Chapter 9 #2
Midway down the beachhead, I came to what looked like an avalanche.
At the base of the cliff lay a slump of debris, a chaos of smashed tree limbs and fallen rocks among a mess of dirt.
The main piece in the jumble was a toppled birch, its trunk crazed with branches extending out into the rushing stream.
The tree’s root ball was tilted sideways, wires of root flailing everywhere.
The whole tree had evidently come loose from the overhanging ledge, bringing down a tonnage of dirt and rock along with it.
I walked to the pile and that was where I found Sarah’s hand.
It was the back of her hand, limp and dirty.
Her hand was connected to her wrist and her forearm, which led into the pile.
I could see part of her shoulder and the top of her head, but the rest of her was obscured by branches and debris.
Her face was turned away. The trunk of the birch had fallen almost directly on top of her, which had also shielded her from some of the rock and earth, but only partly.
She hadn’t been entirely crushed, but her body had been cruelly battered.
I said out loud, “No.” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
I stared at her hand, her beautiful, graceful hand, lying on the ground, lifeless.
I knelt down and brushed dirt from her forearm and from her hair and shoulders.
I could see that Sarah had been huddled at the base of the cliff, sheltered from the flames, and how the wind and fire had wracked the trees above her until one had loosened and fallen.
The cave-in had taken her from behind, pinning her to the beach.
How idiotic, I thought, in the middle of a fire, to be swallowed by a landslide.
I held her hand even though I could tell there was no life in it. The utter limpness was appalling. I felt for a pulse and felt nothing. I said her name and shook her wrist and got no response. I saw no breath filling her ribs.
I tried pulling her out of the pile but her body was trapped under the tree. I couldn’t move her. I watched again for any breath but I still didn’t see her chest moving. Her face was in shadow, caked with mud. Again, I said, “No, no, no.” I stared at her grimy fingernails.
I wasn’t sure what to do so I got up and stumbled a few feet away and numbly sat down on a rock.
The water swirled past me, carrying ash and tree garbage.
The smoke was still so thick I could only see a few feet in any direction, which meant I couldn’t see Sarah anymore, which was both good and bad.
I didn’t want to abandon her, but nor did I want to look at her body.
The beach at my feet was covered in gray pebbles.
I stared into the listless smoke, knowing I had to dig her out soon and figure a way to carry her home, but I was unable to start just yet.
I still had the irrational feeling that some change might occur, that the needle of time might loop backward and make a different stitch.
My feet were so heavy I couldn’t move. I closed my eyes and started muttering things to the universe.
The praying hadn’t worked thus far, not exactly, but what could I do but pray more?
Pray harder? Now, on the blackened mountainside, I found myself praying in the most florid way imaginable.
I was praying for a miracle. Praying for a different outcome of time.
When the moment arrives, a person finds the frequency and starts pleading.
Bring her back, I implored. Please, bring her back to life. Let her live.
I kept repeating the phrasing in different ways, and almost without thinking about it, I began to offer up deals.
People had always struck bargains with the universe.
They’d feasted and danced, giving their energy and love to whatever god they believed in.
They’d left burnt offerings on the temple altar.
They’d killed goats. They’d even made human sacrifices.
They’d bloodied their own sons and daughters to demonstrate their fear of the implacable power that dictated their fortunes.
So what would my offering be? What could I give that would demonstrate my adequate devotion?
This was what the creator wanted, wasn’t it?
To exact some kind of pain from the supplicant.
It had to be something valuable, I realized, something I’d acutely miss.
What did I care about enough? In that moment, it was Sarah.
Immediately, I could see the symmetry of my prayer locking into place.
Let her live, I thought, and you can have her.
Let her live, and I’ll give her up. I’ll give you the most important thing I can imagine if you only allow her to continue to exist.
I thought these new words over and over, in different formulations, honing the bargain.
Each phrase was like a balloon floating up into the smoke, seeking contact with the divine mind.
Each utterance was a jewel pressed into the wall of the universe.
Or maybe a wire shoved into the door of the cosmos, blindly seeking the heavy latches of the lock.
There were a million metaphors I could use.
I was seeking whatever purchase I could find.
What happened next, I don’t know how to describe. Whatever it was, it happened quietly, almost unnoticeably, though going back, I might have had some kind of inkling. Something in the world seemed to reorient a degree, some channel opened. Some scaled, lidded eye cracked awake.
