There I stand, in front of the reception, waiting patiently until Sabina has checked out her client. I need that little moment, to prepare myself for something I never had the courage for. Fighting armed zombies, chasing criminals, jumping out of skyscraper windows; all that is nothing, compared with what I have to do now, but I have to do it, and I want to do it, so I take a deep breath, focus on what I want to say… and forget it all when Sabina smiles at me and asks if she could be of any service.
I avoid stumbling over my tongue and speak almost understandably: "Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I wanted to ask you…
» out."
I said the word. Not the way I planned it, not the way I thought it over and over for the last two or three hours, but it was too late now to change the line or retreat to safety.
"I beg your pardon?", Sabina asks.
"When is your next day off?" I suffer to sound assertive and self-assured. I force myself into confident body language and add a comfortable smile to make the topic light and tasty.
"Wednesday. Why? Do you want to ask me out? All the gorgeous girls are taken, except that ugly one behind the reception? The girl nobody seems to care about? The one who will be thrilled to get some attention, so she will be easy meat to get into the sack? Don't even think about it, Julian. I'm not that kind of woman. And anyway, next Wednesday I have to go shopping with my husband. We have to buy a special outfit for me, to wear at my sister's wedding."
Sabina was a great liar. If I hadn't done my homework first, I would surely believe her. There was no need to check the LSD database for her social report: she put it all in the open on her Facebook account.
"You don't have a sister and you don't have a husband. You live with your parents at the Einbahnstrasse number 189. I know you're not that kind of woman. I'm not that kind of man either. It's just… You were so friendly to me and you helped me out so many times… I wanted to do something back, just to say «thank you». I thought of buying you a present or inviting you for dinner, but… that would only make an impression of me, being interested in you for a different reason. So I thought of something better: inviting you to a picnic in the mountains. I can see big cities everywhere, but when I came here to Geneva, when I saw the reflection of the snowy peaks in the lake, I hoped that I would have time to go up there, just walk and enjoy the view. Tomorrow is my last day of work here. The Boss agreed to my request to let me stay two or three days more, to enjoy Switzerland, to have a little holiday, to have some time to enjoy with the friendly people I've met here, the ones I hope I can call my friends. Rostov will be there too, I mean, you know him as Mesut, but I call him Rostov, which isn't his real name either, and he calls me Lux because Julian isn't my real name either, but that's a bit of a long story. So… I hoped you'd like to go with me, as a friend, with us, with Rostov and me, and perhaps show us the best place to go for a picnic. I'll take care of lunch."
Well, that wasn't too difficult. Making a complete fool of myself is much easier than I thought it would be. I feel relieved. I said what I wanted to say and tried to make it clear there was no misunderstanding of my intentions, just friends, nothing else. The worst that can happen now is that she will say no.
She says yes. She says yes with that special smile that makes sure that every guest will come back next time. We agree on meeting at Barney's Bar, next to the boat station, to have coffee first. Then we take the lake ferry to Hintengarten, that famous holiday village where all the poor people spend their summers. We do the first stage with the funicular railway, and the rest on foot.
Already after walking half an hour, Rostov starts to whine: "My feet hurt, Lux. How far is it?"
I smile, look over my shoulder, and say: "I told you those Italian banker shoes wouldn't be the best choice to wear up here. You should listen to others when they try to give you advice. Some only give advice to profit from stupid people, bankers mainly, but sometimes people give advice because they are your friends; they try to help you, to get you out of trouble or to avoid that you get into it."
Rostov doesn't want to argue about advice. He only wants to sit and rest: "It's a little late for that. My feet hurt. Will it be enough for your cheating heart if I break down and cry? How far is it?"
"You wanted to go all the way to the top, right? You wanted to sacrifice everything, just to get there. Well, you'll need to sacrifice some more because there's still quite a lot of mountain above us. When we're at the top, we're there. I hope you like it."
Rostov doesn't like it: "If you would have told me it was this hard, I wouldn't have come, Lux."
I put on my stern face: "One more complaint and you can carry my backpack, Rostov. I'm not sure, but it feels like 20 kilos or more. Stop thinking about how miserable you are. Think about all those others who are so far below you and don't have all your privileges. Look around you. All you do is look at the floor, at the bottom, at the road, at your sore feet. Look up. Look around you. Smell the fresh air, the Swiss perfume of fresh herbs and mountain flowers. Listen to the birds and the bells of the cows. Feel the sun on your face and the cool wind on your skin. Look at the view. Have you ever seen anything more beautiful? We're here because this is an amazing place to be, Rostov. Only on the top of a mountain, you realise how tiny and unimportant you are. You can see France on one side, Montreux on the other side. Do you know the song «Smoke on the Water», by Deep Purple? That lake there, that's the water. The smoke came from the fire that burnt the studio down where Deep Purple recorded their new album. This place inspires artists to write great music, and it should also inspire you to have a wonderful time. Do you see that white peak over there? That's the Mont Blanc, the White Mountain, the highest point of Europe. You wanted to go all the way to the top, Rostov, and I take you there. The idea is that you enjoy it. It was your biggest desire and now, when I make our dream come true, all you do is cry and complain. Be a man. Two more hours and we're there."
