Hedi Kaddour - Waltenberg

The guide tells Lilstein:

‘Fräulein Hotspur, excuse me, Fräulein Hellström, is very much at home in these mountains, she knows this route very well, she’s already done it several times.’

‘Was that a long time ago, Madame Hellström?’

‘You can call me Lena, Michael, if you call me Lena and not Madame I’ll teach you to put your questions more graciously, yes, I’ve been on a good number of these cross-country treks, here, with our guide, before the war, before ’14, now don’t go repeating that even though it doesn’t really matter, look!’

She points to a mountain top just beginning to turn pink, the Rikshorn.

‘You see those little clouds, they say the old man’s smoking his pipe, fine weather, with a small risk of becoming unsettled, in the mountains a small risk can turn into something big, unleash equinoctial fury. Maybe this wasn’t the right day for a jaunt.’

They come across the tracks of weasel or stoat, a bend every three hundred metres or so, what’s after the col? Another col, it’s a theorem of a mountain, every col is followed by another and higher col, one of the French girls shouts:

‘My sunglasses! I’ve forgotten my sunglasses!’

The guide smiles, pulls another pair out of his anorak, holds them out to her, that’s his job, to think of everything, especially think for people who forget their sunglasses, he’d lined up his charges outside the hotel, the list out loud, gloves, hat, biscuits, flask, sunglasses, he himself carries a bag which must weigh all of twenty kilos, plus two spare ski tips and a rope slung over the top; the French girl had said yes without checking if she really had her sunglasses; Lena has even thought to bring a sort of small pad which she inserts between her shoulder and the skis, the going is becoming harder now, it’s not long before people aren’t talking, throats burning, time to adjust, the guide repeats ‘not so fast’, Lilstein has a tendency to go faster, Lena puts one hand on his arm, squeezes his biceps:

‘You must do what the grown-ups tell you.’

Lilstein does not care at all for the remark.

‘Hans didn’t like Lorenzaccio one bit,’ says Max, ‘not the play, Hans said here you find it exaggerated but for a German it’ll do, he added: “What I don’t understand is why it should be such a success here in the heart of Paris in front of all these people, how long is it? Hardly six, seven years since the Occupation ended, great left-wing actor, left-wing director, people’s theatre, civic theatre to use your word, and what’s the play about? A tyrant protected by a German garrison, have I got it wrong? The Duke has a stronger libido than Pétain but that’s what it is, a tyrant who has the backing of the Church and is protected by a German garrison, and on the other side the people resisting them talk too much or behave without thinking, incompetents, think about it, Max, three hours of incompetent resistance, the stuff of cock-ups or cowardice, and it’s barely half a dozen years that France has been free, and the audience cheers, power wielded by bastards, resistance mounted by morons, the only character to carry out a plan to the end is the effeminate one who’s so handy with a knife, and the regime which follows is presented as being rotten to the core, as rotten as the one before, it orders students to be fired on, and everyone applauds, the right, the left, the moderates in between, the activists, the wait-and-sees, the collaborators, the resisters, everybody anxious to get their snout in the trough, Max, I don’t like this method of being in agreement!”’

Lilstein has quickened his pace, deliberately, right, so she’s put her hand on my arm but that’s no reason for saying I have to do what the grown-ups say, she said it so she could put her hand on my arm, or else she put her hand on my arm so that she could say it, and then she smiles, it’s true that it’s only at me that she smiles like that. A hand once again on Lilstein’s arm, just a little muttered tsk tsk, she’s not talking about grown-ups now, she’s not saying anything, so agreeable, headache’s gone. She adds:

‘You’ll get a telling off.’

They’ve been going for an hour and a half already, heartbeat normal, Waltenberg looks very small down in the valley below, all that can be made out is the bulk of the Waldhaus and the annexe, a few street lights outside the hotel, a wisp of hair has escaped from under Lena’s hat, flutters on the nape of her neck, I would like to be that wisp of hair.

