Portrait of a Girl (28 page)

The air was cool. Although the first early snow had already melted, it was a harbinger of fall, like the meadow saffron whose pale pink now appeared in all the meadows. The sun was still warm, and there were some glorious days, but the weather was no longer dependable. Cool days on which the sky clouded over alternated with the summer brightness.

Emma Schobinger had sent warm underwear and dresses up to the clinic, and Edward, who originally had planned to leave at the end of August, had some warmer clothes sent to him: woolen leggings and heavy tweeds, even a warm coat. He didn’t want to leave until he had found out how Mathilde really felt about her engagement to Adrian, and until he, Edward, had told her of his affection for her and found out whether there was any hope that she would one day reciprocate his feelings for her.

James, who had actually planned to be gone long before this, had let himself be persuaded by Fabrizio Bonin to stay for the big Venetian Ball, a grand event the Spa Hotel Maloja held each year to mark the end of the season. Primoli and Bonin planned to leave after that.

James was now spending most of his time in Maloja. In spite of himself, he was impressed by Segantini who was so different than he was, and he wanted to see more of the paintings the artist was working on. Whenever he could, he spent time with Bonin, and he was also spending more time with Primoli, who was not only a master photographer, but also a splendid conversationalist.

James had taken photographs of Segantini with his recently developed and practical handheld camera, but he was also interested in the special techniques used to create the type of art photography that Primoli and Bonin spoke of with great enthusiasm.

Insights and Confessions

“I wanted to tell you something.” Segantini, stroking his dark beard, fixed Nika with a penetrating gaze.

She said nothing, her eyes as unfathomable as the sea.

“This year I’m leaving early for Soglio. In the winter, the Bregaglia Valley is a more pleasant place. Milder. Up here you’re buried under snow.”

Nika was still silent. So he was leaving. And soon. He could also have said tomorrow. Or, this evening.

For weeks I won’t be seeing him, she thought. Not all winter long. I won’t ever see him again. Once someone leaves, he doesn’t come back. That’s how things go. Her mother left and never came back. She, Nika, had run away from Mulegns and would never go back.

“When will you be leaving?” she asked.

“Soon. The end of September, I think. It looks as though winter will be early this year. In Soglio I can paint better out-of-doors.” For the first time she heard him laugh, a bitter laugh. “I have to be able to paint. You understand, don’t you? Without pictures, no money. I’ve never bowed to a theory, the opinions of the art critics, or academic arrogance. I’d rather live in the solitude of these mountains than in the salons of Milan and Paris. But my family has to eat; they need shoes and clothes, and the children need a good education. Even the stove needs to be fed so that I can gaze into its glowing red embers when I’m cold.”

“When will you come back again?” Nika asked.

“That depends entirely on the weather and my work. Maybe after Easter. Or maybe later. But you may have to leave if the Biancottis don’t want to feed you. The hotel is closed in the winter.”

Nika didn’t listen to what he was saying. Why should she listen to him now that he would be going away soon?

“Are you listening to me?” Segantini asked.

She seemed completely indifferent, shook her head.

He looked at her questioningly.

“Will you miss me?”

“No,” she said, again shaking her head.

She wanted to run away. But he was standing directly in front of her so that she felt she couldn’t get past him. She gathered all her strength as if she were going to jump over him in one powerful leap.

Segantini took Nika in his arms, holding the sobbing girl close.

“The season will be coming to an end soon,” Achille Robustelli said.

“I know,” Andrina replied. And this was precisely what was worrying her. They’d gone dancing several times already and she’d done her best to encourage his advances, but he still had not proposed. She had managed to get him to make some more intimate overtures, but it had all been somewhat delicate. Now the little plant needed to be nourished so it could grow—he remained too discreet in his courtship. She could not offer herself too openly for that would give her the air of being easy, which might ruin any chance she had of achieving a higher social position at his side. But time was short. He would be going to Italy for the winter, and it was anyone’s guess whom he might meet there.

“The hotel closes for the winter, and I’ll probably spend the winter months in Bergamo. What will you be doing? Would you like me to help you find a job in St. Moritz for the winter season?”

Exactly. Here they were. They had arrived at the point of danger.

Without a word, Andrina walked over to the door, turned the key in the lock, came back, and sat down on Achille’s lap. He was young and in the best of health, and Andrina sensed the desire coursing hotly through his veins. She slid a little higher up on his thighs and affectionately put her arms around his neck.

“I know you would do that for me. And of course I’d like to work here again next summer. With you, at your side. But if you go to Bergamo, Achille, it means that we won’t be seeing each other for months!” Her round breasts were so close that his breath came in gasps and he felt hot. “And do you think I could hold out that long?” she whispered close to his ear.

He stayed quite still, thrilled by her proximity, overcome with desire, embarrassed by the obviousness of his arousal.

“Did you hear me?” she whispered, now touching his ear with her lips, brushing against his cheeks with her cherry-red mouth.

“Oh yes,” he mumbled, visualizing the seductive Andrina with the chestnut-brown eyes lying in bed, waiting for him as—but, no, he couldn’t get carried away. First, he had to propose to her and tell his mother about the seriousness of the matter. He straightened up and gently pushed her back a little.

“I didn’t tell you anything about this before, but in a few days my mother is coming for a visit. Not exactly the most opportune moment as it happens—just before the end of the season and the grand ball. But maybe her visit is coming at a good time after all. I would like to introduce you to my mother. Then, perhaps, you could come to visit me in Bergam
o . . .
”

Andrina beamed. “You will?” She kissed Achille on the lips, utterly delighted. She embraced him as if wanting to choke him rather than marry him. He smiled, half in joy because of his decision and half in doubt.

