Alp Station
A short story by C. G. Singleton
Copyright 2011 C. G. Singleton
www.insubstantialpageant.com
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‘Professor Maitland? Welcome. I’m glad you managed to find our humble dwelling. You look chilled to the bone.’
‘It’s blowing a blizzard out there – you’re in a very exposed spot.’
‘Yes – sadly, some unhappy travellers discover the dangers of this mountain the hard way.’
He threw her a sharp glance as he unbuttoned his coat, ‘At least the track from the funicular is straightforward. I take it that you are…’
‘Eris,’ she said, shaking his hand, ‘I’m glad you remembered your overnight bag – there’s no way down once the last carriage has gone. Do come through – there’s a fire in the drawing room.’
She led him through into a large, wood-panelled room where logs were blazing in a stone fireplace.
‘I’m not sure that ‘humble’ is quite the word I would use for this place,’ he said, looking around him, ‘It’s like a film set for an old fashioned murder mystery, featuring a sinister butler and a count with duelling scars.’
‘These communal rooms are certainly comfortable, but our own quarters are more spartan.’ Her tone made no concession to his attempt at lightheartedness, ‘Will you have a glass of wine?’
He studied her as she fetched the decanter. She was older than he had first thought, though the signs were not obvious. The word ‘ageless’ came to mind – unlike himself, of course, with life leaving its mark now that he had passed forty. He adjusted his tie, glad that his suit looked respectable against his hostess’s rather severe black outfit. You wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of this woman.
She handed him his wine, ‘I hope we can make your visit worth the discomfort involved.’
‘I’m sure you will. I was intrigued by your letter – I suspect not many people get invited here.’
‘No, not many at all.’
He sipped his wine thoughtfully, ‘I made some enquiries. Your organisation is very secretive.’
‘I’m not sure that ‘organisation’ is quite the word.’
‘A talented group of individuals, then. The pamphlet on the lack of resilience in modern societies was outstanding. The medieval world survived the Black Death but we’d be thrown into barbarism – or extinction. It was a chilling analysis.’
‘Perhaps we just see the obvious things that everyone else misses. I think you have a similar talent.’
He was wondering whether this was the signal for a recruitment pitch when she added, ‘Not that you could team up with us, I’m afraid – we are a strictly all-female outfit. So more of an order – as in priestesses – than an organisation.’
Was that a fleeting smile on her face?
‘I see you find that rather disconcerting,’ she continued, waving aside his protestation. ‘It’s not a problem. But let me introduce our other guest: she is actually helping with the arrangements this evening.’
As if on cue a door opened and a young woman entered, bearing a tray of food. The words ‘slim’, ‘blonde’ and ‘pretty’ came unbidden into his head – his old failing ever present.
‘You didn’t tell me this was going to be a fancy dress evening.’
The girl was wearing a long, green dress cut in a classical Greek style. Garlands of leaves and flowers were entwined around her waist and in her hair. A waft of some heady perfume – incense perhaps – had filled the room as the door opened, and he had a sudden image of Bacchanalian revels. He pushed it firmly aside.
She placed the tray on a small table near the fire.
‘Do you remember me, Professor Maitland?’
The Canadian accent jogged his memory, ‘Anna Copeland: yes, I taught your brother at Oxford; and we met at a summer school somewhere.’
She smiled, ‘Well done for remembering – I must have been a fairly insignificant figure at the time.’
Was that a hint of criticism? He chose to ignore it, ‘So, why the costume?’
Eris replied, ‘Think of it as a little game – you have to guess who the fictional persona is. It’s in your honour, actually, since you have been writing on this subject recently.’
He considered carefully. This might be a game but he felt sure there was nothing trivial about it. He was being tested in some way.
‘I would have to say…Gaia, the earth goddess.’ He pointed to Anna’s costume, ‘The green represents fertility, as do the leaves and flowers…but – and I guess this is the clincher – some of them are wilting and dying, and there are black, oily stains on the hem. This is Gaia suffering under the assault of human activity.’
