'You'll see for yourself,' said Alfredo.

They said this in front of Ben in English, but he did not ask questions, only followed Jose, who followed Alfredo. Teresa came behind, where she could watch Ben. She was pretty sure Ben knew the truth, but then on to that bearded face appeared a look of such longing, such wonder, that she felt it was a child she was looking at, who was expecting tomorrow's promised marvels, and then that look disappeared and she saw only sadness.

It was a hard day for them, though they were not climbing much higher. Sometimes they moved along paths in deep shadow between tall crags, sometimes they walked along the edges of precipices. Their chests hurt — though, it seemed, not Ben's — and they had headaches, in spite of Jose's potions of coca tea, which he dispensed from vacuum flasks. They stopped in mid-afternoon, because there was a hut, not more than a rough shelter made of logs, which must have been brought up here on beasts, because there were no trees. Alfredo said he remembered the hut, which had been in a better condition then: there were gaps in the logs where they had settled and some slates on the roof had slipped. No one had used it for a long time, only some small animal, who had left droppings. They made the place clean, and stacked their things around the wall. Jose collected bits of twig and lichen for a fire, but there was so little of this material it was decided to save it till dark. The night fell early, because of the tall peaks all about, but there was time for Alfredo to establish the route for tomorrow: he clambered about among the rocks, stopping at an implacable rock face or on the edge of a precipice. As the cold struck, and the sun dropped out of sight, they were inside, with their blankets arranged around the little fire. Their heads were ringing with the height, and no one wanted to eat much. The other three were waiting, their nerves on the alert, for Ben's, 'Where are my people? Where will we find them?'

Alfredo had a tiny radio, but it was not working well. A faint tinny music jigged from somewhere thousands of feet below; voices, male and female, faded in with fragments of news, a phrase from a song, words of a speech — they switched it off.

The fire was tiny, a mere flicker on the log walls. Through the chinks in the logs could be seen a cold light. Out they went, and all stood transfixed. No pollution in these mountains and the stars were a cold coruscating brilliance, flashing fires of blue, red, yellow, pressing down towards them, and the Milky Way was flung across the sky like a road to somewhere. Seeing those stars thus, clean and clear and unconcealed, was like revisiting a memory. They were silent, struck into awe, and then from Ben they heard a rough tuneless singing, and saw that he had begun to move — he was dancing and singing to the stars.

'They're talking!' he shouted. 'They're singing to us.'

Trying to open their minds to what Ben could hear, the three seemed to hear a high crystalline whispering, a tiny clashing, but Ben was exulting, 'The stars are singing, they are singing!'

He danced on, bending and bowing and stretching up his arms to the stars, stamping and kicking up his feet, and whirling about and around, on and on, while the watchers shivered and held themselves in their blankets.

And on he went; and on, till they thought he would fall down from exhaustion, there, outside the little hut built between the rocks and the crags whose tops pierced the field of stars.

It seemed to them that hours were passing, while they were shivering themselves into insensibility, and first Teresa, then the men, retreated into the hut for warmth, from where they saw Ben moving about in the starlight through the chinks and heard his hymn to the heavens.

Later he was quiet, and they went out and saw him standing with his arms outstretched and his head back, silent, looking up, and up. The crackling brilliance overhead had moved its patterns, and star shadows had reached across the bare space to where Ben stood. He was in a trance, or an ecstasy, and then at last he let his arms fall, and stood still and began to shiver. Teresa brought him inside, and put blankets around him. He sat where she had arranged him, staring into the remnants of the fire, and he began his low rough singing again. He was far from them, and from consciousness of them.

They spoke in low voices not to rouse him from this state he was in. They did not sleep, but kept a vigil, with him.

In the morning, when they opened the door, the hut was still in shadow, while the sky spread gold and pink among the peaks.

They warmed themselves with hot tea, and walked about outside the hut to get the stiffness out of them. Not Ben, he was lost in his dream, whatever it was: they did not know. They left everything in the hut, and walked off in single file on a narrow path with a tall black cliff on one side, and on the other a slope of black rock down to a rocky valley far below them. Above them floated a condor marking their progress along the slippery path. After a couple of hours Alfredo said, 'It's here. I remember it.' He struck off sharp to the right through a crack in the cliff, where they had to creep and clamber and support themselves on tiny ledges and protuberances, and then they emerged into a big flat space, with crags towering all around, and, in front of them, a tall rock face. It was now about ten in the morning. The sunlight was on the other side of the barrier of rock they had come through, and above there was a bright sunlit sky. Alfredo was moving about, along the base of the rock face, stood nearer ... moved back ... went forward again, shook his head ... shifted to this side, and then to the other, saying, 'No, not here, yes, it's here,' — went off, came back, and suddenly a shaft of light came weakly over a peak, but immediately strengthened, and reached the rock face at its edge.

At once a figure stood out from the black shining depths of the rock, where, deeply immersed in the shine, were other figures, that needed the sunlight to bring them forth. The shaft of light became a flood and there they all were, a gallery of pictures, Ben's people. He had taken a step forward, then another, stood in front of the rock, as the three stayed behind him, letting him take possession. Now the sun was hard and full on the rock face, and it was crammed with pictures, at least forty of them, and several were like Ben, except for what they wore. Were those strips of bark? Skins? They were real clothes, of supple stuff that fell in folds, and were belted at their middles and held on their shoulders by metal clasps. The clothes were coloured, not merely grey and brown, but reddish, blue, green. The hair of these people fell to their shoulders, longer than Ben's now, and they were big-chested. They had beards, but not all, no those must be the females, the ones without beards; and they were smaller, and more delicately built, though they stood solidly on their feet. They were not carrying weapons, though several held what seemed to be some kind of musical instrument. Ben stared. What he was thinking now the others did not know, but their hearts were beating, certainly not only from the altitude, but from fear of what he might be feeling. Ben stood forward, and stroked the outline of a female who seemed to be smiling at him. Then he bent forward and nuzzled at her, rubbing his beard over her, and letting out short cries that were greetings.

The silence then was dreadful, dreadful. Their breathing, harsh and laboured, emphasised it.

Ben's back was still turned to the others. And there he stood stroking that other, who smiled back at him from the depths of the black rock. And now the sunlight was thinning, slipping and sliding across the rock, and as it did, one after another the people disappeared. Soon, only a few were left, on the very edge, and Ben stood touching, stroking, the female creature. Then the sun left her and they heard his howl, as he flung himself against the rock and crouched there.