They also began to take photographs of what they saw around them. On seeing this the boys became upset and asked them why this was necessary. The Andinists calmed them by saying that they were only making a record for the Chilean Army, as they were required to do, and that none of the photographs would ever be published.
The boys seemed satisfied, and in any case it was hard to be angry with their rescuers, especially with rescuers who were as kind as the four Chileans. One of them even offered Zerbino a cigarette.
‘No, thanks,’ said Zerbino, ‘I prefer my own.’ And without a smile to betray that he had rehearsed these lines before, he lit one of his Uruguayan cigarettes.
By around four in the afternoon it became clear that the helicopters would not be returning that night. At once the high spirits of the eight survivors gave way to the miserable thought that they would have to spend another night on the mountain. The Andinists, noticing this, did what they could to restore their morale. They lit their stove and cooked up some more soup – first chicken soup, then onion soup, then Scandinavian soup. Then Methol asked them if, by any chance, they had some maté.
‘Maté? Of course we’ve got maté. How can you imagine that four Chileans would be without maté?’
They brewed maté, and after that they made coffee. But by this time the sun had slipped behind the mountains and it was beginning to get cold. For the boys this sudden fall in the temperature was routine. The Andinists, too, were equipped with bright-coloured waterproof anoraks which protected them against the cold. The one who began to suffer was Bravo, the medical orderly – for he had jumped out of the helicopter dressed in a shirt with short sleeves and wearing only moccasin shoes – so the Andinists found him some clothes.
The four Chileans, now sitting in the plane with the boys, started to sing songs to keep up their spirits, but as the sun sank farther behind the mountain it became colder still, and the time came for them all to try and sleep. The eight boys quite naturally invited their visitors to stay with them in the plane, but their Chilean guests showed some reluctance and instead left the Fairchild and pitched a tent in the snow some distance away. The eight boys were somewhat offended that their hospitality was spurned in this way – though some had divined by this time that the inside of the plane might not smell as sweet to others as it did to them – and they made up their mind that at least one of the Andinists should spend the night with them.
They chose Díaz because the next day was his birthday. They said that if he did not come with them they would pull out the tent pegs at midnight. Díaz gave in. While his fellow Andinists and the medical orderly retired to the tent, he helped the boys rebuild the wall at the entrance to the plane and then clambered in with them and sat in the middle of the eight stinking, emaciated, happy Uruguayans. No one slept or even tried to. Díaz talked to the boys about the life of an Andinist and told them of some of his adventures in the mountains. They in their turn told him in more detail of their ordeal. He warned them that what they had done might come as a shock to the outside world.
‘But will people understand?’ the boys asked him.
‘Of course,’ he reassured them. ‘When the full facts are known, everyone will understand that you did what had to be done.’
At midnight Díaz was forty-eight years old, and the eight Uruguayans sang ‘Happy birthday to you.’
No one slept that night, and early the next morning their thoughts turned to breakfast. All the food was in the tent, however, and when they went out into the snow at first light they could see no sign that the three other Chileans were awake. A chant began to sound across the valley – ‘We want our breakfast, we want our breakfast!’ – and in a short time the sleepy faces of Lucero and Villegas appeared between the canvas flaps of the tent.
‘What do you want for breakfast?’ Lucero shouted.
‘We had coffee yesterday,’ one of the boys shouted. ‘Today we want tea!’
‘Tea? All right.’
Lucero, Villegas, and then Bravo emerged from their tent, and in a short time the eight boys were breakfasting on hot tea and dry biscuits. As they ate the Andinists described how to approach the helicopters when they arrived, for they had given up the idea of a landing pad and knew that the machines could only hover over the snow.
After their breakfast the boys prepared themselves for rescue. They straightened their clothes and combed their hair once again, and Zerbino brought out of the plane the suitcase which he and Fernández had filled with all the money and documents of the boys who had died. He also brought the tiny red shoe which made up the pair that Parrado had bought in Mendoza.
