The Mountain

by Massimo Donati

  Alvise slammed the metal door of the shed and came towards them. Aldeno started the engine.

  ‘Have you ever asked Mattia what really happened that night?’

  ‘When would I have asked him? I don’t think he ever spoke of it again. I know as much as everybody else knows: three children sneaked off to climb to Black Peak. And one didn’t come back.’

  He emerged from behind some rocks as the sun was beating on the peaks, drawing a neat line around the valley, leaving it immersed in shadow just beneath the grassy plain that the track had led him to. Sweat stains formed dark patches on his shirt and jacket.

  He had got to where he needed to be.

  Beneath him, at a perpendicular angle, was the dark and messy scrubland, made up of gigantic trees and craggy streams that went deeper and deeper down, freezing into a dense, icy darkness.

  He stopped there and stood before the valley, with the dying rays of the sun beating on his face in that last moment of the day, just before he and the highest peaks were swallowed up by darkness. The wind had picked up, whistling and roaring as it moved unhindered over the stones and ridges.

  He took another step forward.

  The tips of his toes poked out a few centimetres.

  He stretched out his arms, and closed his eyes to feel the immensity of the void, the infinite air, as he swayed back and forth. Back and forth.

  We proceed, never slowing down.

  He forced us to bring him along otherwise he was going to run and tell on us, or phone Rosa and Leo.

  That’s why we hate him. And we think: he’s going to pay for this.

  We’ve only just started out on the track and we’re almost running. We want him to get left behind. We want to be alone. He keeps complaining but when he’s a long way back it’s almost as though he’s not even there. And then every part of the climb to Black Peak is as we wanted it to be.

  When he shouts too much we stop and wait for him. We tolerate him without saying a word—that way he shuts up after a bit. For us he’s not even there. We don’t talk to him. We make a point of not answering even if he asks a really important question.

  We hate him. Both of us. And when we’re a long way ahead of him, when he can’t hear us, we decide that we have to punish him. Not just for forcing us to bring him along. We need to punish him, and we need to educate him. There will be a trial.

  We decide on the rules.

  We will be prosecution and defence. One of us has to explain why he’s not guilty.

  Then it’s the other one’s turn. We swear to make an effort to find all the good reasons why he should be acquitted. At the end, the other one decides what’s true and what’s a lie. Then the whole thing starts over with the roles the other way around.

  We decide the rules need to be written in the Notebook.

  We swear to write down everything about this day in the Notebook. Right to the end.

  We decide to call Dino the CHILD.

  We take turns three times over, because each one of us exaggerates with the lies that will save him. Neither of us wants to be unjust.

  So we look for something non-child in him.

  One of us says lots of things, but doesn’t convince us.

  We judge him to be a baby-child.

  It’s serious. He makes us sick.

  We sentence him.

  To do certain things. Things that hurt. We know it’s the only way.

  We think up some exercises for him. We pretend they’re nasty games, but we know it’s to educate him. We’re not doing it out of revenge. We’re getting him to experience things. That way he’ll change.

  We make the climb into an exercise.

  We go faster. We watch his reaction.

  The child pushes himself. After five minutes he’s a hundred, two hundred metres below us.

  We slow down and let him see us. Then we wait for him. When he reaches us he cries out. We pay no attention. We immediately continue the climb. He’s afraid. He doesn’t cry and after a while he starts walking again.

  After doing this four times he’s dead tired. He’s not shouting anymore, he’s panting. He’s whimpering. We pay no attention so he stops but says he’s had enough and he’s going back down. We pay no attention and when we continue the climb he follows us.

  We realise that the evolution has begun. For us he’s like a lab rat. We’re pleased.

  When the CHILD is a long way back, we think about us.

  We’re not only there for him.

  We think about how tomorrow everybody will be talking about us, about how we went up to Black Peak alone. Lots of other children will know and understand.

  We’re the opposite of dying down a well.

  One of us says: I’m happy with us.

  The other says: me too, who cares about our parents tomorrow.

  As we keep climbing, we tell ourselves that we have to remember this climb to Black Peak forever. And that we’re together now. That we’re just the two of us and we’re friends.

  And we’ll be friends forever. Even if we don’t see each other. Even if we die.

  We walk so fast that the CHILD behind us can no longer see us.

  And we do a life–death alternation exercise all for ourselves. The last.

  Taking it in turns, one of us closes his eyes and gives his hand to the other one. We keep walking but with only one of us looking while the other can’t see a thing, with the spare T-shirt over his eyes.

  And we say what we’re feeling.

  One says: at first it’s scary and you think maybe the other one will make a mistake and you’ll fall. But then it’s not scary anymore because the other one doesn’t make mistakes and then it’s good.

  The other says: even if we fall it’s not scary anymore. Nothing bad can happen.

  We get good at it. We get faster. Eyes closed, not looking, you feel the ground under your feet, and the air, and the mountain, and you can feel that you’re moving. You feel the other one in command.

  It’s beautiful.

  One says: this way I’ll remember your voice.

  And then we don’t say anything else.

  We’re already a long way up.

