The Mountain

by Massimo Donati

  There was a little hope in her eyes, though the answer had been negative. She started swinging her legs again.

  ‘Will you ask her?’

  ‘All right.’

  Alina looked at him with a mix of suspicion and hope and immediately asked, ‘Promise?’

  That emotional plea was enough to throw him back to another time, to an identical question in his past, not long before his father left the mountains, before it all happened and his life assumed the perpetual shape of a misdeed unatoned for. As she waited for the answer, Alina sensed that her new garden friend was looking through her, towards something she couldn’t see—past the hedge, beyond the lake.

  Eventually he smiled and said with an inscrutable earnestness, ‘I promise.’

  The girl vanished into the garden in pursuit of one of her games, the way she had before; Roberto stayed where he was. Alone on the bench—where his mother’s time had perhaps produced an island suspended in the flow of events—he wandered relatively painlessly back down the paths of his memory.

  He rediscovered the faces, or rather the emotions in the faces, because the details were already lost. Whichever direction he went, starting out from childhood or from his adult years, he always arrived at those days, days of absolute unhappiness. It was as though the course of his life was less a straight line towards the future and more a hole or a well into which every other event was destined to fall, to plummet to the bottom and remain there for eternity.

  By the time he got up he was enveloped in darkness. The villa was silent; Ada must have turned in.

  That was when he decided to attempt the climb.

  The wooden stairway creaked noisily as he shifted the weight of his body onto the first step. He cursed himself for not having thought of this, but there wasn’t much to be done about it. He stopped a moment, to dilute the noise in the thick silence of the night. Ada was sleeping a few rooms along. It was late and he didn’t want to have to explain.

  He had arrived that far without his presence even being perceptible. By now his body had regained its memory of spaces, and it hardly seemed thirty years had passed since he last played this game—choosing a destination within the huge house on a summer night and reaching it without touching a single object, without breathing, his only pleasure in this spy game that of imagining his body able to steal away, to stop glued to a wall, fly on the edges of his feet or the tips of his toes. He stood motionless on the stairs, listening, and it felt like he was once again playing that old childhood game.

  The house remained silent. He continued the climb.

  In the dark, the attic was uncharted territory. He closed the trapdoor and moved cautiously, hands before him. Finally, he found the table and the lamp.

  The bags of things to be thrown out were there where he had left them. Ada would not throw anything away without a specific order from him. He dragged a bag into the pool of lamplight and delved in. It took him a moment to recognise the metal box.

  His father’s home movies.

  He opened the box to be certain they were still inside. It was all there: the film cartridges and the DVDs. He left the cartridges where they were—they were of no use. He took the DVDs. There weren’t really all that many: they’d been able to fit four or five of the films onto each disk. Now he looked through them one by one. When he found the one he was looking for, he hesitated. Eventually he put it back in the box. And the box into the black bag. The others were all on the table. He took them away with him.

  As soon as he got back to his room he dragged the armchair alongside the bed, took the laptop he used for work and placed it on his knees. He had piled the DVDs up on the ground. He looked at them for a moment, then spread them out and picked one. The handwriting was clear and elegant. It said:

  WINTER 1978—PRESOLANA PASS ROLL 5—8 MM KODAK

  He pressed play and suddenly a song burst out of the computer’s speakers, turned up full since who knew when. He hit pause and muted the volume. Waited a moment to check that there was no movement in the house. Then, in absolute silence, the viewing began.

  WINTER 1978—PRESOLANA PASS ROLL 5—8 MM KODAK

  1. Long shot. A small white bubble caravan is stopped in the middle of a snow-covered parking lot. The light is weak and it’s snowing. The car attached to the caravan is a baby blue Ami 8. The caravan door is shut. Silent footage.

