Duodecameron

Duodecameron

John Schou

Copyright 2012 byJohn Schou

Published by John Schou at Smashwords

Written in Danish 2004-5. Translated to

English and German by the author.

ISBN 9781476304199

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Duodecameron

John Schou

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1: Chandolin (Tuesday)

Chapter 2: Axis of the Devil

Chapter 3: Illgraben (Wednesday)

Chapter 4: An Uninvited Visitor

Chapter 5: The Fog Raises (Thursday)

Chapter 6: In the Shadows of Globalisation

Chapter 7: News and Truths

Chapter 8: Extremes (Friday)

Chapter 9: Help against Hunger and Poverty

Chapter 10: Bella_Tola (Saturday)

Chapter 11: Just a Small Chip

Chapter 12: Fresh_Air (Sunday)

Chapter 13: Departure (Monday)

Appendix: Alert for Copnick

About the Author

Origin of the Title

Chandolin

The car drove into the valley, Val d’Anniviers. In order to do so, it had been necessary to ascend four hundred meters above the Rhone valley, which involved several sharp curves. Only at Niouc, you can claim to enter the narrow valley. Niouc has not many inhabitants, you have gone through before you really discover that you have entered it, but what then follows is a marvellous landscape: you are driving beside a narrow ravine and the road is close up to the mountainside, some places being too narrow for two cars to pass by another. Suddenly the road turns left into the mountain itself. This was a complete surprise, but the tunnel is short. The man in the back of the car – a police car – was enjoying the sight and completely forgot that his presence here had no particularly joyful background. The two police officers in front were obviously not impressed and talked instead about private matters. They did so completely unrestricted, having understood that their passenger was lost in any French conversation from word 3, unless they were speaking careful and slow, which is not the usual way if you are a native speaking French. They had made this trip numerous times and therefore knew, which curves could be blindly cut and in which you had better stay in your own side of the road since there would be no time to return to it if – though statistically improbable – suddenly a car had decided to drive in the other direction. In the brief and hectic winter season, the traffic was different but now was September 20, 2005 and there were no skiers loose here.

The road normalized, proceeding rather straight without gaining much more height until Vissoie, the only small town in the valley. It looked like a cosy town and the car seemed to be heading for a medieval tower but then, before reaching the centre, it turned left, upwards a rather steep road. Now we have only 19 kilometres left, the elder policeman said in German, which his passenger better understood. Fortunately, we have already managed the bad part of the road.

‘He is probably referring to the most beautiful part,’ the man thought for himself. Is there any other way up there? he asked loudly.

The policeman wanted first to answer detailed, indeed there were alternatives for specialists but the passenger was certainly none, and why waste so much breathe for a complex answer? No!

There were more hairpin curves at this new road and suddenly, you could see the flat top of a mountain in one of these curves.

This is Cervin – Matterhorn, as you probably see it for the first time.

The passenger thought at the advertisements for Toblerone chocolate. But I thought Matterhorn had a sharp top and was taller than the other mountains around it.

Both policemen laughed. From Val d’Anniviers you see a flat top. And what the altitude is concerned, the mountain will soon raise.

Indeed! It was as if the mountain was shooting upwards for each of the curves, where you had a free look out at it. The explanation was, of course, that this high mountain was much further away than the ones you say already. Strangely enough, it was very dark while the others were covered with snow. Matterhorn is generally conceived in connection with the small town Zermatt, but also for the largely unknown valley here the mountain, though more than 50 km away, had a dominating importance. Suddenly, the passengers realized that they had arrived to a town with large houses – empty ones, it seemed.

St. Luc – ghost town, the older policeman commented, possibly to remind the younger one that he was the one who managed the languages – his colleague was satisfied to manage the car. ‘Ghost town’ was a suitable designation for a ski paradise, which was only inhabited from Christmas to Easter, except for a few natives who enjoyed the tranquillity in-between. There was no reason to stop here and accordingly, the car proceeded.

We are now going back to the Rhone-Valley again. In 4 km, we have reached our destination.

Having driven half of this distance, the police car suddenly stopped after a right curve. Not without a certain risk, if suddenly another car came from behind, but there were nobody to get surprised. I love this view of Chandolin, the young policeman suddenly said in German and betrayed that he, after all, also could talk in this tongue. Across a small side valley, they were looking at a village with old dark houses, a church and then, in front, some apartment houses for the skiers.

They claim to belong to Val d’Anniviers but from the view, Chandolin could be considered part of the Rhone-Valley, if it was not for the route up here. The old policeman had adopted the position of a tourist guide – maybe his occupation after his pensioning, which could not lie far away.

Also the younger colleague became increasingly talkative in the height. The road was only built in 1961. Before, it was only possible to come here on foot or with mules – which did not prevent them from building the hotel more than 100 years ago.

