Miracle in the Andes Chapter 8 PDF

Chapter Eight The Opposit~.of Death 72 Days on ,the Mountain and My Long '.:frek Blome NDO PARiRADO V I N C E !l A U 5 E IP I SLEPT AT ALL that night, it was never for more than a few restless moments at a time, and when the first light of morning glowed weakly in the Fairchild's windows, I had been...

Chapter Eight The Opposit~.of Death 72 Days on ,the Mountain and My Long '.:frek Blome NDO PARiRADO V I N C E !l A U 5 E IP I SLEPT AT ALL that night, it was never for more than a few restless moments at a time, and when the first light of morning glowed weakly in the Fairchild's windows, I had been lying awake for hours. Some of the others were up, but none of them spoke to me as I rose from the floor and readied myself to go. I had dressed for the mountain the night before. Next to my skin were a cotton polo shirt and a pair of woolen slacks. They were women's slacks I'd found in someone's luggage-Liliana's, probably-but after two months in the mountains I had no trouble slipping them over my bony hips. I had three pairs of jeans over the slacks, and three sweaters over the polo. I wore four pairs of socks, and now I covered the socks with plastic supermarket bags to keep them dry in the snow. I stuffed my feet into my battered rugby boots and carefully tied the laces, then I pulled a wool cap over my head and topped it with the hood and shoulders I'd cut from Susy's antelope coat. Everything I did that morning had the feel of ceremony, of consequence. My thoughts were razor sharp, but reality seemed muffled and dreamlike, and I had the feeling I was watching myself from a distance. The others stood by quietly, not sure what to say. I had left them before, when we'd set off on the eastern trek, but I'd known from the start that that trip was merely an exercise. This morning I felt a heavy sense of finality about my departure, and the others felt it, too. After so many weeks of mtense camaraderie and common struggle, there was suddenly a distance between us. I had already begun to leave them. ', 182 / Nando Parrado I grabbed the aluminum pole I would use as a walking stick, and took my backpack down from the luggage compartment above me. It was packed with my rations of meat and whatever odds and ends I thought might be useful-some bands of cloth I could wrap around my hands to keep them warm, a lipstick to protect my blistered lips from the wind and sun I had readied the pack before going to bed. I wanted my depanure to be as swift and simple as possible; delays would only give me time to lose my nerve. Roberto had finished dressing We exchanged a silent nod, then I slipped Panchito's watch onto my wrist and followed him outside. There was a sharp chill m the a1r, but the temperature was well above freezing. It was a perfect day for climbing; the wind was hght and the sky was brilliant blue. "Let's hurry," I said. "I don't want to waste this weather." Fito and the cousins brought us some meat for breakfast. We ate quickly. There was very little ullc. When 1t was time to leave, we stood to say our good-byes. Carlitos stepped forward and we embraced. He was smiling happily, and his voice was full of strong encouragement. "You will make It!" ne said. "God will protect you!" I saw the wild hope in his eyes. He was so thin, so weak, his dark eyes had sunk deep into his skull and 1he skin was drawn tightly across the bones of his face. It broke my 11eart to think that I was his hope, that this hopeless trek we were about to begin was his only chance of survival. I wanted to shake him, to let my tears flow, to scream at him, What the fuck am I doing, Carlitos? I am so afraid! I don't want to die! But I knew that if I allowed those feelings to rise m me, what was left of my courage would crumble. So, instead, I handed him one of the tmy red shoes my mm.her had purchased m Mendoza for my nephew. The shoes were magi cal for me because my mother had chosen them with such love fo1 her grandson, and had handled them so tenderly on the plane. "Keep this," I told him. "I'll keep the other one. When I come back for you, we'll have a pair again." The others said good-bye wirh embraces and glances of quiet MIRACLE IN THE ANDES \ 183 encouragement. Their faces showed so much hope and so much fear, it was hard for me to look them in tlie eyes. After all, I was the one who had planned the expedition. I was tlie one who had insisted most forcefully tliat it was possible to reach Chile on foot. I know tlie others saw my behavior as confident and optimistic, and perhaps it gave tliem hope. But what looked to them like optimism was really notlung of tlie sort. It was panic. It was terror. The urge that drove me to trek west was tlie same urge tliat drives a man to Jump from the top of a burning building. I had always wondered how a person thinks in such a moment, perched on tlie ledge, cringing from tlie flames, waiting for the split second when one deatli makes more sense tlian another. How does tlie mind make