Portrait of a Girl

by Binkert, Dörthe

  She looked at her hands, and you could tell they’d been doing garden work. Then she looked at Signor Robustelli. He laughed.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I know this is all new for you. But you’ll get used to it.”

  Stepping into the dining room of the Spa Hotel Maloja, Nika entered a new world. What she saw far exceeded what she had been able to imagine up to then. Indeed, with Gaetano she had raked the pebbles of the driveway that led up to the façade of the veritable palace. Hundreds of elegant carriages and coaches drove up that drive. She had seen the entrance hall by way of which one went to Signor Robustelli’s office. Gaetano and she had planted the flower borders in the circular flowerbed; she knew the short avenue that led down to the lake where the rowboats and the vaporetto waited. The boat would steam across the water, taking guests for high tea at the Hotel Alpenrose in Sils-Maria or for trapshooting at Isola, where only a few years ago the servants threw live birds up into the air, not clay pigeons. Early in the morning, she and Gaetano had checked to make sure the golf course and the tennis courts were in perfect condition for the hotel guests.

  Nika had seen the innards of this grandiose world, where the laundry from hundreds of beds and an endless number of tablecloths, napkins, towels, and aprons were washed and ironed.

  But none of that had prepared her for the splendor of the dining room. Silverware from the famous Hepp Brothers of Pforzheim and Baccarat crystal from France gleamed in the huge hall, where five hundred guests could be served a table d’hote meal at the long tables. Nika was shocked by the immense size of the room; it was intimidating, and she felt as insignificant as a little black ant. But luckily there was another column of black ants—waiters and waitresses who were passing the silver platters and taking them away and, in a strict, seemingly rehearsed dance, saw to it that all the guests were able to progress through the menu in accordance with established rules of haute cuisine: potage brunoise, truite de rivière frites, sauce mayonnaise, pommes naturelles, filet de boeuf à la Milanaise, Caneton à la Rouennaise, haricots verts sautés, chapons de Bourg, salade, glace, tutti-frutti, pâtisserie. Nika was ordered about, here and there, setting tables, refilling water carafes, passing bread baskets.

  The ladies, who during the day had played badminton, walked around Lake Cavloc, or let themselves be taken up to Lake Lunghin on a mule, appeared in the dining hall in evening dress, wearing whatever jewelry they possessed. The gentlemen came from the hunt, which although restricted to the local inhabitants, was made available to guests who were willing to grease some palms. Or they had come down from treks in the mountains to the peak of the Margna or to cross the Fedoz Glacier. Now in evening dress, they were escorting their ladies in to dinner. They were hungry as wolves. Some of their hungry looks also took in the prettier among the serving girls.

  In addition to the dining room—inarguably one of the world’s most fashionable—there were an à la carte restaurant, a ladies’ salon, a smoking room, a billiards room, and several reading rooms. Nika would sometimes be sent to one of these with a cup of tea or a cognac. She walked in awe on the carpets and froze once in wonderment, when she passed the open door to the ballroom. It was located in the midsection of the E-shaped building and was directly above the steam boilers that heated the giant hotel.

  The ballroom had large windows and at the end of the room was a theater stage, just waiting for the next lavish production. There was no way for Nika to envision all the things that were offered to the guests in this space. Tableaux vivants were rehearsed here, and the latest cinematographic works were shown; the La Scala Orchestra of Milan performed, and stars of the Metropolitan Opera from New York sang here; and of course, there was dancing.

  “Say it isn’t true!” Andrina didn’t quite have the nerve to slam the door to Achille Robustelli’s office. But her attitude toward him had changed completely. Ever since he had held out the prospect of an engagement, she had made some concessions. Not too many, yet enough to defend her own interests. But the way he was coddling Nika would have sent even more gentle souls around the bend.

  Achille looked up startled. “What isn’t true, my darling Andrina? What are you talking about?”

  Andrina, hands on hips, gasping, seemed to be struggling for words.

