Lost in the Swiss Alps

I opened my eyes. Papi was smiling.

“Good mornin’, good mornin’, frost and orange juice, good mornin’, good mornin’ to you.”

I recognized the Tropicana TV jingle. Papi sat by the side of my bed, dressed and ready to hit the slopes. He wore his matching black and bright orange parka and had my brand-new black and blue helmet in his hands. He urged me to get up and go. I wondered why Papi was singing to me. I sat up and hugged him. He never sang to me before.

La Nena and Güicho were up already. I had been waiting for Tita to come shake me awake. But I forgot Tita was in the other room, across the hall of the hotel. And maybe she wasn’t up yet.

We had driven from Zurich the day before, up the winding road to the Upper Engadine Mountains. We arrived at the hotel late in the afternoon. The sun was setting behind the snowy peaks, and the two spiraling turrets of the Suvretta House threw long shadows on the ground.

During the drive, I had been very disappointed. We didn’t see much snow. The mountain seemed bare, and I was afraid there would be no snow on the ski runs. I was riding in the back middle seat. I pushed forward so that Papi could hear me. “The ground is bare, and I can see the green branches of the pine trees.”

“You must pray.” Papi had said. “And there will be snow in the morning.” He fixed his eyes on the winding mountain road.

I had prayed that night, so when I got up from bed I went straight to the window. I saw that the trees were loaded. It was difficult to see their green needles. Their white coat was so bright it blinded me. It must have snowed buckets while we slept.

I took the ski helmet from the bed to keep it close to me as I brushed my teeth. Slipped on my long johns, my turtleneck, and my racing black pants with a white stripe running down the sides. Found my gloves, my goggles, put on my helmet, and waited for Tita to bring us breakfast. I was roaring to go!

La Nena was dressed too, but Güicho was in his pjs because he was too young for ski school. He would stay with Tita in the hotel, left behind, and crying.

Tita came in with the breakfast tray, hurried. Without putting the tray down, she turned to Güicho who had started to sob. “Stop it or I’ll give you something to cry about.” Güicho stopped crying.

We downed our breakfast in the room, cul cul. My stomach rumbled. Papi and Mami were ready and knocked on our door. Tita motioned us to follow them to the lobby.

The hotel lobby was cavernous but brilliantly lit. There were chandeliers everywhere, leather chairs, Greek columns, Persian rugs, and people in uniform. The restaurant was filled with guests eating breakfast, speaking strange languages.

The hotel manager came up to Mami and Papi and told them there was a special event that evening for Christmas. Families were invited to participate in the festivities. Would they like to sign up their children for the talent show?

Papi looked at Mami and let her decide. It was clear he was not happy with the suggestion. Besides, it was holding him up. He was itching to hit the slopes, and the question was slowing him down. We both took a deep breath.

Mami turned to La Nena and me. “Why don’t you sing ‘Oh Tannenbaum?’”

Returning from choir practice, Mami often asked us to sing what we had learned. Mami knew that Meri, our music teacher, had taught us the song for the Christmas concert. La Nena and I looked at each other and shrugged.

Mami said to the well-dressed man, “Put them down, for ‘Oh Tannenbaum.’” He made a note and went back behind the wood paneled counter of the reception desk.

Mami and Papi took us to the shop to fit us with skis and then to the school that was next to the hotel. After saying our goodbyes to them, La Nena and I introduced ourselves to the ski instructor.

This wasn’t our first ski lesson. We had been to the Suvretta House before, and we knew the ropes. The year prior, I had made intermediate and managed to ski with Papi on the last day. I was eager to start where I had left off and wanted to go up the mountain. I wanted to show Papi at the end of the day that I remembered all the lessons he had taught me.

When the assistant asked us to tell them our skiing level, La Nena said, “Intermediate,” but I shouted, “Expert!”

I pictured myself going down the slopes with Papi. He told me that my great-grandfather spent long seasons in Switzerland, and that Abuelo Carlos, my paternal grandfather, had gone to school close by, in Lausanne.

Abuelo Carlos sent Papi to a boarding school in Connecticut when he was 13, and he became an expert skier there. Papi often said that that’s where he learned to be self-reliant.