Where your Prime Minister Adenauer used to come for a summer holiday – and how I understand him, added the future tourist guide.

I am not German, the passenger protested.

Anyhow, you are not Swiss, and that is the only thing that matters here. Both policemen laughed and the car started for the last part of its mission.

William Tell’s descendants and their load soon got to the edge of the village where there really were traces of some living people, but else Chandolin also had something in common with St. Luc. Having passed the modern centre of the town in almost 2,000 meters altitude, the road descended again towards the old village. Suddenly the car drove again to the right and upwards and soon followed a narrow path, which ended in front of the hotel.

It was neither an old-fashioned, nor a modern building. It was a five-story square building with a wooden extension in the first and second floor, which contained the eating hall – under other circumstances you might call it the restaurant. The hotel had certainly known better days when Adenauer resided here, paying guests had not been seen there for some years now – modern guests set other priorities but exactly that yields the hotel now a tranquil atmosphere. The path ended there, so there was no traffic. Big old and dark needle trees were contrasting the lightly yellow facade.

So this is your home for the next few weeks – it is really a privilege. Let me help you with your suitcase, the younger policeman said politely. The thin air not only liberated his tongue but also civilized his manner, in comparison to how he had behaved in Geneva. We shall have confirmed that we have delivered you here, then you can move freely in the community of Chandolin, but outside it only after permission from the police in Vissoie.

And how can I get to Vissoie for that permission if I am not allowed to leave Chandolin?

In spite of the somewhat bitter question, to which he received no answer, the men were politely saying goodbye after the foreigner had been delivered in charge of another person in the foyer of the hotel. He was a small, slim man with a curiously narrow face, dark hair when it finally appeared high up in the stern. He was probably in the middle of his thirties.

Français – English – Deutsch? he asked.

„Spanish – but given the alternatives, I prefer English," the newcomer answered.

Name?

Michael Christensen, as is written on the note you just received from the police.

Place of living?

Hacienda Alto, Santa Cruz, Costa Rica. This was not a sufficient address but did, at least, match what had satisfied the police. Outside Geneva, further details were rather unimportant.

Nationality?

Danish.

But why, then, are you coming here? A Danish citizen can travel in all countries, just like the Swiss, I have learned.

I have no reason to visit the surrounding European countries. I was going to fly back to Costa Rica from Zürich, but then both money and tickets were stolen in Geneva. I am expecting my wife soon with fresh supplies, he answered, not explaining why the police had found him worthy of this resort.

The man continued. I can understand that you are wanted by the police in Europe – I mean that small part of it which is surrounding our country – and have no intention of demanding an asylum status in Switzerland.

No, I have no intention of bothering Switzerland – but unfortunately, a Swiss thief bothered me by in Genève.

This obviously insulted the other’s national pride: Most thieves in this country are foreigners!

Some of the victims too.

The hotel manager found that time had come to end the conversation. Whatever the reason, the authorities have decided to bring you to this place for Western asylum, but then you must also accept similar conditions. This is no prison here, but you are not allowed to leave the community of Chandolin.

I hope my wife manages to come here soon with the rescue. But for the moment: how can I recognize the extension of Chandolin?

It is clearly shown on the map over there. The man pointed at a map, which was decorating the opposite wall. Michael Christensen had compassion in studying such detailed maps and was already looking forward to it. Please, this is your key to room 201. Although this is called a hotel, we have no staff to clean the rooms but we expect our asylum guests to find time for that. The laundry and towels are changed every Tuesday, then you are expected to bring it down here after breakfast, then you shall receive a new set. You eat at 7:00, 12:30 and 18:00, he emphasized the singular letters, no ’am’ or ’pm.’ These scheduled times shall also be respected precisely, in contrast to what you might expect at a real hotel. However, once this has been told, I welcome you to Chandolin. Bienvenue!

Thanks, I shall try not to bother unnecessarily.

Room 201 was, according to Swiss counting, on the third floor. The escalator was not working, but with the reception and dining hall at the second and all guests at the third floor, other ascensions in the surroundings offered bigger challenges. The rooms with a better view had obviously been taken by those arriving there first; when Michael Christensen looked out of the window, the dark wood loomed over the hotel. He opened the window and leant out: there, at least, was a limited view of a small chapel, some houses and a dark mountainside across the Val d’Anniviers. Good, he had seen enough to describe the panorama later and did not intend to go for it again from that position. He looked at the watch: quarter past noon. He had better start preparing for the coming meal in order not to start making a bad figure. Actually, he was not really hungry but had decided to adopt the role as an asylum applicant, and somewhere he had read that such are always hungry.

The room was furnished very crudely. It is rare to find a hotel room without television and Mr. Christensen looked in vain for the minibar. What he found was two beds pushed together, a cupboard where he hung his coat, a bench for the suitcase and a small writing desk with three drawers, one of which with a Bible in French. There was nothing to keep him there for long, so he left the room and locked the door, and then he descended to the dining hall.