“And then we’ll be engaged,” she cried. “And you’ll even buy me a real engagement ring with a diamond.”

Achille smiled. “That seems to be the most important thing to you. And when the time comes, you will get a ring.”

“Then you won’t have to find me a job for the winter,” she said, decisively, playfully turning the ring on his finger. “And as soon as you let me know, I’ll come to Bergamo. As fast as the wind.”

Achille was relieved. The side of his life that involved his emotions had lain fallow too long. But they were all still there. Indeed, he felt that it was this very abundance of unexpressed feelings that had led him to hide them over the years, displaying them less and less.

Not that he was inexperienced in sexual matters. In the army, and afterward too, he had occasionally gone with friends to brothels. But he didn’t enjoy these visits and always felt slightly out of place. Being good-looking, somewhat shy, and very polite as an officer, he’d effortlessly outrivaled the others. He had never wanted to share in his comrades’ coarse jokes, their stable manners, and disrespectful treatment of the women.

But now he sensed quite clearly that it was time to give up his solitary life. Andrina had recognized this, and he was grateful to her. He longed to have a woman’s body lying next to him at night, to finally yield to his own desires, to receive the mixture of tenderness, sex, and affection that he craved. To let his feelings, for which there had been no room while he was in the army or pursuing his career, all pour out. This completely different kind of passion and intimacy was what he needed.

Suddenly he saw Nika again, saw the way she had stood before Segantini yesterday, looked at him, before rushing into his arms; or had he been holding on to her because she wanted to run away? Why did this scene come to mind just now? He had felt ashamed watching them, but he hadn’t averted his eyes; he always seemed to be there when Segantini came to look for Nika. It struck him how inappropriate it really was.

Achille pushed Andrina off his lap.

“You have to unlock the door now, Andrinetta,” he said gently. “And another thing. I’ve been able to arrange for Nika to stay in the room next to yours. Seraina had to leave before the end of the season. Her mother died, and they needed her at home. There are many little brothers and sisters.”

Andrina felt herself getting angry. “So now she’ll have a room all to herself while I have to share mine?” she asked, her voice sounding dangerously calm, even as she was getting increasingly angry and her face was turning red.

“Please, Andrina, don’t get upset. It’s only for a few weeks. I’m glad I was able to solve the problem. I don’t understand why you’re reacting like this.”

“Let me explain,” she replied, quite furious, even stamping her foot as she stood in front of him. “This
straniera
that nobody knows anything about, this nothing of a nobody, she simply gets everything. People feel sorry for her. She settles in with us, eats at our table. She’s courted by Segantini, whose head she’s turned—the witch—just like she did my poor brother Gian’s. And you,” she took a deep long breath, “you allow her to stop working in the laundry so she can work in the garden and get fresh air, and now she’s allowed to lie down to sleep like a princess in a bed of down. And I’m not supposed to get angry? Why don’t you simply give her the diamond ring you just promised me!”

Achille looked at her, dumbfounded. “What did you say?”

“I say, why don’t you take her!” Andrina yelled, turned on her heel, unlocked the door, and slammed it shut behind her.

“Edward,” cried Mathilde. “I’ve never seen you dressed this way! Warm cap, woolen leggings. What’s the occasion?”

Edward smiled and took off his cap. “I’m preparing for hard times. Today’s weather is giving us a foretaste. Have you taken a look outside yet?”

Mathilde laughed. “No, you can’t see anything in this fog!”

“You should have seen the primeval soup that I’ve just traveled through.”

“Where are you coming from?” she asked. He always had a story to tell that drove away the boredom of the sanatorium routine.

“I went to meet an old friend from London who was staying in Pontresina,” Edward said. “His family is spending the summer there, and he sent me a telegram to say that he’d be visiting them for a couple of days.”

London. Mathilde suddenly visualized a salon—yes, she could quite clearly imagine what it must look like in a well-to-do family’s home in the West End. She pictured herself as one of the guests, healthy and radiant, although shy, and ashamed of her girls’ boarding school English. Edward was asking her to dance, and it seemed not for the first time. No, indeed, they knew each other well, she felt so natural in his arm
s . . .

“I actually had intended to walk to Pontresina,” Edward was saying, “but in this weather I decided to take a carriage instead. Even here, the lake was already rough and gray, but it was still a lake and the clouds were clouds. However, the farther we went, the more everything seemed to flow together. And then it was only clouds,” Edward went on. “We were driving directly into nothingness, a void.”

Mathilde pulled her chair closer to him.

“Then you really are dressed appropriately,” she said. “But what do you mean when you say, you’re preparing for hard times?”

Edward hesitated. “I’ve decided,” he continued slowly, “to stay here until you let me know your decisio
n . . .
even if that should be for the entire winter.”

“My decision?” Mathilde asked. “Decision about what? There’s nothing to decide. I’ll simply have to stay up here a long time, even if Dr. Bernhard believes that I’ll get well again.”

“You certainly will get well again. I know that for sure. I am willing it to happen.”

She laughed aloud. “But Edward, what do you mean, you’re willing it to happen? Whether we live or die isn’t in our hands. Certainly not with this disease.”

“Perhaps you don’t want to understand what I’m saying. You are engaged. Your fiancé was here. He will be visiting you again. And he, too, is hoping that you will get well again and come home soon. Are you going to marry him?”

Mathilde sat up ramrod straight.