  “What’s the matter? Tell me.”

  “Nika is working in the dining room, did I hear that right?”

  Robustelli nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Why does that upset you?”

  Andrina dropped into the chair in front of his desk, throwing her arms up theatrically, as if she wanted to ask imaginary bystanders what they thought of such an answer. “What am I upset about? Can’t you see? And haven’t I said it a thousand times? This girl comes over the mountains, nobody knows from where or why, settles in our house, eats the soup my mother cooks, turns my helpless brother Gian’s head, yet aims for higher things. She gets right to work on the famous Segantini, and now she doesn’t want to get her hands dirty in the garden anymore. She intends to hobnob instead with the aristocracy at their tables in the dining room under the crystal chandeliers. And Signor Robustelli thinks, why not?”

  Andrina had worked herself into such a fury while she was speaking that she jumped up to face him, looking as if she wanted to pounce.

  “Sit down!” Achille said. “In the first place, I was only complying with Segantini’s wish. After all, he is a friend of the director of this hotel. Segantini wants to help the young woman. The girl is coming along well . . .”

  “Exactly. That’s it! The witch’s eyes make you all dreamy while she coldly pursues her goals. And you? Didn’t it occur to you that there might be other people who deserve to be promoted to the dining room?” Andrina raised her head high and looked out the window.

  Achille sighed. This would certainly mean suffering through several days of abstinence.

  “Andrina, please calm down . . .”

  “Yes? But you like her . . .”

  “I just made an observation that anyone can confirm. Right now, I need Nika more urgently to serve in the dining room than in the garden. And quite apart from that, I can’t simply do as I like or as you like. I’m neither the director nor the owner of this hotel.”

  “Then become director!” Andrina hissed. “Then you can do as you like.”

  She hadn’t expected that her outburst would make him so angry, for he rarely got angry. But now she cringed as he struck the top of his desk with his hand.

  “That’s enough! I’d like to see how happy you’d be if I were hotel director in a hotel with a dozen rooms in some little village.”

  She’d gone too far. This wouldn’t get her anywhere.

  “I can see that you don’t want to understand,” she said, feeling insulted. “Tonight, by the way, we can’t get together. It’s my father’s birthday.” And with that, she swept out.

  Lost in thought, Achille opened his desk drawer. He took out the silver cigarette case and took out a cigarette, tapped it on his desktop, and lit it unhurriedly. Segantini had wanted Nika in the garden so that he could see her whenever he chose to. Why did he bring Nika back to work inside the hotel? So that Segantini could no longer meet with her? So that he, Achille, would have her nearby? Was Andrina right? Couldn’t he just as well have assigned her, Andrina, to the service staff preparing for the big ball?

  He flipped the cigarette case open and shut, irresolutely. It hadn’t been easy to mollify Andrina when she heard that Nika was getting one of the attic rooms. Wasn’t it all too understandable that she would feel rejected all over again now? And she happened to fly off the handle easily; that was her temperament, Achille thought, trying to calm his uneasy soul. And from the first moment on, she hadn’t been able to stand the straniera.

  He drew on his cigarette and blew the smoke out in rings. It was better not to think about it too much. The conflict would blow over once he had introduced Andrina to his mother.

>   “Si, signore?” Nika asked. She was bent over with a dustpan and broom. She straightened up and found herself gazing into the brown eyes of a young man who had addressed her with “scusi, signorina.”

  “May I?” he asked, smiling, and took the dustpan and broom out of her hand. “I was the one who dropped the glass.” He bent down, swept up the fragments, and returned the dustpan to her.

  Nika looked at him in confusion.

  “Haven’t I seen you outside working in the hotel garden?” he continued.

  His voice caused her to feel a pleasant, warm thrill, but the waiter who had sent her to clean up the minor accident had emphasized that it was not permitted to speak privately with the guests. Employees of the hotel weren’t even allowed to speak to the guests’ servants. Still she had to give him an answer. Nika decided she would nod. In this way, she had answered and still not spoken.

