Mountain of the Gods
by Joe DiMino who retains all rights.
Bill Murphy and I, friends for many years, often took our summer
vacations together, and would spend our well-earned leisure at
one of the usual resorts. Murphy, a middle-age gym teacher, accustomed
to the stuffy confines of a sweaty gymnasium, and myself, a slightly
balding bookkeeper for the New York Museum of Natural History,
decided on Greece. I, for one, wanted to see firsthand some of
the places where history was made, places I had read about but
never had an opportunity to visit. And Murphy decided it was time
for him to stop chasing the younger women of the faculty. Though
still a handsome, well-proportioned man, his seasonal forages
to the Catskill Mountains were becoming far less rewarding than
in the past. In fact, he confided to me, his affinity with youth
was rapidly fading. His attempts to score with attractive females
far more youthful than himself ended in frequent disappointment.
His negative reward the following morning was a monumental hangover,
creaking back, contorted legs unsuccessfully reeducated to the
latest dance steps. Generally he tired long before last call,
leaving at the bar the night before several young ladies who,
though amused and sympathetic, allowed him to hobble back to his
room by himself where his only erotic company was in Dreamland.
So it happened, we ended up in the Ancient City of C..............,
located at the foot of the 'Mountain of the Gods.'
Intrigued by the myth associated with the mountain and not
wanting to waste a minute of our vacation, shortly after arriving
we planned a climb.
Prior to making our ascent, we stood yet some distance from
the base of the mountain and marveled at the ancient monarch's
odd topography. Now that I look back, that ominous portrait should
have given us some forewarning as to what was in store. But we
observed through the eyes of novice. With hired guides from the
village, we tarried to scrutinize the mountain's unusual tampered
base: appearing remarkably like the talons of a vulture, a creature
long associated with its vigilance for suffering flesh. Upon the
talons sat a pregnant torso, pierced by numerous appendages that
protruded and took on the appearance of swords whose dark shadows
beneath gave the illusion of running blood. As for the peak, there
were two-pointed, horn like steeples, that shot up and out at
45 degree angles from an oblong base resembling the head of a
charging bull which rested upon the belly.
Between the talons at the base of the mountain we came to a
long deserted temple. We were nothing short of amazed when admiring
the giant, granite stones, stacked atop one and another, creating
an enormous structure. The temple stood perhaps three hundred
feet tall. And halfway up, the granite walls were covered by marble
veneer-and carved into the marvel was an intricate relief depicting
ancient and mysterious rites. They were human figures, mingled
with those of strange gods-an enticing heaven confounded with
a torturous hell. Above the archway was an inscription. Our guide
translated: "He who profanes the 'Mountain of the Gods.'
will incur its merciless wrath!"
Entrance to the temple was by way of the archway, which was
large enough for our entire party of twenty to pass through, shoulder
length apart. None of the guides seemed anxious to take the lead.
The archway ran the entire interior of the temple, some several
hundred feet long. Immediately upon entering we experienced a
strong wind at our backs, pushing us in. Apparently the mountain's
narrow base gave birth to some fantastic howl of current. The
wind remained constant-and more severe with each ensuing step.
Upon completion of a step, we were forced to dig ourselves in
so as not to be pushed flat on our faces. To my chagrin, the guides
and porters began to exhibit grave faces, combined with nervous
outbursts in their native tongue as we proceeded, passing statues
of gargoyles and tall sacrificial platforms. There arose a persistent
hum, that grew incessantly louder, giving vibrating life to each
dark nook and stone creature we encountered. At times it sounded
like speech, though the language was recognizable to none of us.
But soon we were through, and exited the temple into an isolated
valley. Though daylight entered from above, there seemed darkness
all about us. Bill was quick to draw my attention to the fact
that not a single blade of grass or weed, not even lichen could
be seen near or upon the maze of boulders. We continued to the
other side, shortly arriving at a winding path that our guide,
Nikolai, informed us led up and at times through the mountain,
and eventually to the double peaked summit. He insisted upon leading
the way, cautioning us to follow his instructions and footsteps
implicitly, for the way at times grew very hazardous.
