“God be with you!”
Our heavy vehicle was already in motion, and these were the last words that we heard. Forward, and God be with you; they mingle, become one, always accompany one another in my memory, and whenever to this day I set out upon a journey, it seems to me that I hear them.
At the turn of the road, down below the entrance gate, I saw the three figures standing out in the glaring day, Aunt Deen somewhat massive; my mother’s, more delicate, and the tall, proud figure of my father, lifting up his head. Why did I not call out? The one word, “Father!” would have pleased him, and he would have understood. His figure revealed such force, so rich a vitality, so dominant an authority, that it was of course of no use to humiliate oneself to give him satisfaction. I should always have time enough if I wanted to do so,—later, later.
Grandfather was fumbling about my legs to rescue his violin case and I had to help him. We passed under the chestnut tree that had overshadowed—just one moment—the departing Nazzarena, Nazzarena laughing and showing her teeth. And the house was lost behind us.
I was not slow to forget this uncomfortable parting in the enchantment of my new life in the chalet of the Alpette. For the first time I was absolute master of my days. Grandfather exercised not the slightest oversight. He liked to sit for hours together on a bench on the pleasantest side of the house, warming himself in the sun and smoking his pipe. He took no walks except in the immediate neighbourhood, going with difficulty even to the pine woods, for his legs had become weak and could not carry him far. Once in the woods, he would devote himself to his favourite pursuit, which had not changed, the hunt after mushrooms. He especially pursued and not without success the negro head bolet, which grows well in the shadow of the pines. Jamie and his inseparable Nicola used to go with him, and stoop for him to retrieve the game which he pointed out to them. He preferred their childhood to my youth, and I was not jealous of them. He never tried to establish with them the intimacy that had formerly existed between him and me. He shrank from all fatigue, from any conversation which would have led to discussions, explanations, was contented with trifling facts not open to debate. For my part, I preferred my solitude.
Whether from sisterly affection or because she had received instructions to this effect, Louise busied herself with us even to obsession; she would have cut herself in two to be at the same time with me and with the two little ones. When she had become convinced of the peaceful, commonplace character of grandfather’s conversation, she turned all the more to me, hoping to be my confidant, and to gain a little influence over me. She was only two years my senior, and her conduct filled me with wonder, for nothing down in the town had given any indication that altitude would so totally change her. Pretty, lively, care-free, I had deemed her rather volatile and even a bit capricious—and had been not the less pleased with her for that. At times she would rush at her piano with intense zeal, and again she would not touch it for weeks. She filled the house with her laughter, her charming spirits, her quick movements. “She won’t be one to interfere with me,” I had thought in the carriage. And now, behold her suddenly changed into something like the head of a community or a family boarding house, thoughtful and kindly, but exacting, even arbitrary. One must be punctual at meals, explain his absences, guard his words before the children, not turn either principles or people into ridicule. Had her responsibilities changed her and turned her head? She assumed the place of our parents in matters of conscience, but I gave her to understand that boys didn’t obey girls, and that any directions she might have received did not concern me. She insisted, and almost from the outset we were in a state of tension which was almost conflict.
It was the Sunday after our arrival. The village was two kilometres distant, and only one mass—high mass—was celebrated. Louise informed us of the fact, and at what she judged the proper moment she called to us to set out. Grandfather, who never went to church, raised a disinterested objection.
“Public places are the most unhealthy. Beware of the epidemic.”
“There has not been a single case of typhus in the whole valley,” said Louise triumphantly.
“Very well,” said grandfather, filling his morning pipe.