Climbing The Mountain

by Martin Palazzotto

A heavy mist covered the pitch. One man stood in its midst, fighting a strange sense of disorientation. Just a moment before, he was sure, he hadn’t been alone. The empty stands, visible only as an opaque vision, the blue railings fading from sight a few rows up from the turf, had been full of singing fans. Hadn’t they? Players had been all around, just settling into a momentous battle on a sunny spring afternoon. He was almost certain of it. Where, then, had everyone gone?

And what of the mist? It was not the thick, soupy fog for which this cold island was famous. The curtain of light rain held no fear for him; only an odd sense of peace. In fact, it was reminiscent of home. As difficult as life had been there, it was dear to him and he missed it. His confusion intensified. Was this his adopted home or his birthland? He could not tell.

As he tried to decide, a dark form came into view, clothed in the mist. An indistinct creature strode confidently toward him on all fours. Discernible only as a massive wedge, its densely muscled shoulders standing much higher than its haunches, with no neck visible between them and the proud, erect head. Suddenly, the man knew fear. His alarm was confirmed when the beast stepped through the watery curtain into plain view, pausing perhaps seven metres away.

It was an immense silverback, whose heavy black coat unnecessarily embellished its imposing size, and crested to a thick, spiked crown. Unperturbed, the giant ape took its time looking from side to side, examining the stands. Following its gaze, the man saw a great stag standing near the edge of the pitch. He could swear it had not been there before the ape had appeared. It was far too big to miss, however, with an incredibly intricate rack of antlers and a great snowy mane covering its shoulders and chest. The stag ignored the man, just as the ape had, each matching the other’s measured look as an equal. After a moment, the stag shook its head and pawed the ground, its antlers whistling in the wind. Then, it turned and trotted down the line, receding into the mist. The silverback watched it depart. Where was this place, the man wondered?

Taking his eyes from the place where the stag had vanished, the man was startled to discover that the ape had finally turned its attention to him. A dark, leathery face, somehow regal in its primal nature, was now taking his measure. As the man stared into a pair of knowing, impassive, startlingly silver eyes, his fear of death transformed into sheer awe. The deep wisdom evident in the creature’s gaze, coupled with its noble bearing at last revealed the answer to his questions. He knew where he was — and whom he stood before.

Seeing the understanding in the man’s eyes, the silverback gave a slow nod, and sat back on his haunches. Once more, its attention wandered to the park surrounding them, and the mists peeled back.

“Great Father!” the man whispered reverently.

“Child,” came the rumbling acknowledgment.

“Why have you brought me here?” the man asked.

“I have not. I have only come to meet you.”

“To meet me?”

The ape nodded again. “Yes, to meet you, and help you choose your path.”

“Choose?” the man asked, his uncertainty returning. “Then I am not going to climb the Great Mountain and sit with my fathers?”

“That is one of your choices,” the great silverback nodded sagely. It lifted a massive fist, gesturing behind the man.

Turning to look, the man saw that the far end of the stadium had opened. Not far behind the goal, the rough edges of a rainforest began, a mass of leafy green, with the occasional wayward trunk, crowned by fronds, poking out here and there like a mussed head of hair. The rough path retreated from the ground before rising up a steep slope and disappearing into a wreath of mist. His neck craning upwards, the man saw an impossibly tall peak rising above the soft rains. He stared wistfully at the path that lead up into the mist, but something held him back.

“The climb is arduous,” the ape rumbled on, “but if you wish I will lend you the strength to make it.”

The man continued to gaze up the path for a moment, as he considered the offer. Then he looked around the stadium. “You said that I had a choice, Great Father. What if I chose to remain here, on this pitch?”

Looking into the ape’s silver eyes, the man saw a sudden sadness. “If you choose not to go to your fathers, you will not be able to stay here. The games of children are no longer for you. If you remain, you will face a much more difficult contest.”

At the end behind the silverback, the skyline of a great city appeared. In the foreground, there stood a looming edifice on a small rise. A road led up to large glass doors, in front of which stood an abandoned lorry, its back doors swung wide. On the side of the vehicle was painted a symbol: a snake wrapped around a staff, laid against a six-pointed blue star. On its roof was a bank of flashing lights.

Panic seized the man. “My son!” he cried. “You must help him, please!”

The great ape shook its head. “You misunderstand. Your son is in no danger. It is you who stands on the brink.”

“But I was healthy and fit. I was a skilled athlete. Why have you struck me down in my prime?”

Anger flared in the Great Father’s eyes, and the man cowered in the face of his wrath. “Why have I struck you down?” the ape thundered. “Why do my children always blame me? Have I not bestowed upon you all that you need to thrive? Have I not given you free will, that you may determine your own destiny? I have shown complete faith in my children. Why do you all doubt me when the path becomes difficult?”

The man bowed his head in contrition. “I am sorry, Great Father.”

The ape’s gaze softened and he reached out, gently placing an impossibly large hand under the man’s chin and raising it so that their eyes met. “Do not apologize, child. Tragedy is not always the result of your own actions. Choices made by strangers in generations past can colour your fate in unexpected ways. Even for me, it is impossible to predict every eventuality.”

The man frowned, attempting to find a place in his belief system for an imperfect deity. Smiling, the ape continued his lesson.

“That, in fact, is what inspires us to create. If we were as omnipotent as our children believe, our existence would be an interminable darkness devoid of any spark. If anyone must apologise, it should be me to you, child. That my charges must suffer so that I might enjoy my life is a shame I must bear through eternity.”

The man tried to reason out this revelation. “So, this is why you have offered me a choice.”

“No. The choice is provided by chance, but I have made it my penance to be there for those who are given this choice, so that they might recognise it, and take advantage of the opportunity.”

“But you have said that I will not be able to play anymore.”

“No, child, you will not.”

“What is left for me, then?”

“You answered that when you pleaded for your son’s life, child. As well, you will find that new doors will open for you once you have recovered, if only you open your eyes and work to be on the threshold when they do, just as you did to forge the life that you have lost. It will not be easy, child, but it will be rewarding if you take up the challenge.”

The man looked towards the mountain. “And if I decide that it is better to surrender to the inevitable, and seek my ancestors?”

“As I have promised, I will lend you the strength to make the climb and not judge you harshly for your choice. You will have a seat among them and be able to look down upon those you love and have provided for so well until they join you. But you must choose now. Time grows short!”

The man looked inwardly for a moment, then nodded and looked the silverback in the eye. “I have never enjoyed waiting,” he said.

The Great Father smiled. “As you wish, child.” He took the man in his embrace and the vision of the ground, the mountain, and the ambulance faded to black as he did. Shortly thereafter, or perhaps it was an eternity, the man’s eyes opened to a bright light, a steady rhythmic beeping and excited voices. Everything came into focus and he took a deep breath. One of the voices addressed him.

“Can you hear me, lad?”

“I hear you,” the man smiled weakly. “Where is my son?”



Climbing The Mountain by Martin Palazzotto is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.