Staff Nurse in the Tyrol (8 page)

Sonia laughed as she sat down. “To please you I would like it iced.”

He made a little bow. “It shall be as you wish, Sonia.”

She watched him walk across the terrace in search of a waitress. There was something rather sweet and restful about Stefan. He didn’t make her feel on the defensive the way Michael did. With Stefan she could be herself. With Michael she always had the sensation of being keyed up in an attempt to match his forceful personality, to fight to retain some shadow of her own characteristic self. He stimulated her to heights she had never known, but she wasn’t sure that she enjoyed the process.

Sonia sighed and turned back to regard the tableau spread out below her. Looking westward toward the Brenner Pass, the mountains unrolled their glory in a blazonry of blues that defied description, offset by the occasional splash of snowfield and glacier. A solitary hawk was poised against the empty arc of the sky before it slipped like a falling star into the shadow of the forest.

Stefan dropped into the chair beside her. “I am always so at peace when I am in this place. Perhaps it is a pity that I do not come more often.”

The waitress placed a tray in front of them. Sonia looked at the tall glasses filled with amber liquid and sparkling ice. “How nice! I’m glad I went Austrian this time.”

Stefan stirred the contents of his glass. “Why have you come to St. Anton, Sonia?” he asked.

She looked at him in astonishment. “I came to work, Stefan.” He frowned.

“Is there not the need in England for nurses? I do not understand.”

Sonia sipped her tea before replying. “In England it’s too easy. Here I think there is more need.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “There is the need, yes, but not the money.”

Sonia hesitated. “I don’t need the money so much.” She stopped in embarrassment before going on. “It sounds silly, but I wanted to be able to give something that was really wanted.”

“That I can understand, but the
money ...
Are your parents wealthy, then? You have an allowance, eh?”

“They are what we call comfortably off.” She didn’t want to tell him that she had no intention of using the allowance her father had insisted on.

“I see. You are not like Michael. You have not had a struggle, the fight to get what you want. You have not had the pain of hurting people that do not understand what you attempt to do. You are born with what they call the silver spoon, eh?”

“You are as unfair as Michael!” Sonia flashed at him. “You don’t understand either. My parents didn’t want me to be a nurse. They wanted me to sit at home and twiddle my thumbs, go to parties, say all the right
things ...
just to be part of an accepted pattern.”

“But, Sonia, is it not desirable that you comply with the plans of your parents? You are young, attractive, unmarried. Is it not better that you remain under the protection of your family?”

Sonia sighed. “Stefan, you sound like my grandmother! You’re being too old-fashioned for words.”

Stefan smiled in a puzzled way. “Am I? Perhaps I say things that are not polite. If you are ready, shall we walk to the summit?”

Sonia stood up. “Is it far? I thought we were already there.”

Stefan led the way to the exit. “It takes perhaps half an hour to climb by the path. If you were dressed for mountaineering we could take the short cuts, but this time I think we go by the path.”

“Stefan, have you known Michael long?”

He glanced back over his shoulder. “We met in London. He
helped me then when things were difficult. Now it is my turn to repay that debt.”

Sonia picked her way through the loose stones. “Did he come to St. Anton because you were here?”

Stefan laughed. “You ask always questions. Michael came to St. Anton. I am not here. I came to St. Anton and found Michael. I thought he was in England. He thought I was in America. For both of us it was a surprise.”

Sonia looked down and saw with astonishment how far they had climbed already. The path curved gradually upward in narrowing circles as it approached the crown of the mountain, but the gradient was so gentle that she hadn’t been conscious of the effort. Below them people moved across the terrace of the restaurant like ants, and the valley had disappeared into the heat haze.

Why had she been so eager to question Stefan about Michael, and what had she learned from his answers? Almost nothing. The question she really wanted to ask was one that she couldn’t ask Stefan.
Where did Greta fit into the triangle
?
Did it matter? A few days ago she hadn’t known that either Michael or Stefan existed. If she had met them in England would they have become such an important part of her life so soon?

“Sonia, look at that old man. I wonder what’s wrong with him. Shall we ask him if he desires our help?”

Sonia saw an old, white-haired man walking slowly toward them down the path. He seemed to find each step an effort, and his face was drawn with pain or emotion, she couldn’t be sure which.

She put a hand on the old man’s arm. “Can we help you?” she asked gently.

He raised his head and stared at her in uncertainty at first. “Mam’selle is kind. I had thought to climb to the top to write my name in the visitors’ book. My daughters will come next month, and I had wished to surprise them with evidence that I have been to this place before them. Now I find that it is too much. I am too old. I have delayed too long.”

Sonia glanced at Stefan. “Perhaps if we take you with us you will find it easier. See? It is not so far after all.”

They took the old man by the arms and continued the ascent slowly.

“I am 80 years old. Perhaps you do not think it? I came long ago when I was a young man, and always I promise myself that I return. Thanks to your kindness I keep the promise I make. You are English, mam’selle, are you not? But you, sir, I think not.” Sonia saw that shadow fall again across Stefan’s face. What it must be like to be an exile with perhaps never an opportunity to
return to what had been one’s home
—

But the old man didn’t seem to expect an answer. “I come from Denmark where we do not have mountains. It is beautiful, but not like this. Can we not rest a little?”

The three of them sat on a ledge of rock, and Sonia felt as if she were sitting on the edge of the world. None of her worries seemed very important. It was enough that she was alive.

The old man rose slowly to his feet. “I am ready to continue,” he said.

