AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Which was precisely what the newcomer wanted.
He went up to his room and unpacked his rucksack: it contained a few clothes, a shaving kit, an extra pair of shoes, vitamins to ward off colds, a thick notebook to write in, and eleven bars of gold, each weighing two kilos. Worn out by tension, by the climb and by the weight he had been carrying, the stranger fell asleep almost at once, though not before placing a chair under the door handle, even though he knew he could count on each and every one of Viscos' 281 inhabitants.
The next morning he ate breakfast, left his dirty clothes at reception to be laundered, put the gold bars back in his rucksack, and set off for the mountain to the east of the village. On his way, he saw only one villager, an old woman sitting in front of her house, who was looking at him with great interest.
He plunged into the forest, where he waited until his hearing had become used to the noises made by the insects and birds, and by the wind rattling the leafless branches; he knew that in a place like this someone could easily be observing him without his being aware of it, so he stood there for almost an hour without doing anything.
When he felt sure that any possible observer would have lost interest and moved on without anything to report, he dug a hole close to a rocky outcrop in the shape of a Y and hid one of the bars there. Then he climbed a little higher, spent another hour as if in rapt contemplation of nature, spotted another rocky outcrop--this time in the form of an eagle--and dug another hole, in which he placed the remaining ten gold bars.
The first person he saw as he walked back to the village was a young woman sitting beside one of the many temporary rivers that formed when the ice melted high up in the mountains. She looked up from her book, acknowledged his presence, and resumed her reading; doubtless her mother had told her never to talk to strangers.
Strangers, however, when they arrive in a new place, have the right to try and make friends with people they do not know, and so he went over to her.
"Hello," he said. "Very hot for the time of year."
She nodded in agreement.
The stranger went on: "I'd like you to come and look at something."
She politely put down her book, held out her hand, and introduced herself.
"My name's Chantal. I work in the evenings at the bar of the hotel where you're staying, and I was surprised when you didn't come down to dinner, because a hotel doesn't make its money just from renting rooms, you know, but from everything the guests consume. You are Carlos from Argentina and you live in Colombia Street; everyone in the village knows that already, because a man arriving here outside of the hunting season is always an object of curiosity. A man in his fifties, with greying hair, and the look of someone who has been around a bit.
"And thank you for your invitation, but I've already seen the landscape around Viscos from every possible and imaginable angle; perhaps it would be better if I showed you places you haven't seen, but I suppose you must be very busy."
"I'm 52, my name isn't Carlos, and everything I wrote on the form at the hotel is false."
Chantal didn't know what to say. The stranger went on:
"It's not Viscos I want to show you. It's something you've never seen before."
She had read many stories about young women who decide to go into the forest with a stranger, only to vanish without trace. For a moment she was afraid, but her fear was quickly replaced by a desire for adventure: after all, this man wouldn't dare do anything to her when she had just told him that everyone in the village knew all about him--even if none of the details were actually true.
"Who are you?" she asked. "If what you say is true, surely you realize I could turn you in to the police for passing yourself off with a false identity?"
"I promise to answer all your questions, but first you have to come with me, because I really do want to show you something. It's about five minutes' walk from here."
Chantal closed her book, took a deep breath and offered up a silent prayer, while her heart beat in fear and excitement. Then she got up and followed the stranger, convinced that this would prove to be yet another disappointing encounter, one which started out full of promise and turned into yet another dream of impossible love.
The ma
n went over to the Y-shaped rock, indicated the recently dug earth, and suggested she uncover what lay buried there.
"I'll get my hands dirty," protested Chantal. "I'll get my dress dirty too."
The man grabbed a branch, broke it and handed it to her to use as a spade. She found such behavior distinctly odd, but decided to do as he asked.
Five minutes later, a grubby, yellowish bar lay before her.
"It looks like gold," she said.
"It is gold. And it's mine. Now please cover it over again."
She did as she was told. The man led her to the next hiding place. Again she began digging, and this time was astonished at the quantity of gold she saw before her.
"That's gold too. And it's also mine," said the stranger.
Chantal was beginning to cover the gold over again with soil, when he asked her to leave the hole as it was. He sat down on one of the rocks, lit a cigarette, and stared at the horizon.
