The Great Ski-Lift. Anton Soliman

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СКАЧАТЬ thought that in the end most people tend to say the same things. Regurgitating the same phrases, with words bound by common sense, a kind of self-survival mechanism for the species.

      The arrival station was a reinforced concrete block; the backdrop a series of peaks. Towards the West, a few hundred yards from the building, another mountain pass that must presumably lead to the last plateau; the wide valley mentioned by the guide. Tomorrow, they could walk to the outskirts of the Great Ski-Lift.

      The operator rang a bell, and the engine noise in the station stopped. The silence was deafening.

       - I'll take you to the rooms - said the operator, pointing to a wooden staircase leading to a long corridor.

      - This place is not really a chalet, but the manager furnished a couple of rooms for passers-by.

      An electric stove heated the room assigned to Oskar. The room was practically an icebox. The low ceiling almost rested on the iron bunk bed in a room held two chairs and a candle-lit table.

      A thin sheet of ice that deformed the scenery covered the square window. The transparent glass looked out on a blue ocean in a state of chaos.

      - Make yourself comfortable, there's not much to do here. Downstairs is the dining room and a fireplace. We will eat soon, let's say around seven.

      Oskar thought the man must have slowly turned bitter over time because of his solitary life. Perhaps the man would have been even unhappier at the village, with his faithful wife. Valle Chiara was not exactly brimming with happy people, most walked silently with a haunted look. He was reminded of Van Gogh's potato eaters.

      The room was freezing so he dumped his bags and went straight outside, where the sun was still shining. Towards north, behind the reinforced concrete monstrosity, mountaintops silhouetted the landscape. The Great Ski-lift lands were still hidden from view. To the south, a white semicircle cut in two by the cable car's steel lines that stretched back to the valley he had left behind.

      Standing in Valle Chiara you would never imagine there was such an incredible spectacle up above. He had entered another world.

      At this point, even if two moons were to emerge at sunset it would leave him nonplussed.

      These were the Sierra Mountains, bordering the Grand Circuit. A place still pristine. Oskar was unsure of the geography, having never been here before. He had stayed away from mountains for many years. The toll they exacted required a more determined mind-set. As a boy he went skiing often, but those were other times before any great Attachments, when the roads to follow were clearly mapped. Back then his consciousness seemed sensitive only to infrared. Even as a child, the imposing banks of snow had induced thoughts of loss, and a recurring question tinged in mystery: - What can be beyond those peaks?

      Once again, he was awestruck at the grandeur of the immense and borderless plateau. He felt as if mysterious builders could have assembled them merely the previous night.

      The sun was low, just above the snow cover; ice sheets glittered with reflected light.

      The landscape penetrated deep into Oskar's brain, blasting clean all the melancholy accumulated in Valle Chiara's muddy lanes, where an Archetype had enchanted him.

       The operator's canteen held some finely made furniture and looked cosy with a large roaring fireplace in the corner. The table laid, the improvised host announced meat stew was to be served:

       - Game – he gloated with satisfaction.

      - Many deer around these parts, the forests are full of animals. An upside of no one else living here on the Sierra – said the man.

       - You mean there isn't a living soul around? – Oskar sounded sceptical.

      - The place is deserted! Farming was abandoned and the mountains turned wild again. Am I right, Mario? –

      The driver nodded imperceptibly, a sign for Mario to expand: - Some years ago, tourists came hiking in the summer, but it was a fleeting trend, the mountain asks too much. They would drive jeeps up to where they could, but the government banned them for impacting on the Great Ski-Lift.

      - Traffic is non-existent then but building the station will make tourists come! - he stated blandly, already knowing the answer.

      The operator replied through a mouthful of chewed cheese:

      - As far as I know about this plant, this is a trial period. Up to now, ten people at most. Some to climb, including the Mayor, and the rest heading down. Some from the Great Ski Lift, usually lost off-piste – the man jammed another lump of cheese in his mouth.

       – clandestinos started turning up almost immediately though, boarding the cabins cabs as soon as they crossed the pass.

      - How do you mean? - Oskar was curious.

      - Well, they cling to the cabins, throw themselves from pylons, and before arriving in the valley jump into trees in the spots where the cable almost scrapes the floor.

      - What did you do?

      -We stopped the plants that were running all day to draw in tourists, at least that's what the manager wanted. But with the Mongol hordes prowling around the Sierra, any communication channel must be watched carefully.

       -These poor people are desperate! - Oscar shook his head.

      -They're fucking everywhere. I even hear them at night: they run around the station, immune even to blizzards. Sometimes they turn up dead, frozen underneath the pylons.

      The man clearly bored turned to the food, which looked sublime, nothing had been spared.

      - I can't complain about the food or drink. I'm happier back in the village though, with my family.

      - I don't understand why you accepted this job? - asked Oskar.

      - I needed to work. However, I didn't think life here on the Sierra would be this hard.

      The guide remained silent, gazing at the fire smoking a pipe.

      - So you don't like being alone?

      - No, not at all. When the nights are quiet it's okay, but it's a different story when there's a real storm raging. It seems that all the souls in purgatory have lined up to bang on your door.

      The man continued talking about his problems for a good hour; his real torment was the night-time, and dying alone. The best place for him, thought Oskar was in the village bar, playing cards with friends.

      The mechanic generated in him an almost physical revulsion. Something about his raging impotence, a very old blind rage. Yet, this negative state of mood had to be overcome with -compassion. - Not possible in that moment because the operator was pulsing with primal emotions: a wall Oskar was trying to break down. He remained silent, listening to the man's complaints, a rhetorical venting that wasn't seeking answers. Meanwhile, the guide had fallen asleep in front of the fire.

      Oskar spent a restless night, fitfully trying to sleep on the cold military camping bed. At the first light of dawn, there was knocking at the door.

      - Mr Zerbi, rise and shine, time to get dressed and start walking – urged the man with a gentle but СКАЧАТЬ