Ice and snow cover it, so Paul and I rope up.
“I’ll go first,” I say.
He gives me a funny look and says, “World’s funny that way.”
“Yeah, it doesn’t make sense, but I think I’m in charge now, right?”
“I think that’s right,” he says, nodding for me to go.
I walk out and even though there’s ample space on either side, my heart jumps up and down. The ground is slippery and bumpy, and more than once I almost lose my footing. I decide to lie down and crawl across. After about ten feet of crawling, I reach the midpoint, and the trail narrows to only a few feet wide for about a distance of ten feet or so.
I decide to flatten out like a pancake, my arms and legs straddling around either side of the pass. If I try to crawl across that narrow strip of ice, I fear I’ll slip right over the edge.
I slowly shimmy across, careful to move as slowly as I can. I look back a few times at Paul, who is crawling on his hands and knees. I hear him grunting the whole way, and I can only imagine how painful it is when his body slips or slides. Keeping oneself steady on top of the trail requires a constant tightening of the upper-body muscles, the muscle group my gym teacher in middle school called “your core.” Paul’s core is bruised and perhaps broken. Even a simple trek like what lies before us will be brutally painful for him.
“You have to pancake that part,” I yell. I see Paul nod and he tries to lie down in a flat position, but it is too painful. He shakes his head to tell me he can’t do it. I put up a hand, telling him to wait.
I shimmy beyond the narrow section of the pass, and then I stand up. I dig my heels into the snow to get as much leverage as I can. Then I triple wrap the rope around my forearms, readying myself. Doubt creeps into my mind for a second, but I push it away. I know I could never hold Paul if he really slipped over the edge, but I can’t abandon him.
I nod to Paul to say I’m ready. Paul looks at me and shakes his head.
“You’ll never hold me if I fall. It’s suicide,” he yells. “Sorry-you know what I mean.”
“I’m not letting go,” I shout back. “You didn’t let me go on the cliff.”
“That was different-we had a chance!”
Then Paul lowers himself onto his belly and he screams, “ Fuck, this hurts.” I know he is doing this for me, so that my life isn’t at risk, or at least as much at risk. Sacrifice. The word dances in my head, and I can’t help but notice how similar sacrifice is to suicide, but to die for someone else seems so much nobler. Paul begins to shimmy, but it is slow going. I pull the rope gently and work my way backward, offering a little pull with each push he makes with his back legs. Paul screams and hollers with every slide, but he makes his way; and in fifteen minutes or so, he crosses the narrow strip.
We hug each other when he’s finally able to stand.
“Thank you,” he says.
“What did I do?” I ask, perplexed.
“You were willing to die for me,” he says. “Thank you.”
I pitch up on my toes and kiss his icy lips. I’m crying. I put a hand on his side as softly as I can and ask if he’s okay.
He nods, but his eyes betray the enormity of his pain.
I am filled with hope as I stand at the bottom of the peak.
We climb. It is steep and thickly lined with trees at the bottom, mostly pines. I lead us up the mountain.
It takes the whole morning to ascend the first hundred yards. Our faces are cut and bruised and our necks savaged by the razor-sharp branches. With nearly every step, Paul screams or grunts or swears with pain, mostly from his chest. I call back to him a few times, but he ignores me.
I push my way through a thick clump of trees and there is a break in the tree line.
I’m not sure if it’s from the height of the mountain or the lack of water this high up. But I can see the top from where I stand. The climb to the top is clear, studded here and there with trees, rocks, and snow.
“Paul!” I shout.
His glove comes through the bushes first as he pulls himself up above the tree line. His face is white and dull, like the blood is being drained from his body. His legs wobble and he falls to the ground at my feet. I kneel down beside him quickly and, in a flutter of emotion and anxiety, find myself kissing his forehead and hair.
“Paul? Paul?”
He doesn’t respond, but his right hand comes around and squeezes me.
“I can’t make it, Solis. You should go on.”
“Never,” I say. “I know it hurts, but you can do it.”
He squeezes me again and I squeeze him back and kiss his head again.
“I remember now.”
“What?”
“I remember you wanted to die. On the plane.”
“Yes, I told you that. But it’s not true anymore.”
“I don’t want to die,” he whispers.
“I won’t let you. Besides, we have to climb this little mountain.”
But we don’t go back to climbing right away. He puts his head down in my lap and closes his eyes. Sleep comes quickly and I hold him, trying to be soothing and to provide whatever warmth I can. There’s a light snow falling, and the wind has picked up. It’s very cold without the trees to protect us. I tell myself I’ll let him have fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, but then I’ll wake him. We can’t get caught here on this mountain if a storm comes.
When I wake, I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep. My heart jumps, and I shake Paul. He’s dead asleep, but I’m able to wake him quickly. He startles and then just stares at me, locking on my eyes in the way only he can.
“Did you think I was gone?”
“No,” I say quickly, but I look down. I don’t want to reveal my fears to him.
“I’ve got something for you,” he says. He opens his bag and pulls out a piece of the candy bar I had handed him the day before. “I saved it in case we needed something extra.” He breaks it in half and hands me a piece.
“I can’t.”
“You can. Open up,” he says.
I smile and then kneel down next to him and he slides the piece of chocolate between his teeth. I lean in and kiss him, and bite off half the candy bar.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I shake my head no and smile. I can taste every atom of the chocolate. The salt, sugar, and milk all taste like the very ultimate version of themselves in my mouth.
“We’ll have this again, you know,” he says.
“Yes. I know we will, but much more.”
He stands with a new energy that surprises me.
We begin the ascent and it is clean and purposeful. Paul takes the lead this time, his strength returning like a droopy plant that finds its bloom again in the sun after a long cold night.
It feels like I am floating on the snow. I lean into the mountain, like Paul has told me, and I slam my sticks in at forty-five-degree angles so the snow can hold me. My boots are regular old boots, but the ground is hard, so I’m kicking into the snow trying to create leverage. There are rocks and small bushes to grab and hold. We make better time than I could have hoped and when we reach the top and crest, the whole of the valley is behind us.
I look back once at the darkening valley we just climbed out of. From this view I can see that the nooks and crevices, and the cliffs and overhangs, are flattened into a majestic, romantic vista. Its charms are seductive and had I not just climbed my way out, I would only see the beauty.
While I’m looking at where we’ve been, Paul looks ahead to where we need to go, and glances up at the heavy cloud cover above us. The snow falls more quickly and the wind up here is brutal and we are completely exposed to all the elements.
But off into the distance, we can both clearly see a path down and off this mountain. We are a day away from the lowlands and, possibly, help.
We look at each other and he pulls me in and says, “Almost home, Solis.”