The Sunflower: A Novel (16 page)

Jim spun around. She was above him, sliding feet forward toward the edge of the trail. Without thought, he lunged toward her, catching her at her hips and tackling her back against the inclined path. When their motion had stopped, she lay on her back and Jim lay across her, his chest flat against her pelvis, his feet hanging over the side of the trail. They were both breathing heavily.

“That was the stupidest thing anyone has ever done,” Jim said.

“That was the stupidest thing
I’ve
ever done,” Jessica said meekly. “You saved me.”

“You okay?”

“I’m okay. Are you?”

“Yeah,” he said, though a thin stream of blood rolled down his arm.

“You’re bleeding.”

He looked down at it. “It’s nothing,” he said breathlessly. “Don’t do that again.”

“I don’t plan on it.”

Jim rolled to his side and lifted himself with his elbows. “Never a dull moment with you, is there?” Suddenly the thin dirt ledge he kneeled on gave out beneath him and he was gone. Jessica screamed, followed by a shout from one of the Chinese tourists below, and both echoes were met only with silence. Jessica lay back, shaking. “How far did he fall?” she asked.

Christine was also trembling. “I don’t know.”

“Dear God, please don’t let him die,” Jessica said, “Please. I’ll do anything, God. Anything.”

I received an emergency call to help Jim, who had fallen from Huayna Picchu. On my drive to Aguas Calientes I realized that I would see Christine again. Considering the circumstance, I felt guilty in that pleasure.

PAUL COOK’S DIARY

One of the Chinese men grabbed onto the narrow root of a tree that grew horizontally from the incline and leaned out, his companions holding his jacket. He shouted back to them,
“Wo kan ta.” I see him.

“Ta szle?” Is he dead?

“Wo bujr dau.” I don’t know.

“Do you see him?” Christine shouted to them.

The man glanced up, then pointed below them to an unseen spot. “He down.”

Jessica and Christine scrambled down to a lower ledge and Jessica hung out.

“There he is,” she said. Jim lay facedown on a terrace about twenty feet below them.

“Is he moving?”

“No,” she said, her voice quavering.

They quickly picked their way down to where Jim lay. His face was buried in the dirt, and he had a large gash on his head and one on his right arm. They were near the bottom quarter of the climb, and the mountain flared out a little as the path doubled back on itself.

“Is he breathing?” Jessica asked.

Christine crouched down next to him. “Yes.”

“Should we roll him over?”

“No, don’t touch him,” Christine said.

Jessica got on her knees and forearms next to him, her thoughts wild with fear and panic. Blood had pooled on the ground beneath him, turning the soil dark and wet. “Jim. Wake up. Please, wake up.”

Suddenly he let out a low, anguished groan.

One of the Chinese men came nearer and Jessica waved him away. “Don’t touch him! No one touch him.” She leaned nearer to him. “Jim, can you hear me?”

He didn’t respond, then his eyelids flickered and he said in a voice barely audible, “Yeah.”

“Do you think your back’s broken?”

“Everything…hurts.” He turned his face toward them. It was caked with mud and blood.

“Don’t move,” Christine said.

Jessica was shaking. “Can you move your toes?”

His left foot moved slightly but he grimaced with pain. “My legs hurt.”

Jessica extended her trembling hand and gently ran it across the back of his leg, then carefully around the front. She suddenly jerked back. “I can feel the bone. It’s sticking out.”

Christine moved forward. “Come back here, Jess. Get away from the ledge.” She took Jessica’s place and ran her hand down and touched the fracture. The bone had pierced the skin and it was wet with blood.

A muscular, sandy-haired man flanked by three teenage boys who had been climbing up the mountain stopped next to them. “How far’d he fall?” the man asked in an Australian accent.

“About thirty feet,” Christine said. “We need help.”

“Is his neck broken?”

“We don’t know,” Christine said.

“Let’s ’ave a gander,” he said kneeling down next to him.

“His leg’s broken,” Jessica said.

He touched his leg and felt the protruding bone. “Bloody oath.” He pulled off his jacket. “I’m a fireman, this is right up my alley.”

He glanced at Jessica, “My name’s Pete. Is this your hubby?”

“He’s my boyfriend.”

“No worries. We’ll get him down.”

The young men stood a few yards back, staring with wide eyes. He said to them. “You guys run down to the post and get us some help. We’ll need a stretcher. G’on, quick smart.”

