The Mountain

by Massimo Donati

  ‘And a lot less fun. I’d better go. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have any news.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, I might drive on with Germani. I have some errands to run in town,’ Ada said from the back seat.

  ‘No problem. See you later.’

  Roberto stepped out of the car and was surrounded by the grey haze coming up off the lake. He walked straight back into the villa.

  He tried to sleep, but instead lay there staring at the ceiling of his room. Exasperated, he went downstairs.

  ‘Ada? Elena?’

  He took out his work laptop and sat down at the table in the study. He went to stand up, then sat back down again. He turned the computer on.

  And then he typed into the search bar: Slat.

  Deleted it at once and typed: Rosa Slat Trentino.

  The search engine found thousands of results, all very confusing. The first was a family history site that offered up sixty-three hits; he glanced over them but none matched. The next few pages featured a multitude of Slats with different given names who somehow had something to do with roses or with Trentino. He looked despondently over several of them, but soon tired of it. He changed search terms. He typed in: Rosa Slat née Lines.

  The website for a bowling club in San Bernardino, California, open nine to midnight. He clicked on other links but none of them matched. He patiently tried to refine his search, adding: Trentino, hotel, Madonna del Bosco.

  Nothing.

  He sat in silence staring at the blank screen.

  In the end, he typed the words: Mattia Slat.

  The first result was a link to a Facebook page. It seemed promising, but he realised at once that it couldn’t be him. There was a picture of an old man.

  Further down there was a whole series of photos. Faces. He could barely remember Mattia’s face and anyway, after thirty years, he could be anybody. But these photos belonged to a fifty-something Brazilian policeman.

  He made a few more attempts and then gave up, disappointed. That was when he made up his mind.

  He went up to the attic.

  The black bags were lying on the floor. He took one, now sure of himself.

  The 8 mm home movies. He opened the box and took out the cartridges with the original films. He took out the most recent of the DVDs. The one he had purposely left in with the things to be thrown away.

  He held it in his hands for a moment.

  When he was back in the study, he took the DVD out of its case and slid it into the drive. It took the computer a moment to get up and running. As the notes of a famous, somewhat dated, song rang out, white letters appeared on a black background:

  SUMMER 1981

  9

  When Elena shifted under the covers she woke at once. Roberto’s side of the bed was cold. It was not early, and light was piercing the half-closed shutters.

  She perfunctorily got dressed and went down to look for him. She thought of the little rituals they could go through together: breakfast of course; good mornings and telling each other it was going to be a nice day, maybe pretending they were on holiday. But they both needed to think of that, and to want it.

  Roberto had the gardener with him. They were walking up and down by the flowerbeds. Roberto was listening as the man struggled to make himself understood, surprised and gratified by the new owner’s interest.

  ‘They’re all valuable plants. You know, they created the garden at the start of last century, and it was the height of fashion at the time.’

  ‘My mother always used to tell me that. However, if you don’t mind my asking, ever since I got here I’ve had the impression that nobody has looked after it in a while.’

  The gardener nodded disappointedly and picked up some leaves from the ground.

  ‘You’re right. A month ago they told me they preferred to leave the garden alone. Signorina Ada called me to tell me. At the time, I advised her that come spring, if it was just left alone, the plants could be ruined. But Ada was following orders and that was that.’

  They had now reached the rose bushes, which they had left until last.

  ‘The roses seemed to me to be more cared for. But to be honest, they weren’t in great shape either. And the pruning was less than perfect. That’s one thing I can say for sure: it was something I used to do with my mother. She always said pruning the Madame Staechelins was like making a sculpture.’

  ‘I told Signor Carlo a thousand times those roses needed the hand of a professional.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  The gardener assumed an air of resignation. ‘I didn’t prune them.’

  Roberto let the bud he had been holding fall to the ground.

  ‘Signor Carlo took care of the roses.’

  After the gardener had gone, Roberto went to the wooden bench. Elena came and sat next to him.

  ‘What are you thinking of doing today?’

  ‘If you don’t mind, I was thinking of going out in the boat. This might be the last good day for it before I leave.’

  ‘Go ahead. They sent me some documents to read from New York. It’ll be a good opportunity.’

  They said nothing more. Elena would have liked to talk about her concerns, but they sat in silence.

  The way they were seated, a little rigidly, side by side on the bench, Elena was reminded of those formal family photos that once upon a time used to adorn books and mark feast days. But there was little to celebrate, though it was a Sunday. They just had to wait for their lives to start up again: the liberating phone call from Ciprini would come in the next few days.

  At that moment, Ada and her daughter came through the large French windows. As they crossed the garden, the child hopped between a series of imaginary platforms, visible only to her, that made her progress amusing: three steps forward then a leap to the right or a leap to the left.

  Ada and Alina had a day entirely to themselves.

  Roberto stood up courteously. ‘You two sit here. I’m going to get the boat.’

  The little girl’s face lit up.

  ‘Can I come too?’

  Roberto stopped still.

  ‘Alina, don’t pester Signor Roberto. It’s not allowed.’

