Chapter 12 Chapter 10 The Will Game

The snow was deep, softened by the sun.I planted the ice ax firmly in the snow, leaned hard on it, and kicked hard as I jumped down on one foot.I only had one chance to kick my crampons into the ice and get a foothold.The injured leg hung limply.Despite my precautions, I often tripped over my injured leg, or jerked my knee around, only to end up screaming in pain.When I looked at the glacier again, I found that the glacier was only more than 20 meters away from me, and there were no crevasses or crevasses at the bottom of the slope. I was very happy.However, there are some changes to the surface of the slope.I saw patches of bare ice a few meters below me, and I panicked.I managed to do two more hops when the inevitable happened.I expected this to happen and prepared for it.As soon as I jumped on the ice, the crampons started to slip and I fell on my side.I headed down the slope, with the right side of my body against the slope, sliding down on the windbreaker and pants.My boots kept scraping against the ice, knocking my legs together, and the pain made me close my eyes and clench my teeth.The process was short, quick, and extremely painful.

Note 1: Back crevasses are fissures formed by the flow of glaciers and separation from stationary ice or snow, and are mostly found in the upper reaches of glaciers.Editor's note Then I hit a bump and stopped sliding.I lay motionless on the ground, the pain throbbing up and down the inside of my injured leg.I tried to move my left leg away from the injured knee bent back, but when I moved, I screamed from the sharp pain and couldn't move.I lift myself up and look at my legs.The crampons of the right boot got entangled in the leggings of the left leg, so the knee bent back as before.I leaned forward to release the crampons, and a new round of pain ran through my knee.There is no way to untie it unless you lean your body forward.Finally, I used the ice ax to pull out the crampons, gently put my legs on the snow, and slowly straightened my knees until the pain disappeared.

Simon's footprints formed a curved line, and my current position was about three meters away from this curve.I drag myself over the curve and rest.Finding footprints gives me peace of mind.I watched the shadowy trails meander across the glacier to the far ring crevasse.The glaciers are covered with wavy snow, stretching into the distance.Footprints disappear between the waves and reappear on the next crest.I need these footprints.I lie on the snow.The view from this location is limited, and without those footprints, I had a hard time figuring out which direction I was heading.Simon knew the way down the mountain, and he could choose the safest route without a rope.And what I have to do is to follow these footsteps.

I tried a lot to find the best way to crawl.Soft, wet snow is hard to glide on.It didn't take long for me to discover that crawling face forward on one knee and arms was too much of a pain.I lay on my side to keep my injured knee from getting in the way, and I was able to move forward smoothly while pulling on the ice ax and pushing with my left leg.The injured leg slid behind, like an annoying encumbrance.From time to time, I stopped to eat snow and rest, and then stared blankly at the huge west face of Seura Grande, listening to all kinds of weird thoughts echoing in my mind.At this time, the voice will interrupt my fantasy.I would glance at my watch guiltily and move on.

Whenever the heat on the glacier made me dizzy, languid, or exhausted, the voice, and the watch, kept urging me on.It was three and a half hours before it would be dark.I kept going, but soon realized that it was going very slowly.I don't mind being slow as a snail.As long as I follow the instructions of that voice, nothing will go wrong.I'll look ahead and note some undulating features of the snow and check my watch.The voice would tell me to be at a certain location within half an hour, and I did.There are times when I find myself sitting sluggishly daydreaming, forgetting what I'm supposed to be doing, and guiltily jumping into action and crawling faster to make up for wasted time.This process repeats itself.I am in a trance, crawling mechanically and automatically, because I have been ordered to arrive at the predetermined location on time.

I moved slowly through the sea of ​​snow, and there was noise in my ears, discussing what people in Sheffield were doing at the moment; remembering the hovel pub in Harrom, where I always went to have a few drinks before going out to explore .I hope mom is praying for me as usual.When I think of her, my eyes are filled with tears, and my vision is blurred.I hummed a pop song to the rhythm of the crawl, and a myriad of thoughts and images kept swirling in my head until I stopped crawling and sat down wobbly in the heat.Then the voice would tell me it was getting late, so I woke up and crawled again.My whole being is split in two.On the one hand, calmly and objectively evaluating everything, deciding what to do, and urging myself to complete it; on the other hand, in a state of madness, constantly evoking scenes of chaotic and tangled images, so real and vivid, I couldn't help but lose myself in them.I began to wonder if I was hallucinating.

