The Dead Mountaineer's Inn Read Online Free Page A

remarked, growing more and more distracted. Watching Kaisa, I understood what Zgut had meant. Stretched out against the bed like she was, this dumpling looked pretty tempting. There was something about her, something strange and as yet unknown …
    â€œWell, here you are,” the owner said. “Settle in, relax, do as you like. Skis, wax, equipment—everything you want can be found downstairs, and if you need anything feel free to contact me directly. Dinner is at six, but if you decide you’d like something to snack on or refresh yourself with right away—I mean drinks, of course—just ask Kaisa. Welcome.”
    And he left.
    As Kaisa continued to work the bed to a level of unimaginable perfection, I took out a cigarette, lit it, and went over to the window. I was alone. At last, thank God in heaven and all his angels, I was alone! I know, I know: you’re not supposed to say this kind of thing, or even think it—but how difficult it is in this day and age to get a week, or a day, or even just an hour alone! I mean, I love my children, my wife, I get along well with my family, and the majority of my friends and acquaintances are quite polite and pleasant. But to have them coming around one after the other, and there’s no possibility—not even the smallest one—of getting out of it, detaching myself, disconnecting, locking myself away … I’ve never read this myself, but my son maintains that the greatest struggle man faces in the modern world is with solitude and alienation. I don’t know. I’m not so sure. Maybe all of this is just a romantic myth, or maybe I’m just unlucky. Either way, for me two weeks of solitude and alienation sounds like exactly what I need. So long as the only things I have to do here arethings I want to do, not things I have to do. A cigarette, for example, which I smoke because I want to, not because someone shoved a pack under my nose. And which I don’t smoke when I don’t want to smoke it—but only because I don’t want to, not because Madame Zelts doesn’t like the smell of tobacco smoke … A glass of brandy by a roaring fire: now that’s all right in my book. That would definitely not be a disaster. Apparently things here won’t be that bad. Which is just wonderful. I’m doing all right, alone with myself, with my body, which isn’t too old yet, it’s still strong, I can still put on some skis and dash off, all the way across the valley, towards those purple spikes, over the whistling snow, and then everything will be absolutely perfect …
    â€œCan I bring you anything?” Kaisa asked. “Anything you like?”
    I looked at her, and once again she shrugged and covered her face with her hand. She was dressed in a closefitting, multicolored frock, which puffed out in the front and back, and a tiny lace apron. A necklace of large wooden beads hung around her neck. She tilted her feet slightly inward; she didn’t look like any of the women I knew. This was also good.
    â€œWho’s here right now?” I asked.
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œHere. At the inn.”
    â€œThe inn? Who’s staying with us right now? Plenty of people …
    â€œWho exactly?”
    â€œWell, let’s see. There’s Mr. Moses and his wife. They’re in one and two. And three—except they’re not staying there. Or maybe it’s his daughter. It’s hard to figure out. She’s a beauty, giving them all the look …”
    â€œIs that so?” I said, egging her on.
    â€œThen there’s Mr. Simone. He’s in the room across from yours—a scientist. He’s always playing billiards and crawling up the walls. A troublemaker, but dull. Mentally speaking, I mean.” She blushed and shrugged her shoulders again.
    â€œWho else?” I asked.
    â€œMr. Du Barnstoker, the hypnotist who performs in