  Roberto and Alina regarded each other. There was a plea in the girl’s eyes, heightened by the promise from a few days earlier.

  Roberto was silent for a moment and looked away, suddenly earnest. He thought back on his promise. And another, older one.

  ‘As long as she behaves herself and wears a safety rig…I used to go out on the water at her age. But only if it’s all right with you, Ada.’

  The woman looked at him in surprise. Then she turned to her daughter: the child was staring up at them both with a hopefulness that would tolerate no trickery.

  ‘You’ll be a good girl, in the boat? You’ll do as you’re told?’

  They smiled at each other.

  ‘Sure, Mamma. I’m always good. I’m vice-queen.’

  Shortly afterwards Roberto and Alina walked down the steps that led to the man-made inlet. They were steep and high and the girl instinctively clutched his hand, and he let her.

  From down there you could see the lake through a loophole in stone that was like an open door onto the water. Looking at the light that shone down and illuminated the fluttering sail with silver, the girl was enchanted. Roberto lowered the boat into the water.

  ‘Now I’ll hold it still and you get on.’

  The girl nodded and concentrated. Facing so many new experiences, she wanted to be equal to the task. Roberto fastened her life jacket and told her to stay where she was. It would have been better if there was one in her size, but it would be all right with the straps pulled tight.

  He pushed the boat out and jumped aboard from the rear, over the rudder. A moment later they were already far from the shore.

  As they moved away the little girl sat motionless, tiny in her seat, not turning around even once to look at the captain. Perhaps she was a little afraid, or perhaps she was simply captiv
ated by the water lapping around the boat, by the views, by the whole thing.

  ‘Now we’ll unfurl the sail. Hold tight while I come over there.’ Roberto approached the centre of the boat where the single mast was, and fastened the harness around her slight body. She was cooperative.

  ‘For safety.’

  The wind was not too strong, but it was there. He thought to himself that they were going to have fun. He could relax: the boat was designed for training; it was impossible to capsize.

  They began to move across the liquid expanse. The water flowed fast around the sides of the boat, which—with Alina on board—seemed something more than a toy.

  They went on, reaching the central part of the lake and then beyond, until they began to hug the coast and could admire the constellation of solitary villas and small villages. Then the child turned and fixed her gaze on Roberto. She seemed to be studying him. She turned back the other way for a few minutes and then, not looking at him this time, she said in a cheerful sing-song voice that might have been a cover for her embarrassment, ‘I’ve worked out why you’re always in the garden.’

  Roberto looked at her attentively and she went on: ‘You’re waiting for someone.’

  ‘Who am I waiting for?’

  ‘A king.’

  ‘What king, Alina?’

  ‘A magic king, who goes from garden to garden.’

  They were sailing smoothly along under a sky that was mimicking the minuscule waves across the water.

  ‘But you don’t know when he’s going to arrive, so you wait. Near the roses. Because he doesn’t know which one is your garden, but he’ll see the roses and then he’ll realise and stop by.’

  She fell silent, awaiting a response from Roberto. He was speechless.

  ‘But the king still hasn’t arrived, and that’s why you’re asking questions of the wind. You’re asking if it’s seen him.’

  Roberto smiled, suddenly sad.

  ‘Your parents went looking for him too. You all look for him. Because he has to come and do his magic. A special magic.’

  ‘What magic is that?’

  Alina reflected a moment but did not have an answer.

  ‘It’s a secret between the two of you. But when he does his magic your parents will come back home and the three of you will have a party.’

  Roberto stared at the water. Then he asked in a thin voice, ‘What happens if the king can’t come?’

  She was motionless for a moment. Then she shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t know.

  Meanwhile, Roberto turned side-on, so he couldn’t be seen. His face had closed up in an effort to hide the inappropriate tears that a child’s imagination suddenly wanted to wring from him.

  When the moment had passed he simply said, ‘Maybe I need to go looking for him, Alina. He might have got lost in a forest, or in the mountains. And then, when I find him, we can have the party.’

  Alina nodded. She stood up, walked the two metres separating her from Roberto and took his hand, so large inside hers, as though to invest him with courage. Then she sat back down, a little closer than before.

  Roberto redirected the boat and they sped up again. The air was blowing through Alina’s hair and she appeared happy. She seemed once again simply a child and nothing more.

  As soon as Alina and Roberto had set out, Elena went back inside to get the documents she needed to read while Ada enjoyed a moment of peace and quiet. But this soon gave way to agitation. She stood up; she went to the opening in the hedge. Little of the lake could be seen and the boat had already disappeared. She stayed there a moment, forcing herself to steal a few centimetres of vision, then she sat back down.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Elena, who had now returned to the bench, ‘Roberto is extremely careful.’

  ‘It’s not him. It’s my daughter. She’s a loose cannon.’

  Elena put down the papers she had begun reading.

  ‘All children are.’

  Ada’s smile filled with bitterness. ‘I wish she was like other children.’

  They fell silent, and then she added, ‘And things aren’t going to improve while she’s living with her father.’

  ‘She’s full of life.’

  ‘Yes, she is. But who would guess that she’s already seven years old?’

