35
I smiled, overwhelmed by a nostalgia that wasn’t mine. Before us stood the Hostel Vita, the former home of my ancestors after the Great War. Max and I had walked past it twice without seeing it, and now I understood why. It looked very different from the description Grandma Carmen had written in her diary.
The small hotel stood between the forest and a narrow bend in the road that linked the lake to the village. The steep roof, similar to that of most of the subalpine buildings that could be seen in the area, still remained. But that was where the similarities to the house in the 1940s ended. Now, the facade was gleaming white, with beautiful insulated windows and views of a tangle of leafy honeyberries. The wooden balconies had been replaced by modern glass and steel railings. The building looked idyllic, blending cozy alpine charm with the luxury of modern materials―the kind of place a metropolitan office worker like Pedro would choose to get away from the world for a few days.
“It”s strange,” I mused, “to think that a part of my past still lives within these walls.”
“Well, wait and see what they tell us,” Max replied, pushing open the heavy glass door that led to the reception area.
The space smelled of clean sheets and freshly cut wood, and a short-haired young woman smiled at us from behind the counter.
“Do you have a reservation?” she asked in Spanish after hearing our greeting.
“No,” I answered, scrutinizing the price table behind her and concluding that I could never stay overnight in such an exclusive establishment. “I”m looking for the Heinzbergs.” I consulted the notes Max had taken at Enzo Rossi”s house. “Or maybe it was Hensberg?”
“Hengsberger?” prompted the receptionist, raising an eyebrow. “If you mean the owners, they don”t come here very often. They live in Austria and only visit us in the summer. But maybe I could help you instead.”
“I doubt it. I wanted to ask them about the people who lived here after World War II. I’m their granddaughter.”
The girl shook her head as if that were impossible.
“The owners are called Klara and Helmut Hengsberger, but I doubt they know anything. They own a lot of hotels; they invest when they see a good opportunity. But they don”t talk much to the locals, nor are they interested in local gossip. When they come, all they want to see are the accounting books.”
“Ah. I see. And you wouldn”t happen to know who they bought the house from?”
The young woman shrugged.
“No idea. I”m from Medvode, not Bled. Why don”t you go and see Kristina Kobal, the grocer, two houses down? She”s lived here all her life.”
We thanked her and tried our luck at Mrs. Kobal”s, who in turn referred us to the Zajcs, who in turn suggested we visit the Novaks.
When no one answered at the last house, I plopped down on the curb, discouraged.
“Let”s go,” I said to Max. “We”ll ask again at the civil registry in Ljubljana, but this time with the surname Hribar. We”re wasting time here, and I”m hungry.”
Max nodded, rolling up his sleeves. It was hot as hell for May.
“We could try to look for the Hengsbergers in Austria, but—”
At that moment, the door of the house opened, and a woman in her fifties appeared, wiping her floury hands on her apron. After repeating our story for the umpteenth time, the lady nodded.
“Katerina, yes! I remember her,” she said with certainty. “She lived in that house for a while, around about the time that I married Marko. May he rest in peace. She was an artist. A very peculiar woman. She liked to be alone. Then she left for the seaside, saying she wanted to paint the waves... ah, yes, she said...” The woman began to laugh as if it was the most absurd thing she had ever heard. “She said she had run out of green paint!”
The woman remained silent, and Max smiled as if he understood perfectly the difficulties of this unknown artist.
“So the house was bought by this Katerina. And do you know who was there before her?” I asked, hoping to find out more.
The woman in the apron shook her head, looking slightly troubled.
“I wouldn’t know. I came here in my twenties, but I think there were some women... an older one and a younger one... maybe also a man. I don”t know if he was family or if he worked in the inn. But I never got to know them. When I arrived in Bled, they left. I think the old woman passed away or moved somewhere else. Katerina might know.” She raised a finger and frowned. “Wait, I think I have her full name written somewhere. Let me have a look for it.”
