The old man turned his head and died.
He did not have any more strength left after the grueling hike to the peak of Baekdusan, in the kingdom of Corea. He had started his ascent over two weeks earlier, but he never would have made it without the help of Young Gi. The mountain was steep and rocky. It was a struggle for even a healthy young climber without any pack, but after the first day Young Gi was forced to carry the old man on his back, and the climb became almost imposible. Young Gi had to stop and rest every few hundred lis, and a climb that would take others only five days had stretched on to what seemed to be forever.
All the time the old man kept repeating the same instruction; “Don’t look down, don’t look back until we reach the top. If you look now you will spoil the view from the peak. It is a view that the Emperors of the Middle Kingdom and the Shoguns from the land of the Rising Sun and thirsted to see. They have waged wars, launched fleets of ships, and entered into treaties and alliances to own this mountain, so they can greaedily guzzle down the wondrous view from the peak. The mountain has never bowed to them. It stands majestic, protected by the god of heaven until the oceans go dry.
Two days before they reached the peak they came to the tree-line where even the hearty pines had given up in their ascent into heaven. But Young Gi and the old man had not stopped. Many times the lose slate rock had shifted beneath Young Gi’s feet, and the weight of the old man on his back had almost sent them both tumbling down the mountainside like the pebbles his feet dislodged.
But even then the old man would not let them turn back. “You must respect my age and status,” he had said. “In the right way of things taught to us by the great teacher we must defer to those above us. Isn’t that what your parents and teachers had taught you? Isn’t that the right order of things?”
“Yes teacher, that is right,” Young Gi had replied.
That steep, sheer section of the mountain had been the hardest to scale. Young Gi’s heart pounded so hard in his chest that he thought it might burst. He muttered to himself under his breath as he climbed. “Oh, it’s so hard. I’m sweating so hard I’ll die. I’m so tired I’ll die. So hot I’ll die.” But his pessimism was not too serious. They were reaching the top now, they had traveled past the crater lake to where nothing bur short tough grasses could brave the wind where the roof of the Earth met the basement of heaven.
The wind was cold and strong at this part of the climb. Even though Young Gi was sweating from exertion, the wind froze his fingers, nose, feet, ears. He shivered. “We must be almost there now,” the old man said. “Keep going, but don’t look down. Save the view. The end of our journey is close. We will be there soon. We are almost to the top. Don’t look back yet. Don’t rest now, we are almost there.”
Even after reaching what seemed to be the peak, there was still a long, but mostly gentle journey along the ridge to the Gokdegi, or highest point.
Finally, they reached the pinnacle. Young Gi eased the old man off of his back on onto a large boulder where he taught thought there would be a good view. But he wanted the old man to look down before he did. As he looked at the old man’s face, he could see that his eyes were closed. The old man spoke to him.
“Grandson,” the old man said, using a tender tone for the first time, “I have waited all the days for my life to see this sight. As I have grown older, I thought that my body was too old and weak to make this journey. You have become my legs. You have made it possible for me to come where we only dream to go, and see what we cannot see even in our night-visions. Come. Come to my side. You have not looked down yet have you? Good, good. We will look down together.”
He finally opened his eyes and motioned for Young Gi to look down and see the Earth lying on its back, staring up at them. Young Gi had climbed many mountains and had seen many great sights, but the vista below him took his breath away. It was a clear day, and he could see all the way to the ocean to the west, and the great capital city to the east. The setting sun shone on the lake in blinding majesty. The fall colors flamed across the mountain below them and broke up the undulating currents of pine-green that covered smaller mountains stretching all around them. In every valley he could see the checkered squares of the rice-paddies, and the small brown dots of plaster houses and rice-stalk thatch. He saw a pair of eagles circling far below him and wondered how he had become exalted over the birds of heaven, the messengers of the god of heaven. Joy broke across his face like a sunrise.
He turned back to look at the old man, his father’s father. To his surprise the man was not lapping up the glorious view, but staring intently at his grandson’s face. “Why does not Grandfather look down at the beauty he has climbed so far to see? He has the chance to see what kings and emperors have never beheld,” Young Gi said, perplexed.
The old man smiled as he replied.“Who knows, but what a great man will conquer this land and scale this mountain? Who know but what he will build a road to the peak and allow all the world to come and see this sight? Who knows but what a fire will scorch the mountains as far as the eye can see and leave this sight black and ugly? But what no king can conquer, no fire can destroy is a man’s joy in seeing the joy of his son. In looking on your happy face I have seen a sight that will keep my soul at peace throughout the generations.”
“Nevertheless, it is a beautiful sight Grandfather. Won’t you share it with me?”
The old man nodded as he wiped tears from his eyes with an embarrassed smile. “A man should only weep three times in his life: when he is born, when his parents die, and when his country is defeated. I weep now for joy.” He turned his head to drink in the rich, red rays of sunset for a moment, and died.
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