7: THE HOSPICE
The wind that screamed between the high peaks which kept a grim vigilover both sides of St. Bernard Pass proclaimed itself monarch.
Man was the trespasser here, the wind said, and let who trespassed lookto himself. The only kindness he could expect was a quick and painlessdeath. This was the haunt of the elements.
Overawed and more than a little afraid, Franz tried to speak to FatherBenjamin, who was leading the way. The wind snatched the words from histeeth, whirled them off on its own wings and hurled mocking echoes backinto the boy's ears. Franz dropped a hand to the massive head ofCaesar, who was pacing beside him, and found some comfort there.
Franz thought back over the way they had come.
The inn at Cantine, where he had passed the night with Father Benjamin,was not a half hour's travel time behind them, yet it was an entireworld away. The inn was still civilization. This was a lost territory.The Alpine meadows had given way to rocks and boulders, among which grewonly moss and lichens. The wind was right and no man belonged here.
Franz shuddered. They had skirted chasms where a fall meant death. Theyhad passed beneath rising cliffs whereupon lay boulders so delicatelybalanced that it was almost as though an incautious breath would setthem to rolling, and an avalanche with them. In the shadier places therehad been deep snow, and at no point was the permanent snow line morethan a few hundred yards above them.
With a mighty effort, Franz banished his fears and regained hisself-control. This was the Grand St. Bernard Pass, one of the easiest ofall ways to cross the Alps. The altitude was only about eight thousandfeet. When Franz stood on the summit of Little Sister he had been almosta mile higher. The old, the crippled and children used this Passregularly.
Franz told himself that he had been overwhelmed by the reputation of thePass, rather than by any real danger. It went without saying that somany perished here simply because so many came here. The boy fastenedhis thoughts on practical matters.
Supplies for the Hospice, Father Benjamin had told him, were brought toCantine on mules and carried from there by monks and _maronniers_. Itwas not that mules were unable to reach the Hospice--sometimes theydid--but, at best, it was a highly uncertain undertaking. From about themiddle of June until the autumn storms began, the Pass was consideredsafe enough so that rescue work might be halted during that period, butan unexpected blizzard might come any time. Thus, though in due coursethe muleteer probably would be able to get his animals back down, aslong as they were marooned at the Hospice they'd be consuming valuableand hard-to-gather hay.
Father Benjamin turned and spoke, and Franz heard clearly. "We have afine day for our journey."
Franz tried to answer, could not, and Father Benjamin smiled and wavedhim ahead. The boy grinned sheepishly. He should have remembered that itis almost impossible to speak against such a wind but relatively easy tospeak, and be heard, with it. He edged past Father Benjamin and said,"Indeed we have."
He was suddenly calm and no longer afraid. This was no foreign land andit was not a place of devils. It was his homeland. It was St. BernardPass, where, of his own free will, he had wanted to become a_maronnier_. He belonged here.
Father Benjamin put his mouth very close to Franz's ear and shouted, "Doyou still think you have chosen well?"
Franz answered sincerely, "Very well."
"Good!"
Father Benjamin indicated that he wanted to pass and Franz let him doso. The monk turned to the icecapped peaks on the right of the Pass.
"There are Rheinquellhorn, Zappothorn, Fil Rosso and Pizzo Rotondo," hesaid, then turned to the left. "There we see Pizzo della Lumbreda, PizzoTambo and Pizzo dei Piani. They will become your firm friends."
Franz shouted, "They are already my friends."
When Father Benjamin frowned questioningly, Franz smiled to show that heunderstood and the pair went on. The wind suddenly sang a song insteadof snarling threats. Lowlanders who understood nothing except a warmsun might flinch from such weather. But, as Father Benjamin had said, itwas indeed a fine day--if one happened to be a mountaineer.
Presently Father Benjamin stopped again. "The Hospice," he said.
Franz looked, more than a little astonished. He hadn't had the faintestnotion of what he might expect, but certainly it was not the massive,fortresslike structure that, though still a long ways off, seemed asprominent as any of the peaks. Presently the boy understood.