Then the halt, a col from where at last they can see another valley, about eight in the morning, no village, they are right on top of the col, they can see both valleys, day is breaking in earnest now, it is still very cold, thermos and flacket of schnapps do the rounds.

The guide points to another col, much higher, the sealskins, everyone ski-shod, one behind the other, one of the men branches off, starts climbing splay-footed, the guide says no, you wouldn’t last half an hour, he puts Lena at the head, Fräulein Hotspur, sorry, Hellström, will set the pace, Lilstein is just behind Lena, from time to time the guide says ‘halt!’ He moves up to the front, ropes up, gives the other end to three men, he moves across the slope stamping with his skis as he goes, once a small layer breaks away, just one, the guide doesn’t even fall over, Lena gives Lilstein a running commentary and points to a number of clouds which are beginning to come together.

They are on the terrace of the Palais de Chaillot, Hans wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, the view down the Champs-de-Mars, terraces like this are good for the spirits, if it wasn’t for those dreadful buildings…

‘They’re NATO’s, defence of the free world, Hans, it’s worth it, Hans, for a spot of architectural jumble.’

Max turns, gestures to the façade of the TNP, that’s theatre for you, Sir Novelist, if you want a full house you have to have mistaken identities and suchlike, you’ve got to have good box-office, otherwise no theatre, no Lorenzaccio, the people who cheered Pétain now come and applaud this rubbish about resisters, the people who cheered de Gaulle turn out to applaud the death of the tyrant, they’re often the same people, the resisters who had ideals applaud the denunciation of the new regime, the older women turn into duchesses, the girls die deliciously, everyone believes different things at the same time, that’s the togetherness of theatre.

‘This guide knows the region like the back of his hand,’ says Lena, ‘in summer it’s a reserve, he’s a gamekeeper, he takes care of chamois and moufflon, he knows every tree, every rock for twenty kilometres round about, he started with his father when he was six, once he brought me back down through fog.’

Around noon, they reached their destination, another col. From here, they can see the wide valley of Davos, through their binoculars they can make out black dots moving down the slopes.

And then the ski descent, after a five-hour trek, heading back towards Waltenberg, long diagonal traverses, a few breath-stopping slopes, there are two schools of thought, those who favour the Telemark turn — a full bend of the leading knee, followed by a dip of the trailing knee, the front ski starts pointing inward, engage turn, then straighten up slowly bringing skis together, not too hasty, skis exactly parallel — and those, like Lena and the guide, who take risks and execute the move called the christiania or christie stem turn, or even the classic christiania, madness, you turn by kicking one ski against the other, Lilstein tried it, he fell over.

Lena didn’t laugh.

‘Michael, promise me you’ll stop fooling around and I’ll teach you how to do christianias tomorrow.’

Now and then they pass through clumps of larch, sometimes it’s level going for a kilometre or more, they push themselves along with their sticks, the silence of the forest, they come out into full sunlight, then they can ski some more, Lena teaches Lilstein the secrets of the stem turn, he is euphoric, his headache has gone, she laughs at him with unexpected sweetness, the guide restrains members of the group who feel like trying short cuts, they climb back up to a small col, no, says the guide, not the Hirschkuh, you’d need to spend the night on the mountain, Lilstein dreams of spending the night on the mountain, Misha, you will behave yourself, won’t you? they are both in the Hirschkuh refuge, flames in the hearth, they are frozen, she has taken her clothes off, she has wrapped herself in several blankets, he’s lying next to her, no, there are two beds, each of them sleeps in a separate bed, Lilstein is cold, Lena says I’m cold too, no, they’re sitting in front of the fire, she smiles, Lilstein lays his head on Lena’s lap, Lena doesn’t speak, yes she does, when the guide says ‘not the Hirschkuh’ she halts, leans on her sticks, looks at Lilstein, and in a serious voice: