The Great Ski-Lift

- 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.

The two stood up and walked around the ridge. Lower down the conifers started growing again. Even further below, right in the middle of the woods, a white strip of snow flowed like a frozen river. That was the Great Ski-Lift track. Oskar was excited. The guide passed the binoculars: so many coloured dots sliding along the snow tongue swam into view. Their bright garish suits confirmed they were skiers.

- Well, here I am! - exclaimed Oskar.

-Mr Zerbi, remember not to stay too long in the same place.... as a general rule.

Oskar mounted the skis accurately. As far as he was concerned before long he would be just another tourist on the Great Ski-Lift.

- Always have your pass clearly displayed and follow the track down to the valley. For accommodation, I suggest the ´Piccolo Cervo’; other hunters told me it is a quiet place.

Oskar removed a glove and shook the guide's hand. In a serious tone he asked, - One last thing, Mario, and then I'll let you get back to work. Did you bring the former Mayor here? The one who designed the station.

Mario nodded affirmatively.

- What was he like?

- Can't say much, the Mayor barely spoke but he seemed to know this part of the Sierra pretty well.

Oskar descended gracelessly through the woods, falling over several times. So much time has passed that his skiing skills were almost non-existent. He decided to keep going on foot. The skis would go back on once the track was beaten snow. The woods were covered so deep that walking was difficult. He moved slowly but confident the track would eventually come into view. It would get easier, afterwards.

He'd been walking briskly for an hour when he heard the noise of tourists: the rustling of skis bouncing on the ice, the voice of passing people, some excited shouts. He felt exhausted by the time he reached the track. It was covered with snow. First of all, he needed a rest without drawing attention. There was a risk the overseers could spot him in that marginal zone, right on the cusp of crossing the Great Ski-Lift threshold. He crept towards the edge, so it would seem he was just taking a breather after crashing. He waited for a moment with no-one, and then ran across the last stretch separating him from the ski track's edge. Once he reached the beaten snow, he threw the skis to one side and simulated a fall. Some skiers passed by. Not many, groups of four or five people at most. Less frequently, couples passed by. All were equally indifferent to his supposed plight. No one was skiing alone though.

He'd arrived on the Grand Ski-lift circuit! A remarkable test of character, perhaps the start of a change that could represent a final true goal.

He had no precise picture of the situation, much less a strategy on how to act. In the present moment he didn't wonder how long this holiday could last, he only knew many days lay before him. A fuller picture would emerge over time.

The cold was starting to bite; he got up and put on the skis. On returning to the valley we would look for a hotel. A canal running through the woods guided the track. The mountains towered above both sides over which the sun had just disappeared. The light was uniform, a widespread luminescence that only made the encroaching darkness more apparent. The air palpably stirred up his uncertainty and melancholy. Oskar’s descent was hesitant and relied on thinking that being a skilled skier many years earlier would see him through. For full disclosure, he never gained a high level of proficiency because of various ingrained flaws, along with the lack of a serious training regime that was only eager to reach stylistic perfection. No doubt this mental attitude had penalized him, since his movements had never become harmonious or fluid.

This last thought was timely, as the skis crossed and he tumbled forward, falling awkwardly into the gleaming white. He got up immediately, cringing at having forgotten the most basic techniques. He focused on starting in the right position and, adjusting his weight began heading diagonally. Executing a swirling turn, and then another without falling, he tried to join the skis again but instead plunged head first in the snow.

The ski-track was now deserted, it was much later, the hour before sunset.

His skiing ability had failed to flood back. Angry with himself for being so rusty he questioned what he'd done over all those years – evidently held captive in a world where skiing was not contemplated. The years of self-neglect suddenly became apparent.