***
We left Bled with Katerina Jerman”s name in our bag and renewed hopes. While Max was driving his Yugo, I tried to open the file that Indira had sent me by email. Unfortunately, I couldn”t because my phone didn”t recognize it. I called her several times without success. Her cell phone was turned off, which meant that she was probably on duty at the hospital again.
“How much longer?” I asked Max, scanning the highway, surrounded by green hills, that lay in front of us.
“Well, theoretically fifteen minutes, but...” He pursed his lips and fell silent.
“But what?” I asked, worried.
Then I heard it.
In the midst of the usual rattling of the car, whose parts shook as if they had a life of their own, I could hear a high-pitched buzzing sound coming from the hood.
“Don”t tell me that—”
Right then, the phone inside Max”s backpack began to ring. He tried to reach for it, but it was on the back seat, and the vehicle began to lurch back and forth.
“I”ll get it for you,” I yelled, forcing him to turn back to the road again.
By the time I found the cell phone, it had stopped ringing.
“It was an unknown number,” I said, turning on the screen. The prefix is from Austria.”
“I think it might be important,” Max said. “Do me a favor. Call back and put the call on speakerphone.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “The PIN code is 1234.”
A laugh escaped me, and he rolled his eyes.
“What a secure code,” I commented as I followed his instructions.
A woman answered the phone, and Max spoke to her in German for a few minutes. I understood absolutely nothing of their conversation, but afterward, I noticed he was much more nervous than before.
“Anything interesting?” I asked curiously.
“Nothing. Work stuff. Although I may have to go away for a day or two...”
The car let out a very loud clang.
“Move over to the shoulder!” I screamed, looking for something to hold on to.
Max swerved as best he could and planted the car on the right side just as the engine stopped for good.
“We almost got killed because of this damn deathtrap!” I shouted, unable to believe that I was stranded on the road for the second time in a week.
“Relax, woman,” Max replied, “the airbag didn”t even go off.”
Like it actually had one.
“It doesn’t even have a proper seat belt!”
I pointed to the patched belt, and Max gave me an apologetic smile.
“What do you prefer, walking or hitchhiking?
“I’d rather call the insurance company to come and pick us up.”
“Yes, well, now that you mention it...”
“Don”t tell me you don”t have insurance.”
“I had a technical problem.” He ran his hand through the waves of his straw-colored hair. “I”ll explain another time. Now, I need to figure out what to do with the car. For starters, I”m going to put up the safety triangles, and then I”ll figure out who to call so I don”t get ripped off.”
“But... you do have a driver”s license, right?”
He glared at me, offended, and I threw my hands up in the air, too exhausted to argue.
“You do what you have to do, but I need to get some air,” I said, feeling like I was suffocating in this vehicle with no air conditioning and impractical windows. Then I added, with little conviction, “You wouldn”t happen to have an emergency vest, would you?”
He dug under his seat and, to my surprise, held out a greasy bag with a bright yellow garment inside. I opened it, put on the vest, and jumped over the safety barrier away from the highway.
I started walking through a green meadow that led to a small grove of trees. Beyond it was a gas station, where hopefully I could get something to eat while we waited for the tow truck.
When I reached the shade of the pines, a woman came out of the thicket to meet me.
“Mom!” I exclaimed, looking back to check that Max had stayed in the car and couldn”t hear us.
“Nice vest, but why the grim face? Aren”t you happy to see me?” she asked me with a smug smile.
“Honestly, after a day like this… yes, I am almost glad to see you.”
“You were always so affectionate,” she said wryly.
“Look who”s talking,” I replied, sitting down on a tree stump. “So, what’s up?”
She half-smiled. “You know. Until I finish telling you my story, I”ll have to carry these chains...” She shook her arms, and I could have sworn there was a clinking sound.
“You stopped at the part where Dad caught you with Andreu, as I recall.”
She looked down at the floor, embarrassed, and then replied.
“Yes. It was the worst day of my life for so many reasons...”