Before the storm spent itself, snow lay twelve feet deep in Grand St.
Bernard Pass and some of the drifts were three times as deep. Every
cliff and slope held a huge burden of snow, but it was not a burden
willingly accepted. And the danger increased a hundred times over.
Enough snow to mold an ordinary snowball might be wind-blown and start
more, which in turn gathered more. Finally, carrying boulders, ice and
everything else that lay in its path, an all-destroying avalanche would
roar down. Such avalanches were a daily occurrence on the peaks about
the Hospice.
Franz stood in front of the stable, Caesar beside him. He was watching
the sun glance from the surrounding peaks. Wherever it touched snow or
ice, it gave back a reflection so dazzling that to face it for more than
a few minutes meant to risk blindness. A million jewels, Franz thought,
a hundred million jewels, and each one more brilliant than the brightest
ornament in any emperor's crown.
The Hospice itself, with ski trails radiating in every direction, like
the spokes of a giant wagon wheel, was banked high with snow. Except for
the House of the Dead, toward which he looked only when he could not
avoid doing so, Franz thought it the most beautiful sight he had ever
seen.
Anton Martek, sitting on a chair beside the stable's open door,
fashioning a ski pole, did not look up from his work. A complete
craftsman, regardless of whether he was honing an ax, making a ski pole,
milking a cow, skiing, or doing anything else, Anton believed
wholeheartedly that anything worth doing was worth doing well, and it
could not be well done unless it received his undivided attention.
Presently, Franz saw a man leave the refectory and ski toward the
stable. It was Father Mark, who smiled when he came near and said, "Good
afternoon, Franz."
"And a very good afternoon to you, Father Mark," Franz replied. "Have
the travelers come up?"
"Not yet," Father Mark told him. "But Fathers Stephen and Benjamin have
gone down to guide them. On a day such as this, let us hope there will
be no trouble."
"Let us hope so," Franz agreed.
He felt a pang of sorrow. Father Benjamin, who always took Caesar with
him when he went down to the rest house, had not even told Franz he was
going. But it was not his place, Franz reminded himself, to tell the
Fathers what they should or should not do. If Father Benjamin had not
asked for Caesar, it was because he did not want him.
Anton Martek stood up respectfully and said, "Good afternoon, Father
Mark."
"And to you, Anton." Father Mark noted the half-finished ski pole. "Busy
as usual, I see. Well, they do say Satan finds work for idle hands."