There were still five minutes left and he was the last who came. The Swiss are known to be very precise, but apparently that had already affected the asylum applicants. There were 11, and all of them looked at him. He decided to introduce himself in English: Hello, I’m the newcomer, Michael Christensen is my name, and I’m Danish but live in Costa Rica. Contrary to the rest of the party, Mr. Christensen was dressed like the businessman he had recently been acting as, with a grey jacket suit, white shirt and a blue tie. He was tall and slim, looking rather bony with his almost two meters height. With 38 years, he might have some grey hairs but his blond hairs discreetly hid them. He was clean-shaven.

The other made no attempt to betray their names – which was perhaps not so important, Mr. Christensen would hardly be able to recall 11 names simultaneously. There was a friendly exception: How do you do, I am Harry Schulz from America – and that is just the rest. He pointed at the others at the long table, which had been formed by pushing three smaller together. The remaining part of the big room was empty for guests.

Mr. Christensen commented the few words surprised: That is not an American dialect as I know it!

Mr. Schulz laughed and answered: I am from New England where we speak rather civilized, when we try hard. Besides, I am trying to hide my origin – Americans are not as popular in Europe as they were some decades ago. By the way, we have agreed to communicate on English here, which is the only language that all of us can manage – somewhat. That implies British-English, not American and also not Australian, Keith. A bearded man smiled. I gather it is all right with you? I fear that there is nobody else here who speaks Danish.

Harry Schulz had a sunburned tan with brown hair and quite a lot of wrinkles in the face. An inelastic skin around the cheeks betrayed that he had entered the second half hundred years.

No hard feelings, it is almost a thousand years ago since we tried to make Danish to the language of the World.

There are other people represented here who made later attempts, Harry continued.

Another man found this the reason to stand up: Hello, Harry was undoubtedly referring to me. I am Reinhold, from Germany.

Are there any reserved seats here? Mr. Christensen asked.

I shall be honoured to see you as a guest at my table, Mr. Schulz answered formally, ignoring the fact that there was only one table served. He pointed to an empty chair.

The dinner was excellent, for Swiss conditions: first a potato cream soup, then cutlets with ‘Rösti,’ a local potato speciality. If there would have been a third dish, it would probably have been ‘ice with potatoes’ but that was left to the phantasy of the guests.

Christensen was sitting between Schulz and a lady, who introduced herself as Mrs. Janet Baker from Canada. She was perhaps the eldest in the company with long grey hairs, which rested on a blue gown. She explained that a warm meal was offered in the middle of the day in order to permit the staff to be away in the evening. The staff consisted if the manager, Jacques Zuffry, and his wife Madeleine, who was responsible for the kitchen. Schulz told that they were expected to interchange kitchen service but Mrs. Baker had offered – no, begged for – a permanent position in the kitchen. As a Canadian from Quebec she spoke both English and French fluently and used the latter tongue upon Mrs. Zuffry.

I am wondering about one thing, Christensen remarked. The police said that while I was unable to pay for the hotel – which is nearly a crime in this country, even when the money is stolen – they would transfer me to an asylum for foreigners. I had imagined a different company here.

Let me start to add to your confusion, Schulz answered. This company consists of French, a Canadian, an Argentinean, an Australian, a Korean, a British, an Italian, an Algerian, a Hungarian, and a German and now even a Dane. We are indeed not the typical persons demanding an asylum and the Swiss authorities are trying to discourage our aim. We are refugees for ’The New World Order,’ abbreviated NWO, which was created in America in the last century and now have spread to most of the World, including the European countries surrounding Switzerland. And the Swiss do not really know how to deal with us, because we fulfil their criteria for asylum, all of us being wanted abroad for matters not considered a crime here. On the other hand, they do not want to annoy their neighbours from NWO. Therefore, we are kept isolated here in the country’s most distant village while they are trying to find out, how to deal with us – preferably before the skiing season starts a few days before Christmas, since we are also in the way here. Obviously, we have a different status than the asylums from the third World. The question is, however, who have got the best prospects. But what is your own business here in Switzerland?"

I was the victim of all money and personal papers while on business-trip from Costa Rica. Then I could not pay my hotel bill in Genève. I cannot move any further before my wife send me some money.

I am sorry, but that does not qualify for Chandolin!

But that is how it is.

Why are you not helped by the Danish embassy?

I am certainly not going to involve them!

And why not?

It is a long story.

We are looking forward to listen to it. We are spending the time with telling exiting stories from our life and it is my turn this evening, for the second time, I was one of the first arriving here, two weeks ago.

On which occasion he took one of the best rooms Mrs. Baker interrupted.

