Page 224 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

She studies the photo some more, taking quick drags off her cigarette. No, she
says sharply, to my surprise, even angrily. Questa è la tua ragazza! Your
girlfriend. I think yes, you are liar! And then, to my disbelief, she flicks her
lighter and sets the picture on fire.
Fourteen … fifteen … sixteen … seventeen …
About midway through our trek back to the bus stop, I realize I’ve lost the
photo. I tell them I need to go back. There is no choice, I have to go back.
Alfonso, a wiry, tight-lipped huaso who is tagging along as our informal Chilean
guide, looks questioningly at Gary. Gary is an American. He is the alpha male in
our trio. He has dirty-blond hair and acne pits on his cheeks. It’s a face that hints

at habitual hard living. Gary is in a foul mood, made worse by hunger, the
absence of alcohol, and the nasty rash on his right calf, which he contracted
brushing up against a litre shrub the day before. I’d met them both at a crowded
bar in Santiago, where, after half a dozen rounds of piscolas, Alfonso had
suggested a hike to the waterfall at Salto del Apoquindo, where his father used to
take him when he was a boy. We’d made the hike the next day and had camped
out at the waterfall for the night. We’d smoked dope, the water roaring in our
ears, a wide-open sky crammed with stars above us. We were trudging back now
toward San Carlos de Apoquindo to catch the bus.
Gary pushes back the wide rim of his Cordoban hat and wipes his brow with a

handkerchief. It’s a three-hour walk back, Markos, he says.
¿Tres horas, hágale comprende? Alfonso echoes.
I know.
And you’re still going?
Yes.

¿Para una foto? Alfonso says.
I nod. I keep quiet because they would not understand. I am not sure I
understand it myself.
You know you’re going to get lost, Gary says.

Probably.
Then good luck, amigo, Gary says, offering his hand.
Es un griego loco, Alfonso says.
I laugh. It is not the first time I have been called a crazy Greek. We shake
hands. Gary adjusts the straps of his knapsack, and the two of them head back up
the trail along the folds of the mountain, Gary waving once without looking as
they take a hairpin turn. I walk back the way we had come. It takes me four

hours, actually, because I do get lost as Gary had predicted. I am exhausted by