Ronald M. Helmer

Maria

By: Ron M. Helmer

 

I had spent several hours with Cees on the slopes and he was convinced that he was now prepared to go to the top of the lift and follow me down the piste. I was still a bit sceptical but he was so confident I eventually agreed to his request. Naturally he had some initial problems with the deep ruts at the turns but eventually learned to snowplow to nearly a dead stop when he approached a turn. He would then endanger oncoming traffic by stepping slowly and cautiously around until he was past the deep grooves. He had a tendency to shoot off the piste and down the mountainside occasionally when there seemed to be no reason for him to do so.

At the beginning I would stay close enough to observe these little problems and would wait patiently while he struggled to get up over his skis again and side step back up to the piste. He improved quickly and after several runs I had enough confidence in him to increase the speed of my descent and let him lag further behind.

One day we had traversed about half of the piste and I glanced back to be sure Cees was following along. Having satisfied myself as to his progress I made the next turn then pulled off to one side of the piste to wait for him. Several minutes passed and there was still no sign of him. Eventually I decided that he had encountered dfficulty so I started a herringbone trek back up the hill. When I reached the turn I looked back along the track but there was no sign of him. Aw, shit! I thought; he's shot off into the 'boonies' again! After I had continued back up the track again I started to holler his name. 'Ahoy, Cees!' No answer. After I had backtracked about a hundred yards I heard a muffled cry. I stopped and listened. Yes! it was definitely a cry, but where was it originating?

'Cees! Is that you? Where are you?'

'Over here!' came the response. I thought I could hear muffled laughter. I proceeded further up the track and finally saw the tip of a ski pole sticking out of the snow just a few feet below the track. I stopped on the track and looked down.

'Cees, is that you?'

'Yeah! Is that you, Ron? I think I'm stuck down here. I guess I'm going to need your help.'

'I tend to agree with you,' I chuckled as I sidestepped down to where Cees was jammed. As I moved down I could see that there was a tiny wooden bridge built across a crevice in the mountainside in order to maintain the level of the piste. It was invisible from the track since the snow obscured it, but it was clearly visible from below. The crevice itself was quite narrow and must have been five or six feet deep but had filled up with snow to the same level as its surroundings. I surmised that Cees had started to veer off the track again a few feet before the bridge and in trying to correct his error had crossed the tips of his skis and pitched face forward down the slope.

By mere chance he had plunged head-first into the snow-filled crevice. He reminded me of some movie comedian who had been stuffed upside down into a garbage can. Even though we were both laughing hysterically as I struggled to pull him out of his cramped enclosure I realized that there was a serious side to it. If he had been skiing alone and knocked himself out with his fall he might have suffered from hypothermia or worse. Yeah, yeah, I know, if the dog hadn't stopped for a shit he would have caught the rabbit! At any rate, Cees was finally extricated, covered with snow and ice but eager to continue.

That evening he was anxious to tell anyone who would listen of his startling predicament and subsequent rescue. We had retired to the Sport Bar following dinner and Cees continued to discuss his adventure as he swallowed double Scotches at a remarkable rate. Maria and I were sipping red wine. The result was predictable and after an hour of relentless consumption, Cees was assisted from the bar to his room with Maria and me each holding an arm. He was snoring almost immediately when we laid him out on the bed fully dressed, then Maria removed his boots and covered him with a blanket.

'What would you like to do now?' I whispered to her after we had quietly exited the room.

'We could go to your room,' she said without hesitation. Excuse me? I thought. Surely she was joking! I looked at her carefully for any sign of amusement. She was obviously not joking, however, and returned my look with a steady, unblinking gaze.

'Yeah, we could do that I guess,' I didn't bother to ask what she had in mind; I was already feeling an involuntary stirring in my loins. I took her by the hand and we walked wordlessly down to the end of the hallway, up a flight of stairs and along to my room. I opened the door and we stepped inside and I heard her snap the deadbolt closed. Then she turned and clasped her hands behind my head as our lips met.

This all seemed to occur so predictably and inevitably that it was unaffected by any hesitation or doubt. Maria had not flirted or made any suggestive hints at any time, but had obviously been harbouring arcane thoughts until the opportune moment. Once her tongue became active I knew the outcome was inevitable and became palpably tumescent. There was a soft light in the room sifting through the drawn curtains. A sidewise shuffle toward the bed ensued, accompanied by groping and heavy breathing.

