3.

Here is the second short story in my fiction section. In this, again I was trying for mood and atmosphere, rather than just storyline. To create a sense of mystery, as well as of foreboding and the ominous. Because of the treacherous danger of the Swiss Alps, in which the story takes place. The juxtaposition of the irresistible beauty of those mountains, with the nearness of death, in them. In the small skiing and climbing resort town of Zermatt, Switzerland, there is a cemetary--for people who die in the mountains. So this is one of the themes.

The other is the theme of "coming of age". A young man on his first major venture out into the larger world. In a previous generation that would have been a stint in the army, and possibly being sent to a war. In 1981 in the United States there weren't any wars on, so "Jim", the main character, decides on an adventurous solo trip through Europe. He figures there'll be some danger, but also a lot of good touristing along with it. Subconsciously, at least, his hike to the base of the Matterhorn, Switzerland's famous climbing mountain, upon which many mountaineers have died, is his "flirtation" with death. This possibility was greatly increased by the fact that his hike was in the off season for most winter sports, so he was totally alone in the region, when he set out, and by the fact that it was mid November, about 20 degrees F, and weather was unpredictable and often severe that time of year.

Jim ends up hiking about six kilometers in seven hours, from about 5,200 feet elevation to about 10,600 feet, with no provisions but a liter of water. By the time he makes it back to the town of Zermatt he's probably seconds from collapse from dehydration and fatigue.

But Jim feels that he's accomplished something, by the end of that day. Not anything truly heroic, but maybe a first step on the road to manhood. Which every young fellow, I guess, at some point must take--if he wants to ever rise to true maturity, above the "callow youth" he'd been before. And I'm sure every young fellow in that situation, who faces that perilous gulf he must cross, hopes that fortune or "fate" will be enough on his side that he'll be one of the ones lucky enough to get safely to the other side.

Max

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Zermatt at dusk, Matterhorn in background

"Zermatt"

                                                                    by

                                     Maxwell G. Truethteller                                                    [Copyright Maxwell G. Truethteller, 2025, all rights reserved.]

["Jim" is James Henderson, aged 19, an American college student on a ten-week solo trek through Europe, fall, 1981. The story takes place November 18th and 19th of that year.]

                   Jim took the train to Zermatt that fall to see the Matterhorn. There was a special train designed for going up steep mountain inclines that took you the last few miles to the village, which was nestled in the Alps. It was late at night when he arrived.

                   He checked into the youth hostel and then went to bed. On the way to the hostel he had passed some Swiss girls. He had said hello to them, and hoped they were staying at the hostel.

                   The next morning Jim got up and ate breakfast, which was provided, and consisted of fresh rolls with butter and jam and coffee or tea. The dining area of the modern facility was peopled by a few Swiss and German youth who were very calm and quiet. They spoke softly to each other as they ate their breakfast and drank their coffee.

             Later Jim walked through the town. There were a few restaurants, bars and souvenir shops which appeared to cater to tourists. You could buy large posters of the mountain and the usual knickknacks. The buildings were Swiss chalet-style, of dark-colored wood.

                   Jim stopped in a restaurant to get some real food before starting toward the mountain. Then he bought a plastic bottle of mineral water to take along for the journey. It was cold and he had on his down parka. But after hiking for a few minutes he was taking it off.

                   The trails up the mountain were marked with wooden signs that read "Hornli Hutte", "Schwarzsee", "Zum See" and such with numbers indicating how many minutes' or hours' walk they were away. Snow was up the mountain and its foothills and many of the trails were covered with snow or ice in places. The woods and the grass were brown except for a few evergreens.

                   Jim continued on up the trails toward the peak in the distance. Sometimes it disappeared and you didn't know if you were getting closer or farther away. Then you came out again and you were higher. The distance was deceptive.    

                   Jim saw no one else on the hike that day. Occasionally he passed the remains of an old log cabin. They were made of squared timbers notched together at the corners and weathered a dull grey. They obviously had not been inhabited for a long time.

                   Eventually Jim got high enough so that he could see the town down below in the valley. It seemed small, like a toy village. He lay down on the grass and drank some water.

                   By now Jim was relatively high up into the mountains, which were brown and craggy and partially covered with snow. The highest peaks were sort of black against white and extremely rugged. You got dizzy looking at them because they seemed to be moving. The clouds passed over them sometimes shrouding the mountaintops.

                   As Jim was walking he came to a precipice. He couldn't see over it but when he got close enough to look over the edge he saw that it was a sheer cliff that dropped hundreds of feet down. He could have walked right over it to his death.

                   As he was walking down ice flows covered many of the trails in places. He carefully picked his way across them trying not to slip. He was in a hurry to get down the mountain because he had run out of water and was starting to get very thirsty. He had sweated heavily inside his clothes.

                  He had reached his highest point after five hours of climbing. He had lain down on the grass and taken some pictures of the surrounding vista with his pocket camera. He wanted to be able to show how high he had gotten, which was relatively high considering he had been alone and unprepared. An old woman whose family he had stayed with in Lyon, Switzerland had counseled him to be careful in the Alps, as many tourists and climbers had been killed, not knowing the treacherousness of the mountains and thinking they were bound for an easy tour of a well-managed alpine park. "Think of your mother," she had said, "Think of your family--"

                  "Was it that dangerous?" Jim had thought at the time. Nevertheless, he was determined to go. The craggy face of the Matterhorn, shrouded in mist, rose up behind him as he lay in the grass.

