The Great Ski-Lift. Anton Soliman

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 authoritative tone.

      He got up with some difficulty and quickly dressed, excited in the realization that this was no mere camping trip. Something more essential was afoot but this was still to be gleaned from the plant's creator conception. The two drank black coffee while the sunrise danced in from the window. The operator remarked the temperature had fallen several degrees below zero during the night. He led them to the heavy front door, which he had to shoulder barge open due to frost.

      Mario had donned a fur hat and Oskar noticed for the first time that his hair was in a ponytail. He looked different from the earlier handyman sent by the manager on the previous morning. His body had unfurled, a wild animal finally free and back in the wild.

      The guide set a brisk place: - Engineer, am I going too fast?

      Seeing as the conversation had been initiated, Oskar asked: - What do you reckon about him?

      - Who? Franz, the guy in charge? He moans a lot, like so many in town. The man is always complaining. I was there when he practically grovelled in front of the Mayor for this job. Even saying the further they sent him the better as his wife stank and nagged him too much.

       - Could have guessed – quipped Oskar. Yet he still felt that being compassionate was his best chance for spiritual equilibrium. A subtle form of selfishness? More than likely. The protective patina commonly used as sunscreen by saints and professional do-gooders.

      When the pass was under them wind grew violent. They passed over a ridge of ice wedged between massive boulders of whitish rock. Once over the pass, they dropped in altitude and the wind returned to a gentle breeze. The last plateau was before them, the Great Ski Lift slopes should soon be in view.

      - Put on your sunglasses, the sun is really bright up here. We follow the trail up to that dark rock, then ski across the plateau.

      The rock casually pointed out loomed menacingly distant, but they were both walking fast. Oskar felt tired at first but over time he fell into a steady rhythm, the body entering a state of deep wellbeing that could lead him anywhere. The vacation was maybe starting to improve.

      The world could now seem strange, finally unmoored from the archetypal tarot deck that held him spellbound. A very different sensation from the one experienced in the past years of City life, routine neatly bound by circumstances.

      All those restrictions slipped away at high altitude. The only company a mountain guide, somewhere in the indefinite Sierra borders, no reference points or even a return planned....

      When the massif was upon them, Mario suddenly stopped and indicated for Oskar to squat down. Binoculars emerged from the guide's sack and were swiftly pointed towards a movement in the snow.

      - We need to be patient. The man’s words a low murmur, as a precision rifle was drawn from a canvas case. A large green cartridge entered the barrel and arming the rifle, Mario said: - For every clandestino I catch, the federals give me a reward.

      He aimed using the sight and fired a shot near a soft white mound, about two hundred yards away. The snow turned fluorescent green and three figures stood up with hands in the air. Suddenly one of them started running, and Mario calmly lined up another shot. The man staggered forward with slow lumbering strides before collapsing into the snow.

      - Is he dead? - asked Oskar.

      - Forget about it, just sleeping.

      They moved towards the remaining two sitting on the snow with hands still outstretched. The pair seemed totally at ease, their expression placid; in fact, they were smiling. Mario handcuffed them to each other and moved the group near the unconscious man. Their faces were round, almost oval with dancing eyes that peered at them, seemingly amused.

      Mario pulled a chocolate bar out of the rucksack and presented it to the two still awake, who half bowed in thanks. Then, guessing what the guide would do, they pulled up the sleeve on one arm.

      Mario nodded, extracted an automatic syringe and injected both men.

      - A tranquillizer to stop them running away – he explained.

      He inflated a red balloon attached to a slim wire and let it slowly rise into the air.

       Let's go! The satellite can now locate their signal and a helicopter will come to pick them up before long.

      - It has to arrive before night otherwise those poor sods will freeze overnight!

      - Takes a couple of hours, it's usually pretty quick. Even if it doesn't arrive, they should be fine with their rucksacks. What do you think happens here in the mountains? When night falls, people check-in to a hotel? – a sarcastic sneer twisted the man’s face.

      The pair strapped skis to their feet and continued crossing the last plateau.

      - They must have a constitution like an ox, coupled with a nervous system made of steel – remarked Oskar, his conscience in turmoil.

      - I think they eat just once a day, like dogs...

      The man was resilient like the clandestinos or illegales, since childhood probably.

      They reached the plateau at noon, Mario's estimate had been exact. Throughout the entire journey an enthusiastic Oskar never asked for rest but tiredness was now creeping up on him.

      - Mr Zerbi, I suggest we eat something. After that I'll show you the Circuit's ski run.

      - Where is it?

      The guide pointed out the slope at the basin’s edge: the ground rose like the lip on a bowl. The two took shelter in a cranny and Mario prepared hot coffee using an alcohol stove. The heat was blistering, and despite the dark lenses Oskar's eyes were raw red. They munched on the supplies Mario had brought. Two strips of fur also emerged from the rucksack, which Mario tied around his pants using leather laces.

      - Heading back into town?

      The man shook his head energetically – Nothing to do in the village now! I'll head to the north and go hunting, skirting round the Great Ski-Lift's borders.

      - Are you going to intercept illegals?

      - That too.

      - Animals too for fur? Must have multiplied beyond measure across the Sierra.

      - For sure! I set traps throughout the winter, but to little effect.

      - Have you tried working in town?

      - I don't like cities.