‘As you have so eloquently documented in recent articles – well done. Your idea of broadening the concept of Gaia beyond straightforward biology, to include politics and economics, was quite brilliant. “The corporate rape of our planet” – strong words, Professor.’
‘To be honest I should have gone further and written of the corporate murder of the planet.’
‘Didn’t you describe our loss of species as ‘mankind’s killing frenzy’?’ asked Anna.
‘Yes…perhaps a little over the top…’ he said. ‘Anyway, how are you keeping these days – and how is your brother?’
‘I’m afraid our Gaia needs to change for her next appearance,’ Eris cut in, ‘Do you mind very much if you wait until later to talk to her?’
As Anna departed, she added, ‘She has been using the radio equipment we have here at the house to contact her brother. He’s on a ship conducting experiments into climate change. She’s a very impressive young lady – definitely more than just a pretty face.’
I would never have suggested she was, he thought, but made no comment.
‘Now, Professor, your dinner is served – please start.’
‘Are you not eating?’ he asked, seating himself.
‘No. My appetite is…fitful these days. I was never a hearty eater.’
She refilled his wine glass, ‘So, tell me how the global elite are getting on at their conference down in the town. Our once small academic event has turned into quite an international jamboree these days, has it not?’
‘If I knew anything I would tell you, but you’d be better off reading the newspapers. I’m afraid I am persona non grata nowadays. The best I can manage is to hang around the fringes.’
‘People don’t like prophets of doom.’
‘Is that what I am?’
‘Yes – you make them uneasy. Take your recent quote about democracies...’
‘It was a classic line from Thucydides, the Greek historian. I just repeated his words that democracies only tackle the real problems when they are terrified.’
‘You should have realised it would be seen as advocating terrorism. They were never going to stand for that.’
‘Thucydides deserves respect – his work is my bible.’
‘Bibles are political books these days.’
He became aware of music in a nearby room – a woman singing to a musical instrument, a guitar perhaps, ‘I trust you haven’t gone to the trouble of laying on entertainment for me.’
‘I believe it is my colleagues who are being entertained. Our friend Anna is demonstrating her versatility by taking the role of songstress. Can you guess her character this time? The words will be a clue if you can make them out.’
‘I’m afraid not.’ The words were muffled, but whether it was the intervening wall or a certain woolliness that was clogging his thoughts he wasn’t sure – he would have to be more careful with the wine.
‘She is the poetess Sappho, singing of…’
‘Love?’
‘And other matters relevant to one who led a simpler and more constrained life than people today. We don’t want to focus exclusively on the libidinous, Professor.’
Another implied reproach?
He shrugged it aside, distracted by a harsh clattering blown in on the wind.
‘Is that a helicopter? It sounds as though it’s circling us.’
‘More likely just skirting the mountain. I’m surprised it is flying in weather like this – it must be something important.’
‘It’s moving away over the town,’ he said as the noise receded, ‘I wonder if there has been some sort of incident.’
‘A problem at the conference, you mean?’
‘Maybe...but then we shouldn’t jump to conclusions – we’ll be inventing conspiracy theories next.’
‘Oh, but we love conspiracy theories here.’ It was a new voice that had spoken, ‘They’re our guilty pleasure.’
He looked round to see a woman in her thirties, dressed very mannishly in dinner jacket and trousers, standing at the far end of the room. All she needed was a long cigarette holder, he thought, to be a perfect fit for the pre-war whodunit he had imagined earlier. He took an instant dislike to her.
‘Ah – now,’ said Eris, ‘I believe we are to go through to the studio, where my colleague has been working on her latest painting. She is an artist.’ The new arrival bowed, but no further introduction was offered and Maitland was not inclined to ask for one. ‘I believe our versatile friend Anna has taken on yet another persona.’
‘The game continues, Professor,’ added the artist, ‘Please come through to the studio.’
As he followed, the smell of incense grew more pungent until he could almost taste it. The suffocating smell, combined with the alcohol he had drunk, made it hard to focus his thoughts. It took a moment to steady himself and take in the tableau before him.