                   By the time he got down from the mountains it had been seven hours, maybe seven and a quarter. He was half-mad with thirst. He looked for the first bar or restaurant and went in and up to the bar. "Ein glass trinkwasser, bitte," he had said to the bartender. He thought he meant bottled mineral water and gave him that. "Haben sie keinen andere wasser?" he had said, trying to explain. Finally he pointed to the spigot of the sink and the bartender reluctantly gave him a glass from that.

                  "You have been in the mountains?" he said.

                  "Yes," said Jim.

                   The bartender continued to polish glasses as he stood behind the bar and Jim gulped down the glass of tap water and then asked for more.

                   "I have much thirst," he said. "I did not realize I would get so thirsty in the cold."

                   The bartender said nothing and continued working behind the counter.

                   "It is very quiet in the town now," Jim said. "Does it get much busier during the tourist season?" he asked.

                   "During the skiing season it is very crowded," said the bartender. "As soon as there are the first major snows."

                   "The snow that is here now is not enough--" said Jim.

                      "No," said the bartender.

                      "Is there good skiing around here?" Jim said.

                      "Yes," said the bartender, "but it is more around Montreux and St. Moritz. Here there is good climbing," he said.

                      "'Alpinists'?" Jim said.

                      "Yes," he said, "many of them from all over the world--Germany,          Switzerland, France, America--to climb the Matterhorn and other peaks in this area." 

                      "Is there anything going on now, any expeditions planned now?" Jim asked.

                      "None that I know of. Most climbing and hiking is in the summer, because conditions are best," said the portly bartender. "Go to the tourist office, here in town--there you can find out when there will be an expedition. Why, are you planning to join them?"

                      "No--" Jim said. "I have much fear of heights."

                      "In that case you should stay here, where it is warm and comfortable. Not too steep, nothing to fall off of."

                      "Thank you for that advice," Jim said smilingly. "As I was walking I came to a cliff. If it had been slippery I don't know what would have happened. I learned very quickly that there are no signs or guardrails."

                     The bartender laughed.

                     "Actually, I am glad there weren't. It would be a shame if there were. I am glad the mountains were kind to me--this gave me a chance to respect them."

                    "You should respect them--or else you maybe will not come back from them." 

                    "I see now how easy it is to be lost. Are there many avalanches in this  region?"  

                   "Oh yes, every year. It is very dangerous."

                   "I read that in the military avalanches can be a big problem."

                   "Even the army is not safe from them."

                   "Can't they figure out some way to set off the snow? Then it could all come down harmlessly."

                   "I suppose they've tried that."

                   "I think I will get a meal. May I see a menu?" Jim asked. The bartender  showed it to him and went back to work moving crates of glasses to the back and  tending to the essentials of the business. There was a waitress who took Jim's order  as he sat at the bar.

                   "Yes, ma'am, I would like the special of the day. It sounds very tempting. Do you live around here?" Jim asked.

                    Yes, she said.

                    "I am an American student. This is my first time in Switzerland. It is a        beautiful country. I wish I could get to know the people but it is very hard when you are a foreigner and a stranger. It is very lonely."

                    She showed that she understood.

                    "I am staying at the youth hostel," Jim said. "It is very nice. There are other kids my age there. I will try to get to know them, especially the girls," Jim said smilingly.

                    She laughed and went about her business, apparently amused at Jim in a fond way. In a few minutes his food was ready and he sat down at a table. He looked out the window of the restaurant at the passersby in the street. Just then two girls came in, the ones he had seen the first night as he was going to the youth hostel. Jim smiled at them as they came in, shyly and tentatively.

                    "Guten abend," Jim said politely. They smiled at him and then sat down at a table nearby. Jim's attention shifted to his steaming plate of food as it was brought to him by the waitress. "The plate is hot," she said, giving emphasis to the word "heiss". "Danke schoen," Jim said and took his knife and fork and began eating. Suddenly a great sense of peace came over him as he sat in his chair. It was a perfect moment, one of those moments when everything was going great. He felt perfectly at home in the coziness of the restaurant, a home away from home that he had made. Once again he had succeeded and triumphed over the odds to create a space of happiness in a sometimes alien world. People said he couldn't do it, couldn't travel alone without a plan, that he would get lost, that he would get sick, that all kinds of things could happen. But he was glad he'd done it his way, even though there were times of sheer hell, when everything seemed to go wrong and he felt lonelier than he had ever felt. The loneliness was a constant biting factor, like cold, that was constantly dogging him. Sometimes he didn't think he could stand too much more of it and he'd get quite depressed. But then something would happen and his spirits would pick up and he'd start to feel good again and feel like he could keep going--that was the way it was--peaks and valleys.

                    Besides, it was good practice for him, he thought, practice at overcoming difficulties in seemingly impossible situations. It was his "boot camp", where he would get to test himself but also see some of the world's most important sites and relics. It  was nothing heroic, but it was a small personal triumph...

                    Jim's mind wandered as he sat in the restaurant. It was the seventh week of the trip and he was just starting to think that, maybe, he could succeed--in the "Big World"--daunting and intimidating as it often was. Little did he know what things would be like later, in the rest of the 1980's, and the 1990's...

                    For Jim those would be difficult but great years, of great accomplishment. Through many trials and struggles he would increase greatly in intellectual power, and his own personal character, and gradually he'd start to be the kind of person he'd always wanted to be. After many years he'd start to see the callow, immature youth he'd been, whose main concern was himself. It would be an amazing climb, not in the material dimension, like his hike that day in the mountains, but in the intellectual, the psychological, the spiritual.     

                    But this was 1981. Jim sat relaxing in his chair drinking some hot coffee,  watching the passersby through the window of the restaurant. He felt like a true man of the world.