I shake my head. It’s too hard to explain.
Why? he asks.
Even describing it . . . well, it uses words you wouldn’t understand. It’s like another language.
Then use words I do know, he suggests.
I think long and hard before answering. Imagine if everything you saw, your entire life, was always a shade of gray. Then one day you blink, and suddenly you see the world as it is with all its colors. Blue, red, yellow. How would you react? How would you handle literally not having the words to describe what you’re experiencing?
Some things don’t need words, he says after a moment, and I wonder if he’s still talking about sound.
Everything needs a word, I insist. We need to know how to describe the world. Otherwise we’d fall into ignorance.
Spoken like someone who spends her days organizing and cataloging everything. Sometimes it’s enough to just feel. You don’t have to label and articulate all that’s around you.
I roll my eyes. Spoken like a barbarian.
He laughs at that, and there’s a warmth in it that makes me smile. We split one of the lunch packs and then begin climbing down once more. There are a few more close calls as small stones skitter down the cliff. I’m able to warn him with tugs of the rope, but our system is cumbersome and delayed. A couple of times, when he clears his throat or coughs, my attention is immediately drawn to him by those sounds. It gives me new appreciation for how our ancestors used to communicate with their mouths: speech. The concept was always foreign to me when I read about it, but now I see how much simpler it would be if there was a sound I could make to warn Li Wei of the next avalanche.
Morning gives way to noon, and we see a huge plateau jutting out of the mountain, promising another break. Beyond it, I can actually make out the ground at the mountain’s base. Hope surges in me that we might pull this off after all. Then I hear the sound signaling another avalanche. I look up, and it is not a small scattering of stones like we’ve encountered before. Large boulders are tumbling down toward us. They create vibrations in the cliff face that even Li Wei can sense, though he doesn’t immediately ascertain the direction.
I have no time to tug and point. Clinging to my rope, I push off with my feet and swing toward him, knocking him off the cliff face. He loses his footing but keeps hold of the rope. For a terrifying moment, we are both swinging in the air, with only our grip on the ropes to keep us from falling. A cascade of rocks begins tumbling beside us, far too close. The sound created is soft at first, almost like an exhalation of breath, but soon grows into a roar as the stones increase in number. One of them strikes my head, and I wince. The instinct to shield myself with my hands is overwhelming, but letting go means certain death. Both of us scramble for footholds, trying to move out of the way of the growing rock fall.
Li Wei swings hard and almost manages to land on another small outcropping, but the added weight of being tied to me throws him off. A second attempt also fails. He tries yet again, harder this time, and is at last able to land on the edge. With his footing secure, he scuttles back and tugs me toward him with the adjoining rope. My feet make contact with the ledge, and he pulls me forward into his arms, leaving us cowering against the mountain as a full-on avalanche of boulders cascades beside us. The falling rocks keep triggering more avalanches, and it is spectacular and terrifying to watch.
When it finally ends, we are both shaking, shocked by how close we came to being caught in the full force of it. I let him hold me a few moments longer before reluctantly breaking the embrace. He gestures to my cheek.
You’re bleeding, he says.