I heard a sound and I turned and stared into the torpid smoke.
At first, I couldn’t see anything but the slow-coursing tendrils and the splashes and sunbursts of my own corneas.
And then, out of the gloom, a shadow appeared.
The shadow moved a step closer, gaining detail, and with one more step, I could see it was Sarah.
She was standing there on the pebbly bank, alive, covered in ash and singe.
Her face was caked in blood. Her black hair was lank.
But she was swaying on her feet, definitely alive.
I’ve been poisoned by smoke, I thought, or deranged by sleep deprivation. There was no way she’d climbed out of that pile. And yet, somehow, she was there.
I got up and went to her, still not convinced she was real. She shook my arms off, not ready to be touched yet. She was real.
“What happened?” she said.
“You had an accident,” I said. “You got hurt. But you’re okay now. Thank God.”
“What kind of accident?” she said.
“A tree fell on you,” I said. “It knocked you out.”
“And where are we?” she said.
“On the mountain,” I said. “You don’t remember?”
“Not exactly,” she said.
“You hiked up here yesterday,” I said. “And then there was a fire. You were trapped in it. But you’re okay now. Everything’s going to be okay.”
She winced, thinking all this through. She tried shaking her head to clear her thoughts, but the movement seemed to hurt her skull so she stopped. She raised her finger to her temple. “And when did you get here?”
“Just now,” I said. “I’m going to take you home, okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
“We should go before the wind changes,” I said.
“Okay.”
Before we went anywhere, I strapped the mask onto her face.
I also took off my shirt and soaked it in the stream.
I wrung it out and wrapped it around her neck, hoping this would feel refreshing.
Then, as delicately as possible, I braced her body against my body and guided her across the stream.
We hobbled past the ruined Zendo and back to the trail. All the while, I was holding her close.
We walked slowly, careful not to jar her in any way, back along the path we’d both come before.
It didn’t seem important to tell her about the miracle yet, or the whole deal I’d made with the universe, if that was what you’d call it.
We were both in shock. I didn’t want to add any more disturbance to her mind than necessary.
And I wasn’t thinking about anything very clearly myself.
The only goal now was to get her to safety.
We navigated every rock and root, and by the time we got back to the lodge, the smoke had cleared.
Raw sunlight was falling onto the roof, shining off the wet shingles.
The guys were still digging fire lines and spraying water onto anything they could find, but the danger was past. When they saw us emerge from the trees they all paused and stared.
Gary strode over and helped us to the deck and gave us some water, while the other guys gathered around in reverent silence and began murmuring their praise and astonishment.
Sarah needed medical attention, Gary and I agreed, so the rest period didn’t last long.
Gary helped me carry Sarah the remaining distance to my car, and helped me get her into the passenger seat, and helped me find the way out of the lower lot.
I drove the road back to the lake in a daze.
Another miracle: someone had already chainsawed the fallen trees on the road.
As soon as we got to the highway, my phone flooded with messages.
They came from everywhere, from my mom, from Barn people, from neighbors, from students.
Somehow everyone I knew had heard I was on the mountain.
I skimmed through the messages until I came to Phil’s name and touched it with my thumb.
His voice said he was waiting for us at the rest stop at exit 34.
He’d been stopped by state troopers. He was awaiting word. He wouldn’t leave until he saw us.
I drove the remaining miles gingerly, rarely speeding, while Sarah slept.
I wasn’t sure if sleep was a great idea, considering her head injuries, but I didn’t want to wake her, either.
She looked so vulnerable in the seat, coated in mud and blood, her hair matted, her clothes ripped.
I could give her this moment of rest. I glanced at her often to make sure she was still breathing and noticed her eyes twitching with dreams. I put my hand on her bare leg and fixed my eyes to the road.
At the rest stop, I turned in and found Phil immediately. He was standing at attention beside his truck, looking desperate but unyielding. Sarah was still asleep, and together, we lifted her from my car and placed her in his cab and buckled her in.
Phil hugged me for a long time. “Thank you,” he said through tears, and gripped my shoulder.
He looked into my eyes for a long time. And then, purposefully, he got in his truck and drove away, heading for the hospital in Medford.
I stood in the rest area, too exhausted to move.
The air was clear. The sun was already hot.