Clara emerged from her room and ran to hug Werner.
“Mamma’s screaming,” she said.
“She must have her reasons,” Werner replied.
“She was veeeery angry,” Clara whispered. “She said lots of bad words. Lots and—”
“Clara.” It was rare for Annelise to address our daughter so sharply. “Go to your room.”
“But I—” she protested.
“Why don’t we go and make a strudel?” Werner cut in, stroking Clara’s contorted face. “Wouldn’t you like to know how your poor grandma used to make strudel?”
“Grandma Herta?” Clara’s eyes lit up. “The one who’s an angel now? Of course I would.”
Werner took her by the hand and headed for the kitchen.
Only now did Annelise speak. “I hate them.”
“Who?”
“All of them.”
“Calm down.”
“Calm down?”
I scratched my scar. “I’d just like to know what happened.”
She burst into tears. Not the anguished whine that had wrenched my heart the day I had sworn to her that I would take a sabbatical. These were tears of rage.
“I went to Alois’s, I wanted to get a bit of jam and a few cans of pickles. On the radio they said it was going to snow and . . .”—she sniffed—“. . . I think a kind of hoarding instinct kicked in. Mamma always got in a good supply when the first snows were coming, because you never know. And then . . .”
If she was bringing her mother, who we never discussed, into this, I knew the situation must really be serious.
“I was behind one of the shelves. You remember how poky Alois’s little shop is, don’t you?”
“I go there to buy cigarettes.”
“After a while I heard Alois and Luise Waldner—”
“The big woman who brought us a blueberry pie when I got out of the hospital?”
“That’s the one.”
“What were they saying?”
“They were talking.”
I closed my eyes. “What were they saying?”
The reply was a whisper. “That it was all your fault.”
“And then?” I asked dryly.
“Then? Then I came out from behind the shelf. And I started to insult them. And that bitch said to me that I was the one to speak, seeing as how I was the wife of a murderer.”
Murderer.
That was the word. Murderer.
“And . . .?”
Annelise opened her eyes wide. “What do you think I did? I took Clara and left. God, if I could, I’d have scratched her eyes out. In fact, you know what? I’m sorry I didn’t. First her, then that . . .” She burst into tears again. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry . . .”
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing. You know how people are.”
“Signora Waldner read the eulogy at my mother’s funeral.”
I remembered Werner’s words. What Signora Waldner had said about me was nothing compared with what the dear inhabitants of Siebenhoch had said over the graves of Evi, Kurt, and Markus. I hugged her tight.
“How did Clara take it?”
“Can you understand that girl?”
I smiled. “I understand that I love her. And that’s enough for me.”
* * *
I was very patient, amusing, and completely false for the rest of the afternoon.
I helped Clara to mix the dough for the strudel and joked with Werner, who had taken on the task of peeling the apples.
I was totally level-headed.
Then, as a delightful smell of sweetness invaded the kitchen and Werner was about to leave, I grabbed the opportunity and offered to drive him back to Welshboden.
“Do you want me to tell you the end of the story?” he asked, once we were in the car.
“I’d like to get back to Annelise as soon as possible. I’ll drop by this evening, if you don’t mind.”
When we got to his house, Werner said, “Don’t do anything stupid, Jeremiah.”
I said goodbye, reversed the car, left the property, and speeded toward Alois’s tiny store. I didn’t want to do anything stupid. I just wanted to smash his face in.
What stopped me was the flashing of indicator lights in my rear-view mirror.
* * *
The face that appeared at my window was known to me, like that of most inhabitants of the village, and as with almost everyone else, I couldn’t put a name to it.
Around fifty, balding, a touch of stubble under his chin. When he asked me for my papers, he displayed small regular teeth.
Behind him, along the road, a black Mercedes slowed down. I saw a figure behind the wheel but couldn’t make out anything else. Darkened windows.
Whoever that person was, their curiosity merely increased my irritation.
