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Catherine McNamara
hotel and agitated above the
arena of snow before them.
The hotel manager rushed
onto the terrace, now wearing
a gold-buttoned waistcoat,
nodding to the pair of them.
Frieda and Stefano drew
together at the window.
The tail cocked upward then
the blades levelled and two
long skis touched the snow
and bore the weight of the
machine. The hatch swung
open and a man advanced
in a crouch. The rescue men
in red jackets had appeared
at the rim of trees carrying
a silver-wrapped package
on a stretcher. His heart
was thrown about. Stefano
careered out onto the deck.
Frieda followed with dizzy
paces.
‘They radioed in,’ Stefano
said to him. ‘Someone just let
them know at the hotel. She’s
fallen quite a way but they’ve
found a pulse. It’s very weak.’
Stefano and Frieda staggered
across the snow which was
icy and hardened now. The
men parcelled the stretcher
inside the helicopter and one
of them motioned the pair
to keep their heads down.
He saw his daughter climb
on board, but Stefano was
absorbed by the group as they
fastened the door. Instantly
the craft was airborne and
cutting across the valley,
lifting towards the ridges,
buzzing into the dusk. One of
the men was rewarding the
dog while the others began
trudging back to the car park.
Stefano stood there, wiping
his eyes. The hotel manager
went down the steps.
Magda returned to him. Her
face was wet.
‘We have no time left, do we?