Annapurna (34 page)

‘I think it was mine,’ said Schatz, ‘and for once both my fountain pen and wallet were in it!’

Schatz was staring at a porter – he lifted up a sack that was
concealing
another and saw the name written plainly for all to see on the main pocket: ‘M. Schatz.’

‘There’s no doubt,’ said Ichac, proceeding by elimination, ‘it must be Gaston’s.’

Rébuffat was not pleased. This retreat had been an ordeal for him, too: and his frost-bitten feet were still giving him some trouble. I saw him sitting down disconsolately, thinking of what he had lost. Suddenly Ichac had an inspiration.

‘Gaston, look what you’re sitting on!’

He shot up like a jack-in-the-box and read on the sack ‘G. Rébuffat’. The lost sack turned out to be the only one which belonged to no one: it contained spare clothes.

We were now in the forest, which was extraordinarily thick and tangled; we felt as if we were walking through submarine scenery in a damp unhealthy jungle, expecting at any moment to meet hideous monsters. It was here that, on the way up, we had seen those giant rhododendrons of such magnificent shades of red. We entered the ‘triumphal way’, a natural archway of flowers, which we had noticed on the outward journey. The coolies in front had stopped here – and why not? There was a general halt and soon fires were crackling. Oudot was of the opinion that the hardest part of this stage still lay ahead, and he wanted to go on at all costs. He gave me fresh injections of morphia and spartocamphor – these were the more painful because I had grown so thin, and I lost consciousness for a few moments. I felt the eyes of the Sherpas and coolies upon me. What a sight I must have been! There was a new expression in their eyes, which I had not seen before. Was it pity, or grief, or a kindly indifference? Before we left, they arranged on my knees a garland of the most beautiful flowers they could find. This gesture touched me deeply, and from now on during the whole course of our long retreat, whenever it was possible, the Sherpas never once forgot to put flowers beside me.

Now began the descent through the dead trees of the dense jungle. The Sherpas went ahead, and with great sweeps of their
kukris
cut away the branches and bamboos that barred the way. The ground was soaking and everyone kept slipping – there was scarcely a man who did not fall that day. Couzy, Ichac, Oudot, Schatz and Terray went on to reconnoitre the route; Noyelle, according to plan, was always one march ahead, and Rébuffat
stayed
with Lachenal and myself. The injections Oudot had given me were very effective: I was completely worn out, but I felt less pain, and most of the time I dozed with my eyes half shut. Lachenal followed immediately behind me. The last bit before the river was particularly steep, and I would never have given myself one chance in a thousand of coming through alive. The slope was practically vertical and the minute track crossed it at an angle; the coolies had to cling to the trees growing alongside.

My bearer was in trouble; he could move neither backwards nor forwards. Finally he pressed himself up against the wall and went along sideways step by step. The hook-shaped chair in which I was stowed hung right over the precipice. Now and again the Sherpas dug their ice-axes into the wet ground and clung to them desperately the better to help my bearer. I was painfully aware of the slightest jolt. With bulging eyes I looked under my feet at the swirling Chadziou Khola into which I was in danger of falling at every step. If the porter slipped there would not be a chance – perhaps he would be able to stop himself, but who could stop me? I no longer had the strength to fight my fears, and I knew now what fear really was. Lachenal also was petrified by fright. Fortunately for him, his arms were free and occasionally he was able to help himself. Every step was a reprieve, for it brought us nearer our goal. Before we arrived there was one last ordeal. For about five yards the track, which was already sketchy, disappeared entirely. A little ledge ran across a slab of rock and the feet had to be shuffled along it. My bearer carried on with great courage – my admiration for these men who unhesitatingly tackled such dangerous work was unbounded. He moved along sideways, clinging to the smallest holds and letting the other porters guide his feet into the next steps.

At long last we reached the Chadziou Khola, swollen by the monsoon rains. Lachenal followed me over this dangerous crossing, and for all his fear, seemed completely master of himself, whilst I was a mere human wreck. Standing shoulder to shoulder and holding each other up, the porters succeeded in bracing themselves against the force of the current. We climbed up a hundred yards through strongly scented jungle and then, in the distance, I saw the shepherds’ camp.

