A Golden Christmas

Heavy flakes fell unrelentingly from a leaden sky, so I could barely see where I was placing my feet – treacherous indeed as the mountain pass was perilously close to the edge, so I was grateful for each reassuring creak revealing I was on firm ground. The only signs I was near the forest were the tree-tops, which poked out of the monotonous whiteness like witches’ hats, and the cries of woodland birds sketching charcoal patterns in the sky as they made their way home. The icy air felt like a blade against my face and I wished I too were nearing home. This time tomorrow, this ridiculous and perilous escapade would be at an end and I should be. Trudging the last stage of the high-altitude path I’d been compelled to take, with, I admit, some pride, I looked back. The mountain from which I was now descending was a vast grey giant frowning down at me, its brothers beyond, behind which I’d begun my journey, forming razor-sharp battlements against the sky.

“Your uncle has left you gold”, the lawyer had said, reading his will. “The only condition is you must fetch it yourself”. Within a second, I went from baffled yet elated to irritated and petulant: I’d always believed my father an only child, now not only the blow of being misled all my life but this stranger was trying to control me with a dead hand. Mortgage, recent hefty bills and the wife’s icy insinuations that exerting myself was the least I could do to contribute could not be comfortably ignored though. So here I was, trekking the notoriously beautiful yet deadly Alpine path alone and on foot the week before Christmas (additional conditions) and about to descend into the unknown forest where I learned he’d made his hermit home after ‘falling out’ with grandfather by spectacularly shunning his expectation of taking over the ‘capitalist monstosity’ of the family business.  

Once in the shelter of the trees, it was warmer and the aroma of the pines was pleasant. My phone told me there were only three miles to endure and, after resting on a log for a short break, I decided to tackle the final stage so I’d arrive not long after nightfall. The weak sun had now given up trying to conquer the day and the scene before me was suffused with spectral tones. An owl hooted; an icicle like a spear of purest crystal groaned then snapped. Otherwise silence. Loath to do so, I admitted I did feel clearer for the pristine air and the exercise. My uncle had always, my father had explained before I set off, criticised the sedentary city lifestyle, urging him to outdoor pursuits or to at least fit in ‘fresh air and down time’. No wonder father who could barely be prised from this office on Christmas Day had blotted this brother from his memory. And I had to admit I was, for once, with Dad on this one. Dr. Grant might forever preach to me about heart-attacks, but sterling doesn’t grow on trees and taking your eye off the ball can lead to a big fall.

Then I emerged into the glade. Beneath a black velvet sky studded with diamonds, lay the frozen lake glinting bluey-white in the creamy light of the moon, and on its banks untrodden snow glistened as if scattered with a million gems. Beyond it, at last, was the cabin glowing like a beacon. I’d made it! And I had never seen anything so beautiful. The door creaked open and I was embraced by the warmth of a roaring fire. At the other end of the tiny home, a stove gave out more heat and delicious smells came from a simmering pan on its top. The pine table was laid for me, a letter balanced against the glass. From the cheerful terracotta-coloured upholstery to the vibrant paintings, the whole place exuded comfort and warmth in the golden glow of fairy lights and candles punctuating every free surface.

Sitting down to eat, I opened the envelope. I scanned for pound signs and zeros – but nothing. A wasted journey! “Congratulations for completing the physical feat of getting here. Stay here for one week exactly – eat, sleep, read, walk and fish. There is no internet, but Mary from the village will see you have everything you need.  Then you will get your reward. PS Keep the key when you leave, this place is yours forever now and I hope you will use it well”. Despite the delicious soup, I was fuming. A whole week. Work deadlines! Networking parties I’d miss! There was nothing for it though, I ‘d come this far. He could think again from his grave if he thought I’d be repeating this nonsense though. I’d put it on the market back in London, some keen ski-ers would be sure to snap it up.

Having followed the instructions to the letter as I was unable to progress any work from this end-of-the-earth location, I realised I was shedding stress like a snake-skin; I was shedding pounds too and noticed the healthy glow of my skin in the bathroom mirror. I’d never had sleep like it and my head was clear as glass. With no other entertainment after days hiking and foraging, I found myself chuckling with enjoyment as I waded through Uncle Jacob’s book collection in the comfy chair by the fire. I caught myself smiling a lot in fact, especially at the ending of 'A Christmas Carol' - I'd scraped through the exam without ever getting to the ending before, I recalled.

It was exactly one week. I packed up my sparse belongings and awaited the next note or sign about my ‘reward’. Nothing. I simply had to leave at dawn next day or I wouldn’t make the plane for which I’d found tickets on the mantlepiece and I’d be in the dog-house for not being back for the exuberant discovery of stockings, the messy unwrapping of high-price-tag-low- appreciation gifts and the obligation of sprouts and the blandest roast which I’d hitherto found the season to mean. Perhaps next year I’d bring the family here; their squabbles might too be scoured away in the bracing air, their stresses melted by the fire-side and a new zest for life ignited in the soft candle-light.

Closing the door behind me and skirting the lake the way I’d come, I breathed in the bracing air and enjoyed the crunch of snow beneath my boots. The mountains before me glistened in the rosy blush of dawn, looking more kindly at me now, as if I were no longer a hostile stranger. Turning around, fresh flakes dancing like fairies before me, I looked at the cabin and glade again and saw clearly at last (my vision had been better for a week without screens). Bathed in the golden light of a new day, this was the ‘reward’ and ‘gold’ uncle meant in his will. Healthy, happy, rested and smiling with the beauty of life, I knew I wouldn’t sell it but would be back as often as I could and take care of it for the rest of my life, as it had taken care of me.