The current problem was going downhill without raising any suspicion. Oskar waited patiently and with a pinch of cunning took advantage of the easiest tracts to ski diagonally and gently take the bends. The many village lights flickered in the distance. There was a chair lift next to the arrival pitch. Workers were controlling the gears, a job only for when the station was not running. The guide had recommended the ‘Piccolo Cervo’, a supposedly inconspicuous place to hole up in. Oskar was at the centre of a large clearing near the forest he emerged from, the village lay out below. Skiers were in the local venues, some people milled around but the place was not crowded.

- Sorry sir, can you tell me where’s the Piccolo Cervo - he asked a passer-by.

- Sure, head up that path and turn left next to the clock tower. The sign is easy to spot.

At least the hotel was nearby. The directions were accurate and he reached the hotel after a few minutes. Leaving the skis on a rack he went inside; the door made a classic bell sound.

- Good evening, just arrived? You must be tired after the crossing- said a rotund lady with straw yellow hair – which valley did you come from?

A moment's pause for Oskar to formulate a lie: - From the North slopes. I'm pretty tired, do you have a spare room?

- Of course, even in the Christmas period, we can always find a room for a card carrying member of the Great Ski-Lift.

The landlady smiled benevolently on seeing the pass sheathed in a transparent pocket of his padded jacket. Oskar now understood why she asked for his provenance. After all, he might have arrived using more conventional means. The Great Ski-Lift pass and just a backpack as luggage marked him as different. Everything in good-standing for a permanent member.

The room provided looked comfortable. He locked the door, chomped on a chocolate bar and slipped straight into bed.

A winter glow entered through the window, a sort of absolute light that always caused great melancholy, as if it were a sign of immobility: a static scenario, events looping for eternity, with the Self is lost forever in parallel worlds.

The next day he woke early. In the dining room he watched a woman having breakfast with a baby girl. There were no other guests. The woman greeted him after looking around, and after a brief silence ventured: - What lovely weather we're having for Christmas. My kids told me the snow is fabulous. Do you also ski?

- Sure, but it's been a while since being in the mountains, I think I need some lessons.

- Good idea. Don't worry, my husband had the same problem. As a kid he was even a champion on grass but afterwards, with work commitments, he stopped visiting the mountain. A few years ago he started up again with an instructor, and is now better than ever before.

Oskar forced a smile: - Similar story for many of us. When we're little there is so much potential but when full-time work sets in. His words trailed off, the phrase has been spoken automatically, unthinking. The atmosphere had the air it could turn sour in an instant. That woman was serene, with a stable centre in Conventional Life. She had no doubts to confess, an individual selected for life in captivity over millennia. The woman could be no help for people that, like him, needed to vault the Wall.

- Pleased to meet you but I must dash, need to hit those ski slopes.

The hollow words lingered in the air as Oskar found the hotel, in a bright sunlight that almost overwhelmed the landscape. Yet Oskar felt he was somewhere unfamiliar. The scenery stretching out before his eyes implied that Others found themselves perfectly comfortable. A multitude of skiers swarming towards the ski-plant moved in coordinated spurts. They looked self-assured, confident in their actions. Everyone seemed to be following a schedule.

When at the village outskirts, he spotted isolated groups of skiers moving down to a smaller valley. Maybe slopes holding other less crowded tracks. He couldn't forget that entering the Great Ski-Lift illegally would require blending in with the surrounding environment. With the skis on his shoulders, he reached the valley's bottom where an unattended ski-lift was running. A flash of the pass should be enough to start practicing on the beginner's tracks, without fear of being discovered.

He spent the whole day going up and down the same track. No one paid the slightest attention to him, the security was far from professional and the staff stood around chatting with each other. It had been a very long day of skiing. He had tried to remember the key moves but remembering little or nothing made it difficult. Anyone who saw him, panting and snow-covered pants, would surely assume Oskar Zerbi was a beginner. During that first day he thought it pointless to stay in the Great Ski-Lift several times. It did not make any sense. He wondered the real reason behind his adventurous foray in this strange vacation. Maybe he wanted to find himself by skiing? An apparently incomprehensible thought.