His plan was to send me to Canterbury School as soon as I was old enough, but Mami wasn’t so keen on the idea. She wanted to keep me in Puerto Rico as long as possible. She said that if I left the Island young, I would never return.

The ski instructor’s name was Tracy, “just like the Contessa in the James Bond film,” she said.

I knew who she was talking about because Papi had taken us to see “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service”. Tracy was redhaired and had a funny accent. Tall, and skinny but strong. She picked each of us up, dressed as we were in all our equipment, and put us on the platform to check our bindings.

Tracy made sure we were all warm and snug in our racing helmets, mittens, and goggles. After checking our ski boots, she swung her skis on her shoulder with one easy movement of her arm, grabbed her poles with the other hand, and said “follow me!”

We were the mice behind the Pied Piper. I would have happily gone over a cliff for Tracy, if that’s where she wanted to take us.

Tracy took us up the mountain on the T-Bar. She made sure that we rode with somebody that matched our weight and height.

T-Bars were a tricky business, long wooden anchors that would snag your butt and would pull you up the hill.

I had to be careful not to let my skis get off the tracks. If I did, I would have the most embarrassing fall. After a face plant, the next pair of skiers would follow, and then the next, until there was a great big pile of people, and they had to stop the lift.

I was happy to make it all the way to the top without a hitch. I looked for Tracy who waved at me from the top of the run. After the class reunited, we went down the hill, one by one, around the blue and red flagged poles, making tight slalom turns.

“Weight on the downward ski, stick the pole in front of you, look down, turn!”

I bid my time, waiting for the last spot, so that I could whiz past the long line of students and get to Tracy. La Nena must have been thinking, teacher’s pet!  

I pretended to be James Bond paralleling down the hill. My ski poles were M-16 rifles pointed at the slower students. I looked for jumps, and places to stop where I could spray snow.

I loved to ski in the forest and between the trees. Anybody could go down the slope, but it took courage and skill to go in and out of the trees that stood in the way. Giants fighting with green swords. After my match, I came out triumphant, back to the slopes.

Tracy watched me from behind her gold and black goggles and skied up to me patting me on the helmet. She warned me, “slow down, the forest can be dangerous.”

Tracy gave me tips on how to keep my weight centered and pump my legs around the little mounds of snow. She gave me personal lessons on how to take jumps and ski around the trees. “You really don’t want to hug them.” She had a sunny laugh.

Tracy let me get ahead of the class and waited for me to stop before continuing with her lesson. We tagged teamed down the mountain. “Look at me!”

In the movie, Tracy and Bond were the perfect couple. She beat him in a car race. Her red Mercury Cougar was faster than his Aston Martin. He beat her on skis. She could keep up with him, jumping off the roofs of houses right behind him. But he could do it at night and on a single ski. He jumped off cliffs and swatted Blofeld’s men out of his way.

In the end, Bond was no match for the evil Irma Bunt, who killed the Contessa with a bullet to the head. In the movie, Blofeld and Bunt left Bond all alone, crying like a baby, by the side of the road.

Before the ski lift closed, I saw Papi standing in line, waiting to go up the mountain again, without Mami, all alone.

The Belle Époque clock warned us from the top of the Suvretta House. It’s four o’clock! The sun was beginning to set, and it was the last ride up.

I asked Tracy to let me join him. She let me go. Papi was moving forward slowly on the singles’ line. I skied up to him and surprised him from behind. He lifted the orange rope separating us and I joined him.

“I thought you were in class, Noti. What are you doing here?”

“Can I go up with you?”

“Smarty pants.” He turned around and looked for Tracy. She waved ok. “Alright, let’s hustle.”

We shuffled up to the T-Bar, and I started to worry.

Papi was more than six feet tall, and the T-Bar pushed up to the back of my neck. It took all my strength to keep the T-Bar down. But Papi was cool as Bond driving his Aston Martin. The cold wind from the top of the mountain swept back his hair. His gloved hand floated over the center bar.

“Where’s Mami?” I white-knuckled it to the top. “Why isn’t she skiing with you?”

