The Tartar Steppe. Dino Buzzati

to sight. The ceiling was hidden in shadow; at intervals a little beam of light came in through a narrow window.

      It was not until they had climbed to the next floor that they met a soldier carrying a bundle of papers. From the damp and naked walls, the silence, the dim lighting, it seemed as if the inmates had forgotten that somewhere in the world there existed flowers, laughing women, gay and hospitable houses. Here everything spoke of renunciation, but for whom, to what mysterious end? Now they were traversing the second floor along a corridor exactly similar to the first. From somewhere behind the walls there came the distant echo of a laugh; to Drogo it seemed unreal.

      Major Matti was plump and smiled with an excess of good nature. His office was huge, the desk big in proportion and covered with orderly heaps of paper. There was a coloured print of the king, and the major’s sword hung on a wooden peg driven in for the purpose.

      Drogo came to attention and reported. He produced his personal documents and began to explain that he had not made any request to be posted to the fortress – he was determined to have himself transferred as soon as possible – but Major Matti interrupted him.

      ‘I knew your father years ago. A very fine gentleman. I am sure you will wish to live up to his memory. A President of the High Court, if I remember rightly?’

      ‘No, sir,’ said Drogo, ‘he was a doctor, my father.’

      ‘Ah, yes, of course, I was forgetting, a doctor, of course, of course.’ For a moment Matti seemed to be embarrassed, and Drogo noted how he kept raising his left hand to his collar as if trying to hide a round, greasy stain, evidently a fresh one, on the breast of his uniform.

      The major recovered himself quickly.

      ‘I am very pleased to see you,’ he said. ‘You know what His Majesty Peter III said? “Fort Bastiani the guardian of my crown.” I may add that it is an honour to belong to it. Don’t you agree?’

      He said these things automatically, as if they were a formula learned years before which he must produce on certain set occasions.

      ‘Yes, sir,’ said Giovanni, ‘you are quite right, but I must confess it was a surprise to me. I have my family in the city and should prefer if possible to stay …’

      ‘So you want to leave us before you arrive, do you? I must say I’m sorry, very sorry.’

      ‘It isn’t that I wish to. I would not dream of arguing. I mean that I …’

      ‘I understand,’ said the major and sighed as if this were an old story and he could sympathise with it. ‘I understand. You had thought the Fort would be different and now you are a bit frightened. But tell me honestly – how can you form an opinion of it if you have only arrived a few minutes ago?’

      ‘I haven’t the slightest objection to the Fort, sir,’ said Drogo. ‘Only I should prefer to stay in the city or at least near it. You understand? I am talking to you in confidence, because I see you understand these things. I put myself in your hands.’

      ‘Of course, of course,’ exclaimed Matti with a short laugh. ‘That’s what we are here for. We don’t want anyone here against his will – not even the least important sentry. Still, I’m sorry. You seem a good lad to me.’

      The major fell silent a moment as if to consider the best solution. It was at this point, as he turned his head a little to the left, that Drogo’s glance fell on the window opening on to the inner courtyard. He could see the northern wall, yellowish like the others and sun-beaten like them, with here and there the black rectangle of a window. There was a clock as well, pointing to two o’clock, and on the topmost terrace a sentry walking to and fro with his rifle at the slope. But over the ramparts, far, far away, in the glare of noon, there rose a rocky crest. Only its extreme tip could be seen and in itself it was nothing out of the ordinary. Yet for Giovanni Drogo that fragment of rock represented the first visible lure of the northern territory, the legendary kingdom whose existence hung heavily over the Fort. What was the rest like? he wondered. From it there came a drowsy light shining through slow-moving smoky wisps of mist. Then the major began to speak again.

      ‘Tell me,’ he asked Drogo, ‘would you like to go back straight away or would it be the same to you if you waited a month or two? For us, I repeat, it is all the same – from the official point of view, that is,’ he added so as not to sound discourteous.

      ‘Since I have to go back,’ said Giovanni, pleasantly surprised at the lack of difficulties, ‘since I have to go back it seems to me I had better go at once.’

      ‘Quite right, quite right,’ said the major soothingly. ‘But now I must tell you something. If you want to go right away the best thing is for you to go sick. You go into the sick bay under observation for a day or two and the doctor gives you a certificate. There are a lot of people in any case who can’t stand up to the altitude.’

      ‘Do I really have to go sick?’ asked Drogo, who did not like this sort of fiction.

      ‘You don’t have to, but it makes everything easier. Otherwise you would have to make a written request for a posting. That has to be sent to the High Command, the High Command has to reply – that means at least a fortnight. Above all, the colonel has to go into the matter, and that I would prefer to avoid. Because he does find these things unpleasant – they hurt him, that’s it, they hurt him just as if you were doing an injury to his Fort. Well then, if I were you, if you want me to be frank, I would try to avoid it.’

      ‘But excuse me, sir,’ said Drogo, ‘I didn’t know that. If my going away might cause me trouble then it’s another matter.’

      ‘Not at all, you have misunderstood me. In neither case will your career suffer. It is only a case of a – of a shade of meaning. Of course, and I told you this right away, the colonel will not be pleased. But if you have really made up your mind …’

      ‘No, no,’ said Drogo, ‘if things are as you say perhaps the medical certificate is better.’

      ‘Unless …’ said Matti with a meaning smile and leaving his sentence in mid-air.

      ‘Unless?’

      ‘Unless you were to put up with staying here four months – which would be the best solution.’

      ‘Four months?’ asked Drogo, already somewhat disappointed, since he had thought to be leaving at once.

      ‘Four months,’ Matti confirmed. ‘The procedure is much more regular that way. I’ll explain to you direct. Twice a year there is a medical inspection – it is laid down. The next will be in four months’ time. That seems to me to be your best opportunity. I give you my word that, if you like, your report will be adverse. You can set your mind absolutely at rest.’

      ‘Besides,’ continued the major after a pause, ‘besides, four months are four months – long enough for a personal report. You can be certain that the colonel will do one on you. And you know how important that can be for your career. But let us get this quite, quite clear – you are perfectly free …’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ said Drogo, ‘I understand perfectly.’

      ‘Service here is not hard,’ the major emphasised, ‘almost always guard duties. And the New Redoubt, which demands more of one, will certainly not be entrusted to you to begin with. There will be no hard tasks, don’t be afraid – you won’t ever be bored.’

      But Drogo was scarcely listening to Matti’s explanations, for his attention was strangely attracted by the picture framed in the window with that tiny piece of crag showing above the wall. A vague feeling to which he did not have the key was gradually penetrating into his inmost being – a stupid and absurd feeling, a baseless fancy.

      At the same time he felt somewhat calmer. He was still anxious to go, but not so desperately as before. He was almost ashamed at the fears he had had on his arrival. He could not believe that he was not as good a man as all the others. If he left at once, he now thought, it might be looked upon as a confession of inferiority. Thus his own conceit of himself fought with his longing