JOURNEY - on Mastering Ukemi by Daniel Linden (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

and said, “I have taken several first aid courses and one was pretty extensive. Go back to my room and look for the first aid kit in my duffle.”

I knelt next to the man and slowly extended my hand to his shoulder. At my touch he stiffened, but he looked at me and then relaxed. Christian came back and I looked into the kit and found the small pack of Tylenol with codeine I had brought. I broke out one, then thought better and added two more and handed them to the injured man. Before I could ask for water he had taken them and swallowed them dry, then let his head loll back. I looked at Nawang and said we had to get him inside where it was warmer and where I had light.

He shook his head no. That could not be done. But he did say something to several men and they disappeared and then came back with a canvas tarp that was tied into a shelter from the falling snow. I needed light and told Christian to go get Chris and Curtis and all their flashlights. The day was dying and with it the meager light that accompanied the end of a Himalayan day.

When all was ready and we had light from three sides I pulled on the man’s jacket, gently opening it so I could see how bad the injury was. He was well into the codeine and allowed me to uncover the wound. I was hoping for a puncture I could put a dressing on and that would hold until they got him to the Hillary hospital in Khunde, a two day walk from here. What I found made me want to cry. Blood was pumping freely from a terrible gash in his side and I took a flash light, bent over, and looked closely into the wound and saw the jagged tear of a ripped intestine. Whatever artery had been ruptured was not slowing and I knew I could not help this man. The tear across his abdomen was so large that I did not have a bandage large enough to cover it.

“I have one clean t-shirt in my bag,” said Chris. It’s brand new.”

I nodded to him and he ran. I opened my small, carefully packed, carefully planned, completely useless first aid kit and saw how pitiful it was in the face of real tragedy and once again fought tears from helplessness. Suddenly Chris was there gently handing me the folded shirt. I didn’t have anything to disinfect the wound. I had nothing to close it but some small sutures that would be like trying to stop the Dudh Kosi with a soup spoon.

I placed the shirt across the opening in his body and gently laid my hand on him willing with all my being that whatever God had done this would take him quickly. I looked at Nawang and shook my head no and then stood up. Slowly the men moved around him and finally completely encircled him offering him at least a tiny bit of privacy from the gawkers who had come to see what life in the Himalaya had wrought. When he was surrounded and I could no longer see him I turned away and went inside the lounge. My hands were drenched in blood. Nawang came to me and thanked me and said that they would take care of him now. This was not the first yak drover to die at the hands of his charges. I went out behind the kitchen and found Cook kneeling over some pots. I asked him if he had any warm water I could wash with and he gave me a basin of warm water. He was very deferential. I washed as well as I could in the dim light and went back inside. Chris had gotten the rum out again and this time I had a glass with him.

Several Germans came over and wanted to hear about what had happened, but Curtis told them to go away. Curtis can be a formidable man. He was not polite and despite their Teutonic sense of entitlement they left us alone. We drank quietly and waited for Cook to bring out dinner. When he once again produced the potatoes I’d liked so much the night before I did start to cry. Tears ran down my face, but I did not make a sound. I willed them to stop, but I couldn’t. As I grow older my tears are much closer to the surface. I find myself weeping over songs, poems, and sometimes an unusual act of heroism, kindness, or bravery. I often wish I wasn’t so weak. I wish I was stronger, more callous, like the man I had been when I was young. Still, my tears were not for the fallen drover, exactly. Nor was it for life in all its unfairness and sudden death. It was just for all the sorrow in the world that I had not shed a tear for, ever before. Or, perhaps it was just the altitude. Probably, just the altitude.

The tears fell softly and I did not acknowledge them and neither did anyone else. Eventually I ate, because life does go on.

***

I woke up in the night. I was cold and could not make myself any warmer. I don’t know what time it was, probably 1:00 or 2:00 AM and I was also having trouble breathing. I would drift back near sleep and then find myself gasping for breath with my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest. It was very distressing and I pretty much resigned myself to being up all night. I tried to read by flashlight and tried lighting a candle for a little warmth; a candle can do miracles in a small space, but it also consumes oxygen. Eventually the darkness behind the window gave way to a steady gray and I finally managed to go back to