It was a large room lit by a series of electric lamps, with heavy curtains shutting out the night. A huge fire blazed at one end making it uncomfortably warm. There were a number of easels placed around, one of which supported a half finished pencil drawing, but the focus of the room was a couch, partly concealed by long drapes.
‘Your next test, Professor,’ said Eris, beckoning him forward, ‘tell us who the subject of the painting is.’
He approached, and Eris and the artist stepped aside to reveal the couch and its reclining model. It was Anna, one hand covering a breast, the other offering a shiny red apple in a provocative gesture. She was naked.
The sight brought him up short and he threw an angry glance at Eris, ‘What is this?’
‘It is art, Professor, surely you are not shocked.’
‘It seems very unnecessary.’ His tone was indignant.
‘Necessary to define the character, surely? Don’t all artists and performers accept that bargain? Now, will you guess her identity?’
‘To hell with these silly games!’ He turned away, ignoring her request. The most upsetting aspect was the blank gaze on Anna’s face, as though desensitised by drink or drugs. They had overstepped the line and he was angry.
‘Now, Professor – Anna has gone to a certain amount of trouble for you. Surely you don’t want to disappoint her?’
He felt irritated at being put on the spot, ‘I don’t know – Eve, maybe.’
‘Oh, come now – the couch with its rich fittings argues against that. Think again.’
‘I’ve no idea at all…OK, what about Aphrodite?’
‘Oh, well done, Professor! Yes, Venus, goddess of love.’ Both Eris and the artist applauded him.
He was in no mood to accept their congratulations, ‘Can we go now?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Eris, ‘Let us return to the drawing room.’
He followed, relieved to see on glancing back that the artist was helping Anna into a dressing gown. On the other hand, the intimacy suggested by their closeness disturbed him. Or was it perhaps that part of him wished for another glimpse of her unclothed?
He shut the studio door firmly behind him.
‘You look unwell, Professor,’ said Eris, offering him a fresh glass of wine, ‘perhaps this will revive you.’ He drank without thinking and immediately regretted it.
He took a deep breath, ‘I think you ought to tell me what this is all about. At the moment my inclination is to leave.’
‘What in particular is troubling you?’ Her tone was conciliatory.
‘Only the fact that I appear to have been set up.’
‘Ah, I see – you fear lurid tales and pictures in tomorrow’s papers.’
When he didn’t reply she continued, ‘It wouldn’t be the first time would it?’
‘I’m not going to act the grovelling penitent over past mistakes,’ he could feel the pent-up anger within him, ‘What did I do that was so bad? That my reputation should be dragged through the mud?’
‘You got caught with your trousers down. The tabloids were always going to have their fun over that.’
‘But I never…I mean, my behaviour…’ he struggled to get the words out, ‘I made mistakes – I was stupid, I admit it. But I never sought to hurt anyone. I was always…fair to the women involved. Honourable even, most of the time.’ A righteous anger rose within him, ‘I never took advantage of anyone in the way that you have of Anna…what I saw in there – it was out of order.’
She nodded thoughtfully, ‘Let’s talk about this outside – it’s so hot and stuffy in here. We can step onto the veranda.’
She opened a set of glazed doors that faced the town and went through. He followed reluctantly and found himself on a narrow patio bordered by a stone balustrade. It was too dark to see clearly but he assumed the mountainside fell steeply away beyond the rail. It was cold and blustery, but either the wind had dropped or the house was shielding them, as the blizzard which had greeted his arrival had died away.
She waited until he stood beside her, then said, ‘For what it’s worth, I believe the newspaper stories had little to do with your sexual peccadilloes, they were just a convenient way of discrediting you. But let’s face it – you attack those who run corrupt governments, start illegal wars, make millions as they destroy the world economy through reckless gambling. Such people will never play fair.’
‘No, I guess not.’ He looked at the sprawl of lights below, ‘It’s ironic to think that quite a few of them are down there at this very moment. Just out of interest – as we have been airing my sex life – have you ever been married?’
