Climbing Trail
The Andes Part 18
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That night was a sleep filled with restlessness, and when the morning light shone dimly through the Fairchild window, I had been awake for several hours. Some of my friends had woken up, but no one spoke to me as I got up and got ready to leave.
I've been wearing clothes to climb before going to bed. On my body are attached cotton shirts and wool trousers. Those pants were the women's trousers I found in one of Liliana's suitcases, but after two months in the mountains, I had no trouble putting them on my thin waist. I wear three jeans to coat it, and three sweaters to coat the shirt. I was wearing four pairs of socks, and now I'm covering them with plastic bags to keep them dry.
put my foot in a pair of ripped rugby shoes and slowly tighten the rope, then I covered my head with a woolen hat and coated it with a veil and a layer of shoulders that I took from Susy's antelope jacket.
Everything I did that morning felt like a ceremony, something very important. My mind was as sharp as a knife, but reality felt paralyzing and like a dream, and I had the feeling I was watching myself from a distance. My friends stood still, not knowing what to say. I had left them before, as we walked the east lane, but I knew from the beginning that the journey was just a mere exercise. This morning I felt a final from my departure, and others felt the same way.
After weeks of friendship and fighting together, there was suddenly a distance between us. I'm gonna leave them.
I picked up the aluminum pole I was going to use as a stick, then lowered my backpack from the trunk above me. The bag contained meat for supplies and some strange and broken objects that might be useful, some pieces of cloth to wrap my hands to keep them warm, lipstick to protect my lips from the sun and wind. I have prepared the items before going to bed, I want my departure to be quick and smooth, delaying the trip will only reduce my courage.
Roberto has finished dressing. We looked at each other and then came out. Cold air stings. The wind and the sky are blue. Perfect day to hike.
Fito and his cousin brought us some meat for breakfast. We eat fast. Not much conversation. When it was time to leave, we stood up to say goodbye. Carlitos approached and we hugged. He smiled happily, and his voice strengthened our resolve.
"You're gonna make it!" she said. "God will protect you!" I saw hope in his eyes.
He was very thin, very weak, his eyes were sunken to the bone, and his facial skin was wrinkled around the bones of his face. My heart was broken thinking that I was his hope, and the journey we were about to begin was his only chance of survival. I wanted to shake his body, let my tears drip, and yelled at him, What am I doing, Carlitos? I'm so scared! I don't want to die!
But I knew if I continued to let this feeling go, the remnants of the courage I had would be gone. Then, I gave him one of a pair of little red shoes that my mother bought in Mendoza for my nephew. Those little shoes felt magical to me because Mom bought them lovingly for her grandson, and kept them well on the plane.
All the others said goodbye by hugging and staring at each other giving strength. Their faces revealed so much hope and so much fear, it was hard for me to look them in the eye.
After all, it was I who had planned this climb, I who forced them to believe that Chile could be reached on foot. I see everyone think of my actions as a form of confidence and optimism, and this may give them hope.
But that's not really optimism. It was panic. Terror. The impulse that moved me to walk west was the same as the impulse that moved someone to jump from the top of a burning building. I always wondered how one could think in such a short time, standing at such a height, waiting for the right moment to die.
How can you make such a choice? What logic tells you the time comes to step into thin air? This morning I found the answer. I smiled at Carlitos, then turned my body around before he saw the sadness in my eyes. My gaze was fixed on the snow mound that marked the tomb of my mother and sister. Since their deaths, I have not allowed myself to be sentimental about them. But now I remember again when I laid Susy in her grave and filled her with sparkling snow. Two months had passed since that day, but I could still imagine his face clearly as those white crystals fell slowly on his cheeks and forehead. If I die, I thought, Father will never know that I have made him comfortable and warm, and how peaceful he is in eating his white.
"Nando, are you ready?" Roberto's waiting.
The mountain was behind him, its white slopes glistening with the morning sunlight. I reminded myself that it was the peaks that kept me from home, and the time had come to embark on a long journey, but all these thoughts had not given me courage. I almost panicked. All the fears that have tormented me since I woke up from the coma converged into one, and I shivered like I was about to meet my death at the gallows. If I were alone, I might cry like a baby.
For months, I had been constantly thinking about my escape, but now, on the verge of my escape, I desperately wanted to stay with friends. I want to gather with them on the plane tonight, talk about our home and family, be soothed by their prayers and the warmth of their bodies.
This place is actually very terrible, wet with urine, the stench of death, dirty with pieces of human bones, but suddenly for me this place feels comfortable, warm, and familiar. How much I want to stay here.
"Nando," said Roberto, "It's time to go."
I looked at the tomb once more, then turned to Carlitos.
"If you run out of food. I want you to use my sister's and my mother's flesh."
Carlitos paused for a moment, then nodded, "Only if so forced." he said softly.
(Connected)