Exhaustion covered everything.Events happened in slow motion and my thoughts became so disorientated that I lost all sense of time.Whenever I stopped, I made an excuse for myself to assuage the guilt.Frozen fingers became the most convenient excuse.I had to take both gloves and inner gloves off to check the fingers for deterioration.Ten minutes later that voice would wake me up and bring me back to reality.I put on the inner glove that I had struggled to take off halfway, put on the outer glove hard, and continued to crawl.When I crawled, my hands were buried deep under the snow. When they were numb from the cold, I would stop and stare at them.I want to get a massage, or take off my gloves and let the sun bake, but I'm just starting to stare blankly at my hands, and the voice will call me again.

Two hours later, with the crevasse behind me, I had escaped the shadow of the Seura Grande.Below the south face of Yalupaha, I followed a series of crescent-shaped footprints through a crevasse.The fractured surface of the crevasse juts out from the snow of the glacier. Although it is only fifteen meters long, it is as difficult for me to go around as a boat around an iceberg.I moved slowly as I gazed at the bare ice.I seem to be drifting with the ice.Now it looks like it's not surprising that I didn't dodge that ice cliff.I looked at the various figures formed from the cracked ice on the cliff, not sure if I actually saw them.Various voices argued with the commanding voice, and the final conclusion was that I was looking at them.It reminds me of lying on the beach once and seeing an old man's head appear in the clouds.My friend couldn't see it, which annoyed me because even when I looked away and looked back, I could still see the head, so it must be there.It looked like that Renaissance fresco in the Sistine Chapel, with the white-bearded old man thought to be God sticking out his finger from the ceiling.

But there was nothing religious about the icy figures before me; many looked like bas-reliefs, sticking out sharply from the cliff face, some only half-formed.The shadows cast by the sun and the color of the ice complete the figures.They are having group sex.Fascinated, I stared blankly at the lustful figures in the ice as I crawled steadily forward.I've seen images like this before.I think of statues in Hindu temples.These chaotic human figures have no definite posture, or stand, kneel, lie down, and some stand upside down. I have to tilt my head to see what they are doing.These things are very interesting and exciting, like the plump nudes in Titian's paintings that I was obsessed with when I was fourteen.

After a while, I sat quietly in the snow, put the gloves on my knees, and pulled off the inner gloves with my teeth.The ice cliff is no longer within my line of sight.I don't remember doing anything other than looking at the figures, and stopping to examine the fingers.One minute I was still looking at those figures, and the next minute I was alone again, and the ice cliff had mysteriously run behind me.Crystal-like ice and snow particles splashed, stinging my face.got windy.I looked into the sky and was startled to see thick cumulus clouds billowing like a blanket, covering the sun.Another gust of wind blew, I quickly turned my face away, a blizzard was coming.The wind was blowing from nowhere, it was bitingly cold, and it continued to intensify.I hastily put on my gloves and turned to face the footprints.

