Story of the Month: Skiing Adventures

They gathered and set off downhill, singing... Youth knows no meaning for caution... Neither the advice of the hotel keeper nor the counsel of those who were at the hotel could turn them from their resolve... The wailing of the wild winds and the snow falling thicker minute by minute served only to stir in them the urge to rush after adventure... They knew these mountains, their corners and their slopes; they had grown familiar with them from all the skiing they had done there, so there was no reason to be truly worried by this roaring storm, nor to fear that one of them might stray. All these bends and heights were clothed by the snows in a white mantle that seemed to hang loose about them, and these trees, the cedar trees, stretched out their branches to receive the snow's moisture settling upon them. All this over which their eyes roamed from behind their dark goggles they had scouted so many times that not even the pitch darkness of night could make them lose their way in it or miss the road back to the hotel — how then, when it was still midday and they were off on a short outing?

Among those most eager to plunge into the adventure and defy the storm was George — this young lad in whose soul seethed a love as rich and violent as the richness of his fresh youth and the violence of his blazing young manhood... He loved Salwa deeply, and on every occasion he wished to show her his abilities, his boldness, and his courage — above all when his rival Charles was present, Charles the rich young man with the "Cadillac" automobile and the grand buildings his father owned — above all when this rival of his was on hand... For George, who possessed no vast fortune like the one Charles possessed, had to make up for the wealth in which he was outdone with what nature had bestowed on him: blazing youth, overflowing health, and a manhood coming to its completion...

The most charming thing in these three, in the naïveté of youth advancing upon life with all the soul's richness of feeling and sincerity of heart — the most charming, endearing naïveté in them is that they believe in all seriousness that the feeling stirring in their little hearts is what will decide their destiny in life. George thinks Salwa is the companion he has decided to choose, and so he fears Charles's rivalry; and Charles thinks Salwa is the fiancée whom he will announce to his parents — after he finishes his studies, in four or five years — that he has decided to ask for her hand, and so he keeps a wary eye on George... And Salwa, this sweet, saucy girl, sees in her life a complicated tragedy, since she loves George but does not want to wound Charles's feelings. And so there appear at times upon these dear, young, fresh brows lines whose source is this confusion over the tangled affairs of the heart in the lives of their owners... How delightful are the illusions about life in these sweet little hearts, and the sincerity of their feeling...

The friends gathered, and George made sure to take Salwa's hand, so Charles leaped to the other side and took her other hand, and they all joined hands — Rushdi, Khalil, Laure, Yvonne, Charles, Salwa, and George — and off they went downhill, singing and rejoicing. Then they let go of one another's hands and began racing down the slope, showing their skill at rhythmic skiing, passing among the cedar trees and circling the hill overlooking the valley before shooting down into it.

But George was ahead of everyone in setting off toward the valley, and no sooner had Salwa turned her head his way, after she had finished tightening the strap around her ski, than she saw him disappear at the bottom of the valley; she set off after him in a spontaneous movement, and Charles followed her at once.

As for the storm, it was intensifying frightfully. A fog had engulfed the mountains, the valley, and the slopes, made worse by the snow-dust which the wild winds scattered in every direction, adding harm and hardship to the situation... So the friends decided to return to the hotel before matters grew more dangerous. And when they gathered, it turned out that Salwa, George, and Charles were not with them; so Rashid hastened to send shouts in the direction of the valley, calling to them — he had a powerful voice that managed to pierce the clamoring wail of the winds — and everyone listened, holding their breath, hoping to make out an answer to Rashid's calls. Then a smile spread over their faces as they heard George's whistle, and Laure said with a touch of mischief: George, Charles, and Salwa — never mind them, they will manage for themselves and catch up with us. Everyone laughed, reassured, and turned back...

As for Salwa, she had not fastened the strap well around her ski, and no sooner had she plunged toward the valley than the ski slipped from her foot; the force of momentum flung her up off the ground, she let out a terrified scream, and then crashed down onto the snow, taking it full in the face. George started at this scream and shouted at the top of his voice: Salwa!.. and rushed toward the sound while the winds toyed with him and fought against him; but he could not find his way to where Salwa was, and no one could have made out anything in the thick of that dense fog and that snow-dust scattering through the air... So he began turning in place, taking care lest the raging winds push him away from Salwa and he lose her.

