Alto de Perdón

“Where the way of the wind meets the way of the stars.”

Hans turned around. The speaker was an elderly Asian man, Japanese or Korean perhaps, his two jet-black eyes like entries into the abyss. “That is what the words say if you translate them.”

“It’s beautiful,” replied Hans. They both stood there, letting the wind buffet their cheeks, drinking in the glory all around them; the rolling Navarran fields, the majestic storm clouds to the south, the towering Pyrrenes beyond Pamplona, the giant turbines lining the crest of the hill admitting their faint fwap-fwap as they harvested the power of the wind and the chatter of the pilgrims below as they harvested the spiritual power of the Camino. Hans had longed to walk to Santiago for years and now that he was actually walking, he was finding it more incredible than he had ever imagined.

“This hill is called the Alto de Perdón,” continued his fellow traveller. “The Hill of Forgiveness. It was said in ancient times that he who confesses his sins here is forgiven all.”

Hans nodded and smiled.

“Buen Camino!” said the Asian man with a smile, using the traditional pilgrim’s greeting. Have a good Camino. Hans greeted him likewise but he was already on his way.

Hans did not move though. Instead he stayed there on that wind-blessed hillside and took the advice of the ancients, confessing all the sins he could think of.

And when he moved on, his pack felt somehow lighter.

---

Hans walked alone. The previous three days he had journeyed with an Australian girl that he had met just outside St. Jean Pied de Port. The fellowship had been incredible; they had talked with an intimacy which Hans rarely managed even with his closest family and friends. There was something about being on the Way that made him open up and bare his soul for the world to see. It had been intensely liberating. But that morning she had been ill with a stomach upset and could not move. “I’ll catch you up,” she promised. So he continued alone, just him and the path. And whilst he missed her intensely, he also enjoyed the solitude and time to reflect.

He descended the hill and was walking through fields rich with wheat ready to be harvested. Fennel grew at the side of the Way, its yellow flowers lighting his path and its scent, like liquorice, exciting his nostrils. He stopped by a large rock and took his water bottle out of his pack for a drink. Sitting on the rock he gazed all about him, drinking in the glory of creation and his heart felt like it burst from joy at all that he had seen.

“Buen Camino!”

He looked up. It was the elderly Asian man again. He had approached from behind, Hans not noticing him, so transfixed had he been by the glory of his surroundings. “Buen Camino!” replied Hans.

They walked together.

At first the man said nothing. Hans continued to take in all that he was seeing, grateful to the core for the opportunity of being able to undertake this journey. Then, after a kilometre or so, he asked, “What is your name?”

“My name is unimportant,” said the man.

“And where are you from?”

“That too does not matter.”

“I love this,” said Hans.

“I know.”

Hans looked at him and he looked back. Hans gazed into those deep, black eyes and realised.

“Did you follow the example of the ancients on the Alto de Perdón?” asked the man.

Hans nodded.

“Then all shall be well.”

---

By the side of the Way of the St. James, the pilgrim path known as the Camino which leads all the way to the apostle’s tomb in Santiago de Compostela, there stands a small, metal cross. You can find it about kilometre or so west of the famous Alto de Perdón, beside a large, smooth boulder upon which many pilgrims have chosen to rest over the years. The cross is festooned by pebbles, rosaries, ribbons and other small trinkets signifying a prayer being said before it. And on the front of the cross are engraved the following words:

HANS HARRIERS

DEUTSCHLAND

1967-2018

HIS CAMINO ENDED HERE

The cross was erected by Jacky Daly, an Australian lady who had walked with Harriers for the previous few days. It was also her who found him lying there on the ground only a few minutes after he had died. She’d suffered from a mystery stomach bug that morning but then it had just as mysteriously cleared up and she was rushing to catch up with her fellow pilgrim.

The coroner declared the cause of death to be a heart attack.

All she remembered was the serene smile upon his lips.

The cross was erected when she walked the Way for a second time in his memory.

Written 14th September, 2018, Stoke-on-Trent – Liverpool Lime Street, UK

Copyright © 2018, Matthew E. Pointon