Question

end of the world, and walls of snow broke loose, rolling in an avalanche of clay, stones, and water that descended on the villages and buried them beneath unfathomable meters of telluric vomit. as soon as the survivors emerged from the paralysis of that first awful terror, they could see that houses, plazas, churches, white cotton plantations, dark coffee forests, cattle pastures—all had disappeared. much later, after soldiers and volunteers had arrived to rescue the living and try to assess the magnitude of the cataclysm, it was calculated that beneath the mud lay more than twenty thousand human beings and an indefinite number of animals putrefying in a viscous soup. forests and rivers had also been swept away, and there was nothing to be seen but an immense desert of mire.
when the station called before dawn, rolf carlé and i were together. i crawled out of bed, dazed with sleep, and went to prepare coffee while he hurriedly dressed. he stuffed his gear in the green canvas backpack he always carried, and we said goodbye, as we had so many times before. i had no presentiments. i sat in the kitchen, sipping my coffee and planning the long hours without him, sure that he would be back the next day.
he was one of the first to reach the scene, because while other reporters were fighting their way to the edges of that morass in jeeps, bicycles, or on foot, each getting there however he could, rolf carlé had the advantage of the television helicopter, which flew him over the avalanche. we watched on our screens the footage captured by his assistant’s camera, in which he was up to his knees in muck, a microphone in his hand, in the midst of a bedlam of lost children, wounded survivors, corpses, and devastation. the story came to us in his calm voice. for years he had been a familiar figure in newscasts, reporting live at the scene of battles and catastrophes with awesome tenacity. nothing could stop him, and i was always amazed at his equanimity in the face of danger and suffering; it seemed as if nothing could shake his fortitude or deter his curiosity. fear seemed never to touch him, although he had confessed to me that he was not a courageous man, far from it. i believe that the lens of a camera had a strange effect on him; it was as if it transported him to a different time from which he could watch events without actually participating in them. when i knew him better, i came to realize that this fictive distance seemed to protect him from his own emotions.

1. reread the section. then summarize what you know about the relationship between the narrator and carle.

Explanation:

The narrator and Rolf Carlé share an intimate, long-term close relationship. They live together, are familiar with each other's daily routines (including his work deployments), and the narrator has deep insight into Carlé's personality, his professional habits, and his hidden emotional mechanisms (like how the camera creates a protective emotional distance for him). The narrator feels comfortable and secure in their bond, expecting Carlé's safe return after his assignment.

Answer:

The narrator and Rolf Carlé have an intimate, long-standing close relationship: they live together, are accustomed to his work-related absences, the narrator knows his professional demeanor and personal emotional quirks well, and trusts that he will return safely from his assignments.