Oskar watched the other skiers carefully, hoping to copy their style and perhaps glean something essential unknown to him. During the last descent he watched an expert skier moving with flawless style, and tried to imitate him. However, he failed to even emulate one slalom in the skier's style. A small hope had formed though, by remaining for a few days he could make significant progress.

Back at the hotel, he dined in his room merely to avoid having to keep the lady-who-wanted-to talk company. Before falling asleep he mulled over his efforts still falling below -standard- and what chance they would generate change. Nevertheless, once he learnt to ski again, the fun would properly start.

He was no longer thinking about the City. There was nothing for him back there.

Christmas Eve

He spent a few days practicing alone, always on the same ski run. Every little slope and variation in the pitch was now firmly engraved in his mind. He knew the exact points where extra care was needed to descend without mistakes, at least on the track. Several days had passed pleasantly skiing around the Great Ski-Lift without complications. This seemed important to him. At noon he stopped at a kiosk at the ski-lift base.

He sat so the sun shone on his back because the light was intense enough to blind. He looked towards the village with an empty mind. During the intense days of exercise his mind cleared. He ran through the track in his mind so that it would be smoother each time.

He chose an isolated table, a few feet away a young couple immersed in conversation. The two little kids playing on their own must be theirs. Suddenly he realized the man had noticed him. There were no other tourists around and he felt a twinge of fear. He had not completely forgotten that he was in the Circuit illegally, the feeling of being watched caused a shiver of dread. This strange vacation had started unconventionally and now he needed to normalize it. For example, he could return to the City, his work, and family. Common sense considerations gave way to a rising feeling of emptiness, sure proof that in the reality of things the intertwining of events was more complicated. The man rose from the table and smiled in welcome.

- Excuse me sir, my wife and I feel that no one should be eating alone in a corner in such a remote and out-of-the-way venue.

The man seemed the sociable kind... almost definitely a tourist who had nothing to do with the Great Ski-Lift system.

- Let me introduce myself. My name is Robert Massoni, I'm here with my family for Christmas. We own a chalet behind the village and come here every year.

Oskar introduced himself in turn, responding with a wave to Mrs Massoni's smile.

After breaking the ice, the man, who looked a few years younger than Oskar, invited him to the table where his wife had already prepared a cup of hot coffee and a slice of cake.

- Help yourself, Mr Zerbi! Get stuck in, - said Robert warmly.

Oskar looked at the family's kind faces: they had a gentle appearance. Since arriving on the Sierra mountains, he was finally meeting some pleasant people. This was a very important thing for him.

- Are you on vacation for Christmas? Your first time here, Mr Zerbi? - asked Mrs Massoni amiably.

- Yes, a few days now, just getting to know these places. Besides, I've not been in the mountains for years.

- Are you travelling alone? she asked.

- Yes – Oskar reflected a moment and added – I needed absolute rest.

- I assume your job is very demanding, Mr Zerbi! - said Robert.

- I'm an engineer. But who knows? Maybe when I head home again I'll change job – he said smiling.

- What a coincidence! I'm an engineer too. See how many engineers we meet Bea? - Massoni turned to his wife laughing.

They chatted inconsequentially for a while but it started getting cold, so Oskar suggested: - Robert, why not all go skiing? Anyway, no need to be some formal between colleagues.

After the lonely days on the slopes he relished the warm family glow, he was happy to be talking with his peers.

They climbed into the chairlift. During the ride, he wondered why Robert had noticed him. The green card around his neck for permanent membership was undoubtedly a very rare symbol, distinguishing him from the other occasional skiers.

Being seen with a green card seemed to open doors, and solved the rigmarole of introductions. His current position in fact meant saying as little as possible on his account, and asking his new friends questions instead. Shielded symbolically by the Great Ski-lift pass, he was able to relax and quietly observe the others´ behaviour.

-What is self-representation? - Oskar mused, -maybe a form of consistency to imbue a certain order to a person? - He thought of a dinghy that needed inflating to float, something similar to blood pressure.

