The Mountain
Jerry
By Jerry Shaw
Dedicated to TomBraider
I�d been up the mountain this way before last year, but it was different. I
followed the same path, generally, but it was different.
A mountain is a living thing. It grows up. It grows older. Much as a person
does. And this year, it had new wrinkles, ones that had not been there last
year. And the old wrinkles had gotten deeper.
I was glad I had on my climbing gloves. They left my fingers bare so I
could feel the tiniest details of the rock I was climbing, but they
protected the rest of my hands from the knife-sharp rocks. It was cool, but
the effort of climbing these last couple kilometers straight up kept me
warm. And the mountain itself was reradiating the heat it had absorbed from
the blazing sun earlier in the day. So I was warm enough that all I needed
was my signature green, short-sleeve shirt and my rugged climbing shorts.
This was not a combat mission. I expected I would not need to fight, so I
was unarmed.
Only 400 meters to the top, or more accurately, to the plateau that was my
destination. If I could, I would have taken the helicopter all the way up,
even if I had to rappel down a long rope to the plateau. But the winds this
close to the summit were too treacherous for a helicopter. It had been
difficult enough convincing the pilot to land as close to the top as he had.
Looking down, I could see only the outer edge of the small flat space we
had landed in. The mountain curved out, cutting off my view of the
helicopter itself.
It was early afternoon. If things went as planned, I would be back at the
helicopter before sunset, and back in the village before full dark. If
things went as planned.
I had good foot and handholds, the edges of each of my tough boots planted
on sturdy rock projections and my left hand dug deep into a crevice. It had
been a good climb so far. The rocks I had been balancing on had given away
only six or seven times, leaving one foot and one hand still solidly
planted. Good enough. And only once did the rocks under both my feet let go,
leaving me dangling by both hands while I found new footholds. So overall,
it had been a good climb.
And wouldn�t you know it, the old mountain picked this time to do it again,
both my foot supports crumbling at the same time.
I had been five:
I was lost. Lost in the woods.
I had been chasing this large, pretty butterfly, all orange and black.
Really pretty. It had led me on a merry chase to this small meadow. It was
filled with other butterflies all looking the same, all bright orange and
black. It was so much fun, chasing the butterflies, trying to catch them.
Or, just standing still and letting them land on my hands or head. Their
wings tickled when they brushed against my face or neck.
I was having so much fun, just looking at the butterflies, just letting
them land on me. I was having so much fun that I didn�t realize it was late
until all at once, all the butterflies took off, and circling once around
me, flew up out of the meadow into the darkening sky.
I was lost. I looked around, and didn�t know where I was. I realized, too
late, that I didn�t even know which way I had come into this meadow. So of
course, I didn�t know which way to leave, to go back home.
Even at my age, I knew enough about the geography of the surrounding area
that I knew the forest I was in was to the north of the mansion. And, there
was a long road that went east and west. It passed only a mile from the
mansion. So all I had to do was find the road and I would know the way home.
Or I would see someone walking along the road, and I could ask them.
So I knew I had to go south. But which way was south?
The forest went on for over a hundred miles in all directions, dotted by a
few small towns here and there. If I went in the wrong direction, even if I
didn�t walk in circles, I could go miles and miles and not even find
another living soul.
As the night came on and the stars came out, I sat down in the middle of
the meadow and cried.
�Why are you crying little one?� Takara-sensei had asked me once during one
of our training exercises.
�I�m lost.�
�But I am with you. So why do you believe you are lost?�
Takara-sensei was one of my teachers, Japanese. He was as much at home
teaching me deep philosophy as he was at teaching me those hidden martial
arts combat techniques.
We were in these same woods, training. �But if you leave me, I don�t know
where I am. I can�t find my way home. I�ll be lost forever, and they�ll
find my dead body against a tree, and my mother will cry and cry and cry.
And father will be so mad at me.�
�Be at peace, little one. Do you know which direction to go to find your
home?�
�No.�
�Think now. You have seen a map of this land, have you not?� I nodded.
�Well, on the map where are we now?�
I thought about it, picturing the map in my head. �I know my house is here,
and up here is the forest, so we must be here,� I said, pointing in front
of me to show where I remembered things on the map.
