The Sunflower: A Novel

by Evans, Richard Paul

  “We’ll shop later,” Jim said, herding them along.

  “Are we going to climb the mountain?” Jessica asked.

  “If you gals are up to it.”

  “We’re up to it,” Jessica said.

  They boarded a shuttle bus and climbed the winding dirt road a mile up the mountain. When they reached the top Jim purchased tickets for the group and stood at the turnstile as everyone passed through. Jessica and Christine were the last ones through as Jim had promised them a personal tour.

  The terraced hills were brilliant green and a path led from the main gate across one of the terraces into the city.

  “This is incredible,” Christine said.

  “Machu Picchu’s one of those places everyone should see before they die,” Jim said. “Like the great wall of China, or Venice.”

  “Or Dayton,” Jessica said.

  All three of them laughed. Jim led them down a narrow stone stairway to a tall semicircular building. The stones were carefully rounded and inside the structure there were trapezoid-shaped niches.

  “What was this building used for?” Jessica asked.

  “This is the Temple of the Sun. The Incas worshiped the sun, water and Pachamama, Mother Earth. These two windows are perfectly aligned according to the points where the sun rises on the summer and winter solstices.

  “One of the guides up here told me that the sunflower was the symbol of the temple and that Incan priestesses wore headdresses made of golden sunflowers.”

  “Christine in a former life,” Jessica said.

  Christine smiled at this and ran her hand across the smooth, moss-covered wall.

  Jim led them down to the next ruin, the Temple of the Condor. The natural stone thrust outward like large wings, and on the ground a bird’s head was carved into a sacrificial stone. A trough was cut in the stone.

  Jessica crouched down to touch it. “What’s this thing?” she asked.

  “It’s the condor’s head. It’s believed that this was used for human sacrifices.”

  “People were killed here?”

  “They think so.”

  Jessica shuddered. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They climbed around the stones through a dozen more structures, with every wall smooth and perfectly aligned. Halfway through the grounds Jessica and Jim were holding hands, seemingly no longer concerned with whether anyone else noticed.

  They climbed down the steps of the pyramid into the center of the ruins, emerging into a broad, grassy plaza half the size of a football field. On the opposite side of the field was the urban section, a row of symmetrical buildings shadowed by Huayna Picchu.

  On the same grass a herd of llamas grazed lazily, seemingly oblivious to the tourists snapping their photographs. “Look, Chris, llamas,” Jessica said, running off to see them. Jim cast a sideways glance to Christine, then went after her. Christine followed. When they caught up to Jessica, she was standing next to a baby animal.

  “Isn’t she cute?” Jessica said, “A baby llama.”

  “I think it’s an alpaca,” Jim said.

  “Alpaca, llama, they’re the same thing.”

  She leaned down next to the animal and began stroking its neck. “Hi, baby,” she cooed

  “Be careful,” Jim said, “They spit.”

  “She’s not going to spit. She likes me.”

  The alpaca settled down into the grass, its eyelids closing more with each stroke.

  “I’ve never seen one do that,” Jim said.

  “It’s just like a big dog,” Jessica said. “Jim, take a picture.”

  “I’ll take it, “Christine said. She took the camera from Jessica’s backpack. “Jim, you get in there with her.”

  He put his arm around Jessica and she snapped the shot. “Perfect.”

  “Chris, take one of me kissing the llama,” she said. She puckered up, kissing it on the snout.

  Jim rolled his eyes. “You think I’m going to kiss you after you’ve kissed that thing?”

  “You don’t have to kiss me,” she said.

  Jim knew he couldn’t win that argument. He looked up at the sun. “If we’re going to climb Huayna Picchu, we’d better get started.”

  They hiked to the south end of the citadel, where a dirt path led sharply down a ravine to the base of the mountain. A sign pointed to Huayna Picchu and a different direction to the Temple of the Moon.

  “Everyone sure they want to do this?” Jim asked.

  “We’re sure,” Jessica said turning to Christine, “Aren’t we?”

  “Absolutely,” Christine said.

  The climb took them about an hour. In some places stones had been cut into stairs or ropes hung as guide lines. Even though the trail was well traveled, it was still treacherous in parts. In a few spots they climbed on all fours.

  There was a bottleneck at the top of the mountain where the hikers scaled the final thrust of stone to the pinnacle. When the congestion cleared, Jim climbed up first, then held out his hand and helped both women up. No longer protected by the side of the mountain, the wind was strong and loud and the experience reminded Christine of her childhood, when her parents had taken her to the observation deck of the Empire State Building.

  “Welcome to the top of the world,” Jim said.

  Jessica gasped. “It’s breathtaking. Machu Picchu looks like a toy village. How high up are we?”

  “Huayna Picchu is about a thousand feet higher than Machu Picchu.”

  “This is amazing,” Christine said. “I’m so glad we came.”

  “It always makes me a little nervous taking groups up here. Last year I met a Frenchman hiking up. He said that his wife had died here from a fall and every year on the same day he came back and hiked it in her memory.”

  “That’s romantic,” Jessica said.

  “Not my kind of romantic,” Christine said.

  They took pictures of each other and basked in the sun for about a half hour until the summit became too congested with arriving hikers and they decided to go. Jim led, followed by Jessica and then Christine. The trip down the mountain was considerably faster. Jim kept them at a cautious pace, but they still made good time, catching up with a group of Chinese tourists who had left the summit ten minutes before them. They were about two-thirds down the mountain when Jessica said, “So, Jim. If I fell, would you risk your life to save me?”

  Jim was carefully picking his steps and didn’t look back. “What kind of question is that?”

  “A girl just needs to know these things. She needs to feel safe.”

  “If you want to feel safe, watch your step and stay as close to the mountain as you can.”

  “You mean don’t do this…” she jumped over a small ridge to the step below just a few yards above him. The lip she landed on was held only by vegetation and tree roots and gave way beneath her feet. “Jim!”

  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 w
ere 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.”

  Chapter

  Sixteen

  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.