He knew the track off by heart and managed to make a good impression. Robert and his wife praised his style, in turn, they skied confidently. Obviously, most people did not hold skiing as important. Oskar was flattered by the compliments and for a moment thought he'd reached a high standard. The next descent saw him even go off-piste on the fresh snow, seeing if he could handle a different slope. In those abnormal conditions, set loose from his imposed automatism he struggled instantly. It was as though starting to ski again, the lack of true knowledge apparent, that flexible ability to adapt to every circumstance. It was about understanding a Rule in all its facets, while he was limited to knowing a single definition.

- What a beautiful day! A pleasure meeting you at the lodge – said Robert on finishing the last ski-track. The sun was already setting, and the staff was about to close the chairlift.

- Why not come for dinner at our house? We can take you back to the hotel afterwards.

- I gladly accept - said Oskar.

Engineer Massoni owned a typical chalet, which had been tastefully refurbished The tiled fireplace was set in the centre of the living room. Oskar remembered seeing such a layout in the Tibetan valleys.

- What a beautiful fireplace, very impressive! - he exclaimed on entering the house.

He sat beside the fire as the family stepped into the kitchen.

Oskar watched the flame dancing over the wood: it changed shape continuously, full of irregularities, and yet perfectly harmonious.

They had left him alone, the house seemed deserted. After all, he was a visitor who'd stopped to rest. The journey started in Valle Chiara, the remote Sierra village, was still continuing without a specific destination He could not remember when this holiday actually started, probably it had been traumatic, a scary event that needed to be buried in his insight to avoid any unnecessary suffering.

The invitation offered by the Massoni family was based on a fleeting, superficial encounter. Mainly by virtue of the great Ski-Lift multi-year pass, a seemingly important badge of honour. Moreover, Oskar felt it unlikely that the setting, an interesting turn of phrase or a change in his persona would make him interesting enough for the Massoni family.

After dinner, on saying he felt ready for bed, Bea invited him to stay in the chalet as a guest as long as he wanted, without any problems. Several rooms were free, and he accepted gladly, longing for the company. The family went to their rooms.

Oskar was left alone in the living room. He stared at the burning fireplace. The house had drawn in around itself. Something had snapped and the chalet no longer looked authentic at all.

He thought obsessively about potential difficulties to face in the Great Ski Lift. Lifting himself from the armchair he decided to head back into town the following morning.

There was a door ajar in the corridor leading to his guest room. The dim light illuminated an empty room he felt inexplicably drawn to. A veil of moonlight filtered from the windows and helped his eyes gradually start to distinguish distinct objects. The furniture was mahogany, a detail that intrigued him the most. He seemed to have entered the cabin of an old transatlantic line.

There were books and a handwritten note on the desk, as if a work was in progress. He opened the wardrobe to reveal neatly hung women's clothes. The occupant was undoubtedly a woman. On the bedside table was a photo of a smiling little girl sitting on a swing.

Oskar had the impression to have known that person as an adult, just a few years earlier. Maybe the images overlapped due to an actual prototype in mind.... Another Archetype from the world of feelings?

The external light glinted off the brass handles.

Waking up in the guest room the next day, he recalled the mahogany furniture spotted the night before. He remembered the photographs too, reinforcing the sense he knew the room's guest in the cabin that resembled an old transatlantic. He dressed and opened the door silently, rifling through the drawers for a clue to the woman's identity. He found more photos, one of them showed a familiar face, Oskar Zerbi!

That's what he wanted to know, he could feel something. Years ago, he and Sara must have travelled together. If that was the woman's name. He suddenly remembered everything. Sara was the woman he met in Austria. A funny romance had happened. He couldn't remember the reason it ended, but that aspect of the story didn't feel important.

An incredible coincidence... Not a case of chance. The Great Ski-Lift was making increasingly clearer the contours of a confused world. The only logical alibi was along the subtle Present line.

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