Miracle Prologue .pdf

- -... 0 :,,--Malargue r 0 - 10 JD path of the Fatrchtld _ Intended flight path of the Fa:irdu.ld ~O kllom~ters "KtlCIWll fl.1ght Prologue IN THE FIRST HOURS there was nothing, no fear or sadness, no sense of the passage of time, not even the ghmmer of a thought or a memory, JUSt a black and perfect...

- -... 0 :,,--Malargue r 0 - 10 JD path of the Fatrchtld _ Intended flight path of the Fa:irdu.ld ~O kllom~ters "KtlCIWll fl.1ght Prologue IN THE FIRST HOURS there was nothing, no fear or sadness, no sense of the passage of time, not even the ghmmer of a thought or a memory, JUSt a black and perfect silence. Then hght appeared, a thin gray smear of daylight, and I rose to it out of the darkness like a diver swimming slowly to the surface. Consciousness seeped through my bram like a slow bleed and I woke, with great difficulty, into a twilight world halfway between dreaming and awareness. I heard voices and sensed mot10n all around me, but my thoughts were murky and my VISion was blurred. I could see only dark silhouettes and pools of hght and shadow. As I stared at those vague shapes in confusion, I saw that some of the shadows were movmg, and finally I realized that one of them was hovering over me. "Nanda, podes oirme? Can you hear me? Are you okay?" The shadow drew closer to me, and as I stared at it dumbly, it gathered itself into a human face. I saw a ragged tangle of dark hair and a pa1r of deep brown eyes. There was kindness in the eyesthis was someone who knew me-but behind the kmdness was something else, a wildness, a hardness, a sense of desperation held m check. "game on, Nanda, wake up!" Why am I so cold? Why does my head hurt so badly? I tried desperately to speak these thoughts, but my hps could not form the words, and the effort quickly drained my strength. I closed my eyes and let myself drift back into the shadows. But soon I heard other voices, and when I opened my eyes, more faces were floatmg above me. J 1! ,i:i,,, 2 / Nanda Parrado MIRACLE IN THE ANDES \ 3 "Is he awake? Can he hear you?" "Say something, Nanda!" "Don't give up, Nanda. We are here with you. Wake up!" I tned again to speak, but all I could manage was a hoarse whisper. Then someone bent down close to me and spoke very slowly in sixteen years old and was hvmg as an exchange student in Saginaw, Michigan. I hadn't brought any warm clothing with me to Saginaw, and I remember my first taste of a true Midwestern winter blast, how the wind cut through my thin spring jacket, and my feet turned to ice mside my lightweight moccasins. But never had I imagined anythmg like the bitter subzero gusts that blew through the fuselage. This was a savage, bone-crushing cold that scalded my skin hke acid. I felt the pain m every cell of my body, and as I shivered spastically in its grip, each moment seemed to last an etermty. C":1,