Soon we came to the underside of the belly. Now the wind was
of gale force. Nikolai told us that the gods were growing angry.
A short time after, he informed us that the porters were refusing
to go on. He further suggested that we also should turn back for
it was far too perilous for just the three of us to continue on
our own. However, having come this far, and not knowing if we
could ever gather enough resources to attempt such a venture again,
after chastising Nikolai for his own cowardice and for not having
gotten us stout hearted porters, we pressed on.
Navigating the underside of the belly we were forced to travel
on our backs. Parallel to the horizon was a wooden scaffold, suspended
by ropes. We made our way along the scaffolding by pulling ourselves,
hand over hand, in holds chiseled in the stone above. And after
several more hours of treacherous climbing, around the waist and
then over the bull's face, we arrived at another temple between
the two horned peaks.
Unlike the first temple, as opposed to the ornate archway that
ran the length of the interior, the inside of this structure was
square and unadorned. To give it some scale, it appeared about
half the size of the Parthenon-and like the Parthenon, having
no roof. And there were no elegant statues, which we found exceptionally
disappointing-especially after having completed such an arduous
climb. And there was none of the fancy marble relief. In fact,
so bleak, so dismal, so unappealing was this structure as compared
to the first, overcome with emotion we began shouting our objections:
"What second rate god fashioned this tasteless pillar?"
I protested.
"What pauper of a god could not afford a roof to protect
his guests?" criticized Bill.
Then what I perceived my most crowning insult: "What obvious
offspring to the rear ends of jackasses dared to call themselves
gods, and this travesty to art their home?"
Which was answered by a rumbling in the earth....
And soon came another tremor...accompanied by sounds of cracking
stone and shifting soil.
The mountain had gotten our attention. A chilling tingling
ran up our shaky legs and spine.
"Perhaps we have offended them?" Bill asked in a
soft, more respecting tone.
"Who? Who?" I asked, which drew the attention of
an owl perched high on a pillar, the critter soon making a hasty
departure.
"You know..." and he raised his eyes, motioning
with his head skyward. Now the trembling and cracking became constant.
It was indeed an earthquake. We looked for Nikolai, but he was
no where to be found, apparently having resigned his position
without notice. We could scarce remain on our feet as pieces of
stone structure began tumbling down around us. Reasoning flight
our only prudent reply we raced from the temple to the path and
started a mad descent. Let me be understood when using the term-'Mad.'
I mean just that! Near insane with terror! Frothing at the mouth.
Groping through clouds of dust and debris...stepping and grabbing
onto whatever seemed solid, hoping not to loose footing and plunge
into the abyss below. At times I caught the tortured expressions
on Bill's face, and realized the same contortions on my own. After
rounding the perimeter of the belly, we quickly slid onto the
scaffolding. The wind was a frightful howl in our ears. Due to
the shaking mountain and assaulting current of wind, the scaffolding
pulled loose and began to fall.
We dropped toward the valley below. However, the scaffolding
lowered at a less than hazardous pace. Not a free-fall at all!
Instead, caught in the twirling air spiraling up from beneath
us, gently the scaffolding settled, till depositing us at the
bottom softly as a feather from a shedding wing.
Amidst falling boulders and earth we hurried from the scaffolding.
Ran as if Zeus, himself, were chasing us-and didn't stop until
we were out of the valley, through the arch of the temple and
some safe distance away from the mountain.
As we stared back, overjoyed by our narrow escape, in time
the excitement subsided; and the dust cleared; and the mountain
once again became visible. But gazing upon the ancient monarch,
we were struck with nothing less than awe-time after time rubbing
dust from our eyes so as not to doubt what we saw.
The fact that an earthquake can totally devastate a land, and
at the least cause some minor changes in its topography was knowledge
to all. And indeed the belly had collapsed leaving the mountain
a somewhat more traditional shape. However, to our complete amazement,
a smaller mountain now appeared alongside the larger one. And
to our astonishment-we chuckled in unison-it was an exact replica
of its parent, horns and all.