2: SHAME
Franz left by the north door. He began to run at once, with Caesarkeeping effortless pace beside him.
With its base only a few rods from the schoolhouse, the mountain on thenorth side rose so steeply that the youngsters of Dornblatt used it as apractice site for their first lessons in mountain climbing. There werenumerous sheer bluffs, and such soil as existed was thickly sprinkledwith boulders that varied from the size of a man's head to the size of aDornblatt house.
Shame was the spur that made Franz run, for as he sped between theschool and the great log and earth barrier that the men of Dornblatthoped would keep a major avalanche from crushing the school, it seemedto him that every pupil and Professor Luttman must be looking at him andjeering. He imagined the superior smile on Hertha Bittner's pretty lips,the scornful curve of Willi Resnick's mouth, the sardonic contempt thatwould be reflected in Hermann Gottschalk's cold eyes, and in his mind heheard Professor Luttman say, "There goes Franz Halle, the failure! Theregoes one too stupid to understand the true value of learning! Look uponhim, so that you may never be like him!"
Franz's cheeks flamed and his ears were on fire. He might have chosennot to attend the school and everyone would have understood. But of hisown free will he had become a student, and by Professor Luttman's orderhe was ignominiously expelled. Nobody in Dornblatt could ever live sucha thing down.
Then Franz and Caesar were across the clearing and back in the hardwoodforest.
Franz slowed to a walk, for the great trees that grew all about hadalways been his friends and they did not forsake him now. They formed ashield that no scornful eyes could penetrate, and as long as he was inthe forest, he would know peace. His own practiced eye found a bigsycamore that was half-rotted through, and he marked it for futurefirewood. The sycamore was sure to fall anyway, and in falling it wouldcertainly crush some of the trees around it. But it could be felled insuch a fashion that it would hurt nothing, and a healthy young treewould grow in its place.
Franz stole a moment to wonder at himself. Other Dornblatt boys andgirls, some of whom were much younger than he, had no trouble learningProfessor Luttman's assigned lessons. Why should that which was writtenin books be so hopelessly beyond his grasp while that which was writtenin the forest and mountains was always so easy to read?
He spied a squirrel's nest, a cluster of leaves high in a birch tree,and beneath the same tree he found a crushed and rounded set that meanta hare had crouched there. A jay tilted saucily on a limb and peered atFranz and Caesar without scolding. Jays never shrieked at him, Franzthought, as they did at almost everyone else, and he was sure that wasbecause they knew he was their friend.
The two friends wandered on, and when they reached a little open spaceamong the trees, Franz halted to tilt his head and turn his eyesheavenward. High above him towered a rock-ribbed peak, so tall that evenin summer its upper reaches were snowbound. Franz stood a moment,contented just to look and grow happier in the looking.
Unknown to his father, or to anyone else in Dornblatt, he had climbedthat peak. Little Sister it was called, to distinguish it from anadjoining peak known as Big Sister. Carrying only his ropes andalpenstock, he was accompanied by the mastiff until blocked by a wallthat the dog could not climb and up which Franz could not rope him. Hehad ordered Caesar to wait and gone on alone. From the topmost eminenceof Little Sister, he had viewed a breath-taking array of other peaks.
But there was infinitely more than just a view.
Franz had never told even Father Paul, Dornblatt's kindly little parishpriest, how, as he stood on the summit of Little Sister, he had feltvery close to Heaven--he, simple Franz Halle who could not even getahead in school. He had never told anyone and he had no intention oftelling.
Now, as he looked up at Little Sister, remembering that wonderfulfeeling, Franz became almost wholly at peace. The school seemed veryfar away, part of a different world. This, and this alone, was real.It seemed to Franz that he always heard music, with never a jarringor discordant note, whenever he was in the forest or climbing themountains.
_From the topmost eminence of Little Sister, he hadviewed a breath-taking array of other peaks_]
Presently he reached another downsloping gulley and halted on its nearrim to look across. On the far rim was a farm that differed from thehouses in Dornblatt because quarters for the people, a neat chalet, wereseparate from the building that housed the stock. It was the home of theWidow Geiser and had been the best farm anywhere around Dornblatt.
Then, three years ago, Jean Geiser had gone into the mountains to huntchamois. He had never returned, and ever since the Widow Geiser had beenhard put to make ends meet. Her two sons, aged four and six, were littlehelp and no woman should even try doing all the work that a place suchas this demanded. The Widow Geiser still tried, but it was rumored thatshe was heavily in debt to Emil Gottschalk.
Caesar pricked his ears up and looked at the goat shed. Following thedog's gaze, Franz saw a brown and white goat, one of the widow's smallflock, come from the rear door, squeeze beneath the enclosing pole fenceand make its way into a hay meadow. It stalked more like a wild animalthan a domestic creature and its obvious destination was the forest.Should it get there, it would be almost impossible to capture the animalagain.
Franz turned to his dog. "Take her back, Caesar."
Silent as a drifting cloud, for all his size, Caesar left Franz and seta course that would intercept the fleeing goat. He came in front of theescaping animal. The goat halted and stamped a threatening hoof.