I handed over my license, registration, and passport, which I always carried with me, to the uniformed man. He studied them absently. They weren’t why he’d stopped me, I was sure of it.
“Was I speeding?”
“On these curves? If you were from around here, no.”
“But I’m not from around here.”
He shook his head good-naturedly. “If you were, I’d already have tested your alcohol level. And if you were over the limit by even just this much . . .”—he showed me a microscopic gap between thumb and index finger—“ . . . I’d have confiscated your vehicle, believe me.”
“It’s the first time,” I said, indicating the badge he had on his chest, “that I’ve been stopped for speeding by a forest ranger.”
“That’s how we do things around here. Siebenhoch . . .”
“. . . is a small community, I think I got that. But everyone keeps repeating it.”
The man winked. He seemed like a good uncle. The uncle who dresses up as Santa Claus at Christmas. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was hampering my plans for revenge, I’d have liked him. But I was angry.
Furious.
At last I managed to read the name on the lapel of his gray-green jacket. Krün. Annelise had told me about him, calling him “Chief Krün.”
I had glimpsed him a few times in that truck of his, flashing his lights behind my car, patrolling the roads or parked outside some bar. There were quite a few bars in Siebenhoch and they were all always crowded.
“So you’re what they call, where I come from,” I continued, maintaining a jokey tone, “‘the local sheriff’?”
He laughed. “The sheriff? I like that. Yes, that’s about right. Traffic cop, police officer, forest ranger. At other times, even paramedic and father confessor. You know how it is, the administration tends to look kindly on anything that saves the taxpayers money. And nobody’s ever complained about me. People tend to trust a familiar face. Especially . . .”
“. . . in small villages.”
Krün sighed. “Genau,” he said. “In Siebenhoch, we all know each other, for good or ill. Do you follow me?”
“To be honest, no.”
“Really?”
“If I was speeding, then fine me and let me go on my way.”
“Are you in a hurry, Signor Salinger?”
“I’m out of cigarettes. Alois will be closing soon and I don’t want to spend the night dreaming about Marlboros. Is that enough for you?”
“You can always go down to Aldino. There’s a service station there that’s open twenty-four hours a day, with a bar next to it. Truck drivers go there a lot. I don’t recommend the coffee, but they sell cigarettes. Marlboros. Lucky Strikes. Camels. There’s an embarrassment of choice. A smoker’s paradise.”
“Thanks for the information. Now, about that fine . . .”
His face lost the expression of a jovial uncle coming into the house on Christmas Eve going ho-ho-ho. The face I now had in front of me was the face of the bad cop.
“I haven’t finished, Signor Salinger.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Krün opened his arms wide. “Me? I’m just giving you directions. We’re soc
iable people here in Siebenhoch. Especially to anyone related to old Mair. You have a really pretty daughter, Signor Salinger. What’s her name? Clara?”
My hands tightened on the wheel. “Yes.”
“You know what’s nice about small communities like this, Signor Salinger?”
I stared at him for a few moments, then the dyke broke. “I don’t give a shit,” I hissed. “I just want to buy those damned cigarettes and get back home.”
Krün’s face showed no reaction. “Would you mind getting out of the vehicle?”
I turned my head to him. I felt the tendons in my neck creak. “For what reason?” I croaked.
“I’d like to test your alcohol level. You don’t seem to me to be in a condition to drive.”
“I’m not taking any fucking test, Chief Krün.”
“Please get out, Signor Salinger. And I’d advise you not to use such language with a public official. Tomorrow morning, you can complain as much as you want to the proper authorities, I’ll be happy to provide you with the requisite form. But for now, get out.”
I got out.
“Hands on your head,” Krün ordered.
“Are you arresting me?”
“You’ve seen too many films, Signor Salinger. Well, it is your job. Hands on your head. Raise your left leg and stay balanced until I tell you.”
“This is ridiculous,” I objected.
“It’s the rules,” was the icy reply.
I obeyed, feeling like a total idiot.
With a theatrical gesture, Krün started timing my performance.