  Elena hid her surprise so as not to embarrass Ada. ‘No, I suppose I wouldn’t have guessed.’

  ‘It’s like she doesn’t want to grow. And the things she says, sometimes. About wizards, and queens…She lives in a world of her own.’

  ‘Children have so much imagination.’

  Ada shook her head gently. ‘I’ve taken her to various doctors. A mild form of autism, they say, but it’s difficult to categorise her. I don’t really think they know all that much about this sort of thing. They recommended a specialist centre in Turin but rather than…’

  Ada’s voice had hardened. Elena placed a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘If she at least lived with me.’

  ‘Sorry, but don’t they usually give custody to the mother?’

  It took Ada a moment to find the words.

  ‘I’ve had some problems.’

  Elena waited.

  ‘Psychiatric problems. And I had Alina with the wrong man. But I only realised that later, after my breakdown.’

  She lowered her eyes to the ground but then almost immediately looked back up at Elena.

  ‘I used to stuff myself with pills. One mistake after another. No money, Ukrainian, psych patient…it only took my husband a second to take Alina away from me. At one point, they wouldn’t even let me see her. I was desperate. That’s another reason I owe so much to Signor Carlo. If I hadn’t met him…He helped me. A lot.’

  Elena took her hand from Ada’s shoulder.

  ‘Not everybody was so lucky with Carlo.’

  ‘I don’t know what Roberto has told you about his father, but from what I’ve heard, all sorts of fanciful tales get told about the Beltramis.’

  ‘For instance?’

  Ada hesitated, and then said decisively, ‘For instance, that Anna was the one who was more attached to Roberto, and Carlo was the cold one. But I’m certain that Carlo always loved Roberto. He tried to look him up when he was an adult. Anna…I don’t know.’

  A troubled look of incredulity appeared on Elena’s face, as well as a hint of scorn. ‘That’s not what Roberto says about them.’

  Really, thinking back, anything she knew about that time she had heard from Roberto. But he had never lied to her.

  Never, she repeated in her head.

  ‘Anna certainly had an egocentric and introverted personality, very focused on her passions…the painting and all that. Though Roberto adored her.’

  ‘He still adores her. Maybe even more now.’

  The boat had picked up speed. The little girl seemed to be rapt by the air and water rushing by and kept laughing and clapping her hands. Roberto had taken a liking to it too.

  Then Alina suddenly stood up and started walking towards the bow. The safety line became more and more taut.

  She pulled on it and reached the bow, which cut through the liquid expanse ahead of the boat. There was no way for Roberto to reach her there.

  ‘Come over here, Alina.’

  For a minute she stood staring at the water, lost in thought, while Roberto followed her, with some apprehension, unable to see her face. Then she turned towards the stern, and in a slow and natural movement clutched on to the mast. Right next to the metal ladder you climbed to adjust the sails.

  Alina whispered to herself with conviction, ‘I’ll go and ask the wind where he is.’

  But Roberto couldn’t hear her.

  ‘Alina, what are you doing?’

  Impulsively, she began climbing, and Roberto cried, ‘Alina!’

  He called out again and by now it was a wail of fright because, though the vessel was small, the mast was seven metres high. He waved madly but stayed where he was. He decided to continue heading for the shore and
to slow down, trying to stop the mast from inclining.

  The girl kept climbing.

  The cable was now pulled very tight. Alina stopped a moment, looked down on the boat from up high, and then turned towards the tip. It was still a few metres away. Then, with surprising ease, she unhooked her safety line. It was loose: she had only kept it on to reassure Roberto. She slid out of it and it fell lightly to the floor.

  She continued climbing as the boat glided along. When she reached the top she took a few seconds to catch her breath. She used her legs to hoist herself onto the sail’s top-most batten, and stayed there with her legs pulled tightly together and her chest poking out over the tip of the mast.

  From this position, Alina stared into the boundless void above the boat. She stayed up there, a light breeze caressing her face.

  If she fell back down onto the boat she would die. Roberto, blinded by the light flooding the sail, could barely even see her up there.

  Meanwhile, there came the low rumble of motorboats in the distance, out of sight, while some sudden waves, bigger than before, slammed the vessel, which now sat motionless on the water, rocking it back and forth.

  Alina whispered something into the wind, and even laughed, as though caught up in some secret game all her own.

  Roberto snapped out of his torpor. He locked the rudder. Treading heavily at first, but then gradually moving more surely, he made his way to the mast. He grabbed onto it high up, to reduce the distance between him and the girl. Then he called up towards the sky, ‘Come down now, Alina. I’ll be here. Come on down, there’s a good girl.’

  She looked intently at him and smiled, though he couldn’t see her clearly. The waves had got bigger and the sound of the motorboats was coming closer.

  Alina concluded her speech to the wind and began to climb down.

  Suddenly a larger wave struck: the mast pitched back and forth, first to the right, then to the left. Alina lost her footing on the rungs and was left hanging on just by her hands.

  As if she only in that moment realised what was happening, a grimace of fear appeared on her face, while Roberto cried out, ‘I’ll catch you, I’m here!’ waving his arms to make her feel he was close by.