APRÈS-SKI OR…?

It was an early morning start; by half-past six, Matteo had arrived in Chamonix, the base of the Mont Blanc. He was excited, fired up for one of the greatest challenges of his life. He was about to conquer the highest slope in Europe. Matteo was in his mid-forties, Italian by birth, and he skied regularly on the slopes of the Dolomites. This accustomed him to the high-altitude pressures of the sport. It put him in good stead for the day’s activity.

The ski lift would make its first trip just after eight in the morning. Matteo made his way into one of the cafés and ordered a plate of delice-des-Grisons, dark rye bread, and strong black coffee. The café was already humming with trade from those planning on catching the first ski lift to the summit of Aiguille du Midi. Matteo observed the faces of those who would share the slopes with him that day. The breakfast would sustain him well. He made his way back to his car to clad himself against frostbite that was already nibbling into his toes and fingertips, and to collect his gear. Despite the darkness, the cable cars were already in motion, carrying dedicated skiers to its peak. Only the loud clanking and creaking sounds of the ski lifts broke the stillness of approaching day. The weather forecast was good and little rays of sun could be seen bursting through the greyness that lay beyond the many shades of whiteness of the alps. It was a well packed cable car that made the two-stage journey to the summit. Being a closed space, it was soon filled to a crescendo with the chatter of frequent users as they exchanged their experiences of the past day and what they hoped for today. Only the sudden change in direction made by the carriage created a momentary lull to the level of noise. The cable car lunged towards the face of the glacier before resuming motion along a smooth course. Matteo felt the coffee churning in his stomach. At the peak, at the end of that easy climb, they all clambered out, suddenly experiencing the dizzying effects of low atmospheric pressure. Matteo resorted quickly to his breathing exercises to acclimatise. Slowly, he took in that awe-inspiring scenery all around him, unbroken and surreal. It stretched for eternity; the whiteness engulfed him, made him one with nature’s ruthless splendour. The adrenalin rushed to every tendril of his body as he heaved himself off with his ski poles down the treacherous slopes that laughingly coaxed him. Would it be adventure or misadventure? Off-piste skiing was not for the fainthearted.

Heart still throbbing, Matteo kept his concentration on his breathing as he made his first drop into the steep slope between the Aiguille du Midi and the Col du Plan. It was a breath-taking leap that seemed to never end. He was flying through the air with clouds of powdery snow masking his visibility. The exhilaration was beyond description. Suddenly, he was doing somersaults in the air, forwards, backwards, and sideways. It seemed like an eternity before he was cruising along once again, and the terrain was changing in spectacular fashion as he flew on his skis. There were valleys, hills, green fields, and he felt as light as a feather. He was cruising now, then wafting slowly, until he came to a halt outside a beautiful villa.

A smiling crowd, all dressed in finery, greeted him, cheering him with champagne glasses in hand. He knew them. He had met these people many years ago at his uncle’s place, at a party.

‘Do you always arrive in such a sensational fashion?’ quizzed Salvio, as he approached Matteo, grasped his hand, and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘We thought you were going to give us a miss…. But here you are…, and in fancy dress, by the looks of it.’

Matteo was a little lost for words as others in the crowd came across to greet him. He responded with discretionary politeness.

           ‘Hey Matteo,’ said Ruggio. ‘Let’s get you out of that gear and sort you into something more fitting for the occasion.’

Someone had run into the villa and now waved a formal evening outfit at the surprised Matteo. Matteo turned to Salvio and pulled him close to whisper into his ear.

           ‘Salvio. Can you tell me what’s going on, please?’

Salvio looked perplexed. ‘Are you that drunk, Matteo? Don’t you even remember the date? It’s your stag party?’

           ‘Eh, no, I’m just a bit confused…, must be my busy work schedule tiring me out.’

Matteo followed the young chap waving the formal outfit at him into the house. The house was full of people who soon surrounded him.

           ‘Matteo, welcome to the party. And even more so, welcome to our large family.’ It was Nikolay. Matteo recollected his uncle introducing him as his business partner. That was several years ago. And there were a few other faces he recognised in that crowd, Vladi, Pavel, Konstantin…, and he had spotted his uncle in the far corner. It was reassuring to some degree, that this was a family affair. His own family had, however, kept their distance from his uncle Vincenzo. Always up to some dirty business is what his father would say, but he had never clarified what that “dirty business” was. Matteo had his own suspicions.

           ‘Come, let’s celebrate,’ said Nikolay. Then, seeing his attire, he guided him into a private room to get changed.

Mechanically, Matteo changed into the new outfit. He looked at himself in the mirror. The clothes were a good fit, and he looked tanned and robust. Then, he remembered the words ‘stag party’ and a cloud came over his face. Whose stag party was it? He had surely heard wrong. Perhaps he was having a dream…, or was it the dizzying effect of the down-hill ski? The noise outside interrupted his thoughts. They were calling out to him, knocking on the door, urging him to hurry and join them. Right now, Matteo had little choice. He took one last look at himself in the mirror, forced a smile on his face, and stepped out to face the music.

           There was a loud cheer as he opened that door and entered the crowd. They thrust a glass of champagne into his hand. He was grateful for that. It was something to focus on and avoid saying too much. Before long, Matteo found himself enjoying the situation he was in; the food, the wine, the flamboyant French Riviera setting, all so surreal. Why should he not make the most of it?

           ‘Drink up, Matteo,’ said Vladi. ‘We want you to be happy while you’re still a bachelor. Life’s going to be different once you’ve tied the knot with Lara. And don’t forget, she’s the only daughter of the big boss!’ Vladi looked at Nikolay, who was now ready to address his future son-in-law.