The boys took off.

Two of the Chinese men stayed behind while the rest of the group moved on down after the young men.

Jim continued to groan while Jessica held his hand. The Australian pulled out a pocketknife. “I’ll have to give his Daks a slice.” He cut Jim’s pant legs up to his thighs. Jessica grimaced at the sight of the fractured bone protruding from his shin. She began to cry. Pete began lightly pressing on Jim’s legs. “Can you feel my fingers, mate?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not there.”

“Good.” He took off his belt, then said to Jessica, “Young lady, could you lend me your belt?”

Jessica quickly unthreaded her belt and handed it to him, then went back to holding Jim’s hand and running her fingers back through his hair. The man said, “Listen, mate, we don’t have any flat boards for a splint. So we’re gonna tie your legs together with these belts.”

“ ’Kay.”

“I’m gonna move your good leg now. It might pinch a bit.” He grasped Jim’s right leg and pulled it over to the broken one, then took the belt and slid it beneath and around the leg.

Jim cried out.

“Sorry, mate. How’s your back?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where do you hurt the most?”

“My leg.”

“Anyplace else?”

“My head.”

“I bet. You’ve got yourself quite a whack.”

While they waited for the boys to return, Joan, Mason and three others from Puma-Condo came upon them. Word had spread down the trail that someone had fallen, but they hadn’t expected it to be one of their own. When Mason saw the women, he shouted back to the others, “It’s one of ours.” They quickened their pace. “Jessica, Christine, what happened?” Mason asked.

“Jim fell.”

They crowded nearer.

“Let’s give him some space, mates. We don’t need anyone else falling here today.”

“Jess,” Jim said.

“What?” she leaned close. Christine listened in.

“The group…” he stopped, grimacing with pain.

“Take it slow, honey.”

“…get the group to Cuzco,” he said hoarsely. “They need to catch the train. The tickets…in my pack.”

Christine asked Mason, “Can you get everyone back to Cuzco?”

He nodded. “Can do.”

“We’ll stay with Jim. We’ll call when we know what’s happening.”

Christine unzipped Jim’s backpack and brought out an envelope containing the train tickets and hotel vouchers, and handed it to Mason. “You better get going.”

“How are you getting him down?” Mason asked.

“My kid and his mates went for help,” Pete said. “We can carry him down.”

“We help,” one of the remaining Chinese said.

Mason stood. “Okay. I’ll round everyone up. We’ll be waiting for word.”

They went back down the mountain. Groups of hikers continued to pass them from both directions, rubbernecking as they squeezed by them on the trail. About twenty minutes later the three boys returned, followed by four Peruvian men carrying a stretcher. One of them spoke good English.

“Is his back broken?”

“We don’t think so,” Jessica said. “He can move his feet.”

The Peruvian team unlashed Jim’s backpack and pulled it off of him. Christine took it. Then they worked their way around him and lifted Jim onto the stretcher. He screamed when they lifted him. He was strapped tightly down, then the Peruvians, Pete and his boys and the two Chinese surrounded the stretcher, each grabbing where he could. They slowly hiked down, breathing heavily with exertion. Jim grew more alert with each minute. The trail dropped down into a cravasse, then climbed steeply to the trail gate that opened out into Machu Picchu. When they reached the end of the trail, the men were out of breath. They set the stretcher down on a soft patch of grass to rest. Jessica sat on the grass next to Jim. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“Do you have any coca leaves?” he asked.

“I have some,” Christine said. She was wearing the same jacket she had worn upon their arrival in Cuzco, and she still had the bag of leaves that Jim had bought for her. She brought it out and took out several leaves. “Here.”

Jim slowly opened his mouth and began to chew the leaves. After a moment he appeared more relaxed.

“All right, mates,” Pete said standing, “Let’s finish this.”

They again hefted the stretcher and started off, following the lead of one of the Peruvian rescue workers, who pushed aside the gaping tourists as the procession passed.

There was no easy way out of Machu Picchu. They carried Jim across the ruins up a long series of steps to the front gate and out to the bus landing. A pickup truck was waiting for them. There was a foam mattress in the truck’s bed and they lay the stretcher on it, securing it down with nylon straps.

“There y’ago, mate,” Pete said.

“Thanks,” Jim said.

