ANNOUNCER:
Now, the weekly Special English program, AMERICAN STORIES.
(MUSIC)
Our story today is called "To Build a Fire." It was written by Jack London.
Here is Harry Monroe with the story.
(MUSIC)
STORYTELLER:
The man walked down the trail on a cold, gray day. Pure white
snow and ice covered the Earth for as far as he could see. This was his first
winter in Alaska. He was wearing heavy clothes and fur boots. But he still
felt cold and uncomfortable.
The man was on his way to a camp near Henderson Creek. His friends were
already there. He expected to reach Henderson Creek by six o'clock that evening.
It would be dark by then. His friends would have a fire and hot food ready for
him.
A dog walked behind the man. It was a big gray animal, half dog and half
wolf. The dog did not like the extreme cold. It knew the weather was too cold
to travel.
The man continued to walk down the trail. He came to a frozen stream called
Indian Creek. He began to walk on the snow-covered ice. It was a trail that
would lead him straight to Henderson Creek and his friends.
As he walked, he looked carefully at the ice in front of him. Once, he
stopped suddenly, and then walked around a part of the frozen stream. He saw
that an underground spring flowed under the ice at that spot. It made the ice
thin. If he stepped there, he might break through the ice into a pool of
water. To get his boots wet in such cold weather might kill him. His feet would
turn to ice quickly. He could freeze to death.
At about twelve o'clock, the man decided to stop to eat his lunch. He took
off the glove on his right hand. He opened his jacket and shirt, and pulled out
his bread and meat. This took less than twenty seconds. Yet, his fingers began
to freeze.
He hit his hand against his leg several times until he felt a sharp pain.
Then he quickly put his glove on his hand. He made a fire, beginning with small
pieces of wood and adding larger ones. He sat on a snow-covered log and ate his
lunch. He enjoyed the warm fire for a few minutes. Then he stood up and started
walking on the frozen stream again.
A half hour later, it happened. At a place where the snow seemed very solid,
the ice broke. The man's feet sank into the water. It was not deep, but his legs
got wet to the knees. The man was angry. The accident would delay his arrival at
the camp. He would have to build a fire now to dry his clothes and boots.
He walked over to some small trees. They were covered with snow. In their
branches were pieces of dry grass and wood left by flood waters earlier in the
year. He put several large pieces of wood on the snow, under one of the trees.
On top of the wood, he put some grass and dry branches. He pulled off his
gloves, took out his matches, and lighted the fire. He fed the young flame with
more wood. As the fire grew stronger, he gave it larger pieces of wood.
He worked slowly and carefully. At sixty degrees below zero, a man with wet
feet must not fail in his first attempt to build a fire. While he was walking,
his blood had kept all parts of his body warm. Now that he had stopped, cold was
forcing his blood to withdraw deeper into his body. His wet feet had frozen. He
could not feel his fingers. His nose was frozen, too. The skin all over his body
felt cold.
Now, however, his fire was beginning to burn more strongly. He was safe. He
sat under the tree and thought of the old men in Fairbanks. The old men had told
him that no man should travel alone in the Yukon when the temperature is sixty
degrees below zero. Yet here he was. He had had an accident. He was alone. And
he had saved himself. He had built a fire.
Those old men were weak, he thought. A real man could travel alone. If a man
stayed calm, he would be all right. The man's boots were covered with ice. The
strings on his boots were as hard as steel. He would have to cut them with his
knife.
He leaned back against the tree to take out his knife. Suddenly, without
warning, a heavy mass of snow dropped down. His movement had shaken the young
tree only a tiny bit. But it was enough to cause the branches of the tree to
drop their heavy load. The man was shocked. He sat and looked at the place where
the fire had been.
The old men had been right, he thought. If he had another man with him, he
would not be in any danger now. The other man could build the fire. Well, it was
up to him to build the fire again. This time, he must not fail.
The man collected more wood. He reached into his pocket for the matches. But
his fingers were frozen. He could not hold them. He began to hit his hands with
all his force against his legs.
After a while, feeling came back to his fingers. The man reached again into
his pocket for the matches. But the tremendous cold quickly drove the life out
of his fingers. All the matches fell onto the snow. He tried to pick one up, but
failed.
The man pulled on his glove and again beat his hand against his leg. Then he
took the gloves off both hands and picked up all the matches. He gathered them
together. Holding them with both hands, he scratched the matches along his leg.
They immediately caught fire.
He held the blazing matches to a piece of wood. After a while, he became
aware that he could smell his hands burning. Then he began to feel the pain. He
opened his hands, and the blazing matches fell on to the snow. The flame went
out in a puff of gray smoke.
The man looked up. The dog was still watching him. The man got an idea. He
would kill the dog and bury his hands inside its warm body. When the feeling
came back to his fingers, he could build another fire. He called to the dog. The
dog heard danger in the man's voice. It backed away.
The man called again. This time the dog came closer. The man reached for his
knife. But he had forgotten that he could not bend his fingers. He could not
kill the dog, because he could not hold his knife.
The fear of death came over the man. He jumped up and began to run. The
running began to make him feel better. Maybe running would make his feet warm.
If he ran far enough, he would reach his friends at Henderson Creek. They would
take care of him.
It felt strange to run and not feel his feet when they hit the ground. He
fell several times. He decided to rest a while. As he lay in the snow, he
noticed that he was not shaking. He could not feel his nose or fingers or feet.
Yet, he was feeling quite warm and comfortable. He realized he was going to
die.
Well, he decided, he might as well take it like a man. There were worse ways
to die.
The man closed his eyes and floated into the most comfortable sleep he had
ever known.
The dog sat facing him, waiting. Finally, the dog moved closer to the man and
caught the smell of death. The animal threw back its head. It let out a long,
soft cry to the cold stars in the black sky.
And then it tuned and ran toward Henderson Creek…where it knew there was food
and a fire.
(MUSIC)
ANNOUNCER:
You have just heard the AMERICAN STORY called "To Build a Fire."
It was written by Jack London and adapted for Special English by Dona de
Sanctis. Your storyteller was Harry Monroe. For VOA Special English, this is
Shep O'Neal.