Lethal Patience

It’s around four in the morning. The atmosphere is lit by the handful of stars in the black sky above as well as the hundreds of headlamps from the sea of hikers below. The toxic gas is so dense that the rotten-egg smell penetrates through into gas mask. As I breathe through my mouth, I can taste the sulfur on my tongue and my lips.

I stand still because I have no other choice. A few steps to my right and I’d be hugging a wall of rock. A few steps to my left and I’d fall to my death. I’ve hiked on longer, steeper, and more more unsteady terrain before. What makes this journey so uniquely lethal isn’t the gravelly terrain, the winding uphill path, or the volcanic fumes — it’s the sheer number of people. Hundreds of people squeeze past each other on that narrow path, going in both directions, despite the trail guides constantly shouting for us to form one line.

My own trail guide is nowhere to be seen. He left me behind long ago, and is probably at the top of the path already. I don’t think he did so out of malice; he’s just not used to waiting so long, stuck in the congested foot traffic with everyone else. So I stand still, hoping that my foothold is steadier than it feels, praying that I don’t pass out as my head gets lighter and my breaths heavier, with the taste of rotten egg still clinging to my throat.

At that moment, I think I’m dying. I’d like to find any way out of the situation: maybe an undiscovered climbing route, maybe an emergency rescue helicopter. Or, if I’m lucky, maybe I can squeeze through the crowd and get just enough momentum to make it to the top, just like my trail guide did.

A yell breaks through the crowd’s chatter: “Miner! Miner coming through! Step aside.” We shift ever so slightly, as much as we can. The miner trudges through carrying two massive chunks of bright yellow sulfur: one in each basket strapped to each end of the long wooden pole he carries on his shoulders. Another man sees this as his chance: he follows in the wake of the miner, forcing his way towards the front of the line. My fellow hikers shout in disapproval of his selfishness. The man calls out, “Move forward if you can. Stay still if you can’t.” A woman behind me yells out: “You’re the problem!” Another person yells, “Fuck you!” The man turns back, enraged. “You say ‘Fuck you’ to me?”

In truth, the man isn’t selfish; he’s just in a dog-eat-dog world. We’re all drowning beneath our gas masks, trying to swim our way out of the narrow cliff path: what difference does it make if we have to push others down to pull ourselves up?

And that’s when I realize that there’s nothing left for me to do. I’ve seen a gap in the mountain face that I could try to climb — only to probably fall back down, injuring and possibly killing myself and several others. And I realize that there’s no use to call for help: there’s a reason we’re all stuck there. There’s no other way out. So I stand still and wait. I don’t fidget or try to find an opening: it’s pointless. I don’t say anything: it’s a waste of breath. And while I recognize the danger I’m in, I don’t entertain my fear of death. I’ve lived a good nineteen years anyway. To fear is to increase the heart rate, to die sooner and more painfully.

Screams break out. Someone is climbing up the gap I saw. The woman behind me yells: “Are you crazy?” The climber gets to the top pretty successfully, but leaves a small avalanche behind him. The gravel plummets right at my feet. Luckily, my foothold was stronger than I thought: the stones bounce off my shoes.

I focus on the fact that I’m closer to the top than I was twenty minutes ago. My brain is too foggy to think any other thoughts. Gradually, making one or two steps every one or two minutes, I make progress. Then the line finally gains some momentum. After a relatively short amount of time, I’m near the end of the narrow path. Just as I make it to the top, the sky begins to brighten: God is welcoming me back from the world of the dead.

I believe that it’s impatience, more so even than irreverence, that causes us to sin. Eve did not wait to receive knowledge of good and evil; Aaron did not wait to receive news from his brother. I think back to when I was held at gunpoint as an eleven year old while on an evening stroll with my family. “My daughter needs money,” he said. He had no hatred towards us — in fact, he let us go — but he was impatient and jumped to a quick and immoral solution to his problem. I have made the same mistake countless times, and I probably will continue to do so in the future — but I hope that this morning’s hike will be a course correction, a reminder of what’s possible. Patience can save a life; impatience can end one.