‘You won’t be able to take that on the helicopter,’ the Andinist said, seeing Zerbino with the suitcase.
‘I must,’ Zerbino replied. He explained what the suitcase contained and described to Lucero where the bodies lay which had fallen out of the plane at the top of the mountain.
At about ten o’clock they heard the sound of helicopters and then saw three appear in the sky above them. In the less turbulent air of the morning, the helicopters took none of the buffeting that they had suffered the day before; all the same, they did not descend at once but circled over the wreck of the Fairchild. The boys, who were waving frantically at the machines, could see cameras and film cameras protruding from the windows. Finally these were withdrawn and the first machine came lower and lower until one of its skis was resting on the snow.
The first three boys moved forward, but it was difficult to approach the roaring machines because of the wind which came from the blades. Roy Harley was extremely weak, and he was helped towards the helicopter by Bobby Francois, but Francois himself was blown back by the gust of wind generated by the helicopter. It was only with the help of the Chileans that they climbed on board.
Finally the first helicopter rose in the air with its three passengers and the second lowered itself to the ground, the pilot trying to keep his blades from hitting the rock, the next group of survivors trying to keep the blades from cutting off their heads. Then that too was loaded; it rose and the third took its place and the last two survivors climbed on board, including Zerbino with his suitcase. There were less treacherous currents of air for the pilots to contend with that morning, and in a short time they were over the mountains and flying more easily down the valley towards the Y. Through the transparent walls of the helicopters they saw the River Azufre, its banks sprinkled with green vegetation which increased in area and density until they landed in the lush pastures of Los Maitenes.
There the boys tumbled out of the helicopters and fell onto the grass – laughing, rolling, embracing one another, and praying aloud in thanks to God. They were stunned by the verdancy all around them. Like Páez the day before, Methol picked a flower and began to eat its stalk; so ecstatic was he at this sight of trees and clover that he made up his mind to return to Uruguay and spend many months at his estancia, simply staring at the green landscape all around him.
García’s helicopter took off once again to return for the Andinists and the medical orderly. Meanwhile an army doctor, Sanchez, examined the survivors to see if any of them required emergency treatment. His conclusion was that all were fit to travel; indeed, the eight Uruguayans were behaving less like invalids than like young men on a picnic. While some washed themselves in the stream which ran beside the house of Serda and González, others talked to Sergio Catalan and his sons, and Fito Strauch and Gustavo Zerbino borrowed his horse to go for a ride.
They stayed at Los Maitenes for around half an hour, after which García returned with Lucero, Díaz, Villegas and Bravo, and the whole group re-embarked in the helicopters and flew on to San Fernando. Fito Strauch, Bobby Francois, Moncho Sabella and Gustavo Zerbino were in the first helicopter, and no sooner had it touched down at the headquarters of the Colchagua Regiment than Fito’s mother and father came towards their son. Their faces were masks of pain, such was their joy, and no sooner had the blades of the helicopter come to a stop and the door opened than they
had their son in their arms. Rosina embraced him, and as she held him she prayed to her little Virgin of Garabandal who had wrought this miracle.
Behind the Strauchs came the Zerbinos – their eyes dry, their faces serene – to meet their husky, healthy son, and after them – as if an order of precedence had been established according to the degree of faith each parent had had in the son’s survival – came the mother and father of Bobby Francois. The child whose death they had accepted ten weeks before was now with them, and the joy seemed almost to incapacitate Dr Francois. A suave and silent man, he had grown thin since his son had last seen him, and as he walked to the helicopter he seemed bewildered and confused. For the Strauchs, and even for the Zerbinos, the return of their son was a vindication of all their effort and hope. For Dr Francois it was a resurrection which, as a man of science, he had neither asked for nor expected.