She was quiet for a moment, ‘That’s a fair question. No, I have never been close to anyone in that sense. I think it probably goes with the job.’
‘And what job is that exactly,’ he was about to say, but she forestalled him by pointing to a reddish glow down in the valley.
‘That looks like fire. Can you see it?’
‘Not clearly. There are trees or something in the way.’
‘Let’s see if we can get a better view from the other end of the veranda.’
The new vantage point showed it more clearly, ‘Yes – a fire, and a large one, in the centre of the town.’
He heard the sound of sirens rising up from the valley, ‘I reckon it’s the conference centre – which would explain the helicopter earlier. I have to say, there’s been a very tense atmosphere in the town ever since I arrived. Much the same as in London when I left, to be honest.’
‘The world teeters on the brink, Professor.’
‘It’s possible. I can’t say I’m not worried.’
‘Maybe the people have risen up against their masters.’ Her voice quickened with excitement, ‘now that would be something new.’ She looked at the growing blotch of orange fire, ‘It reminds me of that quaint English custom you have – what is it again? Guy Fawkes night?’
‘You sound remarkably unperturbed given what might be happening down there.’
She ignored his comment, ‘What is it you celebrate on November 5th? The capture of the plotters, or the fact that they tried to blow up the government in the first place?’
‘I hardly think we should be making jokes when there may be people dead or injured.’
‘I’m cold,’ she said abruptly, ‘Let’s go back inside.’
The stuffy, perfumed atmosphere assailed him as soon as he stepped back through the doorway, and the lucidity brought on by the icy air started to slip away. A strange, ethereal music echoed through the house – a thin, reedy piping unlike anything he had heard before.
‘You look uneasy, Professor.’
‘I’m concerned about what’s happening in the town.’
‘Perhaps the music will sooth you. It harks from the dawn of time – or at least from the earliest days of modern humans in this part of the world. Fragments of primitive flutes and pipes have been found on this mountain, made by people who lived here tens of thousands of years ago.’
She clapped her hands, ‘Ah! Good – the dancers enter.’
A troop of women dressed in long black cloaks entered, swaying to the rhythm of a piper. He thought they resembled nothing so much as a flock of crows circling carrion.
‘Do you think some European Eve danced like that in her alpine Garden of Eden?’
‘Europe was hardly Eden at that time,’ he replied, ‘wasn’t there an ice age?’
‘Indeed, and of course there were people other than homo sapiens. The scriptures describe an innocent time when God created the first man and woman, but what about the Neanderthals? They were already long established when humans arrived, so what happened to them? Christians say the first sin was to disobey God, but perhaps the sinners already had blood on their hands.’
‘I don’t share those beliefs.’
‘But do you share the guilt?’
A dancer broke away from the main group and came towards him. It was Anna. As the tempo of the music increased she began weaving a sinuous dance around him – not erotic, more serpent than seductress. A feeling of disgust rose within him.
‘The final puzzle, Professor,’ said Eris, ‘you must guess the characters represented by the dancers. Not an easy one this time, but perhaps it will become clearer as the dance progresses.’
It was certainly not easy when the room had started to spin before his eyes, but in any case he was no longer interested in playing silly games. There had presumably been some point in Eris inviting him, but it didn’t concern him any more. What did interest him was the thought that it might, after all, be possible to get down the mountain despite what she had said. Would there still be someone at the funicular station if he were willing to brave the elements to find out? It seemed increasingly worth a try.
‘I’ve got to get out of here,’ he muttered to himself, ‘this is all going to end badly.’
But it was difficult to attract Eris’s attention now that she had joined the main ring of dancers, and he found himself boxed in by Anna’s increasingly wild gyrations. Just looking in her direction made his head spin.
Events, though, were pressing him to act. Above the music he had caught the rumbling echoes of a dull boom from the valley. It sounded ominously like an explosion.
‘Anna! Let me past – I need to go outside.’ He had to shout above the noise.
