Once in Europa by John Berger Page A

brush, not a spray gun. Six men got out of the car, each with a sack. They were careful not to slam the doors. The eldest, who wore a beret and a leather waistcoat, placed a huge hand around the neck of the youngest, who was yawning.
    All the best things in life before you, boy!
    Cut it out!
    Do you see that peak? No, not that one. The one with snow on it, that’s where we’re felling today.
    Christ! It’s a good ten kilometres away.
    The other five burst out laughing. Once again the boy had been taken in. Because it was early and the air was cold, laughing made some of them cough.
    And it was this coughing which woke up Danielle. By the time she got out of bed and pulled on a skirt, all she could see from the door in the first light was an Indian file of men with sacksover their shoulders climbing towards the forest at St. Pair, and, before the chalet where her goats grazed, the shadowy silhouette of a car.
    Later she tried each of the car’s four doors. They were locked. Through the windows, which looked bullet-proof, she admired the leather upholstery and the wooden dashboard of teak, with its dials like those on instruments made specially for doctors.
    Afternoons she let the rabbits out of their cage. That day, after they had eaten, they hopped under the Mercedes, happy to find shade there. When she half-shut her eyes the rising heat waves along the ridges of the mountains opposite formed a blue halo. All day she heard the drone of the woodcutters’ chain saws.
    In the evening, through the little window of the chalet, she watched the same six men with sacks over their shoulders coming down from St. Pair. The light was already fading. They were walking slowly, as if they were blind and were forced with each step to feel their way forward with their feet. They had a dog with them whose antics they were too tired to notice. Slowly they approached the chalet, each walking at his own speed, exhausted and alone.
    When they saw her in the doorway, they became a little jauntier. The first sight of a woman—with the prospect of nine hours’ respite from their backbreaking work—was a reminder of the other sweet side of the world.
    I heard your saws.
    Forty heads, miss.
    Father’s the one who counts, said a thickset one with sawdust in his hair. They all laughed and then fell shy.
    You think it’ll rain? one of them asked.
    No, the birds are flying high.
    Not tomorrow.
    Forty!
    Forty of ’em, shining like fish!
    We strip ’em as we fell ’em.
    It’s steep, your Pair.
    Pair? That’s how you call it? asked the thickset one with sawdust in his hair.
    St. Pair, she said.
    Everywhere, on their arms, faces, vests, shoulders, they were smeared with a grey dust stuck to sweat and resin. This covering was so thick that in the half-light it looked as if their faces were covered with fur.
    Steep and hot, said the boy.
    In the trough there’s running water, she said.
    The men turned to look where she was pointing. A little distance from the chalet was a massive, scooped-out tree trunk, placed horizontally on some stones. In front of it waddled four geese, phosphorescent in the half-light, and above the trough was a water pipe which came directly out of the grassy mountainside behind.
    It’s a spring … if you want to wash.
    We’ll be home in twenty minutes, said the one they called Father, who wore a beret and a leather waistcoat.
    Home?
    The geese came towards the house in single file, breasts stuck out.
    We’re sleeping in the Chalet Blanc, explained Father.
    There’s no spring there, she said, only rainwater.
    We’ve got jerry-cans.
    Wash there, it’s a spring, she said, a spring that never stops. You got soap?
    Sure—and pyjamas! said a tall one.
    In that case, I’ll get you some.
    She went inside. When she came out she handed a large cube of soap to Father. The men left their sacks on the ground and went over to the trough, which was long