I was less dazed now, and the voice drove the frantic thoughts out of my head.There was a sense of urgency, and the voice said: Go on, keep going, hurry up.You have wasted too much time.Go on, before the footprints disappear.I do my best to speed up.Tiny clouds were blown across the glacier ahead and hovered low over the glacier's surface.Sometimes the clouds cover me and I can only see things within a few meters.But if you sit up, you can see through the fine snow dust flying on the glacier, which seems to be spinning and rushing forward.Don't know how people feel when they see heads and bodies popping out of the glacier.I lay on my side, crawled quickly, and then poked my head out of the blizzard to peer ahead.Snow dances lightly in the air.It's new snow!My stomach constricted with panic.Wind and snow will cover those footprints.The voice said I would get lost, that I would never cross the crevasse without footprints, and told me to speed up.But what I fear most is that there will be no signs of life in this empty basin surrounded by mountains.I've been following those footsteps happily, as if Simon was ahead and I wasn't alone.And now, the blizzard means I'm going to be completely alone.I scratched frantically through the blizzard, squinting at the fast-disappearing tracks ahead of me. The light is quickly swallowed by darkness.As night fell, the wind became stronger.I didn't waste time warming my hands, but hurriedly followed the blurry footprints to be filled in until they were out of sight.it's dark.I lay on my stomach, buried my face in the snow, depressed.The hard crawl warmed my body.I lay still, feeling the wind pile the snow around me, but not feeling cold.I'm sleepy.Couldn't move half a step anymore.It was warm enough to sleep on the snow.A blizzard will wrap me like a husky and I'll be warm.I was falling asleep, dozing off and on, slowly approaching a dark and comfortable dream, but the wind kept waking me up.I wanted to ignore the voice that was urging me to go, but I couldn't because the other voices were gone.In my imagination I could not have missed the sound. Can't sleep, can't sleep, not here.keep going.Find a slope, dig a snow hole and can't fall asleep. Darkness and blizzards have lost me.I don't know how long I have been walking in the snow, even forgetting that I am on a glacier full of crevasses.I just keep going forward.Once I heard a whistling louder than the wind, and then some ice suddenly hit me.It must have been an avalanche, or a cornice of snow falling from Yalupaja and onto the glacier.I remember it hit me and then the impact died off and debris scattered all over me.Then the wind came again, and I forgot about the avalanche.It never occurred to me that I might be in danger. Suddenly I rolled forward and fell.In the darkness I couldn't tell where I had slid into.After I stopped, I turned around and faced the direction I just came from.There was a thick layer of snow above me, and I groped my way back to it, raking the snow with my ice ax and hopping on one foot.My knee hurts so much I cry out. I endured the pain and exhaustion and dug a snow cave.When digging through the snow, I had to twist my body to widen the hole, which caused my knees to twist from side to side, which was painful. As soon as he hid in the safe haven, other voices emerged again.Chaotic images flew across my mind, and I dozed off, then woke up, digging again to the same tune that kept repeating in my head, then dozed off again, and then lost myself in the sounds again. With my unconscious hands I rummaged in my backpack for the headlight.I pulled the sleeping bag out of the bag and found the headlamp inside.By the dim light, I found that the hole was not long enough for me to stretch my limbs in it, but I was too tired to continue digging.I leaned forward to release the crampons, putting unbearable pressure on my knees.I groaned and sobbed in frustration as my stiff fingers fiddled with the heel snaps to no avail.I'm not strong enough to hold the snap and pull the crampons off the boot.To keep my head from hitting the ceiling, I curled my upper body against my thighs, screaming out in pain and anger.I stopped pulling the snap, sat silently, and then it occurred to me that I could use the ice ax to help.Using the ice ax as a lever, I easily undid the quick buckles on the two boots, and then dozed off with my back against the inner wall of the snow cave. It seemed like a few more hours before I put on the moisture pad and got into my sleeping bag.Putting an injured leg into a sleeping bag can be difficult and painful.The boots caught on the damp fibers of the sleeping bag, causing a burning pain in the knee joints.As soon as I lifted my leg, it was unbelievably heavy and stiff and clumsy, getting in the way like a naughty child, and it upset me.Things that could have been driven freely resisted my orders at this moment. I couldn't hear the howling of the blizzard outside, but I felt the wind tug at the end of my sleeping bag that was exposed outside the hole, and then when the snow covered my feet and sealed the hole, I didn't feel that anymore.I looked at my watch, it was half past ten.I knew I had to sleep, but when I finally fell asleep, I was wide awake.The memory of the ice gap awakened again in the dark snow cave, driving away the drowsiness.Knee throbbing with pain.I was worried about freezing my feet and then remembered my fingers.It occurred to me that if I fell asleep, I might not wake up, so I