The Ancient Witnesses

28 • The Ancient Witnesses: A Journey to Discover Our Sacred Roots

Looking back at the tower, though, I saw a pile of dirt and stones where I had splashed down into the lake. Above that, I saw something that made me shout aloud. It was a narrow port or gun slot, cut into the tower. Wading back over as quickly as I could, I pulled myself up and peered in. Nothing was visible through the port, but I felt warm air escaping from the tower and heard sounds, like the sound of men singing. “Help!” I yelled, smacking the stone beside the port repeatedly with one hand while holding on with the other. Losing my grip, I slipped back into the lake. Climbing up again, I called into the port until my hands gave way and I slipped back down. After a while I gave up. Resting my forehead against the rock wall, I had to fight the thought that I might never be found. I prayed. Several minutes passed; it began to rain. Suddenly, I felt the touch of a human hand on my shoulder. I turned quickly to see a man standing next to me in the water. Instinctively, I looked out onto the lake: Where had he come from? There was no boat, so he must have waded through the water from somewhere else. “Who are you?” I asked. He said nothing, but bowing at the waist he touched his clasped hands to his forehead in a gesture of servitude. The look in his eyes revealed his empathy for my predicament. He wore a hooded robe and had sack slung over one shoulder. Why is he dressed in that costume, I wondered, is he a tour guide? The man motioned for me to follow him, and began sloshing his way through the water along the wall. I wanted to follow but was exhausted and unsteady on my feet. He came back to help: with his back to me, he placed my hands on his shoulders and the two of us waded slowly through the water along the wall. By now, wind was blowing the rain into our faces.