�Now, little one, if we are where you think we are, in which direction must
we go to return home?�
�Down here,� I said pointing down, proud of myself. �We need to go this way
on the map to get home.�
�And which direction is down? North? East? West? South?�
�Why it�s ... it�s... I don�t know. Let�s see. When dad taught me about
maps, he said this mark points to the north. And on the map, the mark
pointed ... UP! So we need to go the other way! We need to go SOUTH!�
�Very good, little one. Now point in the direction we need to go.�
My happiness turned to sadness. I knew where we were. I knew where we
wanted to go. I knew we needed to go south. But I didn�t know which
direction was south. �I don�t know which direction is south,� I said,
repeating the obvious.
�Nature herself points the way, little one. You need to listen to nature.
You need to observe nature. See that tree over there? See how it has green
moss on it, more on one side than on the other? See the sun in the sky? See
the direction the tree casts its shadows?
�Here in England, the sun is always to the south during the day. At noon,
it is directly south. And since moss prefers the shade, that would make the
side with the most moss on it the ...�
�The NORTH! So, the side of the tree without any moss is the south!�
Smiling happily, I said, �We need to go that way to get home.�
�And there are many more ways Nature can guide you. Listen to Nature and
you will never be lost,� Takara-sensei continued, as I proudly led the way
back to my home.
In the middle of the meadow, I stopped crying. I looked up at the dark,
clear sky. The meadow was to the north of the mansion, so I needed to go
south, and maybe a little east. But at least south. Looking at the stars, I
saw the Big Bear and the Little Bear. I just needed to go in the other
direction. I started walking. When I left the meadow, the leaves hiding the
sky, I felt the trees in the pitch-blackness, feeling for the slimy moss on
them, using the trees to guide me south. When the moon rose lighting my way,
I continued, on knowing it was rising to the east, but verifying my
directions from the moss on the trees.
They found me walking along the road, heading for the mansion only a couple
miles away. Takara-sensei was so proud of me. But I was so proud of myself.
I knew that for the rest of my life, I would never be lost. Nature would
always be my guide, thanks to Takara-sensei
I looked up in the bright afternoon sun and spotted my next handhold on the
mountain. Stretching almost to my limit, I inserted my hand into the
crevice I had selected. And only after I had a secure hold on the rock did
I look down to find the footholds for my dangling feet.
Slowly I inched my way up the sheer face of the old mountain, from handhold
to foothold, and back to handhold. I had about 300 meters to go and plenty
of daylight, enough to complete my mission.
I had been ten:
I was slowly crawling through the tall, dry grass of the African Savanna.
Even if I had been standing, I doubt I would have been seen. I had parked
my Indian motorcycle a few clicks back in a gully, well out of sight and
earshot of my prey. I had put a light tan camouflage cream on my face and
hands to blend in with the dried grass. And out-of-character, I had put on
a tan camouflage suit. I completely blended in with the surrounding grass.
Among other talents, my prey had sharp eyes.
I had started out well before dawn, actually in the dead of night. I knew I
would need all that time to crawl stealthily to my target. I had planned
this well, so I knew exactly which direction I would need to go from my
Indian to the target, based on where I knew I was when I parked. My only
guide would be the luminescent compass I carried to keep me on course.
Not more than five meters from the Indian, I had dropped and started to
crawl. If I had been running at top speed, I could have made the distance
in minutes. But speed was not the objective here. Stealth was required.
�Takara-sensei, how does one approach an enemy unseen?�
�Patience, little one.�
�But I think I�m skilled enough that you could teach me now.�
�You misunderstand me. The key to stealth is patience.
�Eyes cannot see what they are not looking for. If they are looking for a
person, they expect to see a person. A person moves. So eyes look for
things that move. A person who does not move is invisible.
�Patience. That will make you invisible. You must remain motionless, or
move very slowly. That is the key to stealth.
�You know what a person looks like, do you not?�
�Of course, Takara-sensei.�
�You must make yourself appear unlike a person. In that way, you will be
invisible.