The storm began toying with this young man, stirring in his soul another storm fiercer still, of dreadful forebodings over a girl he loved: he pictured her lying on the ground with her blood flowing, or fallen into a faint — for something of the sort must have happened to her, or she would not have sent up that scream. So he pulled his skis from his feet and began dashing right and left, his nostrils clogged by this snow-dust that never ceased flying before a wild, unbridled wind, until he was like a stray bird in its blast.

George could not have reckoned the time he spent in this state... but he felt a shiver run through his body the moment he noticed that darkness had begun to creep into the heart of the valley and shroud the heights, while he had not yet succeeded in reaching the place where Salwa was... Would there be time enough to rescue her and return before the night's darkness was complete?.. He went back to his feverish attempts, but to no avail... Suddenly he felt that he was alone in this darkness engulfing him from every side — and can any human being feel himself alone between the gaping jaws of night, with the raging elements of nature loosed upon him, with no human presence to keep him company? He turned his face in every direction and found nothing but pitch darkness and the raging storm. He froze in place a moment, panting, his breath all but failing and the moisture all but drying in his mouth; then he let out a terrible cry and fled from the night into the heart of the pitch-dark night.

Can he remember, or even know, how many times his foot stumbled and how many times he rose to resume his running? No, he cannot remember that. Yet it seems that bodily exhaustion had somewhat steadied his nerves... He stood a moment taking stock of this perilous situation, and he remembered the small bottle of cognac in his pocket; he took two swallows from it and returned it carefully to its place — it was the one hope of restoring warmth to Salwa's body the moment he found her; for he would find her, and she must be lying somewhere hereabouts.

George grasped clearly that she was in certain danger, and that upon his conduct and his composure her deliverance might depend... His rare manhood surged up within him, and his responsibility stood plain before him: to save Salwa from the claws of certain death, for she could not possibly pass the night in this valley, above all if she could not move... So he decided to retrace his steps, to go no great distance forward or back in his attempts, and to keep moving to and fro within this circle, calling out all the while in the hope of coming upon her; for he was all but certain that he was near the place from which she had sent up her cry, and that she had not been able to leave that place.

George began his attempt, and panic no longer seized hold of him as it had moments before; for a man finds within his own soul what comforts him when that soul grows strong and proves worthy of bearing responsibilities and hard tasks. George now felt that he bore the responsibility of saving Salwa from certain death, and he gave himself wholly to carrying out this task... He paced the ground back and forth, keeping up his calls, until despair had almost crept into his soul once more — when suddenly he felt his foot tread on something soft, and he fancied he heard a sigh... He stood dumbfounded, unwilling to fall victim to his own delusions, and stepped on this thing a second time, but hard — and this time he heard a distinct moan. He threw himself upon this thing and took it in his hand, and found himself touching an icy hand. He cried out, happy and terrified: Salwa!!.. Salwa!!.. The moans came again, and with a frantic movement he snatched the bottle of cognac from his pocket, felt for Salwa's mouth, made her swallow a few sips, shook her violently, and called her name again and again until she came to and answered him. Happiness and relief flooded his soul, and he hastened at once to ask her whether her electric flashlight was with her, for he had lost his own. She answered that it was, and began trying with great effort to draw it from the pocket of her woolen jacket; but she could not stir, so he set about searching for it himself. And as his hand groped over the folds of the woolen jacket it passed over a spot that was damp, soft to the touch, and warm; a sweet, delicious tremor ran through his body,

and with a spontaneous, innocent movement he took her head in his arms and pressed it to his chest, reassuring her with words through which flowed all his tenderness and his love.

