The Stronghold by Dino Buzzati

Author:Dino Buzzati
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: New York Review Books
Published: 2023-05-23T00:00:00+00:00

16

After Lieutenant Angustina had been buried, time resumed at the Fortezza, passing just as it did before.

Major Ortiz asked Drogo, “How long is it now?”

Drogo replied, “I’ve been here four years.”

Winter arrived suddenly, the long season. Snow would fall. First, four or five centimeters; then, after a pause, a deeper layer; then several more, impossible to count, so that the time till spring returned seemed forever. (And yet one day much earlier than expected, much earlier, you’ll hear water trickling from the borders of the terraces and winter will be inexplicably over.)

Lieutenant Angustina’s coffin, wrapped in the flag, lay underground in a small enclosure on one side of the Fortezza. Over it stood a cross of white stone on which his name was engraved. Farther along lay the soldier Lazzari beneath a smaller cross of wood.

Ortiz said, “Sometimes I think we long for war, we await the best opportunity, we blame bad luck, because nothing ever happens. And yet look at what happened to Angustina.”

“You mean,” said Drogo, “Angustina didn’t need any luck? He was fine all the same?”

“He was weak,” said Major Ortiz. “I believe he was sick too. He was worse off than all of us, actually. Like us, he didn’t face the enemy; he didn’t even fight in a war. He died, just the same, as if he were in battle. Do you know how he died, lieutenant?”

“Yes,” said Drogo, “I too was present when Captain Monti told the story.”

Winter came and the foreigners left. The beautiful banners of hope, perhaps with intimations of blood, were slowly lowered and the mood was calm again. But the sky remained empty, and the eye still searched pointlessly for something on the farthest frontier of the horizon.

“He certainly picked the right moment to die,” said Major Ortiz. “As if he had taken a bullet. He was a hero. There’s nothing more to say about it. Even if no one fired. The odds were the same for everyone else who was with him that day. He really had no advantage—unless perhaps the ability to die so easily. Besides, what did the others do? For them it was a day more or less like any other.”

“Yes,” said Drogo, “just a little colder.”

“Right, lieutenant,” said Ortiz. “But you could have gone with them. You need only have asked.”

They were sitting on a wooden bench on the topmost terrace of the fourth redoubt. Ortiz had gone to find Lieutenant Drogo, who was on duty. Day by day a close friendship was forming between them.

They were sitting on a bench, wrapped in their cloaks, their eyes gravitating spontaneously toward the north, where huge clouds were gathering, amorphous and laden with snow. The northern wind gusted occasionally, freezing the clothes on their backs. The jagged cliffs towering to the right and left of the pass had darkened. Drogo said, “It does look like we’ll get snow tomorrow here at the Fortezza.”

“Most likely,” the major replied, showing no interest. Then he fell silent.

“It will snow,” Drogo said again.

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