“She’s upset with me.” Papi leaned back on the T-Bar. “She misses playing with her cousin and her independentista friends back in Puerto Rico.” His legs slowly pumped up and down, pistons in a Mack truck.

At the end of the thirty-minute ride up the mountain, my legs were hurting from the strain, but I was relieved to get to the top without slipping and falling. Papi went on ahead to the crest of the hill and stopped. He checked his goggles and his gloves. Made sure the straps on his boots were tight. Looking at me, he said “Ready?”

I nodded. I could see the hotel far down at the bottom of the mountain just below the tree line. The lights of the castle were turning on. Behind us, the gears of the ski lift ground to a halt. We were the last couple on the mountain. “We have to get down before the sun sets, let’s hustle.”

I was freezing and more tired than I realized. One full day of skiing had taken its toll on my muscles, and I felt it in my legs. Bending down and carving was harder than earlier in the day. My downhill edge kept slipping.

Papi was ahead of me. Stay with him. He was skiing too fast, trying to beat the sunset. My skis dragged and were too slow around the moguls. Eventually, Papi turned a corner before a fork in the run and he must have schussed straight down. My tired legs went automatically into snowplow. My skis wanted to traverse rather than point down the slope.

I stopped, hoping that Papi would show me the way, but he was long gone. His bright orange jacket make a turn and disappeared around the bend.

Skiing close to the trees allowed me to see better and gave me confidence. My turns were tighter on the hard packed snow near the edge of the run. The pine needles moved with the early evening breeze, and they calmed me down. At the bottom, the shadows of the trees were long, but at the top, across the slope, I could see their green needles pushing out of the snow, catching the sun rays. They told me it wasn’t dark yet. I skied faster.

Every day, after our skiing lesson, La Nena and I walked to the hotel on our own. Papi and Mami expected us in our rooms before sunset. This time, I was going to be late.

Coming to the fork on the run, I went left and lost sight of Papi. He wasn’t one to wait. Skiing in the shadows was not as easy as Bond made it look.

Again, I put my trust in the trees. I took a short cut through the forest to get down sooner. They were no longer an army of soldiers. Now, they were my big brothers, watching over me, and showing me the way with their thin green arms. I came out on the other side of the mountain slope. The trees had brought me back to a road that became a narrow path.  

The shadows were getting longer. I didn’t know where I had landed. Lost! The cold wind blew through the trees making a rustling sound.

In the fairy tale, Hansel and Gretel were lost in the forest looking for a place to get warm. They were afraid of the witch in the gingerbread house who wanted to fatten Hansel to cook him in her oven like a big pizza pie.

A light shone inside a little house up ahead.

I took off my skis, went to the door and knocked softly. Nobody answered. I knocked again, with my ski poles this time.

An old lady opened the door, scowled at me, and said something in what must have been German. How do you say, “I don’t understand” in German? I could smell her cooking inside. It wasn’t pizza.

“¿Habla ud español?” My Spanish didn’t help me. Cold sweat ran down my shivering back. My neck and my cheeks turned scarlet. I put my hands up, and said two words I hoped she would understand: “Suvretta House?”

She rolled her black eyes and pointed with her crooked finger to a street at the bottom of the hill. She grunted making noises to go, go, go. I spun around on my heels, grabbed my skis, and flew down the hill.

The momentum made it difficult to stop. The leather boots were heavy, and I skated right through the asphalt road that hugged a cliff on the other side. I fell on my knees at the edge of the precipice, looked down, and swallowed hard.

Two bright lights approached with “Suvretta House” in blinking red letters on top. I got up on my feet, screamed and waved my poles at the driver. He stopped the bus, opened the heavy metal door, and twitched his hand signaling to get on. The other riders shot me the evil eye. I sat down.

The bus jumped forward and the lights went out. I had overshot the hotel. We slowly climbed to the top of the hill. Plenty of time to think about the belting that was waiting for me. What was I thinking? Who did I think I was? I saw the last specks of sunlight glinting from the turrets of the castle. That counted as daylight, didn’t it? I hoped the sunlight would last.