The porters halted before making this final effort, but after a few minutes I asked my bearer to get to the camp as quickly as he
could
. At the foot of a cliff it seemed to me that he took the wrong direction – on the way out we had traversed across, but the Sherpas who accompanied us seemed to be quite sure of the route. On we went, and the way ran up such a steep grass slope that we had to adopt the technique we would have used for traversing on ice. The Sherpas persisted, and here we were, embarked on a regular climb. I called nervously to Ichac to intervene, saying that we were about to have a frightful fall, but the porters were obstinate. We were beneath a sort of cornice overhanging a practically vertical wall and the rock was rotten. Perched up on my bearer and sticking out a yard from the rock, I was able to gaze into the very depths of the gorge below me. The Sherpas were worried and told me that my bearer could not turn round – he must go on. I could not stand any more, and called for help – but still, I reflected, my luck had held during many a long day. After a few steps the going became easier and we got back on to grass and picked up the track which we ought to have followed from the beginning, and which Lachenal now took, profiting from our experience. We reached the camp just as the rain stopped.

As I went into my tent I longed for nothing but peace and quiet. I scarcely had the strength to speak, but I murmured to Oudot that the hard part was over now – there was a good path as far as Lete. I remembered a larchwood near the village and beautiful meadows dotted with granite boulders which reminded me of the Chamonix valley. During the long retreat I had thought of this idyllic little wood as a welcoming haven. I hoped we should make a long halt there, and my friends agreed. It was unnecessary for everyone to go up to Tukucha and back again to Lete. We would reorganize the whole expedition in this wood before beginning the long trek homewards through the valleys of Nepal to the Indian frontier.

‘Where’s my ice-axe?’ I asked Schatz.

I set great store by it; as Lachenal had lost his, it was the only one to have been to the top of Annapurna. No one had seen it since we had left Base Camp. Schatz inspected all the Sherpas’ axes, but it was not to be found. I felt this loss deeply. Though in itself it was of no importance, I had intended to present the axe to the French Alpine Club on my return. (It turned up two days later.)

The next day we had only a short march. As Oudot reckoned
that
we should reach the woods of Lete before midday, there was no need to hurry, and we might just as well enjoy the few rays of sun that had appeared as if by magic. The coolies started off and then we, too, left the shepherds’ camp.

We arrived together at Choya and were enthusiastically received. The inhabitants rushed towards us and looked at the casualties with curiosity. Dawathondup’s throat must have been dry with the thought of the pleasures of the outward journey, and Angtharkay volubly explained to Ichac and Oudot that this would be an excellent place to pitch camp – there was water, wood and food.

‘Good place!’ insisted our Sirdar. There was also good chang at Choya. But somehow the Sahibs did not seem to understand.
En route!
Unwillingly the party moved on, and soon we came to the banks of the Krishna Gandaki. Its clear, pure waters had become a dirty black flood, foaming and swirling and making an infernal row. We crossed over by a bridge without any incident, and after a short hour’s walk at last reached the resting-place of which I had dreamed so long.

We chose a good-sized grassy site, bounded by three enormous granite boulders, and surrounded by the soft green of the larches – a cool and restful place. The wind played among the tall trees, and, closing my eyes, I fancied myself back in Chamonix, in the Prin Wood or at the Pendant. The tents were pitched where the Sherpas pleased. The sun was warm, and Oudot decided to make his examinations out of doors. One of my feet had begun to suppurate, and my hands were in an awful state. There was a most unpleasant nauseating smell; all the bandages were soaked with pus. Oudot broke into his last reserves of dressings – he knew that fresh equipment would be coming from Tukucha. For the first time he took his scissors and began ‘trimming’, or cutting away the dead and affected parts. My feet did not hurt too badly, but my hands were so sensitive that the slightest touch made me cry out in pain and I broke down – I could fight no longer. Oudot decided to stop. He painted the wounds with mercurochrome.

‘Stay outside while I do Lachenal,’ he said.

Lachenal’s condition had improved. He had come through the ordeals of the retreat very well indeed, and his morale was high, now that we were down in the valley; his excellent appetite had not deserted him.

