Chapter 44 Chapter 44 Where are we?
When I opened my eyes again, I felt the guide's strong hands grab my belt.His other hand held his uncle.I was not seriously injured, but my skin was slightly injured, and my whole body shook.I found myself lying on the hillside only a few steps away from the cliff, and the slightest vibration under the cliff could push me away.Hannes saved me from death as I rolled down the outer slope of the chasm.
"Where are we?" asked the uncle, looking very troubled to be back on the ground.
The guide shrugged, indicating that he didn't care.
"In Iceland?" I said.
"No." Hans replied.
"What, not in Iceland?" shouted the professor.
"Hans must be mistaken," I said, standing up.
We have experienced countless amazing deeds in this expedition, but there is one left for us.In this dry and remote region of the Arctic, I expected to see, under the gray light of the Arctic sky, a field of perennial snow; but instead we are now halfway up a mountain, Bare bodies, the sun is baking us.
I don't want to believe my eyes; but the exposure all over me doesn't allow me to doubt.I've stepped out of the hole half naked, and the light we've been longing for for two months and not getting is now all around us, and there's a lot of heat and light everywhere.
When my eyes became used to the lights, I used them to correct my erroneous imagination.I'm at least sure it's in Spitsbergen - I don't take it lightly.
The professor spoke first. He said, "It sure doesn't look like Iceland."
"Then it's Jamayyan Island," I reminded him.
"No, and it is not, my boy. It is not a northern volcano, by its granite sides and snow-tops."
"But--"
"Look, Aksai, look!"
Not more than five hundred feet above our heads is the crater of the volcano.Every ten minutes, with loud explosions, the pit erupted in a tall line of flames, mixed with pumice, ash, and lava.I felt the hill rise and fall, as if a whale were breathing fire and air from its huge nostrils.On the rather steep slopes below us, layers of blasted stuff could be seen, extending to a depth of seven or eight hundred feet.The foot of the hill was hidden in a regular green wood, from which I made out olives, figs, and vines laden with ripe grapes.
This certainly does not conform to one's conception of the Arctic region!
Anyone who looks beyond this green area will linger on the water of a beautiful sea or lake, and this charming land in the middle of the sea and lake looks like an island not many miles in diameter.To the east is a small port. There are several houses around the port. In the middle of the harbor are a few special types of boats, floating on the blue water.Beyond, clusters of small islands, as numerous as giant ant heaps, jut out of the molten water.To the west, the distant coasts appeared like circles outside the horizon; on some coasts blue mountains with graceful outlines; A line of smoke floated overhead.To the north, a great expanse of water glistened in the sun, here and there showing the tops of masts or full sails.
The unexpectedness of the scene amplifies its astonishing beauty a hundredfold.
"Where are we? Where are we?" I muttered again.
Hannes closed his eyes indifferently, and his uncle stared at him incomprehensibly.
"Whatever volcano it is," he said at last, "it's hot here; the explosion's still going on, and it's a poor thing to come out of a volcano just to put your head on a rock. Let's go down and see Where the hell are we now. Besides, I'm starving and thirsty."
The professor is certainly not a very thoughtful person.I have forgotten all need and weariness, and will stay here a few more hours, but I will have to go with my companion.
The slopes were steep in the form of volcanic stones; we slipped into cinder pools to avoid lava flows that, from a distance, looked like ferocious boa constrictors.As we descended, I began to talk endlessly about seeing, because my amago was so stimulated that I couldn't finish it.
"We're in Asia," I cried, "on the coast of India, in the archipelago off the Malay Peninsula, or simply in Oceania! We've crossed half the globe and come out on the other side!"
"But what about the compass?" said the uncle.
"Oh, Compass!" I said awkwardly.
"According to the compass, we are heading steadily north."
"Is the compass needle lying sideways?"
"Lying sideways? No!"
"Is this the North Pole, then?"
"No, not extremely, but—"
The incident is inexplicable; I don't know what to think.
Anyway; we're approaching that green wood that looks so good from a distance.I was tormented by hunger and thirst.Two hours later we were fortunate enough to walk into a lovely area full of olive and pomegranate groves and vines, which appeared to be public property.Besides, we don't intend to be unduly prudish about how poor we are.What a pleasure it is to put these delicious fruits to your lips, and to bite into whole bunches of purple grapes!Not far off, in the meadow under the pleasing sapling, I found a spring of fresh water, and we dipped our faces and hands in the fresh water, which was a delight.
While we were enjoying the various pleasures of rest, a child appeared between two clumps of olive trees.
"Ah," I exclaimed, "these are the inhabitants of this happy land!"
He was a poor, shabby, sick-faced boy, evidently terrified by our presence, and indeed, half-naked, with unkempt hair and beards, we must have looked very unseemly, unless there was a robber here. country, for these inhabitants we may be a source of terror.
Just as the naughty boy was about to run away, Hannes chased him and pulled him back, regardless of his screaming and kicking.
Uncle coaxed him as best he could, and asked in German:
"What's the name of this mountain, my boy?"
The kid didn't answer.
"Well," said the uncle, "we are not in Germany at the moment."
Then he asked the same question in English.
The child still didn't answer.I am very interested.
"Is he dumb?" cried the professor, who was very proud of his language skills and repeated his question in French.
The child remained silent.
"Let's try it in Italian," his uncle began to ask him in Italian.
"What is this place?"
"Yes, what is this place?" I repeated anxiously.The child said nothing.
"This child is disgusting! Do you answer or not!" cried the uncle, angrily pulling the naughty boy's ear from side to side, "What's the name of this island?"
"," answered the little countryman, who fled from Hanns and ran through the olive trees to the plain.We don't think of him anymore.Stromboli!What consequences did this unexpected name have on my imagination!We are in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, surrounded by ancient mythical landscapes, and we are also in the circular area where the wind god controls the blizzard.Those blue mountains to the east are the Calabria mountains!The volcano in the distance to the south is the great and terrible Etna!
"Stromboli! Stromboli!" I repeated.
My uncle accompanied me with gestures and words; it was as if we were singing in chorus.
Oh, what a trip!What an amazing trip!We went in from one volcano and came out of another, and this other volcano was four thousand miles from Snäfer and the bare shores of Iceland on the edge of the world!The chance of our expedition has taken us inside the luckiest country on earth!We've swapped the snow-covered areas for evergreen areas, and the cold northern gray fog for the blue skies of Sicily!
After a delicious snack, we set off for the port of Stromboli.It is useless to relate our arrival to this island; the believing Italian will surely believe that we are devils thrown from hell, and that we prefer to walk like shipwrecks.It's not very honorable, but it's safer.
On the way I heard my uncle muttering:
"But the compass—it does point north! How's that for?"
"Really," I said contemptuously, "it would be much easier not to look at it at all!"
"It must have disgraced a professor at Johannaim if he couldn't justify a cosmic phenomenon!"
After the uncle finished speaking, he looked half naked, with a belt with a purse around his waist, and glasses on the bridge of his nose. He turned into a stern professor of geology again.
An hour after we left the olive grove, we arrived at the port of San Vincizio, where Hannes claimed his wages for his thirteenth week of service, and my uncle gave him the wages and shook his hands warmly.
At that time, if he did not share our natural affections, at least he displayed one of the most unusual ones—he touched our hands lightly with the tips of his fingers, and smiled.
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