�Beyond your eyes, there are your ears and your nose. You must make
yourself invisible to all the senses. And the key to this is patience. Here,
I will teach you how to be invisible, to the eyes, to the ears, to the
nose.�
I started out in darkness. I was not able to see the twigs and branches
hidden in the grass, twigs and branches that could snap loudly under my
weight. I would have to feel for them as best as I could. And I was still
far enough away that I could afford to break a twig occasionally. Later,
when I was close enough that the slightest sound could be heard, it would
be light, and I could use my eyes to detect them and avoid them, moving
with the silence that was required.
It was late morning when I could see a break in the grass ahead. I had been
crawling slowly for the last several hours. When my path would cross a game
trail, I would follow that easier path to avoid leaving my own trail. When
the trail departed too far from my intended path, I would once again set
off on my own through the tall grass, using only my compass for direction.
For the last hour or two, I knew I was close enough to my target that I
could have confirmed my bearings by simply standing up. But I would look
like a person then. I would have lost my invisibility.
The tall, dried grass ended abruptly, giving way to a broad, green plain.
As I approached the edge of the grass, I could start to see what was beyond.
There, almost directly ahead, was my target. It was a single, large tree.
Or more precisely, my target was lying under the tree.
The lioness was splendid, a healthy shade of tan, almost the same shade as
covered me. And lying beside her was the most magnificent lion I had ever
seen. And out from behind the tree came two cubs, no more than a couple
months old.
I laid there in the grass most of the rest of the day, watching the cubs
playing with each other. I watched them roughhousing with their father,
knowing that a single swipe of his powerful claws could kill them in an
instant, but watching him playfully bowl them over when they got too
rambunctious.
In late afternoon, they all settled down. The cubs were curled up next to
each other, between the lion and the lioness, just drowsing. It was still
light out, but that would change soon. So slowly, sadly, I turned around
and started to crawl back the way I had come. By night, I would once again
be out of sight and out of earshot of the lions, my prey.
I had enjoyed the day, watching the lion family. They were the family I
didn�t have. I was an only child. And isolated by distance from any other
children, I had no one to play with. I envied the cubs their companionship.
And the closeness of the lion and lioness to the cubs stood in sharp
contrast to my own family, where any show of emotion was frowned on. And
heaven forbid my father should show any kindness, any tenderness toward me.
Yes, the lion family, with no possessions and only a tree for a roof was
much more a family than mine would ever be.
I envied the lions.
I was less than two hundred meters from the ledge, my target. These last
hundred meters had been the hardest so far. I had slipped several times,
once leaving me hanging by one arm. There had been very few handholds and
especially footholds. The mountain face here was almost completely flat.
Above me, the mountain was again climbable, with solid-looking rock
protrusions for footholds and deep indentations for handholds. I just
needed to make it through this one section alive.
I had been fifteen:
I was surrounded by a gang. Foolishly, I had run into them after school.
Foolishly, I had not turned around. Foolishly, I had walked right past them
in the narrow alleyway. And foolishly, I had responded to their totally
inappropriate comments with totally inappropriate comments of my own.
I was surrounded and had to fight them all, all at once.
�Takara-sensei, you�ve taught me how to handle any opponent,� I had said
during one of our martial arts training sessions. �But how do you handle
more than one at a time? If I am attacked by multiple opponents, how can I
fight them all at once?�
�Little one, there are only two opponents you need to worry about.�
�But if there are ten or twenty of them, how...�
�I repeat, there are only two opponents you need to worry about.
�If you are attacked by one opponent, I have taught you well how to defend
yourself. The key to fighting more than one opponent is to reduce the
battle to only one opponent, one opponent at a time.�
The gang was scattered on the ground around me, some groaning, most silent.
There were only two left. I didn�t know if they were the two smartest or
the two dumbest. They had both seen me take down the rest of their gang one
by one, even when several attacked me at once. They had been smart enough
to stay out of the battle so far, observing my tactics and skills. But they
had seen my fighting tactics, and yet they still attempted to surround me,
one on each side.
They rushed me simultaneously from about ten meters away, obviously trying
to crush me between them. I didn�t let them. Picking one, I rushed at him,
rapidly closing the distance. As I had been trained, this gave me one
target. And in a one-on-one match, I had been proving them no match for me.