It lasted more than a minute. Passing cars slowed down and I could hear the whispering over the rumble of the engines. At last, satisfied, Krün nodded.
“You’re not drunk, Signor Salinger.”
“Can I get back in my car?”
“You can listen to me. Then you can go on your way. If you still want to.”
I didn’t say a word.
Krün adjusted his cap on his head. “On this road, the limit is sixty kilometers an hour. In less than a kilometer, after three bends, you’ll enter what’s considered a built-up area. There, the permitted limit is forty. Are you listening to me, Signor Salinger?”
“Thanks for the information. I’ll try to remember it.”
“To get to Alois’s mini-market, respecting the speed limits, will take twelve minutes. Maybe thirteen. The question is: is it worth it?”
I gave a start.
Chief Krün noticed my surprise. “There are no secrets in Siebenhoch, Signor Salinger. Not from me. Not from the sheriff.” He came a step closer. “Do you know why I stopped you, Signor Salinger?”
“You tell me.”
Krün rubbed his chin a couple of times. “I heard about an argument, a somewhat heated discussion this afternoon between your wife and Signora Waldner. An argument that also involved Signor Alois, the owner of the general store down in the village. Nothing much, let’s be clear about that. Except that when I saw you driving to the village, I won’t say at top speed but, as I’ll write in my report, at quite a high speed, I thought maybe you’d felt the pressing need to take the law into your own hands. And that, Signor Salinger, really isn’t on.”
“I just wanted an explanation.”
“Don’t take me for an idiot. I know everything about you.” A pause, his voice trembled. “Everything you did. Up there.”
A twinge behind my neck. An icy needle of pain. “And what am I supposed to have done?”
Krün put his finger on his badge. “Nothing punishable from the point of view of the law.”
“Why?” I asked. “Are there other points of view?”
Uniform or no uniform, I was ready to pounce on him. He must have noticed because his tone became less unpleasant. The good uncle reappeared.
“We’ve got off to a bad start, Signor Salinger. Don’t you agree?”
“I do,” I mumbled, the adrenaline still howling in my veins.
“I don’t want you to feel like a stranger. You’re old Mair’s son-in-law. Werner is a person who’s greatly respected in Siebenhoch, and we’re all happy that Annelise decided to come back to the village for a while. What’s more, your daughter is a delightful child. Frau Gertraud, from the library, adores her. She says she’s the most precocious child she’s ever met.”
“Does that make me a local?”
“Not quite that. But you’re more than a tourist. You understand what I mean?”
“No,” I replied curtly.
“I want to be frank with you precisely because of your status as a . . . welcome guest. In Siebenhoch, there are lots of fights. Lots of them. And my job isn’t just to slap a few drunks in jail or call the doctor to sew them up. My job is to avoid problems. To prevent them. At least that’s how I see it.” A brief pause, then he continued, “I know what people have been saying about you. Especially since the accident on the Ortles. But it’s just idle chatter.”
“Do you join in this chatter?”
The good uncle shook his head. “What I think or don’t think doesn’t count, Signor Salinger. Not here and not now. If you could, you’d already have given me a good kick in the balls. Do you think I’m blind? You’re beside yourself with anger. What matters to me now is that you go home. Have a good sleep and forget the gossip of a couple of old people who have nothing to do all day but speak ill of others. It’s not worth it. Don’t prove them right.”
“Prove them right?”
“To do this job, you need to use a little bit of psychology, Signor Salinger. Using your muscles gets you nowhere. And the psychologist in me says that if someone is heading at high speed to a shop run by a person who has made a not very flattering comment about him, that comment must have hurt him in some way. Hitting a man who, although he may not look it, is nearly ten years older than your father-in-law, Salinger, might make you feel better at the time, but it would only prove Alois right—along with God knows how many other people here in Siebenhoch.”
However much I hated the idea, in my heart of hearts I knew that’s the way it was.