opened my eyes and stared straight into the darkness.I knew it was just scaring myself, and besides, since it was already dark, I couldn't do anything else.But still no use. Finally I fell asleep, dreamless, in a trance.The blizzard raged on its own accord over the snow cave, and the nights were long and silent, with pain and childish fears interrupting my sleep again and again. ◆Simon's Narrative◆ It was late when I woke up.The sun shone through the tent, and the sleeping bag was uncomfortably hot.I lay motionless, staring at the circular canopy.This time yesterday I was staggering along the end of a crevasse-strewn glacier, unbelievable.Joe had been dead for thirty-six hours.It seemed to me that he had been gone for weeks, but it had only been seven days since we had set off up the mountain together.I feel an empty pain in my body.This void cannot be filled with food, but it will fade over time.He has become a vague memory.It's weird that I can't picture his face in my mind.Anyway, he's gone, and I can't change that fact.I fumbled with numb fingers to loosen the drawstring of the sleeping bag, took off the sleeping bag with great effort, and walked into the sun.I'm hungry. Richard was busy preparing the gasoline stove next to the makeshift kitchen.He glanced at me with a smile.What a beautiful day, the kind of weather that feels good and welcoming.I went to the river bed and relieved myself on a boulder.The Sarapor Peak rose up in front of me, but its magnificence could no longer fascinate me.I am so tired of this place and these beautiful views.There's no point in staying here.It was desolate and lifeless.I hated it here, hated how cruel it was, hated everything it made me do.I don't know if I killed him. I walked back to Richard and knelt down beside him, gloomily.He silently handed me a cup of tea and a bowl of cereal with milk.I ate it up quickly with barely a taste.After eating I headed to the tent, packed my toiletries, and walked to a deep pool in the river.I took off my clothes and stepped into the freezing water, soaking my body quickly.The cold suffocated me.While shaving, the sun dries the water off me and warms my back.I spent a lot of time by the sink, doing my laundry and examining my sunburn.It has been a peaceful process of self-purification, and as I reflect on the past few days, my low mood gradually fades away.I was refreshed by the time I walked back to the tent.It happened and I did everything I could.Well, he's dead and I'm not, but I have no reason to torture myself.I had to sort it all out in my head before I could go back and face the inevitable accusations.I know that as long as I can accept the full truth myself, I can tell it to others.They'll never know the whole story, and I doubt I can tell, even to close friends.But as long as I'm consciously honest, I don't have to say it.Self-healing begins.In this moment I am content. Richard had left camp when I returned.I scoured the tent for medicine boxes.The medicine box was at the back of the tent, covered by Joe's clothes.I threw the medicine box outside on the grass and sift through his belongings.Fifteen minutes later, clothes and items were piled up next to the medicine box, and they were bathed in the sun together.I sat aside, opened the medicine box, and began to give myself medicine in an orderly manner.I took a circulation booster to keep the frostbite from getting worse on my fingers, and some broad-spectrum antibiotics to prevent infection.What follows is a lengthy cull, clean and check, which is very effective for restoration.The self-check became like a ritual to tell myself that everything was back on track.This is both enjoyment and consolation.I treated feet, legs, face, hair, ribcage and fingers. After treatment, I turned to the pile and started sorting.I stacked Joe's clothes and lined up the other items.I'm pretty calm and dispassionate when sorting.I found his used negatives and a zoom lens in a plastic bag.The bag was big, and I put everything I wanted for his parents into it.There are not many things. I found his diary.He writes almost every day, even on planes from London.He likes to write.I flipped through it, but didn't read it carefully.I don't want to know what he wrote.I didn't double check what climbing gear he left behind, it's of no value to a non-climber.I'll pack these back with my gear.I went back to his clothes, took a quick look and quickly found his hat, a black and white wool hat with the pompom missing.I knew he liked the hat, so I put it in the bag too.This hat is from Czechoslovakia, Joe's mountaineer friend Millie.Smit sent him in Chamonix, and it cannot be burned. I had just packed up my things for Joe's parents when Richard came back.He brought some gasoline, and we went down to the creek bed and burned Joe's clothes.Some pants are hard to burn and use up a lot of gas.Richard suggested giving the clothes to the boys in the valley, as they were all in tatters and would be delighted to receive them.But I insisted on burning them all. When it was done we went back to the makeshift kitchen and sat quietly in the sun.Richard made hot food and prepared countless cups of hot tea.We play cards, or listen to music.Richard took Joe's walkie-talkie out of the plastic bag because his own had broken.The day was spent like this.We talked softly, all about family and future plans.The feeling of emptiness still follows me.And guilt.I know I can't get rid of this feeling in my life, but I can face it now.