They seemed to be common street thugs. None of them so far had more than
that level of training, while I had been trained to fight almost from my
first breath.
As I bore down on my target, I could see he was underestimating me, as had
all the others. In the last meter between us, I ducked and then
straightened up, adding this extra momentum to my uppercut. He didn�t see
it coming as my fist drove solidly into his chin. My knuckles would be sore
the next day, and I could already see the scrapes on them seeping blood,
but I had already won. No matter how sore I would be tomorrow, he would be
sorer, when he woke up that is. His momentum carried him on another three
meters, but he was out before he hit the ground, his face breaking his fall.
Now there was only one.
He lost.
�Takara-sensei, you said there were two opponents to worry about. Who is
the other one?�
�Little one, it is yourself. Your greatest opponent is yourself. You must
have the willpower to know you can win your battle, especially when facing
an army by yourself. You must have the fortitude to go up against a strong
opponent, knowing you will win. You must have the courage to fight just as
hard against an opponent stronger than yourself, knowing you will lose.
Training will help, skill will help, knowledge will help. But in the end,
your toughest opponent is yourself.�
I was less than fifty meters from the shelf, my target. It was still early
enough. I would have plenty of light when I came down. The few hundred
meters of rope I had on my back would make the trip down much faster than
the trip up. I could rappel down to the end of the rope, flick it off the
cam above, and set it into the cam at my new location. Thus, I would drop
down the face of the mountain in stages, but much faster than the climb up.
I had a good set of holds so I looked out over the mountain range my
mountain was a part of. It was full summer, so many of the mountains had
lost their snow crowns. And as a tribute to the Industrial Age, there were
fewer of those with gleaming white hats this year than last year.
The view was majestic, in every sense of that word. The sun was still high
enough that the mountains stood out sharply. My mountain had a clear shot
to the west, so it would catch the last rays of the Sun as it set. But of
course, I would need to be off the mountain well before then, or risk
catastrophe in the helicopter.
After that brief rest, I proceeded on for the last leg of the climb.
I had been twenty:
I was in the middle of the meadow, the one I had been lost in all those
years back. I knew exactly where I was, but I had never been so lost.
�Why do you weep, little one?�
I started at that unexpected voice, so close. Takara-sensei could always
find me, no matter where I strayed. And today, I had strayed almost beyond
hope.
I could not bear to look up at him. �I killed my best, my dearest friend,�
I sobbed softly.
�Tell me about it. Tell me every detail about it, little one.�
I could always talk with Takara-sensei. I could talk about anything. Things
I could never speak of with my mother and father, I could discuss with him.
My best friend and I liked playing on that mountain a few miles away at the
edge of the forest. It was one of the mountains in the chain, not the
tallest and not the shortest, so it didn�t even have a name. She and I
liked climbing on it. We would start out on some ledge somewhere and race
each other to see who could reach the top first. We had climbed it so many
times that we even had names for the bigger rock features on it. There was
Old Man, Old Man with a Beard, Older Man and Still Older Man (not very
imaginative, I know).
Today was just like any of days before. We drove up almost to the top on my
Indian. This time I was doing the driving and she was holding on for dear
life, as I slid around the corners on the dirt road leading up the mountain.
The road circled the mountain all the way to the summit. But I pulled to
the side of the road a few hundred meters from the top. It was always the
prerogative of the one doing the driving to pick the starting point.
I had climbed from here before, so I knew the best route, most of the way
at least. But last time, she had won, having found a side trail that
allowed her to pass me in the last hundred meters. This time, however, I
knew her shortcut, at least well enough that it wouldn�t be a surprise to
me.
�Ready?� I said. She nodded. �OK, go!� and we both started to scramble up
the mountain.
It was about a hundred meters from the top. I was about twenty meters ahead,
and it looked like I would win, when I heard a little squeak from her and
the sound of falling rock. I looked back and saw her sliding, picking up
speed on her way down.
I turned around immediately and scrambled down the mountain after her. She
rolled over the road and off the other side, with me just a few meters
behind her.
This side of the mountain dropped almost straight down from the road. When
I saw her go off on that steep drop, my heart sank. Usually, we return from
the mountain with scrapes and bruises. A few times, we had needed stitches
to close some of the deeper gashes we had accumulated in our climb. But
never had either of us had anything more serious than that.