“Thank you so much,” Jessica said.

“No worries. Good luck. Hooroo.” Pete and his boys walked back up toward the entry gate. The Chinese men also took leave, and Jessica and Christine climbed up into the bed next to Jim. Jessica took his hand.

“Jess,” Jim said.

“Yes?”

“Call Paul. I don’t want someone here patching me up.”

“Okay.”

“I have his cell phone,” Christine said. She reached into Jim’s backpack and took out the phone. She handed it to Jessica.

Jessica leaned into him. “What’s the number?”

“Hold down the three.”

Jessica pushed the three, then held the phone up to her ear. After several rings someone answered.

“Hello, Paul? This is Jessica. Not good. Jim fell from Huayna Picchu. He’s hurt pretty bad. Can you come?”

She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Where will we be?” she asked Jim.

“The medical post in Aguas.”

“The medical post in Aguas. I’ll keep my cell phone on. Okay. We’ll be waiting for you.” She hung up. “He’s coming.”

“Thanks.”

Jessica took Jim’s hand again. Christine braced herself against the side of the truck bed as they started down the hill. Occasionally they’d hit a bump or brake too quickly and Jim would groan loudly. The truck moved slowly down the steep climb, and it took them nearly forty minutes to reach the medical post. With each passing moment Jim’s pain seemed to increase, and Christine, not knowing what else to do, gave him more coca leaves.

When they arrived at the center, a man and a woman wearing white coats walked out to the truck. With the help of the rescue workers they carried Jim inside.

With the exception of the truck driver and an assistant, the rescue crew had stayed on the mountain, and there was no longer anyone with them who spoke English. Jessica and Christine felt even more helpless.

The medical post was small, old and lightly equipped. It did have a large, clunky X-ray machine that looked like it might be World War II surplus. The medic examined the bone protruding from Jim’s leg and frowned. While the nurse cleaned Jim’s abrasions, the man cut off Jim’s pants and doused his leg with hydrogen peroxide. He took eleven X-rays and determined the greatest cause of Jim’s pain was a dislocated shoulder. He tried to set it and Jim screamed so loudly that Jessica started to cry. He tried several more times without success and each time Jim screamed louder. “They’re torturing him,” Jessica said. “Where’s Paul?”

The next two hours passed with excruciating slowness; by the time Paul arrived, Jessica was near hysterics.

She jumped up when Paul entered the clinic. “Please help him.”

“I will.” He glanced at Christine then went to the back room where Jim lay on the bed, writhing with pain. He gently touched his shoulder. “I’m here, buddy.” The clinic’s staff appeared as relieved to see him as Jessica and Christine had. Paul carefully looked over the X-rays, then spoke with the medic while he examined Jim’s wounds. It had been more than three hours since Jim had fallen, and the muscles in his back and shoulders had spasmed, making his shoulder nearly impossible to set.

Paul took out a syringe of ketamine from the bag he brought with him and injected his friend in the arm. Jim’s eyes closed and his muscles went limp. Paul pushed the shoulder down until it popped loudly back in place. He inserted an IV needle in his forearm and started him on an antibiotic, then examined the suture of the large gash and told the medic that he’d done
muy bien,
which pleased the man immensely.

He walked out of the back room to find the women sitting on a bench. Jessica had her arms wrapped around her body, and Christine was next to her, rubbing her back. They both looked up. “How is he?” Jessica asked.

“We’ve got to get him to Cuzco as soon as possible. We need a CAT scan to make sure there’s no internal bleeding. And he has a compound comminuted fracture.”

“What’s a compound commi…” Jessica asked.

“It means that his leg is broken in multiple fragments. He’s going to need an orthopedic surgeon. I called the hospital for a helicopter but there’s none available. We’re going to have to drive him. Where’s the rest of the group?”

“They took the train back to Cuzco.”

“Okay, we’ll put him in the back of my truck.”

Paul gave Jim another shot of ketamine; he wanted to make sure he was knocked out for the whole trip. Three hours later Paul pulled up outside the emergency room of the Cuzco hospital. He honked his horn and a gurney was brought out, accompanied by the E.R. personnel. The gurney and Paul disappeared into the hospital.

The women went inside the lobby to wait. A little after midnight Paul came and sat down next to them, visibly fatigued.

Jessica stood. “How is he?”