           ‘Well Matteo, I think you’ll make a fine husband for my Lara. Don’t forget, she’s a bit headstrong, but you’ll soon learn how to keep her on the leash. This union is finally going to strengthen our family in every way possible…. I hope you understand that.’ Matteo wondered if this had anything to do with his position as a bank manager in Florence. Nikolay was still talking. ‘The opportunities from now on are endless. Our prosperity will be eternal. Come! Let’s drink to the future…, our future together.’

Everyone raised their glasses to prosperity. Matteo was well inebriated by this time, but he was getting the gist of things. But a glint of reality was on the horizon. The situation was his handicap. He was trapped, unable to take unilateral action.

           ‘We have one last thing to do before the wedding, Matteo. Come with me,’ said Nikolay. ‘Pavel, is everything ready for the initiation?’

Pavel nodded. There were loud cheers as they led Matteo to a table where Pavel would set to work. They settled him into a comfortable chair with a glass of champagne in his right hand. Matteo laid his left arm on the table as instructed. Pavel folded Matteo’s shirt sleeve back and cleaned the inside lower arm with disinfectant. Matteo winced as the pain seared into his flesh.

           Nikolay rolled his sleeve up. ‘Yours will look just like this,’ he said, as he showed Matteo the tattoo on his lower arm. ‘Then we’ll be the same blood.’

Matteo groaned. Intoxicated, and in shock, he laid himself back in the chair and closed his eyes. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Here he was, about to be married off to one of the biggest mafia families operating in Europe, and there seemed little chance of getting out of the mess. He blamed his uncle Vincenzo for orchestrating the entire affair. After all, he was the only family member he had spotted at the occasion. No wonder his parents kept away from Vinni.

           The merriment continued through the night and into the next day. Exhausted, Matteo lay in a daze in one of the luxurious rooms of the villa. He slept on and off, moving from one dream to another, but always waking up to the same surroundings. It was the dawn of his wedding day. Waking up from his delirium, Matteo realised that he was suffering from cold feet. He wanted nothing to do with Nikolay or Nikolay’s daughter. A mafia connection was the last thing he wanted in his life. How dare his uncle make this arrangement without his consent? There was only one way out of this. Matteo’s eyes fixed intently on his ski outfit lying in a corner of the room.

           In a flash, Matteo was out of bed, changing into his ski clothes. He slid his skis on and moved out to the balcony. Suddenly, he was aloft, flying over the gardens, as curious bystanders gawked and pointed anxiously. He circled above them, once, twice, laughing to himself as he saw the preparations for the wedding under way. This was going to be a wedding without a groom. There was his horror-struck uncle. Matteo sent a flying kiss to him before zooming off into the horizon. He went past the same terrain he’d flown over before; green fields, valleys and hills and then the glory of the snow-capped peaks. He was somersaulting again, backwards, forwards and sideways, into the safety that only the mountains could afford him.

***

           Waking up was not uplifting. He was in pain. His limbs, his back, and his head ached. It was the periodic beeping that was disconcerting. Matteo opened his eyes. It was difficult seeing through the haze of snow. As that haze dissipated, Matteo realised he was just waking up. The surroundings were unfamiliar. He had an oxygen mask over his nose. He was in a hospital bed. What had transpired was not difficult to work out. Yet that dream had seemed so real; it made him nervous. The nurse soon informed him of his accident. He was in a hospital in Chamonix, still on French soil, but most definitely very far away from the Riviera. The injuries he had sustained during the fall were minor. He would soon recover, get back on his feet.

           Matteo had no family or friends in Chamonix, so it surprised him when the nurse informed him of visitors, two people to see him. They entered.

           ‘Matteo, so sorry to hear of your accident. And how lucky that I was spending a few days here and saw the news about your fall on TV. The nurse seems very happy about your progress to recovery, though.’ It was uncle Vincenzo. And with him was a tall figure that Matteo recognised.

           ‘I believe you remember me introducing you to Nikolay, my business partner, a few years ago,’ said Vincenzo.

           ‘Of course. Hello uncle, hello Nikolay,’ said Matteo, his tone muted with confusion.

           ‘Count yourself lucky with getting off so easily with this accident, Matteo,’ said Nikolay. ‘I want you alive and well for a business deal that your uncle and I are putting together. We think it will interest you…. We’ll talk about it later though…, once you are out of the hospital.’

Matteo tried hard to maintain his calm posture despite the turmoil in his mind.

           ‘Nikolay and I feel you might be a little safer with a female in your life. Have you got any plans along those lines?’ asked Vincenzo.

           ‘No, uncle. It’s not something I’ve given much thought to. I’m enjoying my life as it is.’

           ‘You’re getting on in years though…. Perhaps, in another year, you’ll more than likely want to settle down…, start a family?’ Vincenzo looked earnestly at Matteo, then shifted his gaze to Nikolay.

           ‘I certainly agree with that, Vinni. Every man needs a good woman in his life.’ It was at that moment that Nikolay pushed back the sleeves of his roll-neck.

Matteo stared in disbelief at the tattoo on Nikolay’s lower arm, an intricate figure of a dragon in red and blue. The aches in his body seemed to disappear instantaneously. It was the pain in his lower left arm that now concerned him. He held it up. Emblazoned on it was the self-same dragon tattoo, still red in its rawness. Matteo was perspiring intensely. Was this still part of his nightmare? He was too confused to question himself further, just happy to see his visitors leave.