  Fabrizio Bonin noticed her embarrassment. He stepped back as if to go, but paused and said, “I’m glad that you’re now working inside. That way I’ll see you more often.” He smiled and turned back to his friend. Nika hurried off with the glass shards.

  “You have excellent taste,” James said. He was amused. He had by now become quite close to Fabrizio, but had never before spoken with him about women.

  “Let’s say I have my own personal taste. I don’t fall in love easily. I hate flirting, and most of the women other men think pretty or desirable, I find neither beautiful nor compelling. You see,” Fabrizio laughed and raised his wine glass, which the waiter had hurriedly refilled, “life is hard for me.”

  James toasted him. “Cheer up. I love flirting and I think many women are pretty, but I’m just as alone as you are!”

  Nika threw the shards into the trash bin and slipped into a nearby ladies’ room. She locked the door and looked at herself in the mirror. She had gained weight, for Benedetta had served her generously, and her body, even though slender, had assumed a softer outline. She was suntanned from working in the garden, in contrast to the ladies who were guests at the hotel and always carried parasols to keep their skin from darkening. But her hair was beautiful. She examined her facial features. They were unconventional, not quite regular, and her eyes were an unusual color. She moved closer to the reflection in the mirror, noted the little brown spots in the blue-green irises. It looked as if sparks were flying up inside. She felt ashamed remembering what Segantini had said about vanity, and guiltily she closed her eyes.

  The young man in the dining room had brown eyes. Everything about him seemed so carefree, so natural. As if life was easy and cheerful. Why had he spoken to her? The hotel, after all, was full of ladies walking around, bored, just waiting for a man to speak to them.

  One last time Nika looked deep into her own eyes in the mirror. Yes, she would have liked to talk a little longer to the young man. She felt that in his company time would fly by, for it was almost as if he lent you wings.

  “And does the straniera still give you a part of her earnings?” Andrina asked her mother. She had come home on one of her rare visits.

  “Why should she?” Benedetta said. “Nika doesn’t live here with us anymore. She’s sleeping and eating in the hotel now. Under those circumstances, why should I wheedle any money out of her? Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “No,” Andrina said curtly. “Your coffee tastes like anything but coffee. Achille has coffee sent from Italy . . .”

  “Which Achille?” Benedetta asked; she was hard of hearing in one ear.

  “Signor Robustelli, good Lord. Get used to him.” Andrina stretched. “We’re going to get married. He is going to introduce me to his mother.”

  Benedetta turned her back to her daughter and poured herself a cup of coffee. “So, you won’t have any of my coffee. And I hope you don’t expect me to approve of the man who sent my son to his death from his elegant, immaculate desk.”

  “My God, you are narrow-minded! He’s not responsible for Luca’s death! He only made the connection for him!”

  “He recommended him.” Benedetta put a spoonful of sugar into her coffee. Normally she did that only on Sundays, but she needed something sweet now. Her daughter was becoming more of a stranger the longer she worked in the hotel.

  Andrina was angry. “But recommending someone doesn’t mean that you killed them or are responsible when something bad happens!”

  “But it was common knowledge that it was dangerous. I knew it. And you knew it too. There were so many workers who had died already. At the Gotthard Pass alone. That was no secret. My Luca gave his life like those others so that people like Robustelli can travel in comfort across the Alps. Even though it would be better if they didn’t bother us and stayed where they belonged.”

  Andrina jumped up from her chair. “And I’m going to marry him in spite of that! I’ll have a great future. In contrast to you. I’m leaving now.”

  Andrina was furious. Not just with her mother who couldn’t see beyond her own front door, beyond Maloja and Stampa, but also with Achille Robustelli whom she’d just defended so passionately. It was incomprehensible, all the things he was doing for Nika. For this girl her brothers had dragged in, and who seemed to be everywhere now, spinning her web. And to think that she, Andrina, was the one who had brought her to the hotel! She could have kicked herself for it. And now on top of everything else, the straniera was living in a single room, working among the guests, while she, Andrina, was still cleaning rooms. But she didn’t want to talk to Achille again about it, not before he introduced her to his mother. She was determined to make a good impression. But she simply wasn’t going to put up with all this.

