9.
In the earlier part of our journey through Africa
my friend and I had always chosen a pleasant place
with a view or beside some stream in which to eat
our lunch. Here, however, we sank down onto the earth
where we were and dully
stuffed the food into our mouths. There was
no view anywhere, nothing but the oppressive and silent
scrub. The two guides watched us impatiently, squatting
a yard or two away. Yet it was amazing what those
hunks
of bread and meat did: life and hope began to flow
through the blood again, and a cup of sweet coffee
from a thermos flask
accelerated the process. I rose groggily
to my feet and faced the impossible once more. We
fell into line again with myself drawing up in the
rear.
10.
The guides now
adjured us to keep the strictest silence, and
in fact it was this silence that dominated all the
last moments of our climb. It closed around one with
a thick palpable
drug-like heaviness, almost as if one's ears were
stuffed with cotton wool or one's sense of hearing
had suddenly failed; layer on layer on layer of silence.
And this void,
this nothingness of sound, was suddenly torn apart
by a single high-pitched bellowing
scream. It was bizarre
to the point of nightmare. It was as if one had received
a sudden unexpected blow on the back of the head.
As I stood there, heart thumping,
transfixed
with shock, one of the guides grabbed me by the arm
and half dragged and half pushed me through the undergrowth
towards a little rise where the others were standing.
I looked at the point where they were staring and
I remember calling out aloud, "Oh my God, how
wonderful!”