Miracle in The Andes

by Nando Parrado

As I was returning to the car with a cone in each hand, I tripped over something on the sidewalk and lost my balance. Stumbling and weaving wildly towards the parked car, I fought to keep my balance and save the cones, but I didn’t have a chance. I have often wondered how it looked to that girl inside the car: her date lurching towards her in a wide circle across the street, hunched over, his eyes like saucers, his mouth gaping. He staggers towards the car, then seems to dive at her, his cheek smashing flat against the driver’s window, his head bouncing hard off the glass. He slips from view as he slumps to the ground, and all that remains are two dripping blobs of ice cream smeared across the window.

‘Keep this,’ I told him. ‘I’ll keep the other one. When I come back for you, we’ll have a pair again.’

Roberto huffed at me. ‘If anyone pees in the bag it will be you. And be careful with those big feet.’

Love is our only

weapon. Only love can turn mere life into a miracle, and draw precious meaning from suffering and fear.

‘You stupid bastard,’ he said, ‘aeroplane windows don’t open.’

‘Do you want to explain how cow shit might have fallen from a plane?’ he asked.

He was beaming at me, his eyes lit with joy and his face only inches from mine. ‘I’m happy to see you, Carlitos,’ I said, ‘but please, you aren’t going to kiss me, are you?’

we only become human when we love.

‘Even here, even as we suffer, life is still worth living...’

Every second of life was a gift, glowing with purpose and meaning.

‘Breathe. Breathe again. With every breath, you are alive.’