizzards that those who know the Andes ~all a "white wind." In a matter of seconds, everything was chaos. The temperature plummeted. The wind shoved and tugged at me so fierce1y I had to stagger back and forth to keep from falling down. Snow swirled in thick whirlpools around me, stinging my face and robbing me of my bearings. I squinted into the blizzard, but visibility was close to zero now, and I saw no sign of the others. For a moment I panicked. ''Which way is up?" I asked myse1£ "Which way do I go?" Then I heard Roberto's voice, sounding faint and distant in the huge roar of the storm. "Nanda! Can you hear me?" "Roberto! I am here!" I looked behind me. Roy had vanished. "Roy? Where are you?" There was no response. About thirty feet behind me, I saw a blurred gray heap in the snow, and I realized Roy had fallen. "Roy!" I bellowed. "Come on!" He didn't move, so I stumbled down the slope to the spot where he lay. He was curled up in the snow, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his body. "Move your ass!" I shouted. "This storm will kill us if we don't keep moving!" "I can't," Roy whimpered. "I can't go another step." "Get up, you bastard!" I shouted. "We'll die here!" Roy looked up at me, his face twisted into a grimace of fear. uNo, please:' he sobbed, '(I can't. Just leave me." The storm was gathering power by the second, and as I stood over Roy, the winds gusted so ferociously I thought they would lift me off my feet. We were trapped in a total white-out now. I had completely lost my sense of direction, and my only hope of making it back to the fuselage was to follow the tracks Roberto and Tintin were leaving. But the heavy snow was rapidly burying their footprints. I knew they would not wait for us-they were fighting for their lives, too-and I knew that each second I stayed with Roy brought us both closer to disaster. I looked down at Roy. His sho ulden; were quaking as he wept, and he was already half-covered in snow. I have to leave him or I will die, I thought. Can I do it? Do I have it in me to leave him here to die? I did not answer these questions in 166 / Nando Parrado MIRACLE IN THE ANDES \ 167 words, but with action. Without another thought, I turned away from Roy and followed the tracks of the others up the slope. As I staggered against the force of the winds, I pictured Roy lying in the snow. I thought of him watching my shadow disappear into the storm. It would be the last thing he ever saw. How long will it take far him to lose consciousness? I wondered. How long will he suffer? I was perhaps fifteen yards away now, and I couldn't erase the picture of him from my mind: slumped on the snow, so helpless, so pathetic, so defeated. I felt a wild surge of contempt for his weakness and lack of courage, or at least that was what it felt like then. In retrospect, things look quite different. Roy was no weakling. He had suffered more than most of us and had found the strength to endure, but he was so young and his body had been ravaged so badly that all his resources, physical and mental, had simply been overwhelmed. We were all being forced toward our limits, but Roy had been pushed too hard and too fast. It bothers me now that I did not show him more patience and encouragement in the mountains, and I have realized, after years of reflection, that the reason I treated him as I did was that I saw too much of myself in him. I know now that the grating whine in Roy's trembling voice was unbearabie to me because it was such a vivid expression of the terror I felt in my own heart, and that the twisted grimace he wore on his face maddened me only because it was a mirror of my own despair. When Roy surrendered and lay down in the snow I knew he had reached the end of his struggle. He had found the place where death would take him at last. Thinking of Roy lying still on the slope, slowly disappearing beneath the snow, I was forced to wonder how close my own moment of surrender might be. Where was the piace where my own will and strength would fail? Where, and when, would I give up the struggle and lie down, frightened and defeated like Roy, in the soft comfort of the snow? This was the true source of my anger: Roy was showing me my future, and in that moment I hated him for it. Of course, there was no time for such introspective thought on that storm-swept mountain. I was acting on instinct alone, and as I pictured Roy sobbing in the snow, all the scorn and derision I had felt toward him in the last few weeks exploded mto a murderous fury. Impulsively, I swore like a madman into the gusting winds. "Mierda! Carajo! La reconcha de la reputisima madre! La reputa. madre que lo·recontra mil y una pari6!" I was out of my mind with anger, and before I knew it, I was crashing down the slope to where Roy had fallen. When I reached him, I kicked him savagely in the ribcage. I fell on him, slamming my knees into his side. Kneeling on him, I balled my fist and battered him with hard punches. As he rolled and screamed in the snow, I abused him verbally just as viciously as I attacked him with my fists. "You son of a whore!" I shouted, "You filthy bastard! Get on your fucking feet, you miserable motherfucker. Stand up or I'll kill you! You bastard, I swear it:' I had struggled, since my first moment on the mountain, to maintain my composure and avoid wasting energy venting my angers and fears. But now, as I hovered over Roy, I felt my soul emptying itself of all the fear and venom that my time on the mountain had given me. I stomped Roy's hips and shoulders with my rugby boots. I shoved him into the snow. I called him every foul name I could think of, and insulted his mother in ways I do not like to remember. Roy wept and screamed as I abused him, but fu:ially he rose to his feet. I shoved him forward, so hard that he almost fell again. And I kept shoving him roughly, forcing him to stumble up the slope a few feet at a time. We battled through the blizzard. Roy suffered terribly from the exertion, and my own strength was rapidly fading. The aggressive- ness of the storm was frightening. As I struggled to breathe the thin air, the swirling winds would snatch my breath away, then force it down my throat again, forcing me to sputter and choke as if I were drowning. The cold hammered me, and wading through the deep, heavy snow pushed me beyond exhaustion. Soon my muscles were :'... I , 'I '', 168 / Nando Parrado MIRACLE IN TRE ANDES \ 169 utterly spent, and each step required a monumental act of will. I kept Roy in front of me, where I could keep shoving him forward, and we climbed foot by foot. But after a few hundred yards he slumped forward and fell, and I knew he had spent the last of his strength. This time I didn't try to rouse him. Instead I reached around him and lifted him from the snow. Even through all the layers of his clothing, I could feel how thin and weak he had become, and my heart softened. "Think of your mother, Roy;' I told him, with my lips pressed to his ear so he could hear me in the storm. "If you want to see her again, you must suffer for her now." His jaw was slack, and his eyes were rolling up under their eyelids. He was on the verge of passing out, but still he managed a feeble nod: he would fight. For me, this moment of bravery was as remarkable as any of the other acts of courage and strength that we saw in the mountains, and now, when I think of Roy, I always think of him in and Tintin had collapsed on the floor, and I fell heavily beside them. I couldn't stop shivering, and my muscles burned and quivered with the most profound exhaustion I'd ever felt. I've burned myself out, I thought. I will never recover. I will never have the strength to climb out of here. But I was too tired to care. I burrowed into the heap of bodies pressing around me, drawing warmth from the others, and for the first time I fell asleep quickly and slept soundly for hours. In the morning, I rested. The days I'd spent away from the Fairchild had given me perspective, and now I saw with fresh eyes the gruesomeness that had become a normal part of our daily lives. There were piles of bones scattered outside the fuselage. Large body parts-someone's forearm, a human leg from hip to toes-were stored near the opening of the fuselage for easy access. Strips of fat were spread on the roof of the fuselage to dry in the sun. And for the first time I saw human skulls in the bone pile. When we first started eating human flesh, we consumed mostly small pieces of meat cut from the large muscles. But as time passed and the food supply diminished, we had no choice but to broaden our diet. For some time, we had been eating livers, kidneys, and hearts, but meat was in such short supply now that we would have to split skulls to get at the brains inside. While we'd been away, some of the survivors had been driven by their hunger to eat things we couldn't stomach before: the lungs, parts of the hands and feet, and even the blood