  Audio: You Should Be Dancing – The Bee Gees (continues)

  2. Handheld camera moves towards the door. A hand comes in shot and opens the door. The caravan is very dark inside.

  3. Torso shot, headless. Anna’s hands are busy with a pot on the caravan’s tiny gas stove. White smoke from scorched vegetables rises and clouds out the field of vision. Audio: ‘Una Donna per Amico’ – Lucio Battisti (continues)

  CUT

  4. Close-up on Anna, who looks furious: she angrily points at something and then walks over to the small table where Roberto (aged eight) is sitting. He has his elbows on the table and looks sullen. The plate in front of him is full of scorched cauliflower. Anna throws a steak on the plate and turns away.

  CUT

  5. Long shot of the caravan. The sun is bright and high in the sky. The snow all around is illuminated. The door of the caravan opens. Anna comes out with her hair pulled back and to one side like a comb-over and a curly black beard drawn on with eyeliner. She’s wearing a man’s jacket (Carlo’s). She smiles, imitating a salesman. In gestures, she describes the caravan’s qualities: the door mechanism, the curved aerodynamic shape, then she bangs on the side with her fists to show that it’s solid. Audio: ‘Una Donna per Amico’ – Lucio Battisti (continues)

  Audio: ‘Una Donna per Amico’ – Lucio Battisti (fades out)

  6. The camera approaches a window.

  CUT

  7. Caravan interior. Roberto is sitting at the table reading Mickey Mouse. Anna, still in caravan salesma mode, gestures towards the leisure-time opportunity illustrated by Roberto. Roberto tries not to laugh. Silent footage.

  CUT

  8. Roberto lying on a foldaway bed.

  CUT

  9. Roberto pretends to cook (with an empty saucepan). Audio: ‘One for You, One for Me’ – La Bionda (continues)

  CUT

  10. Roberto, standing in the shower cubicle fully dressed, pretends to wash.

  CUT

  11. Handheld (very shaky). Caravan exterior, in the parking lot. Salesman Anna enters from the left. Carlo enters from the right. They meet in front of the door of the caravan and shake hands, as though to seal a deal. Carlo gets in, waves goodbye and closes the door. Anna waves too. And then gestures ‘cut’. For a long moment, the camera lingers on her face.

  Audio: ‘One for You, One for Me’ – La Bionda (fades out. End)

  CUT

  12. Very long shot. A ski run on a gentle incline. Numerous skiers are heading down decisively one after the other. Silent footage.

  13. Sequence as follows: A female skier wearing large glasses and an orange outfit snakes down the slope with a certain elegance. She approaches. She waves. It’s Anna.

  Audio: ‘Ufo Robot’ – Actarus (continues)

  14. Long shot. A tobogganing slope. Numerous fathers and small children, bundled up in colourful windcheaters and equipped with toboggans and bobsleds. Carlo is pulling a small wooden sled attached to a cable. Behind him, Roberto in ski hat and gloves. Carlo smiles and trudges up the slope.

  CUT

  15. Long shot of the slope. The space remains empty for a moment. Then, from above, the little wooden sled carves down the slope and glides by. On board, Carlo with Roberto between his knees. They give a victorious thumbs-up.

  CUT

  16. Long shot, as before. The ski run is empty. The wooden sled crosses the white expanse. Only Roberto on board. He goes straight down the slope and then it’s time to brake.
He tries to brake with his feet but doesn’t stop. Travelling at a fair speed, he passes the flat area, the snow-covered barrier, and disappears out of sight among the cars in the parking lot. Audio: ‘Ufo Robot’ – Actarus (continues)

  CUT

  17. Handheld camera in movement. Jumbled footage (the super 8 is bouncing all over the place). Images of cars and dirty snow. Fragments of Anna’s face, speaking agitatedly, Carlo’s leg and a hand.

  CUT

  18. Full-length shot. Roberto lying on one side and the twisted sled on a pile of hard snow less than a metre from the line of cars. He has ended up off-piste, at the start of the car park. The boy whimpers. Angry, he looks into the camera and then off to one side. The camera follows his gaze: Anna, applauding ironically. From her lip movements it appears she’s telling him off. She gestures to him to get up.