Yes, I felt like a murderer. That’s why I wanted to go to that gossip and smash his face in. Not because of Annelise’s tears and not because of Clara, as I’d been telling myself all afternoon, but because I felt that all that chatter wasn’t without foundation. I would have taken out on him a hatred I actually felt toward myself, and that was the behavior of a coward.
I hated myself.
I heaved a big sigh. The adrenaline had worn off.
I rested my eyes on Krün and saw him for what he was. A guy in a uniform doing his best to avoid trouble.
“You’re a good man. I understand now why they call you Chief Krün. You’re right, I admit it. I’d like to buy you a beer one of these days. It seems I owe you a debt.”
Chief Krün appeared to relax. He held out his hand. “Call me Max. No debt, just doing my duty.”
“Thanks, Max.” I smiled. “You can keep calling me Salinger, even my wife calls me that.”
* * *
I put Clara to sleep, having first read her a story, kissed Annelise, who was engrossed in watching some romantic nonsense, and said goodbye, telling her that I had promised Werner I would thrash him at chess. I put on my jacket and went out to hear the story of April 28, 1985.
Outside, it was snowing.
April 28, 1985
Welshboden greeted me with its reassuring smell of wood smoke and tobacco. Werner offered me an herb grappa and I gave him a cigarette in return.
“The storm over Siebenhoch,” I said. “If you haven’t changed your mind.”
“Before I start, you have to know one last thing. Self-regenerating storms aren’t easy to predict. Even today, with all the electronic gadgetry available, all you know is that it’ll rain and there’ll be a big storm. You don’t know if it’ll be a really bad one. That’s why they went.”
“Evi, Kurt, and Markus.”
“All three were expert climbers, especially Kurt. Believe me, h
e wasn’t the kind to take risks, but nor was he the kind to get upset about a few drops of rain. And anyway, when they left Siebenhoch it wasn’t raining. I want to be clear about this, Jeremiah: none of them could have known what was about to be unleashed. Self-regenerating storms are unpredictable.”
“What time did they leave?”
“We were never able to establish that precisely. But it must have been still dark. About five in the morning, let’s say. Only tourists take their time when there’s walking to be done in the mountains.” A brief pause. “In ’85 the Visitors’ Center didn’t exist, the Bletterbach was a wild place. Have you noticed that even today there are only two practicable routes?”
“And woe betide if you don’t follow them,” I said, remembering Ilse’s recommendations.
“Well, at the time there were no sure routes through the Bletterbach. There were the old hunters’ paths, not much more than tracks buried by the ferns, and a few mule tracks used by the woodcutters but that didn’t go very far. It was pointless cutting trees down there, in the deep: how would you have carried the trunks back? The stream isn’t big enough, and there were no roads to transport them by truck or jeep.”
In the deep.
“The rain started around ten in the morning. A decent enough storm, but with not much lightning. If there was any sign of the disaster that was to come, nobody realized. In April, storms are a given around here, and those of us in Mountain Rescue were getting ready to face a long, boring day. All day playing cards, while outside it got darker and darker. Around five in the afternoon, I decided to take a break and go back home. I got there in time to hear the storm changing.”
“To hear it?”
“It was as if you’d ended up in the middle of a bombardment. The rain was beating down with so much force that I feared for the windshield of my car. And the thunder . . . Deafening is an understatement. Annelise . . .” A touch of sadness in his voice. “Is she still scared of thunder?”
“Fairly.”
I chose not to add that Annelise had found an infallible cure for that phobia of hers: sex. That’s not the kind of information a father wants to know about his own daughter.
“I ate, then dozed in front of the television until about nine thirty, when the electricity went out. I wasn’t alarmed, it happened quite often, and with a storm like that it was inevitable. I lit a few candles in the house and stood there looking out of the window. You know, Jeremiah, I don’t believe in all that supernatural stuff. Ghosts, vampires, zombies. And I don’t want to make you believe that I had a premonition. No, I don’t want to say that, but . . .”
Beneath the Mountain Page 7