She whirled round to face him and he stepped back involuntarily. She had slipped on a grotesque mask – a sinister, distorted face like a primitive tribal spirit. Her dance transformed into jerky, exaggerated movements like an animal in pain.
‘Make your guess, Professor!’ Eris’s voice rose powerfully above the din, ‘Tell us who dances before you.’ But the sight of Anna contorting herself had choked him, and he could barely breath, never mind speak. He felt like a fly mesmerised by a menacing, black spider.
‘We are the children of night! The cry of vengeance in the dark!’ The words were chanted into his face, ‘We pursue those who commit unpardonable crimes. We are the curse that falls on wrongdoers when all redress has failed.’
‘We are the Furies!’ cried Eris, as the dancers raised a wild cry, ‘The awesome goddesses, the ancient ones, the Eumenides. Surely, Professor, you must recognise us?’
He had had enough. Another explosion boomed out from the valley, and his sole thought was to get out. He pushed roughly past Anna, sending her staggering backwards. The door to the hallway was before him and he threw it open.
The music faltered and he looked back at Eris.
‘Professor! Finish the game. Please.’ He shut out her words but her expression stayed with him – was it sadness, disappointment that he saw?
He turned his back on her, and all the rest of them. He grabbed his coat and stumbled out into the snow.
‘There is no way down the mountain! Come back – you’ll kill yourself!’ Eris was pushing her way through the dancers to get to him.
He ignored her entreaties and blundered on, sliding unsteadily on the icy path. He had no clear plan except to get as far away from the house as possible. The cold air was like a slap to his face, and the world appeared in a series of strangely disjointed images – pale snow, dark trees, crisp starlit sky, and over to his right in the valley the ominous red glow from the town.
He was aware of figures emerging from the house behind him, but he was determined to get away. They would not take him back into that place. He struck on for a gap in the line of trees ahead where the path to the funicular railway cut through. The ground began to fall away on one side and he struggled to avoid slipping off the path.
‘Professor! Wait! It’s dangerous.’
But he would not wait – he would be free of this awful place. If only he could reach that belt of trees he would be clear, with a straight run to the station. A gust of wind sent a flurry of snow into his face, and for a moment he was blinded. He tried to keep to the path but his foot slid on a patch of ice. He reached out for a handhold but there was none, and he found himself lurching down the slope.
‘Professor!’
It was too late. He saw the stars wheel crazily as he went head over heels down the hillside. The powdery snow sprayed out as he caught one last sight of the lights of the house. Then all was black.
There was a smell of burning in the air.
A faint light filtered in, pale and gradually strengthening. A deep, hushed silence hung heavily – unbroken except for…what? The ticking of a clock?
Yes – down at the far end of the room.
He pushed back the blanket and sat up. He felt stiff and sore with a pounding headache, and his mouth seemed coated with sand.
There was a carafe of water on a table, and he drank thirstily. He noticed that his shoes and suit jacket had been placed neatly nearby, and he put them on. His overcoat was draped over the back of a chair in front of a portable oil heater.
He saw that he was in a library, although with many of the shelves hidden behind piles of equipment it looked more like a storeroom. A large table held more of the stuff – heaps of mountaineering and survival gear, by the look of it.
He went across and picked up a sheaf of stapled documents. It was an inventory, running to several pages, and various items such as fuel and food had been highlighted. Directions for finding them had been helpfully pencilled in.
‘Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble,’ he thought.
He took his coat and went through a connecting door to find himself – pretty much as expected – in the drawing room where he had spent the previous evening. He called out loudly to see if anyone was around but there was no response – the house was silent. The doors to the veranda were unlocked and he stepped outside.
The morning was cold and cloudy, with no wind. The smell of burning was explained by a heavy pall of grey smoke which hung over the town. He fetched a pair of binoculars he had seen in the library and scanned the valley for signs of life. There was no traffic on the roads and the scattered fires that burned appeared to do so untended. At the bottom of the funicular railway the carriage was stationary.
‘It’s like the end of the world,’ he thought to himself.