  Audio: ‘Ufo Robot’ – Actarus (fades out. End)

  Then Anna makes a scissor gesture to camera. She gives her son a hand getting to his feet, hastily, and then turns and walks back towards the ski run without waiting for them. Silent footage.

  CUT

  7

  At ten o’clock on Thursday morning the aeroplane began its blithe automated descent. Standard procedure. A few business-class passengers, overnight bags poised, had already unbuckled their seatbelts in defiance of the safety instructions. The plane had lowered its landing gear for touchdown when suddenly a gust of wind unbalanced the wings and jerked the vessel off the ground. A sense of being capsized, and everybody froze for one long, silent moment. Then the plane hit the runway tarmac without damage. In this particular situation, the electromechanical stabilisers were efficient but less gentle than the hand of the pilot.

  As the plane was braking, the passengers, who a moment earlier had been in a great hurry, spared a few seconds to fearfully collect themselves before launching into a flurry of commentary about the episode.

  Elena was still in her spot, seatbelt fastened, when the other passengers had begun emptying the overhead lockers. She let them go and then stood up and began to disembark.

  ‘Goodbye and thank you for choosing to fly with us.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Fifty minutes later, her taxi pulled up at the open gates of Villa Beltrami. The harmony of the lovely early nineteenth-century garden, lined with tall plane trees, was broken by a car and a small truck, badly parked in the driveway.

  She had flown for nine hours plus two in transit and was not even going to think about wasting any more time: pulling her luggage behind her she reached the house and went inside.

  For the last few days she had felt a strange sense of confusion: a wish to see her partner again mixed with a desire to stay out of his family stuff, which she knew nothing about but sensed was painful. At that moment the need to wrap her arms around him was winning out.

  ‘We’ll wait until next week for the furniture. After the reading of the will.’

  ‘All right.’

  Ada was perched on the back of one of the large burgundy leather armchairs, while a man with a folder and designer glasses took notes. An older, burlier man in blue overalls was bustling around an open wooden trunk. Several paintings, around half-a-dozen, were lined up vertically inside. The old man carefully, if somewhat awkwardly, put one back and pulled out another.

  ‘This is a Schifano.’

  ‘It must have been a gift. Or payment of a debt. He wasn’t a great fan of contemporary work.’

  ‘In any case, it’s worth a good deal.’

  Elena was observing this scene from the entrance but couldn’t see Roberto anywhere: he wasn’t with them. Ada spotted her almost at once out of the corner of her eye. Her expression of astonishment lasted a second and then she immediately regained composure.

  ‘Elena?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good morning. Signor Beltrami didn’t mention…’ Ada held out her hand.

  ‘It’s a surprise.’

  They looked at each other for a moment.

  ‘Ada Smirnov.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’

  ‘I manage Villa Beltrami. I was Signor Carlo’s assistant.’ Ada took Elena’s overcoat. ‘I understood you were in America.’

  ‘I finished up my work there and flew out last night.’

  ‘You must be very tired.’

  ‘I’m used to it. I’m sorry, but where’s Roberto?’

  ‘In the garden. Come this way.’ She led Elena to the French windows and pointed. ‘Down there.’ Then she added, ‘I’ll take your bags up to the room,’ and went away.

  Elena crossed the garden without her partner noticing her. He was lost in thought. When she was a few metres away he turned in her direction and she greeted him with a gentle and warm smile.

  ‘Surprise.’

  Roberto remained motionless for a moment, unsure of what to do. She waited. Finally, he stood up and embraced her.

  They stayed that way for a moment, each re-encountering the warmth and familiarity of the other’s body.

  ‘It’s nice to see you.’

  Then, when they had stepped apart, Roberto went on: ‘You didn’t need to come all this way. You must be exhausted.’

  The expression on Elena’s face changed.

  ‘It’s not as though I did it for you. I needed to be near you. I don’t even know why.’

  She turned and went to walk away but Roberto put his arms around her shoulders in a new, affectionate embrace.

