"And can the cat come?"
The kitchen timer buzzed, and they tiptoed to the kitchen to eat soufflé and make a plan.
16. Two Terrible Tourists
The small Swiss village was so remote that travelers rarely passed through. Even the train that had been buried there six years before had been on its way to someplace else, to a different town with museums and shops that sold plastic models of alpenhorns and Saint Bernards.
For that reason, because it was such an unusual happening, the villagers took notice of the two tourists who arrived wearing sunglasses and carrying badly folded maps. The townspeople murmured to each other about the odd clothing: Bermuda shorts on both man and woman, and Birkenstock sandals on their feet. "Whatever are they doing here?" they said to each other in low voices. They watched the couple enter the small gasthaus on the main street.
"We need a big lunch," the man said to the waitress. He picked up the menu and glanced at it. "I can't read this. It isn't in English. Tell me, in a civilized language, what you have to eat. We need nourishment.
"We're going to climb that alp," the man announced loudly, pointing through the window toward the towering mountain.
His wife, looking at the guidebook, said, "Listen to this!" and read aloud to the pretty waitress, who was the daughter of the proprietor, "'Never been successfully climbed. With good binoculars one can see, in summer when the deepest snow has abated, the frozen bodies of several famous climbers. It is too dangerous for rescuers to retrieve these poor lost souls and they remain there as a reminder to others and a tribute to the ferocious power of this mountain.'" She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and squinted through the window.
"I can't see the bodies," she whined. "I want to see the frozen bodies."
"Can I get a good thick steak?" the man asked the waitress.
She shook her head, and he gave a sigh of exasperation. "These foreigners," he muttered irritably to his wife.
"Well, how about a Reuben sandwich?" he asked.
"No, I'm sorry," she said politely. "We have fondue. We're very proud of it. It is our national dish."
" Fondue? Good lord, do you know what I call that? Fon doo-doo, that's what. Well, we'll have hamburgers. We need something substantial. And some drinks with ice cubes in them, for heaven's sake. I don't know why, in a country with ice everywhere, one can't get a drink with ice cubes."
The pretty waitress took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. No hamburgers. I could ask Father to make you a cheese sandwich."
Grouchily they agreed to cheese sandwiches and grouchily they ate them when they arrived. Then they grouchily paid the bill without leaving a tip.
"What are you staring at?" the man asked the waitress as they turned to leave.
She blushed, and apologized. She had been staring, actually, at their heads, thinking for a moment that they may be royalty because they seemed to be wearing crowns of some sort and because they had acted a bit like titled people from minor principalities. Now, however, she could see that on their heads they were wearing hiking equipment intended, actually, for the soles of hiking boots. It was quite startling.
Later, when the two had gone, headed to the trail at the foot of the mountain, noisily dragging the pitons that they had attached by string to their ankles, the waitress cleared the table and said in a worried voice to her father, "They're planning to climb the mountain. But they don't even have warm clothing. And for some reason they are wearing crampons on their heads."
He shrugged.
"Should we send someone out to stop them?"
"We Swiss never get involved," he said. "Anyway, no one is available. Everyone is going to the wedding. So are we." He went to the door of the gasthaus and hung a sign there that said GESCHLOSSEN, BIN AUF HOCHZEIT : Closed for a wedding.
The wedding was a very exciting event for the village. Finally, after years of bachelorhood—so many that his mother had
The kitchen timer buzzed, and they tiptoed to the kitchen to eat soufflé and make a plan.
16. Two Terrible Tourists
The small Swiss village was so remote that travelers rarely passed through. Even the train that had been buried there six years before had been on its way to someplace else, to a different town with museums and shops that sold plastic models of alpenhorns and Saint Bernards.
For that reason, because it was such an unusual happening, the villagers took notice of the two tourists who arrived wearing sunglasses and carrying badly folded maps. The townspeople murmured to each other about the odd clothing: Bermuda shorts on both man and woman, and Birkenstock sandals on their feet. "Whatever are they doing here?" they said to each other in low voices. They watched the couple enter the small gasthaus on the main street.
"We need a big lunch," the man said to the waitress. He picked up the menu and glanced at it. "I can't read this. It isn't in English. Tell me, in a civilized language, what you have to eat. We need nourishment.
"We're going to climb that alp," the man announced loudly, pointing through the window toward the towering mountain.
His wife, looking at the guidebook, said, "Listen to this!" and read aloud to the pretty waitress, who was the daughter of the proprietor, "'Never been successfully climbed. With good binoculars one can see, in summer when the deepest snow has abated, the frozen bodies of several famous climbers. It is too dangerous for rescuers to retrieve these poor lost souls and they remain there as a reminder to others and a tribute to the ferocious power of this mountain.'" She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and squinted through the window.
"I can't see the bodies," she whined. "I want to see the frozen bodies."
"Can I get a good thick steak?" the man asked the waitress.
She shook her head, and he gave a sigh of exasperation. "These foreigners," he muttered irritably to his wife.
"Well, how about a Reuben sandwich?" he asked.
"No, I'm sorry," she said politely. "We have fondue. We're very proud of it. It is our national dish."
" Fondue? Good lord, do you know what I call that? Fon doo-doo, that's what. Well, we'll have hamburgers. We need something substantial. And some drinks with ice cubes in them, for heaven's sake. I don't know why, in a country with ice everywhere, one can't get a drink with ice cubes."
The pretty waitress took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. No hamburgers. I could ask Father to make you a cheese sandwich."
Grouchily they agreed to cheese sandwiches and grouchily they ate them when they arrived. Then they grouchily paid the bill without leaving a tip.
"What are you staring at?" the man asked the waitress as they turned to leave.
She blushed, and apologized. She had been staring, actually, at their heads, thinking for a moment that they may be royalty because they seemed to be wearing crowns of some sort and because they had acted a bit like titled people from minor principalities. Now, however, she could see that on their heads they were wearing hiking equipment intended, actually, for the soles of hiking boots. It was quite startling.
Later, when the two had gone, headed to the trail at the foot of the mountain, noisily dragging the pitons that they had attached by string to their ankles, the waitress cleared the table and said in a worried voice to her father, "They're planning to climb the mountain. But they don't even have warm clothing. And for some reason they are wearing crampons on their heads."
He shrugged.
"Should we send someone out to stop them?"
"We Swiss never get involved," he said. "Anyway, no one is available. Everyone is going to the wedding. So are we." He went to the door of the gasthaus and hung a sign there that said GESCHLOSSEN, BIN AUF HOCHZEIT : Closed for a wedding.
The wedding was a very exciting event for the village. Finally, after years of bachelorhood—so many that his mother had
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