such a choice? What is the logic tliat tells you tlie time has come to step mto tliin air? This morning I had my answer. I smiled at Carlitos, then turned away before he saw tlie anguish in my eyes. My gaze fell on tlie soft mound of snow marking tlie place where my mother and sister were buried. In all the time since tlieir deatlis, I had not allowed myself a single sentimental thought about tliem. But now I relived tlie moment when I laid Susy in her shallow grave and covered her with tlie sparkling snow. Two montlis had passed since tliat day, but I could still see her face very clearly as tlie white crystals fell softy across her cheeks and brow. If I die, I thought, my father will never know how I comforted her and kept her warm, and how pea~eful she looked in her white grave. ('Nanda) are you ready?)) Roberto was waiting. The mountain was behind him, its white slopes blazing in the early sunlight. I reminded myself tliat those brutal peaks were all tliat blocked my patli to my father, and that tlie time had finally come to begin the long walk home, but these tlioughts inspired no courage. I was very close to panic. All the fears tliat had tormented me since the moment I woke from my coma were converging, and I trembled like a doomed man about to climb the steps to the gallows. If I were alone, I might have whimpered 184 / Nanda Parrado MIRACLE IN THE ANDES \ 185 like a baby, and the only thought in my mind was the plea of a frightened child: I do not want to go. For months I had sustained myself with thoughts of my escape, but now, on the verge of that escape, I wanted desperately to stay with my friends. I wanted to huddle with them in the fuselage tonight, to talk with them about our homes and our families, to be comforted by their prayers and the warmth of their bodies. The crash site was an awful place, soaked in urine, smelling of death, littered with ragged bits of human bone and gristle, but to me it suddenly felt safe and warm and familiar. I wanted to stay there. How badly I wanted to stay. "Nando/1 said Roberto, "it's time to go.n I glanced at the graves once again, then turned to Carlitos. "If you run out food;' I said, "I want you to use my mother and Susy.>' Carlitos was speechless for a moment, then he nodded. "Only as We didn't know, for example, that the Fairchild's altimeter was wrong; the crash site wasn't at seven thousand feet, as we thought, but close to twelve thousand. Nor did we know that the mountain we were about to challenge was one of the highest in the Andes, soaring to the height of nearly seventeen thousand feet, with slopes so steep and difficult they would test a team of expert climbers. Experienced mountaineers, in fact, would not have gone anywhere near this mountain without an arsenal of specialized gear, including steel pitons, ice screws, safety lines, and other critical gadgets designed to keep them safely anchored to the slopes. They would carry ice axes, weatherproof tents, and sturdy thermal boots fitted with crampons-metal spikes that provide traction on the steepest, iciest inclines. They would be in peak physical condition, of course, and they would climb at a time of their own choosing, and carefully plot the safest route to the top. The three of us were climbing in street clothes, with only the crude tools we could fashion out of materials salvaged from the plane. Our bodies were already ravaged from months of exhaustion, starvation, and exposure, and our backgrounds had done little to prepare us for the task. Uruguay was a warm and low-lying country. None of us had ever seen real mountains before. Prior to the crash, Roberto and Tmtin had never even seen snow. If we had known anything about climbing, we'd have seen we were already doomed. Luckily, we knew nothing, and our ignqrance provided our only chance. Our first task was to choose a path up the slopes. Experienced climbers would have quickly spotted a ridge winding down from the summit to meet the glacier at a point less than a mile south of the crash site. If we had known enough to hike to that ridge and climb its long, narrow spine, we would have found better footing, gentler slopes, and a safer and swifter path to the top. We never even noticed the ridge. For days I had marked with my eye the spot where the sun set behind the ridges, and, thinking that the best path was the shortest path, we used that point to chart a beeline path due a last resortt he said softly. Roberto called again. "Nanda?" 'Tm ready," I said. We waved one last time and then began to climb. NONE OF us had much to say as we followed the gentle incline of the glacier up to the mountain's lower slopes. We thought we knew what lay ahead, and how dangerous the mountain could be. We had learned that even the mildest storm could kill us if it trapped us in the open. We understood that the heavily corniced snow on the high ridges was unstable, and that the smallest avalanche would whisk us do:w,i the mountain like a broom sweeping crumbs. We knew that '