  Signora Robustelli was a small, round woman dressed in black. She was impressed by the hotel her son was managing, even though the area, in spite of its fashionable clientele, seemed a bit rough and isolated.

  “I am not the hotel director,” Achille emphasized. “I’m only the assistant manager and responsible for the personnel.”

  “But it’s the same thing almost,” his mother said. Don’t you feel lonely here? The village has only a few houses. And it’s just a village, not a city like Bergamo.”

  “This is a grand hotel, Mama—there’s nothing like it even in Milan. I employ one hundred and fifty people, and hundreds of people from the best circles of Europe come here. I have an incredible amount of work to do but enjoy it very much. Why should I feel lonely?”

  “It isn’t Italy. Not your homeland, Achille. Aren’t you homesick for your country and for a wife who will make a home for you there?”

  Achille Robustelli was glad that his mother had touched on this sensitive subject of her own accord and immediately took up the point. “Right, Mama. I’ve met a woman here who will give me this home. I would like to introduce her to you. I’m glad you’re here just now. Because the season will be over soon, and then I’d like to bring her to Bergamo with me this winter.”

  “Up here?” Signora Robustelli was incredulous. “You found someone up here? Is she Italian? Will she go back to Italy with you? After all, you don’t want to stay up here forever. One day you’ll manage a grand hotel in Italy.” She missed seeing him in the rakish uniform he had worn as an officer, which had looked so good on him. But Achille would reach the highest rung possible in his profession.

  “She’s from Maloja, Mama. But she speaks Italian like most of the people from this region. Her dialect is very close to the Italian language.” The most important thing, he told himself, was to keep calm.

  “Dialect?” Signora Robustelli asked, as if she had just sat down on a needle. “I hope that the accent isn’t strong. You know how important I considered it in bringing you up for you always to speak perfect, elegant Italian. I certainly hope your children will not speak a dialect.”

  Achille took a deep breath. She was here, and he couldn’t change that. Unfortunately, she had appeared at the least favorable moment. The smartest th
ing would be to avoid any arguments and to get rid of her as soon as possible.

  “We don’t have any children as yet,” he said in a calm, clear tone. “I’m sure you wouldn’t like it either if we did, right? And if it’s all right with you, we’ll go now to have a cup of coffee together with Andrina. And then I’ll have someone take you to your hotel in Sils-Maria, because I have my hands full. Tomorrow there’ll be a Venetian Ball here, and I have to make sure that everything functions properly.”

  Signora Robustelli nodded, reluctant but resigned. Of course, she’d hoped to have the evening meal with her son, but, well, her Achille was a very busy man. Naturally, you had to take that into consideration.

  Andrina had exchanged her day off with Clara, one of the other chambermaids, so that she could prepare for her first meeting with Achille’s mother. She intended to wear her Sunday dress, the one she wore when she went dancing with Robustelli. And she had a terrific idea. Luca had mentioned a couple of times that the straniera was wearing a golden locket when they found her in the mountains. Andrina had never seen Nika wear it, but she must keep the jewel hidden somewhere in her room. And for this one important day, Andrina thought she would borrow Nika’s locket and then immediately put it back in its place without her having noticed anything.

  She knew Nika’s room was never locked, and when nobody answered her knock, she slipped into the room without being seen by anyone. She lifted the mattress, didn’t find it there; opened the top drawer of the bureau, took out the black woolen shawl, discovered the locket, and was out of the room in no time.

  Such a valuable piece of jewelry! How did Nika happen to have it? And why did she hide it so carefully? Had she stolen the piece? Maybe it was the real reason for her having run away? No one really knew anything about her.