As they rounded the next corner Sonia could see a small, low building, beyond it scaffolding, and workmen’s shacks.

“Perhaps they build the TV antenna.” The old man turned to Stefan.

“It was not here when I came before,” Stefan confessed. “Let us take you to the ca
fe
, sir. Perhaps you would enjoy some refreshment after your exertions.”

The old man smiled at them. “You are most kind. You must permit me to be your host.”

As they drank their tea they turned over the pages of the big visitors’ book. The entries were many and various. Some were drawings; some were souvenir coinage of other countries; others were just signatures.

Sonia’s eyes fell on an entry ...
two entries.
Michael Bradbury
... Greta Helptmann.
So they had come together. She looked at the date—June, it had been in the early summer. Had they come just to see it as she and Stefan had come today, or had it meant something special?

Sonia became aware that Stefan was holding out a pen. “Come, Sonia. You must sign your name.”

She took it with fingers that trembled. Would Michael come another time and see her signature, and would it matter to him whom she was with? She signed her name, added the date, and passed the book to the old man.

He beamed at them happily. “My daughters will not believe that I have been here. Would you be so kind as to write down my address that I give you. Perhaps you could write a postcard to say that you have truly met me on Patscherkofel?”

Stefan put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “We do that for you gladly. We too will remember that we have been here with you, eh, Sonia?”

She nodded. She could not tell him that she might have preferred to have been there with someone else.

The old man signed his name with a flourish. “Now, I will sing you a song in Danish, but it is a song that you will know well, mam’selle.”

He stood up, held out his hands to them both, and began to sing in a still vigorous voice
Auld Lang Syne.
Sonia felt between laughter and tears as she joined in the old familiar song. She had never expected to be singing it on a mountain top in a strange country.

The journey down the mountain again seemed almost an anticlimax. The old man, full of his success at having obtained his ambition, had taken a new lease on life and was striding along beside them.

“Tomorrow I fly to Vienna and next week I return to Copenhagen. Perhaps I travel again next year. At 80 one never knows, but one learns to live each day as it comes. You are both young. You have yet to learn that time is a treasure to be spent wisely. You are sweethearts, perhaps?”

Sonia found herself blushing, but Stefan answered for her. “We work at the same hospital, that is all.”

The old man looked keenly at them both and then smiled. “It is of no importance what I have said. Last year I met a young man. He was English, but he did not care to work in his own country. He said there was no longer the freedom he wanted. His name I have forgotten, but he works in a hospital near here. Perhaps you know him, but again why should you?”

“Was his name Michael Bradbury?” Sonia asked before she could stop herself.

“Ah, yes, that was the name. You know him, then?”

Again it was Stefan who answered. “He is a friend of mine, and he also works at our hospital.”

“So you are friends. Perhaps you would be so good as to remind him of his meeting with Carl Sorensen and tell him that an old man hopes he has found what he is looking for.”

Sonia became aware that he was smiling at her in such a way that she knew he had seen the question in her eyes.

“He did not tell me what it was that he wanted, but sometimes the old ones can read what is not written. Ah, I see the cable car is on its way up. I will leave you now as I must return. I cannot thank you enough for your so kind assistance. I will not forget it.” They watched the old man walk away with firm steps. He bore little resemblance to the weary, bent figure they had met earlier on their way up.

“Come, Sonia. It is time we ordered our dinner. Shall we sit on the terrace, or would you prefer to be inside?”

Sonia looked down at her packet that she was still carrying. “Terrace, please. It’s so nice to feel the cool air against my face, and I don’t want to miss the
sunset ...
not any of it. Did you ever see anything so lovely?”

The mountains stretched away to the skyline on all sides of them, mountains that seemed to have been carved out of gold, mountains whose lower slopes were half hidden by streamers of clouds rose-tinted by the last rays of the sun. Sonia felt she would never tire of gazing at them. All through dinner her eyes kept stealing back to the spectacle whose colors changed from moment to moment, each change bringing fresh delight.

Stefan touched her arm. “Sonia, have you forgotten? We came to learn German
phrases...”

Sonia brought her attention back reluctantly. She did want to learn the German she would require, but the necessity recalled the way Michael had behaved. What right did he have to enforce his rules upon her? She had to admit it was the most demanding right in the world, the right of their patients. Their lives could depend
upon her knowing what was wanted. It was the way he had done it that rankled. He could have suggested it quietly, not laid down ultimatums so peremptorily.

She sighed. “I know, Stefan, but it’s almost too lovely an evening to spoil with lessons.” She took out her dictionary and her notebook. “How do you tell the children it won’t hurt?”

Stefan laughed. “I suppose that is very important. If it is a girl you say:
meine Kleine, das tut nicht Web
... if it’s a boy you say:
mein Kleiner, das tut nicht Web.
Next question!”

“What do you call the nurses? Greta says it so quickly that I can’t be sure.”

“That is simple. You say
Schwester.”

Sonia’s tongue stumbled a little over the word.
“Schwester
...
that sounds something like sister. How funny! What do you call the trained nurses, and those in charge of the wards, then?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “You call them all the sam
e
—Schwester...
nuns, registered nurses, and the student nurses. It is much easier. In England I was always in trouble for that. The younger nurses were flattered, but the ward sisters if they overheard were most displeased.” He glanced at his watch. “I will order the coffee. I think perhaps we should drink it indoors. I fear that you may be cold.”

There were still several tables filled with diners whose faces were flushed either from the sun, or from the wine they were drinking. One group were singing, and their clear voices singing one of the Austrian folk songs added enchantment to the scene.