  We’re waiting for the CHILD.

  When he arrives it’s bad. He’s white in the face, dragging himself along. He starts crying as soon as he sees us, with rage. He wants to go back down right now, he threatens us.

  We don’t talk to him. And we keep going. But we observe him. He can’t stop and he can’t go back down. He has to keep going.

  We rejoice. We’re in command. If he goes back alone we’ve won: he has evolved. If he keeps going, we’ll continue the alternation exercises.

  He’s suffering, and we know it. By now we know how to tolerate the suffering of others.

  We leave him behind and then let him find us sitting on a rock. We tell him we were worried, that he needs to go faster. That it’s not our fault: he insisted on coming.

  We soon leave him behind again.

  The sun is starting to go down. When there’s no light the mountains are scarier. We get to a long ridge with rocks and trees on the inner side.

  Here, we prepare a new exercise for him.

  We’re well ahead of the CHILD so we have time to gather branches. We hide behind the rocks on the track.

  He can’t see us and he can’t escape. There’s a cliff alongside.

  Now we wait for him.

  It starts to rain. We like the rain. We know how to hike in the mountains in the rain.

  When he arrives, we jump out from behind the rocks, waving the branches and shouting. In the twilight we’re monsters or wolves. We’re scary. We run up to him and he screams in terror. Then we stop. That was what we wanted. A simple life–death alternation.

  When he realises it’s us, the CHILD cries even more and almost chokes on his tears. And then he goes crazy.

  We try to calm him down, but it seems impossible. He’s coughing and spluttering.

  So then one of us says: calm down,
it’s a game, it’s to make you big and strong.

  He doesn’t get it. He won’t listen.

  He’s scratched his face with the branches. There are a few drops of blood. When he realises, he goes nuts.

  One of us says: calm down.

  He doesn’t get it. He won’t listen. He’s going nuts.

  He calls one of us a bastard.

  He says bastard. He says traitor. He says: you’re ganging up against me with him.

  He says: you’re my brother.

  We get angry.

  We realise that he can’t change. We realise that he’s a fucking baby-child and always will be.

  We realise that he’s like Leo and as a grown-up he’ll be a bastard like him.

  He makes us sick and now we want to punish him for it.

  He goes nuts and tries to punch his brother. But he’s weak.

  The other one of us steps back. And watches.

  The one that is the older brother hits him with all his strength. He’s very angry and doesn’t hold back. The child is crying but he won’t stop. He gets punched and kicked and elbowed but he keeps it up.

  His tears make us sick.

  Then he bangs into a rock. With his shoulder.

  He stops.

  The one of us that was hitting him stops too.

  He gets up. We look at him. We listen to him.

  Now he’s saying things that make no sense.

  He starts calling out for his father.

  He’s crying and says he has to come and get him. That Leo is going to appear and hit us until we bleed. That when he arrives we’ll see what happens. That Leo is going to beat us to a pulp. Both of us.

  He tells us his father knows about the climb and is on his way.

  We don’t believe him.

  He says he’ll be arriving soon.

  He says we’re screwed. That the two of us won’t get to see each other anymore. Ever again. Because when we’re together we’re bastards.

  We say: it’s not true. We don’t believe you. Wait for us if you like. We have to go up to Black Peak.

  We repeat: there is no afterwards.

  We want to forget him. We continue walking along the cliff as the rain gets heavier.

  But the child is following us, keeping at us. Now he feels like he’s winning.

  He keeps on at us. He says: bastard, you’re a city bastard. You wanted to steal my brother and you’re a bastard.

  The one of us from the city says nothing and proceeds, wanting to reach Black Peak, as the rain gets heavier.

  And the child wants revenge and tries to punch him in the face. It’s an instant.

  A reaction. The one of us that’s being attacked pushes him away. Hard. He pushes him and says fuck off.

  The CHILD is light and small and ends up a long way away. To stay on his feet he puts one foot over the edge, but it’s all emptiness there.

  He slides into the void and tumbles down.

  There’s a big empty space beneath.

  We watch him roll.

  Then we can’t see him anymore.

  The CHILD is gone.

  We stay to watch and see if he catches on the trees below.

  We can’t believe it.

  We’re paralysed for several minutes.

  It’s like we’re not breathing.

  One of us laughs, but it’s like crying.

  We have no explanation.

  And then it suddenly happens that We are no longer We. It’s him and me again.

  And then the other one starts shouting, while I remain cold. I start to defend myself. To find reasons.

  I say that he was a baby-child. I say that he was an impediment. I say: you’re free.

  But he can’t see reason. He’s screaming and crying. He beats himself around the head. He’s going nuts.

  He says: he’s my brother. My brother.

  We calm down a little. We run to the path that runs down into the ravine. We look for him.

  Maybe we can save him.

  Then we’ll be heroes. And we’ll once more be We.

  Maybe we can save him.

  We keep it up for hours and hours, as the rain gets heavier.

  Darkness arrives and together with the rain it’s all black and freezes our hands and feet. But we don’t stop.

  We get lost.

  And I hope I fall. Fall into the ravine.

