Read Online 33 Men by Jonathan Franklin - Free Book Online

begun to pull his body up when he slipped. A rock crashed into his face, slicing his lip and knocking out a tooth. Another rock, this one the size of a tennis ball, whooshed by. Sepúlveda had cheated death by a few inches. When yet another rock bounced harmlessly by, Sepúlveda took this as both an omen and a cue to retreat.
    â€œI felt like a twelve-year-old, so strong, so much energy. I never got tired. The only thing I wanted was to get out,” said Sepúlveda, who described his experience in mystical terms. “In the middle of this chimney, I felt this was divine . . . my hairs stood on end. Something told me ‘I am with you. ’ ”
    Sepúlveda felt an overwhelming joy and confidence as he descended the chimney. “I came back and told them no one will die here, those who want to believe, it is up to you, but if you believe, hold God’s hand and mine and we will get out of here.”
    The reaction to life-altering trauma evolved in idiosyncratic ways for each individual—depending on each miner’s personality. In drastic experiences like the San José mine collapse—which psychologists define as “situations of extreme confinement”—some victims wilt. Others bloom. For Mario Sepúlveda, his entire life seemed to be geared toward just such a challenge.
    He relished his new emerging role: leader of the pack.
    DAY 2: SATURDAY, AUGUST 7
    With no communication from any rescue team, the miners spent another restless and fearful night. In the morning, the men agreed to pray again with Henríquez. A semblance of routine had begun to form by at least gathering to pray together, but desperation was beginning to take hold. Food was running short. The 10 liters (10 ½ quarts) of bottled water were not nearly enough, and the men began to drink from the huge 5,000-liter (1,300-gallon) tanks usually reserved for industrial drilling machines. The water in the tanks was months old, filled with dirt and grime. “We drank it but it tasted like oil,” said Richard Villarroel.
    Claudio Yañez drank and drank the dirty water—up to 7 liters (almost 2 gallons) a day. The taste reminded him of diesel fuel and dust. He knew the water was filled with mineral residue and had been stagnant for nearly half a year, but the thirst was brutal. And so Yañez continued to drink.
    â€œThe hierarchy was lost almost immediately,” said Alex Vega, who worked as a mechanic and knew the mine intimately after nearly a decade inside. “The thirty-three of us were one and we began a democratic system; the best idea that made the most sense was the idea that ruled.”
    The men began to vote on nearly every important decision. At noon they held a group meeting that combined the democratic debate of a New England town meeting with the humor of the British parliament. Ideas were put forward and either immediately ridiculed to death or debated openly. All the men had an equal voice. Ideas were measured by their intrinsic value, regardless of whether it was sponsored by the shift foreman or the lowliest assistant.
    The miners had now spent nearly two full days underground. The batteries on the men’s lanterns were fading. Cell phones were now dead. Though there had never been cell phone coverage in the shelter, the men used them as lights, clocks and speakers, listening to music to soothe the pain of the deep silence.
    Some of the younger, less experienced miners began to panic. Nineteen-year-old Jimmy Sánchez, the youngest of all the miners, began to hallucinate. He imagined his mother coming to visit him deep in the mine, and in his dreams she brought fresh empanadas —a Chilean meat pie flavored with onion and adorned with a single black olive. As a quick lunch snack, the empanada is like most of the food in Chile—forgettable. But for Jimmy and his mates, at this underground altitude, even the fresh memory of an empanada was food for the gods.
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