The verbal component of foreplay was virtually non-existent, after all, we scarcely knew each other, did we? It was replaced by an ad hoc removal of garments, mostly on my part but ably assisted on occasion by Maria. I admit, in retrospect, that I resembled a dog in heat, save the barking component. Her behaviour was not that much different when you come right down to it, ideal from the standpoint of a perpetually horny young man. She seemed not to have been concerned at all in the matter of birth control. My only concern was to see that we both experienced marvellous orgasms, preferably simultaneous.

'Do you think maybe Cees has a bit of a drinking problem?' I asked later as we lay sweaty and content amidst the clothing clutter.

'A bit of a problem? You mean is he an alcoholic?'

"Yeah, I guess that's what I mean.'

'Well, you guess right! He's a wonderful fellow and I'm very fond of him but he can be a drunk sometimes. When we're on holiday that usually means all the time."

'I'm getting rather fond of him myself, I must say.'

'He really likes you, you know.'

'Yeah! Ironic, isn't it?'

'Why do you say that?'

'Well, it's not ordinarily considered couth to be making out with the fiancé of a trusting acquaintance.'

'Oh, I don't know; I watch lots of American movies and sleeping with lonely wives seems to be commonplace in the lives of tennis and golf pros.'

'I take your point,' I said. 'To be quite honest, I don't, for some reason, feel at all

guilty.'

'Why should you? You're not Jewish are you?'

'No! As a matter of fact I suffer very little from guilt. I've always thought the Jews

and the Roman Catholics had enough guilt to take care of all the requirements.'

'I'm Roman Catholic!'

'Oops! Sorry!'

'Relax, I'm obviously not devout."

'You've no regrets then?'

'No regrets. The way I look at it, Cees is enjoying his holiday in his own way. We're enjoying it in our own way. There's no mystic heavenly power watching us and judging us for our behaviour.'

'You're sure you're not just rationalizing, then?'

'Absolutely not! I'm fond of you and I assume you're fond of me. Cees and I are much more than fond of each other. I've already told you how much he likes you. I have no guilt because I think my relationship with you is completely separate from any relationship I have with Cees. I completely disagree with people who consider such behaviour to be wayward or licentious.'

'Good! Because I feel exactly the same way! We have a trichotomous relationship!'

'We do? Where in Heaven's name did you learn that word?'

'We speak English, you know.'

'Good point! I guess I'll shut up for a change.'

Cees seemed determined to get bombed every night as quickly as possible. 'I'm glad you're here to look after Maria, Ron! It's good to have someone to trust.' I nearly blushed.

'You should never trust another man with someone as lovely as Maria, Cees,' I replied.

'I trust you, Ron.'

'That's nice Cees. Thanks!' What could I say?

Three days later the lady manager told me that they would like me to check out the following day. Of course I would be allowed to continue using the other facilities including the dining room. Shortly thereafter I had made arrangements for a ground floor room at the Pension down the street where Dick had rented a room.

Little else changed. Cees continued to drink himself into oblivion each night; Maria and I helped him to his room then strolled down the street to my room and helped ourselves to each other. I never seemed to tire of her, unlike I had after my one-night stand with Elfie.

'I have wonderful news,' Maria said to me one day. 'A dressmaking firm in London has asked me to come over to assist them for three weeks before the Coronation. They're even going to arrange for a single room for me during my stay. Isn't that just fantastic?'

'Incredible! I said, 'maybe there is a God after all!'

'I'll send a letter to the American Express in London as soon as they tell me where I'll be staying. Oh, I am looking forward to it, just think!' I was thinking of it and I could already feel the old familiar involuntary stirring of my loins. Yes, it was going to be a wonderful Coronation!

There was a letter from Holland with my mail one day that cast an immediate wrench into my blissful existence.

To say I was stunned would be an understatement. To say it completely spoiled my day would be an accurate statement. It was all I could do to pull myself together in time for my nocturnal session with Maria. I sat down the next morning, wrote a carefully crafted letter to Elfie and posted it, by return!

The following day I received a further letter that afforded me relief and comfort, although it struck me as strange that, in spite of the legendary speed of the European mail service, I could have received an answer so quickly.

Hmm! I thought; it gets curiouser and curiouser. Her first letter had been apparently genuinely desperate, her handwriting crabbed, her thoughts and plan of action not clearly thought out, planned. Now her handwriting was flowing and relaxed, her attitude casual and unconcerned, no further request for funding. Something had happened; could my letter have allayed her concerns to this extent? Was I a genius? Stay tuned!