Peering over the edge, I saw her holding onto a tree, the only one on that
side. She was well out on a slim branch, holding on tightly. Faster than I
had ever gone, I scrambled down the side of the mountain to the tree. I
started to climb out on the branch, but it bent under my weight so I backed
off again. Looking around, I saw nothing I could use to grab her, or even
to throw out to her so she could grab it. And as I stood there, watching
helplessly, one of her hands slipped from the branch. Then slowly, her
other hand started to slip from the branch. As her other hand slipped from
the branch, she looked up at me and said, �Good-by, Lara.� My eyes followed
her until she disappeared into the haze in the valley thousands of feet
below.
�Takara-sensei, I couldn�t help her. With all my skills, all my training, I
couldn�t help her. If I had brought a simple length of rope, I could have
thrown it around her and saved her. If I had been just a little more
skillful, I might have been able to reach out and grab her. If I had picked
another point to start my climb, another route, if I had been just a little
slower, if I had done something, anything, I would have saved her. But
instead, due to my incompetence, my dearest friend is dead. It was my fault.
I killed her.�
Takara-sensei stood there, looking at the lush grass, deep in thought.
�Little one, half a world away, there is a child dieing. If you were there,
you could save him. You are not there. In Paris, there is a woman starving
to death. If you were there, you could feed her. You are not there. Nearby
in these woods, a fox is about to catch a young rabbit. If you were there,
you could scare the fox away. You are not there.
�There are many injustices in this world. You cannot right them all. And
above all, you cannot right those which are beyond your capability to right.
�Think on this, little one. It will pain you to do it, but think hard on
this. Is there anything you could have done at the time to save your
friend? Did you try everything that was available to you to save her?�
Takara-sensei was right. It was really hard to think about those moments
before she fell. I couldn�t get the sight of her looking up at me as her
face receded into the distance. But I remembered.
Mentally, I looked around at my surroundings in those few seconds I had to
save her. There were no sticks or branches there I could have used to let
her grab hold of. The other branches of the tree were much too thick to
break, and I had nothing I could cut them with, not even a pocketknife. The
limb she was on was barely thick enough for her to hang onto, and much too
thin for me to go out after her. There were no other branches near to her
that I could have gone out on to grab her myself.
For the first time, I realized there was nothing I could have done to save
her.
�But I miss her so much. I don�t think I will ever forget her.�
�Little one. Your chosen path will bring you much grief. You will do great
things. But you will have great sorrows. The sorrows are a part of your
path. The only way to prevent the sorrows is to change your path. But know
this, little one. The world will be the better for your actions. You will
have an impact on the world that will live beyond your time.�
�But Takara-sensei, it hurts. It hurts so much, almost beyond my bearing it.
When will it stop? When will the pain ease, so I can get back to my life of
before?�
�Lara, when the death of a friend no longer affects you, when you no longer
hear the wails of a hungry child, when you no longer mourn the flower
trampled under foot, then you have truly lost your way. Then it is time.
Then you should give up your chosen path.�
�Thank you, Sensei.�
I pulled myself up on the ledge. It hadn�t changed that much from the last
time I had seen it, a flat projection sticking out from the face of the
mountain. This high up, there were no plants growing, so the only
difference from last year was the few extra boulders that had fallen from
higher up the mountain.
Back away from the edge, up against the side of the mountain proper, there
was a simple marble slab placed upright. I went over to it and knelt down
in front. I dug in my pack and pulled out a bunch of flowers. They weren�t
special flowers. They were just a bunch of wildflowers I had picked down in
the meadow at the foot of the mountain. Gently, I brushed away the rocks
from in front of the slab and laid the flowers there.
My tears moistened the ground as I ran my hand over the Japanese name on
the marble slab.
In a low voice, I muttered, �Happy birthday, Sensei.�
Jerry
Raider story I've ever written.
I hope TomBraider would have liked it.
Jerry
McG.
Tombraiding is what got them together, right here, in this newsgroup.
McG.
"Jerry" <jns...@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:anon07dfcloo36u0k...@4ax.com...