Rock Crystal
Page 6
“Sebastian, they are here,” cried his wife.
Speechless and trembling, he ran toward them. His lips moved as if to say something but no words came, he pressed the children to his heart, holding them close and long. Then he turned to his wife and locked her in his arms, crying, “Sanna, Sanna.”
After a time he picked up his hat, fallen unnoticed on the snow, went over to the group of men intending to speak to them, but could only say: “Neighbors, friends, I thank you.”
After waiting for a while until the children were somewhat recovered from their excitement, he said: “If we are all back now, let us start—and God be with us.”
“Not quite all, I believe,” said herdsman Philip, “but those who are missing can tell by the smoke that we’ve found the children, and will go home when they do not find anyone in the hut.”
Then everyone prepared to start.
The alpine hut was not far from Gschaid and in summer one could see it plainly from the village with its little bell-tower on the green of the upland pasture; but just below was a precipitous drop of many fathoms; it could be descended in summer but only with spiked shoes, and in winter not at all. One had to take a roundabout way to the col and thence down to Gschaid from the memorial post. By that way, one crossed the alpine meadow which is still nearer Gschaid and could, from there, almost imagine one saw the windows of the village.
Because of the commotion in Gschaid that morning, the priest had postponed High Mass, supposing the children would soon be found. But still no word came, so the rites must be observed, and when those crossing the Sider meadow heard the little bell that signified the Elevation of the Host, all sank on their knees in the snow and prayed. Then, when the sound of the bell died away, they rose and went on.
The shoemaker carried little Sanna most of the way, she telling him everything.
When they had almost reached the col-forest they came upon footprints and the shoemaker said, “No work of mine made those marks.”
It was soon explained. Attracted, no doubt, by the echoing of the many voices, another searching party was coming to join the one descending. It was headed by the dyer, chalk-white with fear, who had come down the mountain with his workmen, apprentices, and others from Millsdorf.
“They’ve been over the glacier and the crevasses without knowing it,” the shoemaker called out to his father-in-law.
Well here they are—here they are—thank God,” answered the dyer. “I knew they must be up there when your messenger came in the night and we set out with lanterns and searched the whole woodland without finding anything; then as the gray of dawn broke, I noticed on the way from the memorial post, on the left up toward Snow-mountain, just where you leave the post, fir-tips snapped off here and there—you know how children like to pull at things as they go along—then I knew they would never be able to get back for they would follow the trench and have the rocks on each side and get up on the ridge that has the sheer drop, and wouldn’t be able to get down—would just have to go on up. When I saw that, I sent word at once to Gschaid. But when woodcutter Michael, who went for me, came back and rejoined us up near the ice, he told us you had found them, so we came down again.”
“Yes,” said Michael, “I knew it because from Gschaid they’d seen the red flag on Crab Rock which was the signal. And I knew they would all come down this way since you can’t come down the bluff.”
“Upon your knees, thank God upon your knees, son-in-law,” continued the dyer, “that there was no wind. Another hundred years and there may never be another tremendous snowfall like that, coming down straight like wet warp on a pole. If there had been wind, the children would have been lost.”
“Ah, thanks be to God, thanks be to God,” replied the shoemaker.
The dyer, who had never been in Gschaid since the marriage of his daughter, decided to accompany them all to the village.
When they drew near the red post where the timber-road began, a sleigh which the shoemaker had ordered on the chance of finding the children was waiting. Mother and children were helped in, well covered with rugs and furs already in the sleigh, and sent ahead to Gschaid.
The others followed, and reached the village by afternoon. Those still on the mountain who had only learned by the smoke that they might turn back, arrived one by one. The last to appear, and not until evening, was herdsman Philip’s son who had gone up Crab Rock with the red flag and planted it there.
Grandmother from Millsdorf had driven over and was waiting in Gschaid.
“Never, never so long as they live,” she declared, “shall the children be allowed to cross the col in winter.”
The children themselves were bewildered by all the commotion. They had been given something to eat and put to bed. Late in the evening when they had somewhat recovered, and while neighbors and friends were congregated in the larger room talking about the events of the day, and in the little room adjoining Sanna’s mother was sitting by the bed caressing her, the child said: “Mother, last night when we were up there on the mountain, I saw the Holy Christ-child.”
“O my brave long-suffering, my precious, my beloved child,” answered her mother, “He has also sent you some presents and you are to have them now.”
The cardboard boxes had been unpacked and the candles lit, the door into the big room was opened, and from their beds the children saw the belated, brightly shining, welcoming Christmas tree. Despite their fatigue they wanted to put on some clothes so that they could go into the other room; and there they received their presents, admired them, and then fell asleep over them.
Gschaid Inn that evening was livelier than usual. All who had not been in church were there; the others also. Each related what he had seen and heard, what he had done, what advised, what he had experienced and all the risks he had run. And especially was it emphasized how everything could have been done differently and better.
A Christmas epoch-making in the history of Gschaid, the subject of conversation for a long time, it will be talked of for years to come, especially on clear days when the mountain is unusually distinct or when someone is describing its characteristics to strangers.
Only from that day on were the children really felt to belong to the village, and not to be outsiders. Thenceforth they were regarded as natives whom the people had brought back to themselves from the mountain.
Their mother Sanna was now a native of Gschaid too.
The children, however, can never forget the mountain, and earnestly fix their gaze upon it when in the garden, when as in times past the sun is out bright and warm, the linden diffuses its fragrance, the bees are humming, and the mountain looks down upon them as serene and blue as the sky above.