When the birds fly southCoblentz, Stanton A. (Stanton Arthur)
Science
When the birds fly south
Coblentz, Stanton A. (Stanton Arthur)
Afghanistan -- Fiction; Fantasy fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
But when the ascent actually began, I was not at all certain that I
should survive. We seemed to be undertaking the impossible; I had,
literally, to be lifted off my feet and carried; my legs were useful
only on the short stretches of comparatively level ground. In the
humiliation of being an invalid, I felt a deep sense of inferiority to
these brawny men that tugged and strained to bear me up the mountain;
while, with increasing admiration, I noted the capable way in which
they carried me along the brink of canyons, or over grades that I
should have had to make on my hands and knees. But greatest of all
was my admiration for the young girl who had offered me the dried
herbs. She seemed agile as a leopard and sure-footed as a mountain
sheep, leaping from boulder to boulder and from crag to crag with the
swiftness and abandon of a joyous wild thing....
Hours--how many I cannot estimate--must have been consumed in the
ascent. Fortunately, I am not a large man, being but five feet six
in height and considerably under the average weight; but, even so,
I proved more than an ordinary burden. Though my rescuers worked in
shifts and each seemed powerful enough to carry me single-handed, yet
before long the exertion began to tell upon them all. Occasionally,
after completing some precipitous ascent, they would pause to mop their
brows and rest; or else their bulging eyes and panting frames would
testify to the ordeal they were undergoing.
Higher and higher we mounted, while they showed no thought of
abandoning their efforts. In joy not unmixed with a half-superstitious
dread, I saw the statuesque figure on the peak slowly approaching; saw
its outlines expand until it seemed but a mile away, clad in a somber
gray and beckoning like some idol superbly carved by a race of Titans.
But while I was asking myself whether we were to climb to the very foot
of this image, I observed that we were following a little trail which
no longer ascended but wound sinuously about the mountainside. For what
seemed time unending we plodded along this path, while in my weakness I
was more than once close to fainting.
But, as we jogged ahead, the scenery was gradually changing; from time
to time I caught glimpses of far-off snowy peaks and a deep basin north
of "The Mountain of Vanished Men." It was long before this valley
stretched before us in an unbroken panorama; but when I saw it entire
it was enough to make me forget my sufferings.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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