Sabina laughs out loud. She is from here. She grew up in the city and is not used to climbing mountains either, but she does enjoy the day, and also how I try to motivate Rostov to go on. Naughty, she even throws a little firewood on the campfire: "This is the day when women show they're worth more than men. When a woman reaches the top, she will be there to stay. Women don't suffer. Women give birth, women sacrifice their lives for their children, their parents and their husbands, but they never complain because women are the strong half of the species. We don't stop until we've made our dreams come true. There was a time that behind every successful man there stood a strong woman. Those days are over. Now the time has come that strong women walk in front. Men have no other choice but to follow or die of hunger and thirst. Over there, behind that corner, runs a small brook with fresh water. You can sit there and wait until Lux and I will be back, in four or five hours or so. We'll take pictures of the top, so you can show your friends and family at home what it was like."
Rostov is out of text, or perhaps he says nothing because he is out of breath. He follows, without complaining, and even starts to enjoy all the details I mentioned. Shit happens. When you want to go to the top, it hurts. Pain is good. It makes you feel alive. Making an effort is not the same as suffering. When you suffer, you're miserable. When you make an effort, it will pay off, by making you happy or confident or adding a nice experience to your life. It's not the same. The difference is… the way you look at it, the way you feel, make yourself feel, when you do what's needed to get there where you want to go. It isn't a walk in the park. This isn't a picnic. It's training, to become better, to make you stronger.
We stop at the brook and fill a bottle with water. I look at the sweat on Rostov's face and decide that it's time for coffee. Instant coffee, of course, and not very hot because at these heights water boils at lower degrees, but the coffee is made of the clearest water on the planet and the view is spectacular. After the break, we do the last stage: first a steep small path, then we cross a wide field, some real climbing, and finally, we follow a ridge that takes us all the way to the top.
There isn't much to say. You feel tiny, up here. You feel that heaven is close, but you don't want to make a lot of noise: imagine that you wake someone up and he comes to get you…
"Amazing.", I whisper.
Rostov agrees: "They say it's lonely at the top, but the one who said that, didn't have friends. Thanks, Lux, for being my friend. You too, Sabina."
Sabina smiles: "Thanks for inviting me, Lux. It's so close to my home, but I've never been here since I was a kid. Sometimes we look for happiness on the other side of the world, but we forget the happiness that lies behind our own front door. You were right; this is a great way to say «thank you». I really enjoy it. A day like this will be a memory forever, much better than chocolates or a restaurant."
"Talking about restaurants: the brook where we had coffee would be a better place for the picnic than eating here on the top. The view is magnificent here, but the wind is cold and I'll need the water to wash the dishes."
I dig into my backpack and find a little tube that I give to Sabina: "You better put some of this on your face. You have a delicate skin and you'll get burnt by the sun if you don't block it."
Sabina notices her forehead is already glowing. She appreciates the detail: "You would make a great receptionist, Lux. You think about others and solve problems even before they notice they have one."
I feel uncomfortable with the compliment: "Shall we go down? I'm hungry and I'm looking forward to preparing lunch for you two. We'll have… blutwurst from Diekirch, baked in butter. I found a little shop here in Geneva that sells the speciality of… (I almost said «my mother») my region. You eat it with bread, never with fried potatoes or chips, because the bread takes up all the juice and keeps the taste. We have macaroni salad to go with it and even a couple of bottles of beer. I left them in the brook when I prepared the coffee, so they will be cold when we're there."
Sabina asks: "And what's for dessert?"
"Dessert? I didn't think about dessert.", I answer.
Sabina smiles, pads her purse, and says: "I did. Chocolate cake. Don't you know Switzerland is famous for its banks, its clocks and its chocolate? Homemade."
Rostov feels a little ashamed: "I didn't bring anything. You should have told me. I would have thought about something special from Russia…"
"What's special from Russia?"
All three, we fall quiet. Nobody has a clue. Vodka, perhaps? That doesn't combine well with hiking and nature.
"Songs. We Russians are great singers. I can sing.", Rostov says. He takes a deep breath and starts the first lines of «Think», in the high and powerful voice of Aretha Franklin. The mountains around us produce a better acoustic than the Scala in Milan. Birds stop singing. Cowbells stop clinging. The only other sound left is the rumble of the snow on the Mont Blanc, which starts to avalanche and overruns a slope full of rocks and rubble. I know, it's only rock 'n' roll, and I like it, but my pleasure is not shared by the people who live in the two mountain villages that the voracious avalanche wipes away a few seconds later on its way down…