In the next helicopter came Roy Harley, Javier Methol, Antonio Vizintín and Pancho Delgado. Of these four, only Roy found his parents waiting for him. For them too it was a reward for faith and effort but, as with all the parents, their joy was mingled with the pain of compassion for what their son had suffered. They saw that the boy who had left them as a hefty rugby player was now no more than skin and bone. All the flesh had gone from his body. His eyes were sunk in their sockets; his skin was stretched over his cheekbones; his hands were like the hands of a skeleton covered with wizened parchment. And it was not just these physical manifestations of starvation and privation which told them what he had suffered; there was also the expression in his eyes.
After their reunion with those parents who were there, the eight survivors were taken into the regimental infirmary for yet another checkup while the doctors, the Command Committee, and the Uruguayan chargé d’affaires, César Charlone, discussed whether they should be taken to the hospital in San Fernando – as the others had been – or flown directly to Santiago. Once it was established that they were all well enough to continue their journey, the latter course was decided upon. It was now Saturday, December 23, and it was thought important for the peace of mind of the whole group that they should be reunited with their relatives for the feast of Christmas. The survivors therefore embarked in the helicopters for the third time that day. The Harleys and Señora Zerbino were also allowed to travel with their sons, and the whole party took off from the headquarters of the Colchagua Regiment and landed a short time later on the roof of the Public Assistance Hospital – the Posta Central, as it is called – in Santiago.
2
Meanwhile, in the hospital of St John of God in San Fernando, the first group of survivors had slept their first night in a bed for seventy-one days. It was not easy for them to accustom themselves to comfort. Daniel Fernández dreamed that an avalanche was coming down the mountainside and awoke with a start to find that what covered him was not snow but sheets and blankets. He tried to sleep again but felt uncomfortable. ‘What damned fool is sticking his feet into my body?’ he thought to himself, and then once again awoke with a start to find himself alone in his hospital bed.
Coche Inciarte slept more soundly than Fernández and was awakened by the sound of singing birds. He lay back, amazed and happy, and when a nurse came into his room he asked her to open the window. She did so, and he breathed the fresh air into his lungs. At the same time the survivors who were healthier than he was came out of their rooms and sat on the wicker chairs at the end of the corridor, where the windows looked out onto the foothills of the Andes.
At eight o’clock Father Andrés returned to the hospital with a cassette tape recorder with which he recorded statements from the survivors. ‘We had an enormous desire to survive,’ said Mangino, ‘and faith in God. Our group was always united. When the spirits of one went down, the rest made sure to raise them. Praying the rosary every night strengthened the faith of all of us, and this faith helped us get through. God gave us this experience to change us. I changed. I know now that I shall be different to what I was … all thanks to God.’
‘We hope to preach faith to the world,’ said Carlitos Páez. ‘Although this experience was sad because of all the friends we lost, it has helped us a lot – in fact it is the greatest experience of my whole life. As far as the trip is concerned, I shall never go on a plane again. I’m going by train … I have had a lot of experience as a rugby player. When you make a try, it isn’t you but the whole team that has scored. That’s the best thing about it. If we were able to survive, it was because we all acted with team spirit, with great faith in God – and we prayed.’
At half past ten a press conference was held on a terrace outside the private wing for the horde of desperate journalists who had been besieging the hospital since the day before. Inciarte and Mangino remained in their beds, but the other survivors allowed themselves to be photographed, for they were now dressed in clothes that the hospital had bought from – or, more often, been given by – the merchants of San Fernando. The conference was short and little was said. When they were asked what they had eaten to stay alive, they answered that they had bought a lot of cheese in Mendoza and that herbs grew in the mountains.
At eleven o’clock, mass was celebrated by the Bishop of Rancagua and three other priests in the brick church adjoining the hospital. The survivors, some in wheelchairs, were in the front row of the congregation. It was a momentous occasion for them all, and their emaciated faces were stretched with expressions of the love and gratitude that they felt towards God. In all the weeks that they had waited for this day, never for a moment had they lost their faith in Him; never had they doubted His love or His approval of their desperate and ugly struggle to survive. Now those same mouths which had eaten the bodies of their friends hungered for the body and blood of Christ; and once again, from the hands of the priests of their church, they received the sacrament of Holy Communion.