There was a footfall behind him and he turned to see Anna stepping out onto the veranda. She was dressed in a thick, baggy jumper and jeans. Her hair was dishevelled and the remains of last night’s makeup was smeared around her eyes – red from crying.
Was he surprised to see her?
‘You didn’t go with Eris and the others, then?’
She came and stood beside him, ‘I think I heard vehicles in the night – I was in one of the back rooms and the noise woke me.’
‘I thought something like that might have happened.’ He recalled Eris’s words about there being no way down off the mountain apart from the funicular railway. Well, maybe.
‘What’s happening?’ she asked anxiously, ‘There’s no power, the phones are down, and I can’t even get a signal on my mobile.’ Her voice quavered and her eyes filled with tears, ‘I wanted to phone my parents – I’m so worried.’
He looked out over the burning town. What could he say to console her? It was possible things were every bit as bad as she feared.
She pointed to the town, ‘Were they involved in that?’ When he looked questioningly at her, she added, ‘Eris and her colleagues?’
He shook his head, ‘No, I don’t think so – just remarkably well informed. Unless you have evidence to the contrary, that is.’
‘Only a remark Eris made about being cruel to be kind. I may have misunderstood her, though.’
He saw she was shivering, ‘Here, take my coat. We’d better go back inside – I think we’ve seen enough.’
An oil heater had been placed in the hearth in the drawing room and he sat her down in front of it. She stared ahead lost in thought, with the coat clutched tightly around her.
‘Did I make a fool of myself last night?’
‘What do you remember?’
She shook her head, ‘I don’t know – not much. It feels like I got terribly drunk, but I’m sure I didn’t. I wish I’d never come here.’ Tears were streaming down her face, ‘I just want to go home.’
He turned his back on her, feeling helpless.
On a coffee table by the fireplace he noticed a leather-bound book. It was a copy of Thucydides – his ‘bible’ – with a note tucked inside.
Professor, I hope you are making yourself at home. Please look after Anna – I fear she will be in a delicate state.
I hope you will do plenty of writing while you are sojourned at the house. I’m afraid the lack of electricity will exclude computers and word processing, but there is plenty of old-fashioned writing paper in the library. I am sure you are the right man for the job – make your words count. It’s your chance of literary immortality.
He wondered what job she meant – documenting the end of civilisation? Hopefully it would be somewhat less dramatic. He read on...
You may be interested to know that while you will have to do without mains power there is battery back-up for the radio equipment. Speak to Anna – she’s the expert.
I wish you all the best. I’m sorry that our evening had to end the way it did.
H.
He put down the letter, caught off-guard by unexpected emotions. He had certainly been tested yesterday evening, but Eris had shown him kindness. In the end, though, he had spurned her and he felt ashamed.
He turned to Anna. It was time to make up for his ungracious behaviour of the night before.
‘Look – your brother – he’s on a boat isn’t he?’ She looked up at him, tearful but attentive, ‘We can contact him – you can – with the radio. We can find out what’s going on.’
She nodded slowly, ‘He might be in touch with my parents. It would make such a difference if I could speak to him.’
She slipped the coat off, as if realising for the first time that the room was not cold, ‘Will it be like that...’ she gestured in the direction of the town, ‘everywhere?’
He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, ‘Let’s not worry about that at the moment. Thanks to our hosts last night we’re well provided for – we can sit out whatever’s going on. And we have the radio – we can communicate. It could be a lot worse.’
She made a brave attempt at a smile and he took her arm, ‘Come on, there’s food in the kitchen – let’s go and find it.’
Sort out the small things, he told himself, and then you can tackle the big ones. Which meant breakfast first, so they could consider the situation with the benefit of a full stomach, and then planning for the more serious challenges that lay ahead.
He could feel her shoulder beneath the jumper, but self-discipline was now the order of the day. One act of kindness deserved another and he didn’t want to let everyone down.
All in all they were in for a long haul.
----o0o----
You can see more writing by C. G. Singleton at www.insubstantialpageant.com