Franz almost saw Caesar grin. The mighty dog could break this sillyanimal's spine with one chop of his jaws, if he wished to do so, but hewas no killer. He advanced on the goat, that tried and failed to breakaround him. Then he began edging it back toward the paddock. When thegoat squeezed under the dog leaped over and continued to herd theescapee toward the pen.
Laughing, Franz ran forward and arrived at the goat pen just in time tomeet the Widow Geiser, who came from her chalet.
Despite the man's work she had been doing, the Widow Geiser was stillattractive enough to furnish a lively subject for discussion amongDornblatt's unattached bachelors. If the fact that she was alsoproprietress of a good farm detracted nothing from her charms, that wasnatural enough.
Now she asked, "What's the matter, Franz?"
"Caesar and I were walking in the forest when we saw one of your goatstrying to escape. I ordered Caesar to drive it back."
"Thank you, Franz. Hereafter I must keep that one tethered. She hastried to run away so many times. Won't you come in for some bread andmilk?"
"I thank you, but the hour grows late and I must turn homeward."
"The sun is lowering," the Widow Geiser agreed. "Thank you again, Franz,and come again."
"I shall look forward to it."
With Caesar padding beside him, Franz started down the gulley towardDornblatt and as he did so, his uneasiness mounted. He had delayedmeeting his father for as long as possible, and now he admitted tohimself that he feared to face him. But the meeting could no longer bepostponed.
Franz made his way through Dornblatt to his father's house. Caesar, whopreferred to remain outside, regardless of the weather, curled up infront of the cattle shed. Franz tried to be resolute as he climbed thestairs to the living quarters, but, once at the door, he halteduncertainly.
Then, taking his courage in both hands, he entered the single room thatserved the Halles as living-dining-bedroom. The ceiling and wall boardswere scrubbed until they shone; the floor was of red tile. There was abig fireplace with a wooden chimney and a great, gleaming-whiteporcelain stove bound by brass rings. Spotless pots and pans hung fromwooden pegs. A table and seven straight-backed wooden chairs occupiedthe center of the room. At the far end, where lowered curtains mightseparate them, were the beds where slept Franz's father and mother, hisfour young sisters and himself.
Franz's mother sat silently in the chimney corner, and the fact that shewas not doing something with her hands was all
that was necessary toprove that much was amiss. His four overawed sisters hovered at the farend, near the beds.
Franz Halle the elder met his son. Six-feet-two, storm and wind and themountains that hemmed him in had written their own tales on his wrinkledface. By the same token, the very vigor of the life he'd led had lefthim straight as a sapling and endowed him with iron muscles. His clearblue eyes, gentle for the most part, now glinted like the sun slantingfrom glacier ice.
He said, "Professor Luttman came to see me!"
"Yes, sir," Franz answered meekly.
His father demanded, "Have you nothing else to say?"
"I'm sorry," Franz answered in a low voice.
"Once I hoped you would be a farmer," the elder Halle said, "so I setyou to plowing. I found the plow abandoned and the oxen standing intheir yokes while you chased butterflies. Then I thought you would be aherdsman, but I found the cattle lowing to be milked while you roamedthe forest with your dog. I apprenticed you to a cobbler, and youattached the heels where the soles should have been. I asked a lacemakerto teach you his trade, and in one day you ruined enough material to doaway with a week's profit. I decided you must surely be a scholar, andnow this!"
Franz said humbly, "I think I am not meant to be a scholar."
"Is there anything you are meant to be? The one task you do, and dowell, is chop wood with your ax."
Franz brightened a little. "I like to chop wood."
"May a chopper of wood be a future family man of Dornblatt, whereeveryone chops his own?" his father demanded. "Think, Franz!"
"Yes, sir," Franz said.
There was a knock at the door and the elder Halle opened it to admitFather Paul. For all his lack of stature, the little priest somehow tookinstant command.
"I have come to help," he said, "for I, too, have heard."
"It is past your help," the elder Halle told him sadly. "My only sonseems destined to become a nobody."
Father Paul smiled. "Despair not, my friend. You'll feel better in themorning. I think the boy has not yet been guided into the way he shouldgo and I have a suggestion. At the very summit of St. Bernard Pass thereis a hospice. It was erected by the revered Bernard de Menthon, manycenturies past, and its sole purpose is to succor distressed travelerswho must cross the Alps. I think I may very well find a place there forFranz."
"As a novice of the Augustinian Order?" the elder Halle askeddoubtfully.
"Not quite." Father Paul smiled again, at Franz this time. "Novices mustclutter their minds with Latin and any number of similar subjects. Hemay be a lay worker, or _maronnier_. Would you like that, Franz?"
"Oh, yes!" Franz's soaring imagination sped him out of Dornblatt to thefabled Hospice of St. Bernard.
"Will he go now?" the elder Halle asked.
"Hardly," Father Paul replied, "for it takes time to arrange suchmatters. He may very well go next summer. Meanwhile, I know you willfind some useful occupation for him."
Franz's father said, "He can cut wood."