After the ceremony they prepared to leave for Santiago, for by then it had been decided that, while Mangino and Inciarte would be taken by ambulance to the Posta Central, the other six could go straight to the Sheraton San Cristóbal Hotel, where all the Uruguayans were to celebrate Christmas.
Before departing, some of the survivors accepted invitations to lunch from various citizens of San Fernando. The Canessa family went to the home of Doctor Ausin, while Parrado, along with his father, sister, and brother-in-law, went to a restaurant with a Mr Hughes and his son Ricky, after which they were driven the ninety-odd miles to Santiago in a Chevrolet Camaro – a joy for Parrado which was in no way diminished by his experiences in the Andes.
Javier Methol was the first of the second group of the survivors to enter the Posta Central in Santiago. A ward had been found for them on the top floor of the hospital, and since the helicopter landed on the roof he had only to be carried down one flight of stairs. All the same the wide corridors were crammed with people smiling, applauding, even weeping for joy at the sight of the young Uruguayans who had been so miraculously restored to life.
No sooner had he been shown his bed than Methol – still wearing the same clothes he had worn in the Andes – asked if he could take a shower.
‘Of course,’ said the nurse, and she took him in a wheelchair to a nearby bathroom. She then explained that since she was responsible for him she would have to stay with him while he took his shower. Methol set her at ease. Had he been the most modest man in the world, a row of nurses would not have stopped him from taking a shower. He stripped off his filthy clothes and stepped under the strong jets of hot water. They whipped the skin off his emaciated back and shoulders, but it was pain which was a joy to bear. When he emerged from the shower and put on a white hospital smock, he felt like a new man. He sat once again in the wheelchair and was pushed by his nurse back into the ward, where he saw a group of his fellow survivors still wearing their old clothes.
‘Oh, please,’ said Methol, ‘please take these dirty people out of here.’
As soon as their patients were washed, the doctors of the Posta Central examined them, taking X
-rays and blood tests. Their verdict was that everyone except Harley and Methol could be allowed to move to the Sheraton San Cristóbal Hotel that afternoon. These two were placed in a ward with Inciarte and Mangino, who had arrived from San Fernando. Of the four, Roy’s condition was the most critical, for blood tests revealed a severe deficiency of potassium which endangered his heart.
The others, however, were not only well but almost pathologically high-spirited. Gustavo Zerbino escaped from the hospital to find some shoes accompanied by his father whom he met on the way out. Moncho Sabella drank a bottle of Coca-Cola which made his stomach swell up. He also suffered from the zeal of a young nurse who was so eager to do something for the young Uruguayans that she tried to take blood from Moncho’s arm without seeming to know where to find the vein with the needle. Moncho put up with this scientific investigation – though his arm hurt for three days afterwards – but he, along with his companions, was quite sure in his own mind what their medicine should be; while the doctors analysed their condition, they asked for food.
The nurses responded with some tea, biscuits and cheese. An immediate request was made for more cheese. It came, and shortly afterward they were served lunch – first steak with mashed potatoes, tomatoes and mayonnaise, then jelly. The jelly was eaten in a minute and the hungry patients asked for more. Then they asked for Christmas cake but were told that it was not to be had. Now they must rest.
At seven in the evening, after a mass in the amphitheatre of the Posta, Delgado, Sabella, Francois, Vizintín, Zerbino and Fito Strauch went to join the others in the Sheraton San Cristóbal. At nine, those who had remained were rewarded for their patience with a piece of Christmas cake. The nurses also told them that at eleven they would bring them a surprise; sure enough, at the appointed hour they were each given a most delicious chocolate mousse topped with cream – something the nurses themselves were to have eaten that night. The four ate the mousse, savouring each spoonful, and then went to sleep as happy men.
Alive: The Story of the Andes Survivors Page 29