I spent the following day skiing with the Belgians and my evening catering to the aberrant preferences of Cees and Maria. Life was once again reasonably untroubled. Of course my state of tranquility was quite unjustified. The following day I received another letter from Elfie:

Wow! Now there's a letter to treasure! I thought. Talk about miscommunication. Her second letter and my first letter had obviously crossed in the mail, explaining why her second letter had reached me so quickly. But why she would construe my letter as stupid and unfriendly baffled me. I had thought it was a model of sympathy and level-headed advice. My opinion was apparently not unanimous.

Eventually holiday time was over for Cees and Maria and the rest of the Belgian contingent. I hated to say goodbye to Maria, although I had mixed emotions; I desperately required a long rest. I would have to learn to pace myself in future. I returned to my former monkish ways and dined at table with a new batch of English tourists. I had neither the strength nor the animus to attempt a further amorous adventure. At least so I thought until one day I reached the T-bar at the same time as a gorgeous-looking redhead in a matching rust-coloured outfit that fitted her excellent well-placed curves as though sprayed on with care. We chatted amiably for the first few minutes while we agreed on the fine weather, the quality of the snow and established the fact that she worked as an executive at a Salzburg Bank. Naturally, she gave me the usual Chamber of Commerce pitch about not having 'done' Austria until I had seen Salzburg.

'I might have come over sooner if I'd known you were there,' I said fatuously.

'That's very flattering,' she said, smiling slightly,' 'Are you here on your own, then?'

'Well, yes and no. A mob of us came over from Innsbruck a couple of weeks ago but now they've all migrated to Kitzbuhel. I'm marooned, though, because my montly stipend hasn't arrived.'

'Are all your friends American?'

'Afraid so. Why?'

'Oh, nothing. except we seem to see a lot of you types over here these days.'

'You got something against Americans?'

'Not really, although I can't help thinking we'd all be better off if you'd stayed home in the first place.'

'Oops,' I thought, I think I smell 'Nazi'. I took another look at her; she was obviously too young to have been in the war. Hitler Youth, perhaps, and still in denial.

'You shouldn't really be surprised if you're talking about the war. There was a war, you know, in case no one has told you.'

'That's exactly what I'm talking about. Everybody was quite happy with things until you Americans stuck your oar in!' She had become quite indignant.

'I wouldn't say riding to death camps in an unheated cattle car was anybody's version of being happy.'

'So they've got to you with that fabrication too, eh? You people can't tell Jewish propaganda from the truth!' Her mouth had become a thin hard line.

'What do you mean by 'you people''?' I said.

'You know whom I mean, all right, I mean you Jew-loving Americans, of course!' She had thrown decorum completely to the wind.

'Well,' I said, 'I disagree, of course, but I guess you're entitled to your opinion. By the way, I'm not American anyway, I'm a Canadian.' We had reached the top of the hill and I had decided there was not much of a future there for me, short or long term. 'Heil Hitler!'I said quietly as I skied off to the left. I skipped the raised right arm salute. Infuriated, she skied off to the right without another word. Even so, I couldn't help thinking she would have been great in the sack. I never had the pleasure of meeting her again.

I decided that it behooved me to win a silver snowflake before leaving Saalbach. Snowflakes were awarded on the basis of how long it took an aspirant to ski from the top of the lift to the bottom. After some practice I had achieved a sufficiently foolhardy attitude to careen down the mountain much in the mode of the headlong dash I had made on the tails of Fritz's skis. I overdid it of course and one day failed to prejump an inclined ledge and shot off into space. I landed for the first time twenty or so feet further on in a disorganized sort of crash. I guess I bounced at least once more before sliding to a halt. The loop around my right wrist was still in place but the ski pole was further down the slope. I think I had exceeded my capabilities. When I won my silver snowflake that weekend I decided it was time to move.

I knew the bunch would have returned from Kitzbuhel to Innsbruck by this time so I decided to wrap it up. The next day I paid my bills, checked out and caught the train back to Innsbruck. I was at the Central by five p.m.

I visited the American Express office in Innsbruck daily until the time I left. When I left Innsbruck I left a forwarding address to American Express in London. When I returned to London I visited the Amexco office twice a week; still no letter from Maria!

Several weeks after my return to Calgary I received an aerogramme forwarded by Amexco in London. It was from Maria, detailing her address in London and expressing her enthusiastic anticipation of our time together. I ground my teeth togther for several hours!

— The End —