In the afternoon Ichac, Oudot and Schatz left for Tukucha, where they were welcomed by Noyelle and G. B. Rana. That evening, in the few tents still standing, they talked at length, but not very cheerfully, for their main topic was Lachenal’s and my condition. Oudot was of the opinion that I would undoubtedly have to undergo an operation before we reached the Indian frontier, which would not be until the first fortnight of July.

The next day the dismantling of the camp was completed before a circle of coolies and children who squatted there hour after hour, keeping a look-out for tins or old tubes of milk. Noyelle saw to paying off the porters, and there was a grand distribution of rupees. In the afternoon Oudot finished his preparations and left to return to Lete and his patients.

Twenty-four hours later everything was ready for the others to leave the village which had given us such a kindly welcome and had been our headquarters for nearly two months. The coolies and the inhabitants paid their farewell respects to the Sahibs with a series of shouts. At 4 o’clock everyone was back at Lete.

The condition of the casualties – of myself in particular – was now distinctly alarming; Oudot on his return the day before, had pronounced the situation critical. He had been hard at it since morning, resuming the agonizing injections. I presented an increasingly distressing picture. I had lost three stone and become extremely thin. The fever got steadily worse – that evening my temperature was 105°!

‘102°,’ announced Ichac without batting an eyelid.

I was oblivious of everything now, most of the time unconscious, in a coma.

‘Heavy doses of penicillin,’ ordered Oudot.

Shadows appeared close by out of the mist. They leant over, then disappeared noiselessly. The silence awed me. I no longer suffered. My friends attended to me in silence. The job was finished, and my conscience was clear. Gathering together the last shreds of energy, in one last long prayer I implored death to come and deliver me. I had lost the will to live, and I was giving in – the ultimate humiliation for a man who, up till then, had always taken a pride in himself.

This was no time for questions nor for regrets. I looked death
straight
in the face, besought it with all my strength. Then abruptly I had a vision of the life of men. Those who are leaving it for ever are never alone. Resting against the mountain, which was watching over me, I discovered horizons I had never seen. There at my feet, on those vast plains, millions of beings were following a destiny they had not chosen.

There is a supernatural power in those close to death. Strange intuitions identify one with the whole world. The mountain spoke with the wind as it whistled over the ridges or ruffled the foliage. All would end well. I should remain there, for ever, beneath a few stones and a cross.

They had given me my ice-axe. The breeze was gentle and sweetly scented. My friends departed, knowing that I was now safe. I watched them go their way, with slow, sad steps. The procession withdrew along the narrow path. They would regain the plains and the wide horizons. For me, silence.

18

Through the Paddy Fields

I CRIED OUT
as I felt a little stab of pain: Ichac had just given me his first injection, and was quite agitated. The rain poured down incessantly, giving us a melancholy send-off. Oudot had hesitated about giving the order, but it was now June 19th and high time we were off. Lachenal and I were laid on stretchers made for us by G. B. Rana, but before I sank back again into apathy I gave a last fond glance round the little wood.

The party began to move off, with Rébuffat, who had found a horse, prancing beside us. We forded a stream coming down from Dhaulagiri, the coolies standing shoulder to shoulder to brace themselves against the current. Ichac and Oudot undressed and crossed over with great dignity in their underpants. They had lost weight after all the events of the past weeks and their bodies were slim and youthful-looking.

When we came to Dana we felt that we had really left the mountains behind us. Here were fields of maize, banana trees, and heat, as we made our way down towards the main valleys. Even after all we had been through, we hated to feel that we were now leaving – for good, as well we realized – the scene of our great adventure.

One after the other, our coolies left us; in spite of all our offers even Pandy would come no further. The valley climate did not suit him, and great beads of sweat rolled down his body. There was also another reason – he had earned a lot of rupees and reckoned it was enough. He would not have known what to do with more money.

On the afternoon of the 20th, as we were going along an easy path, the sun, which we had not seen lately, came out for a few minutes, and we halted under some huge banyan trees for lunch. It was an ordeal for me: I revolted at the mere idea of food. Oudot had become my tormentor – he insisted on my taking nourishment, and the others all tried to get me to swallow something. Ichac and
Terray
tried every means: sometimes they reasoned with me, sometimes they cajoled, until at last they got angry and threatened: