cold and alive, so I slid my arm out from the pack, then switched
hands on the roots and slid out the other arm. The pack fell from my
body, though I never heard it hit the water. Once I pulled myself back
up to safety I found that my leg was injured and I couldn’t walk at all.
I was stranded. I was cold. I was fucked. The swelling in my leg forced
me to take off my boots, chilling me even more.
I laid down and closed my eyes, unsure of my fate and hoping
that someone would come along and rescue me. No one came. Things
at this point could have been better, and I started to wonder if warm
and dead wouldn’t have been a better choice. I started to shiver
uncontrollably, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from
fear. As time passed, I found myself inching closer and closer to the
edge of the mountain and peering over into the abyss to see if
perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea to once again try to end it all. This
time there would be no caffeine life-preservers or elastic nooses or
safety razor blades or oceanic extinguishers to come to my rescue as
they had in Israel. This time there would be only empty space and
gravity. I inched closer and closer and began to feel the vacuum tug
of oblivion. The same tug I felt from sewer grates as a child and from
Nivenada’s cavernous mouth I now saw as the seductive pull of non-
being. Of death.
Hesitantly I tried to move my body closer to the edge. As I
steadied myself for a final pull on the roots that would send me
sailing over the cliff and into the stream below me, muffled voices
appeared behind me and I turned around to see where they were
coming from.
Three diminutive Nepalese sherpas, the tiny, elfin burden-
carriers of the Himalayan villages were staring at me in confusion
and alarm. Despite this, they were also laughing. One tried to speak
to me in Nepalese, and I pointed to my ankle, which was clearly
swelling badly. They conferred momentarily among themselves, then
one took his giant bamboo back truss off and after redistributing
most of his supplies into the packs of the other two, helped me
actually climb into his pack, and they set off climbing down the hill.
To my amazement, my sherpa, who was clearly about half my weight
and furthermore wore no shoes, was having no problem carrying me
down the uneven and rocky terrain. I was grateful, and yet
disappointed that I had been interrupted in what would have been a
perfect opportunity to kill myself.
They brought me to a nearby cabin, nestled in the woods and left
BIG AMERICAN BREAKFAST
200
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