  ‘You do know why.’

  Then he whispered in her ear, ‘This whole business with my father, the villa, the inheritance. I want to keep it out of our lives. I haven’t had a father for a long time. I don’t want to suffer over the death of a stranger.’

  Elena gave in to affection. She turned and hugged him back. They were together again.

  They sat down on the bench and stayed there in silence for a long time. It was enough to be side by side, fulfilled by renewed proximity.

  Shortly afterwards Roberto told her about the company, his impressions, how he had spent the past few days.

  ‘It’s been neither good nor bad.’

  ‘But now I’m here. You can explain it to me.’

  Roberto looked at her, uncomprehending.

  ‘Why did you want to stay so many days here?’

  Roberto half-closed his eyes, as though in concentration.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe just to be here for a bit, among the roses.’ He pointed them out to her. ‘They were my mother’s.’

  Elena took this as a throwaway line, an evasion, and yet there was an inexplicable intensity in what he had said.

  ‘That’s odd, coming from you, with all the obligations you have, your candidacy…’

  ‘I’m not a candidate yet. And spending a bit of time out of the public eye can actually be a good thing.’

  ‘So, there’s no reason. It’s just a break.’

  Roberto nodded.

  ‘Soon we’ll sell this villa. I haven’t been back here for thirty years. When we leave Italy, I want to be sure that we never need to set foot here again. And that nothing about this place can ever make me feel sad again.’

  Elena smiled bitterly, and gently stroked his cheek.

  ‘You’ve always been sad.’

  Ada appeared, nodded a greeting and said, ‘Now that the valuation of the villa and its assets has begun, I need to know how you wish to proceed with Carlo’s things, up in the archive. There might be something of value there.’

  ‘This is not the time. We’ll take care of it after the reading of the will.’

  Ada turned and was about to leave.

  ‘What archive?’ Elena asked.

  ‘Nothing important, Elena.’

  Ada and Roberto exchanged glances of quiet hostility: one a wordless injunction to stay silent, the other a proud, wordless look of resistance.

  ‘Nothing important. My father put all the family mementos in order. He created an archive up in the attic.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind seein
g it.’

  ‘We went through everything the other day. There’s nothing of interest.’

  ‘We didn’t even get halfway.’

  ‘I’ve already made up my mind, Ada, as you know. Everything that’s left can be thrown out. I’ll take care of it myself as soon as I have a moment.’

  Ada looked at him, disappointed, thinking maybe she had chosen her moment badly. ‘As you wish.’

  As soon as Ada had moved away, Elena said, ‘You can’t do that kind of thing.’

  ‘Who says?’

  ‘You’re not thinking straight, Roberto.’

  ‘I’ve kept what interested me. The rest can be thrown away.’

  ‘But it’s the story of your family.’

  It was not just the decision that dismayed Elena but the way he had conveyed it—quite unlike the gentle, considerate manner she was used to.

  ‘It’s not a happy story. And I’d like to forget it. What’s so bad about that?’

  Much later, Elena was wandering around the main floor of the villa, immersed in darkness. Roberto had been in bed for at least an hour, a habit he said he had carried over from boarding school, whereas even at home Elena stayed up late. Their rhythms were different, but they had learnt to respect them.

  Despite all the travel, she wasn’t tired: perhaps it was the excitement of being at Villa Beltrami for the first time. It had taken on a vague outline—she wasn’t sure whether it was mythic or monstrous—through her partner’s silence.

  She walked through the library, crossed the central halls and entered the study. It only took her one glance to realise that it was the favourite room of the house’s owner. Everything was perfectly in order, which made her wonder if perhaps Ada, or someone else at her behest, had taken care to put everything in its place.

  On the side wall was a particular painting; she wouldn’t have noticed it but for the care that had been dedicated to it. It was an old painting, Flemish or German. It reminded her of something but, despite living her life alongside an art dealer, her familiarity with painting did not go much further.