The Hospice must be visible from as great a distance as possible. Manyan exhausted traveler, coming this far and sure he could go no farther,would find the strength to do so if he could see a refuge.
Father Benjamin pointed out the principal buildings. "The chapel," hesaid. "The refectory, where meals are eaten and guests entertained, thesleeping quarters, the house of the dead--"
Franz looked questioningly at him and Father Benjamin explained. "Themortal remains of many who die in the snows are never claimed. At firstthey were interred beneath the Hospice floor. Now, in the event thatsomeone will claim them some time, they go into the house of the dead.Some have been there for a hundred years."
Franz felt a proper awe. A hundred years was a long time to be dead. Butto be dead a hundred years in a place such as this, which was shunned byeven the cliff and cold-loving edelweiss, must indeed be dreadful! Franzconsoled himself with the thought that the dead have no feeling. Nodoubt those who rested in warm valleys and those who waited in this grimhouse would both awaken when Gabriel blew his trumpet.
They drew nearer, and Franz saw a little lake from which the ice had notyet melted. That was fitting and proper and altogether in keeping. Someof these Alpine lakes were ice-free for fewer than thirty days out ofthe whole year.
Then they came to a stable beneath one of the buildings and Franz methis immediate superior.
He was big as a mountain and bald as a hammer. His eyes were blue asglacier ice that has been swept clean by the broom of the wind, and atfirst glance they seemed even colder. His face, for all his size, wasstrangely massive. Perhaps because of his very lack of other hair, hiscurling mustaches seemed far longer than their eight inches. For all thecold, he wore only a sleeveless leather jacket on his upper body. Ithung open, leaving his midriff, chest and biceps bare. Rippling musclesfurnished more than a hint of great strength.
_Presently the boy understood.... The Hospice must bevisible from as great a distance as possible_]
Franz thought at first glance that he was a dedicated man, one who isabsolutely devoted to his work, for he treated Father Benjamin with vastrespect.
"Anton," Father Benjamin said, "I want you to meet the new _maronnier_,Franz Halle. Franz, this is Anton Martek. He will instruct you in yourduties here."
"Is good to have you." Anton Martek extended a hand the size of a smallham. "Your dog work? Yah?"
"Oh, yes!" Franz said eagerly. "See for yourself that he carries a packeven now!"
Caesar wagged up to Anton Martek, who ruffled the dog's ears butcontinued to look at Franz.
"Packing is not all of work." He scowled. "Is he a spit dog, too?"
"A what?" Franz wrinkled puzzled brows.
With a sweeping circle of his right arm, Anton offered a near-perfectimitation of a dog walking around and around while the meat on a spitroasted. Franz warmed to this huge man. Anton's ice was all on theoutside. Inwardly, he was gentle as the fawn of a chamois.
"Not yet," Franz said. "But I know we can teach him."
"Yah," said Anton. "We teach him."
Father Benjamin laughed. "You two seem to be getting along very welltogether, so I'll leave you alone."
Anton said respectfully, "As you will, Father," and turned to Franz."Come."
Franz followed him into the stable, that was windowless, except forrectangles of wood hung on wooden hinges that now swung open to admitthe sunlight. The place had a familiar smell the boy was unable todefine until he remembered that the same odor dominated his mother'skitchen, and that it was the odor of complete cleanliness.
&n
bsp; "Where are the cattle?" he asked.
Anton replied, "Down in the pasture."
"Down?"
"Yah. You villagers bring them up. We take them down. There is nopasture here."
He led Franz to a great pile of hay at one end of the stable andgestured. "You sleep here."
Franz laid his pack down and relieved Caesar of his, not at alldispleased. There are, as he knew from experience, sleeping places notnearly as comfortable as a pile of hay.
"We get you some more covers soon," Anton promised. "But for now thereis work. You will clean the stable."
"But--" Franz looked in bewilderment at the already spotless stable. "Itis clean!"
"Ha!" Anton snorted. He stalked to a rafter, ran one huge finger alongit, discovered a tiny speck of dust and showed it to Franz. "See? Youwill clean the stable."
Franz said meekly, "Yes, Anton."