Mr. Schulz reacted: She has envied the panorama view from my window ever since she came, two days later. But back to you: I think it is only fair that you share our knowledge. This morning, before you arrived, Mr. Zuffry told us that you were wanted by the Danish police and the Swiss police are testing if the charges are real – it seems that they also smell NWO behind that.

Silence prevailed for a moment. This American had known something about Christensen before he had ever seen him; he even knew something about him that Christensen himself had not realized. Now some details from the questioning in Genève were suddenly to be understood in a different light. And then it was simply a good luck that he had not been arrested and summarily expelled to Denmark I am sorry, but I cannot explain the whole of my story, he finally stuttered.

None of us are demanding that – on the first day.

Schulz offered to show Christensen the immediate surroundings of the hotel, an offer not to reject so the Dane spared his planned study of the map until later and preferred the realities. At first he should change for more comfortable clothing while Schulz was waiting in the lobby. While driving here, there had been no sun but now it had managed to dissolve the clouds and tried to catch up with the missing hours in shining intensively. Perhaps that explains Schulz’ tan in just these two weeks, Christensen thought.

They walked back along the road from where Christensen had arrived around noon. High larch trees lined up the road and suitably, there was a bench at the mountainside – in the Alps, and every road has a mountain- and a valley side. Schulz showed Christensen up there, although they had hardly left the hotel five minutes ago. „You see, Michael, we asylums use the first name in our tribal tradition, so better adopt. From here, you have the most comprehensive and beautiful view. Chandolin lies between that mountain and the Rhone Valley. The top is called Rothorn, which means ’Redtop,’ not a very genuine name, there are many red-, black- and white tops and -teethes in the Alps, including in the immediate surroundings. In the other dimension, Chandolin is limited by the bottom of the Val d’Anniviers and in that direction, he pointed backwards without turning, by the sky. But look at the panorama here and do not forget, that you are not just looking at mountains; you are in them, at an altitude of 2,000 meters. Over there you see Dent Blanche, or White Tooth, with 4,300 meter one of the highest mountains here. And the peculiar black eminence standing so isolated in the back of the valley is Matterhorn, which is even higher than Dent Blanche. On the other side of the small valley you see some houses from Vercorin, also a ski-resort claiming to belong to Val d’Anniviers. Across the Rhone Valley, on its Northern brink, we find the more famous skiing scenery of Crans-Montana. All these mountains have a name or two but you are allowed to enjoy their view without knowing their titles. Further up on the mountain where we live – by the way, its name is Illhorn – you may catch a glimpse of Mount Blanc, the tallest mountain of the Alps, and several other known and unknown dignities. Now have a look down to the Rhone Valley, just before it makes a turn. There you see the characteristically ‘sugar tops’ in Sion, the capital of Canton Valais. Above it is the façade of Les Diablerets and on the other side of it you may find Canton Fribourg."

Say, Harry, from where have you got this geographical knowledge? I bet that you knew the most famous names before you came here. That is not a typical property of an American.

I pardon you this miserable opinion of my compatriots, but only while I can confirm it. Geography is my hobby, but for a living, I was an engineer. The impression you get from the mountains is overwhelming. And I have used my last money for these maps. He took out some, similar to the ones which were hanging in the lobby of the hotel.

Where did you buy them? Michael shouted.

I thought you had no money.

Not to fly home to Costa Rica for, or pay an expensive hotel, but certainly to buy such maps. I have a weakness for maps, as I believe you have, too.

You can get them in one of the three shops in the modern part of the village, which they call ’Station Chandolin,’ but no longer today. The other two shops are the supermarket and the sports magazine. It is low season now, which has its advantages, but one disadvantage is, that everything closes for the day at noon. But just follow old Harry, then you shall not get lost.

They remained sitting at the bench and enjoyed the panorama while Harry boasted further with his extensive knowledge. Then suddenly, Harry started to speak of personal matters:

I could accept my fate and stay forever here in Chandolin, if I was not missing my family. The worst is, however, the uncertainty. We are really not wanted here and the next day may find us somewhere else, perhaps in chains in NOW-prisons. Our only advantage is that the Swiss can never agree. With each two Swiss, you have three opinions. But I try to live each day here as were it my last one. The thin air here has become the symbol of a freedom, but it is definitely not going to last forever.

"After what you said after lunch, I am slowly acclimating myself with the thought that also I may be caught by an evil destiny, which I have so far managed to deal with. I had hoped that my wife would just raise money for my flight back to Costa Rica, but now I am not certain if money suffices.

But what have you done?

Michael answered in a low tune with another question: Have you ever heard about UNIHOCO?

Harry’s reaction was a confirmation in itself. He startled and looked nervously around, then he whispered: "It is dangerous for life just to know the name of that organization. I am not ready to talk about it here and now. Hide your story until later and do