The flashlight came alight, and the light restored confidence to his soul and hope of escape from this predicament, and he helped Salwa to rise. But no sooner had she risen and moved her legs than she let out a short, pained cry: her left leg hurt her and she could not shift it... George was shaken by this reality and realized that the attempt would be very difficult, for he would be forced to drag Salwa, if not to carry her, and that meant a loss of time, every scrap of which might bring them nearer to catastrophe... If only that tiresome Charles were with him — then the two of them could have managed the matter... Yet George gave Salwa no chance to notice what had passed through his mind; he took her by the waist —

the snows still falling, their dust thickening the fog — and they began to walk slowly through the wild storm, George constantly switching the flashlight off and on again so as not to squander what reserve of light remained to it.

No one can point with certainty to the time George and Salwa spent in this attempt of theirs, lighting the lamp and putting it out... stopping to swallow a little cognac — Salwa too had her own small bottle — then resuming their walk... Then all at once George stopped, dumbfounded, at a moment when he had lit the lamp, asking Salwa: Did you hear a whisper over this way? He turned the lamp toward the source of the whisper — and there they were before a great tree, white with the whiteness of snow... and the whisper grew distinct in a timid, questioning voice: George?? George??? George raised the lamp toward the voice, and his eyes fell upon Charles, clinging to one of the tree's boughs, seated upon its trunk, a small bottle of cognac in one of his hands. George and Salwa cried out with one glad, exultant voice: Charles!!

Charles jumped to the ground and told them how the storm had driven him astray and the darkness had taken him by surprise; how his wandering steps had brought him to this tree, which he had climbed for fear some beast of prey might come upon him in such darkness; how he had not dared to light his lantern; and how, and how, and how... He left out not one detail of what had befallen him without describing it — joy had loosened his tongue...

Whoever had seen those three at that moment, talking in a calm, easy, reassured tone, would have thought them in the atmosphere of some familiar home... They had grown easy about their fate

and would find a way out of this fix... Every new element that joins a group floundering in a difficulty strengthens that group's morale; so it was with George and Salwa, and so it was with Charles too... And here he was telling them that, as he sat against the trunk of the tree, it had seemed to him that a glimmer of light came from this direction — and he pointed out the direction — in every moment that followed the storm's passing gusts... The three deliberated on the matter, and concluded that the source of the light must be the house of the family that lives in the apple orchard standing on the slope of the hill; and if their guess was right — and it most likely was, if they took into account the position of this tree, which they knew, relative to the orchard — then they were not in as much danger as they had imagined, nor had they strayed far from the hotel... If they could reach the source of the light, they would pass their night there...

The three swallowed a few sips of cognac; George and Charles each took Salwa by the waist, and they resumed their walk toward the light, which George and Salwa too now began to make out from time to time. They kept on struggling against the storm as it struggled against them, lighting one lamp and putting out the other, until at last they reached the house of the owners of the apple orchard — and it was, precisely, the source of the light.

The lady of the family welcomed them — a generous old woman with the vigor of youth and the graciousness of young years. Her daughter-in-law, her son, and their grown children appeared, and all began busying themselves with preparing hot tea and kindling the fire in the stove, while the old woman set before her guests cheese, laban, and olives. Then she motioned to Salwa to follow her, and there she changed her clothes for peasant garments in which she looked charming and sweet; and she asked the two young men to wrap themselves in the woolen blankets she offered them, and set about drying everyone's clothes by the stove while they devoured what she had served them and drank the refreshing wine...

And in this warm atmosphere of spontaneous, hospitable friendliness for which the mountain folk are famed, and in this tranquil, quiet refuge at the foot of a hill over which a wild storm had broken loose, the three sleepers passed that night of theirs...

They slept long into the morning, and the old woman allowed no one to disturb them: the storm had calmed, and they had all the time in the world to return wherever they pleased. But what was this airplane circling so insistently over the district?? It must be searching for the lost ones. Let it do as it would — it should not wake her guests... In a few hours everyone would know that they had been found; let them sleep and take their ease...

But no sooner did eight o'clock in the morning draw near than there came upon the house the rescue teams of the tourism and summering company and of the Commissariat of Tourism and Summering, and a party of skiers belonging to the Cedars team, and they rushed inside — having spent most of their night searching for the lost ones...

They seated Salwa on a chair and carried her — she had suffered a broken foot — and took them all back to the hotel in something like a festival procession...