  That way I don’t have to think about it. About Dino.

  But I don’t fall.

  And they find us. They wrap us in blankets. They take us in their arms. We don’t fight back. They take us away separately.

  Like we’re guilty.

  There are the blue lights of the cars, but I can no longer see him. I call out: Mattia. But I can’t hear a thing.

  I call out: Mattia.

  But they won’t let me go.

  I don’t see him again.

  Four hours later, Lia and Carlo take me away.

  I never return to Madonna del Bosco.

  I don’t see him again.

  17

  The little red truck had stopped by the side of the road. Cars were speeding by. Alvise got out on the passenger side to let Roberto off, and then climbed back in.

  It seemed the two brothers needed to head straight off, but then Aldeno got out of the driver’s seat and approached Roberto. They stepped away from the vehicle to safety, because it was not wise to stand on the side of the road as the cars whizzed dangerously by.

  ‘If nobody came looking for you, not even from the newspapers, it was because your father paid everybody off. To keep you out of it. Suddenly, nobody was talking about you anymore. And besides, what did it have to do with you? After Leo, Mattia was the one responsible for his brother. You just went along with them. And—I only worked this out years later—if Leo got out early it was because his lawyer wasn’t from around here. He was a good lawyer. Mine let them go to town on me. If I’d known, I’d have asked your father for something too. But I worked it out too late. I always cottoned on to things too late.’

  Roberto looked at him harshly.

  ‘I don’t know what my father did, but I certainly never asked him to. He’s dead now.’

  Aldeno turned towards the truck, where his brother was gesturing that they needed to leave.

  Roberto waited. He knew Aldeno had got out to tell him something.

  ‘There’s something else about Dino.’

  He clenched and unclenched his hands nervously, perhaps trying to summon the courage.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I told you Rosa started to go downhill. She lost her marbles.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I saw her.’

  ‘It all started with depression, and then she just degenerated. She did real madwoman things—she’d go around naked, and shout, and stuff herself with pills.’

  A large pick-up truck filled the air with an unpleasant rumble, the little postal van shaking violently as it went by.

  ‘She tried to commit suicide several times before they put her away. She missed her little boy, she talked of nothing else. Her little boy lost in the mountains. That’s what people told me. I never saw her again.’

  Alvise stuck his head out the window and shouted, ‘Hey, Aldeno, are you coming or not? We need to finish these deliveries. It’s getting dark already.’

  They ignored him.

  ‘Then when Leo left, in one of those moments where you couldn’t tell if she was lucid or not, people heard her saying that Leo didn’t give a damn about Dino because he wasn’t his son. That the boy wasn’t Leo’s.’

  Roberto stared at Aldeno with renewed tension.

  ‘Who knows if it was true. Anyway, she never said whose son he was, and nobody ever asked. Then they put her in that clinic for rich people, and nobody knew where the money came from.’

  ‘You know where it came from.’

  Aldeno’s eyes confirmed this.

  ‘But that doesn’t change anything now. It’s all over. There’s nobody left to accuse anybody. It
’s best to let the whole thing lie and forget about it.’

  They stood in silence, amid the roar of passing cars. Finally, Roberto said, ‘I need to find Mattia, to draw a line under it all.’

  ‘I don’t understand you. Why do you need Mattia? What do you need to tell him that’s so important?’

  Roberto was silent for a moment, pensive. He watched the last car whizz by.

  ‘I wanted to tell him it was an accident. Just an accident.’

  He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the immense emptiness that opened out before him. If the wind were just a tiny bit stronger he would end up over the precipice. He thought about how it would have been better if back then, too, it had all come about because of a gust of wind.

  He reopened his eyes, which had bluish rings around them. He stepped back and looked around him. It was a few minutes before he saw it, because it had been placed about twenty metres away, against the rocks. He thought perhaps they had put it that far away so as not to frighten people leaning over to enjoy the view. But then it occurred to him that nobody, apart from him and Mattia, would be able to say exactly where he fell from. It began to rain, the drops biting into his face and clothing.

  He stood in front of it and felt the urge to bring his hands together in prayer, but he did not pray. Attached to the memorial stone, rough-hewn as was the style in those days, was a rusted metal vase, and a glass-covered oval framing a faded black and white photograph. The face of a skinny little boy with blond hair and a gap-toothed smile. He was wearing a football jumper. The inscription read:

  Dino Slat

  14 March 1974 – 25 July 1981

  In the picture he looked even smaller than Roberto remembered him. And even more fragile. The photograph had frozen him forever in the form of that slight boy who had never become an adult. Dino.

  He leaned over the stone. He rubbed his jacket sleeve over the glass to remove the dirt that had accumulated over the years, clouding the photo; kept rubbing but it wouldn’t come off. He stood up and turned to leave, then turned back and stared at the picture. With both hands, he pulled at the thin grey piece of stone. It came away easily. Roberto shook his head and made his way along the track.

  18

  The laser printer took less than a minute to finish, and as the pages piled up, Elena stood watching the operation, as though she could somehow help the machine to do a good job.