The ten-story-high face of the hotel was in the shadows. Red flags with a white cross waved in the cold breeze. The golden clock that crowned the fortress was dark. The bell tolled. Six o’clock!  

I looked for a sign that La Nena had just arrived at the hotel. No such luck.

When I got back to our hotel room, I couldn’t see out the window. Mami and Papi were fighting in the next room. I heard their voices through the door.

Tita smacked me on the head. She grabbed me by the shoulder and led me to the bed. “Sit down and stay put, Noti.”

Tita knocked on the connecting door to Mami and Papi’s room. Mami opened the door, and Tita told her I had finally arrived.

“Everyone was so worried,” La Nena whispered. “I think they were about to call Ski Patrol.”

“You’re gonna get it now,” Güicho snickered.

I knew I had to prepare for the worst. I looked out the windows again, trying to see the trees, and once more I prayed, muttering to myself in silence, hoping I wouldn’t get what I knew I deserved.

Tita came back without Mami. I breathed a sigh of relief. She looked down at me and shook her head from side to side. “Your mother says to take a shower and get dressed. She’ll come fetch you for the talent show.”

Saved by the bell. I had forgotten about the show.

Tita helped me out of my skiing clothes and dried my hair with a towel after the shower.

“What were Mami and Papi arguing about?”

“Your Mami was already upset because your Papi left her behind on the mountain.” Tita led me out of the bathroom. “She had to find her way back to the hotel by herself.” She sucked her teeth. “And then, she worried you’d gotten lost trying to catch up to your Papi.”

“She didn’t have to worry. I know the mountain and I’m an expert skier!” I wanted to make Papi proud of me, and I felt ashamed for panicking when he disappeared.

“Anyway,” Tita handed me a new set of dry clothes. “Your Mami wants to leave the hotel early to go to Florence. She prefers museums to skiing.”

I prayed that Mami would lose that argument. I would do anything to stay away from museums. We couldn’t run in them, although they had shiny and slippery floors perfect for slipping and sliding. We couldn’t touch the paintings, although many tricked you into thinking that a fly or a nail was sticking out of them, when they were just as flat as a pancake.

The last time we were in Florence, Mami punished me for playing hide-and-seek with Güicho and getting lost on the Ponte Vecchio. I was told to stay in my room instead of going to see the statue of David, which Mami made a big deal about. I pretended to be upset, but really, I was happy to stay back to explore the hotel.

Mami and Papi came out of their room. Mami was wearing her evening dress, and she was putting the key to the room in a clutch with a gold clasp and black sequins. Papi was still in his après-ski outfit. He went to the bar after skiing. And he never came to our concerts.

He looked straight at me. “I told your Mami you’d make it back.”  

“It was a cinch.” I lied, returning his gaze and smiling back at him.

“Put it there, little man.” He offered me his hand. “They’re playing the latest Bond flick in town: “Una cascata di diamanti.” Wanna come?”

Mami gave him the stink eye and pinched my shoulder with one of her red nail specials. “This little man is singing for his supperr.”

She took me away before I could shake with Papi. “Move, we’re late.”

La Nena and I hurried down the red-carpeted stairs. Piano music was playing in the lobby, and a loud German voice called over the loudspeakers, “Als nachstes, O Tannenbaum”.

I recognized the name of the song. I turned to Mami and asked, “Are they calling us?”

 “Yes, you and la Nena are next.” She led us into the music room.

The room was unevenly lit by an orange fire in the hearth. A small crowd dressed in their Sunday best gathered around a platform. Children and parents sat facing a stage furnished with a microphone and a piano.

There was a Christmas tree in the back of the room, a little brother to the big ones in the forest. The tree was decorated with lights, tinsel, multicolored glass balls and silver bells. It had a bright star at the top.

La Nena and I were ushered to the platform. She blew the pitch pipe tuner that Meri had given us, and we hummed the tuning note. My voice was shaky. I crossed my arms in back, took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and sang.

“O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum wie true sind deine Blatter.

Your boughs so green in summertime, stay bravely green in wintertime.

Oh, Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree. You fill my heart with music.”

Everyone clapped politely.

I opened my eyes and saw that Mami was crying.