“This is as far as I go.”

So said my guide Dawa, who abruptly turned and headed back through the squalling storm towards base camp.

“Wait!” I called out to him. “Where do I go?”

Dawa adjusted his pack and shouted back in Nepali over his shoulder. My knowledge of the language is rudimentary at best, but I believe he uttered something that translated roughly as:

“Go up!”

The wind tore through me as I took one last look back at the sherpa, who rapidly disappeared in the snowfall as he made his descent. I was on my own from here on out, my quest for knowledge far outweighing my forty pounds of gear.

The peak was no more than two hundred feet away, but at this altitude the air was thin and the progress would be slow. I leaned into the wind and swung my pickaxe in a broad arc upward, ever upward.

-----

My journey started long ago. I had been a happy man, with a decent enough job, a loving wife and newborn son. Things could not have been better really.

Yet I could not help but wonder if there was supposed to be more out there for me. I became consumed with the question of whether there was a higher purpose. What did it all mean? Where do I stand?

After some time and a great deal of money, I now found myself in Nepal, shivering through my thermals as I approached an outcropping of rock near the mountain’s peak. I knew that just beyond the stone formation I would find the cave. Inside that cave was where the man who went by various names was supposed to hold counsel. Some called him sage, others guru. I knew not what to call him. I only knew he, and only he, could answer my burning question of the meaning of life.

I held thoughts of my wife and child near, using them to warm me. I remembered our wedding day, how nervous I had been. I pictured the first day I held young Casey in my hands, lifting his face to mine so that I could see his smile up close.

I no longer felt the cold.

-----

The cave itself was spartan, appropriately lacking worldly comforts. A lone man occupied the place, sweeping the floor and humming to himself.

“Hey, bro. How’s it hanging?”

That’s how he greeted me.

“Fine,” I replied stupidly. “I’m looking for…”

“The wise man,” he interrupted. “Everyone comes looking for the wise man.”

“Will he be back soon?”

“Soon enough.”

I waited for hours. All the while the man swept the floor. Finally a thought occurred to me.

“Are you the wise man?”

He laughed.

“Nope.”

“Then who…”

“I’m waiting just like you. I’ve been waiting and sweeping for seventeen years.”

I was stunned. “Why wait so long?”

He paused then said, “Where else would I go?”

I bundled up to return home to my family, and bid the man goodbye.

The Nile rolled by at its usual sluggish pace as Richard and Charles sat with their lines in the river. The sun rose slowly, and gloriously, over the mountains. Everything was quiet save for the calmly flowing river.

“Say,” said Richard, “you notice anything strange about the river?”

“No, not really,” replied Charles. “Why?”

“Well, look at it. I think it’s turning red.”

“Now that you mention it, it is kinda red. Probably just the glint off the sun though.”

“No, can’t be. Watch it for a bit, it’s getting redder.” They stared in silence at the increasingly red river.

“By gum, you’re right,” said Charles. “It’s getting slower too.”

“That one heretic was right!” exclaimed Richard, “He’s turning the river into blood!”

“No, no, that’s not blood. Blood isn’t see-through-ish, and blood would be still moving. This is slowing to a stop.”

“I guess so… then what is it?

“Why don’t you touch it and see?”

“Why don’t you? I don’t really care…”

“I care less, you check.”

“Fine, we won’t check then. I know that I’m not curious about it… so what if a river turns red?”

“Exactly… I’m sure this sort of thing uh… happens all the time…” They sit in silence for a while, staring at the oozing river. “Ok, fine you chicken. I’ll go see what it is.” Charles crawled the few feet between him and the now stopped river and peered at it nervously. Hesitantly, he reached out a hand and poked it. The river jiggled. “It jiggles,” he said, “It can’t be blood.” He scooped up a handful of the goo, shaking it to demonstrate the jiggling. “It’s almost like jelly.”

Richard moved up and poked the jiggling mass in Charles’ hand. “Crazy,” he said. He took a pinch of it and popped it in his mouth. “It’s not jelly, but it is pretty good.”

Charles took a bite out of the blob in his hand. “Your right… in fact, it’s very good. Not jelly, but close… what is it then?”

“I dunno. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Well, let’s christen it Jell-O then.”

“Sounds good… but why has the Nile turned into Jell-O?”

“Beats me. Maybe it’s some sort of plot by that heretic guy. Couldn’t get his God to help him, so he…”

“Wait!” interrupted Richard. “Did you just hear that?”

“What? I heard nothing,” replied Charles

“Sounded like someone swearing…”

“There’s no one around, you’re imagining things.”

“I guess… but I could swear it came from above us.”