A Finish Line at the Top

In summer, the ski lift carries nobody. The chairs hang still on the cable. Yellow flowers grow on the slope under them.

Valerio climbs the stairs to the top station at seven every morning. He carries a bag of tools and a bottle of hot coffee. The air up here smells of cold stone and warm grass.

His work is a list, and he knows it by heart. First, he checks the motor. Next, he oils the big wheels. Then he writes numbers in a black book. At the end, he cleans the cup.

The cup sits on a shelf above the kettle. It is a small silver cup with two handles. On one side there is a dent, as deep as a thumb. Valerio won the cup in a downhill race when he was twenty. The same night, he dropped it on a stone step. He never fixed the dent.

Cosmo is the new helper. He is nineteen, and this is his first summer on the mountain. He carries the grease can and asks too many questions.

"How did the cup get its dent?" Cosmo asks on Monday.

"A goat sat on it," says Valerio.

On Tuesday, Cosmo asks again. "A judge dropped it," Valerio says. "He was angry about the result."

On Wednesday, the answer is a bat. On Thursday, it is a very small earthquake. Cosmo writes each story in a notebook. He believes none of them, but he loves them all.

Today is Friday, and nothing special happens until ten. Valerio kneels by the third wheel. Cosmo holds the light. The motor hums. Down in the valley, a dog barks. The sound travels up the mountain.

Then Cosmo lifts his head. "Do you hear that?"

"I hear the motor."

"No. Voices."

Valerio listens. Far below, someone blows a whistle. Then another one blows. Then many feet hit the grass at once.

They go to the window. A line of people climbs the slope under the empty chairs. They wear numbers on their shirts. Some run, and some walk with their hands on their knees. At the front, a thin girl in a yellow shirt runs fast.

"A race," Cosmo says. "Why is there a race here?"

"Nobody told me," says Valerio. "Nobody ever tells the mechanic."

A white van bounces up the service road. It stops by the door. A man jumps out with a list. His shirt is wet, and his hair stands up in all directions. "Sorry, sorry," he says. "The finish line is here this year. We sent a letter to your office."

"My office is a shelf," says Valerio. "Nobody reads it."

The man laughs in a worried way. He runs to a pole by the stairs. He ties a ribbon to it. A small crowd gathers. Cosmo carries water out in paper cups.

The girl in the yellow shirt crosses the ribbon first. She does not shout. She stands very still with her hands on her hips. Her chest goes up and down. Then she smiles at the sky. The crowd claps. A boy blows his whistle again.

The man with the list turns pale. He looks at his van. He looks at his list. "The prizes," he says quietly. "The prizes are in the other van. It has a flat tire at the bottom of the hill."

Nobody speaks. The girl looks at her shoes. She is very young. She climbed a whole mountain, and now there is nothing to hold.

Valerio watches her for a long moment. Then he goes inside and stands in front of the shelf. The cup waits there, small and silver. He takes it down. He rubs it on his sleeve until it shines.

Cosmo follows him in. "That is your cup," he whispers.

"A shelf is a poor place for a cup," says Valerio. "It should be in somebody's hands."

"But you love it."

"I do. That is why I know where it belongs today."

He walks out into the bright air. The crowd goes quiet. He stops in front of the girl. He holds out the cup with both hands.

"First across the line gets the cup," he says. "That is the rule up here."

The girl stares at him. Then she takes it. The silver catches the sun. It throws a bright spot onto the ribbon. The people cheer so loudly that a bird jumps from the cable.

She turns the cup around slowly. She finds the dent. She puts her thumb into it, and her thumb fits exactly. Her eyes grow wide.

The man with the list whispers to Valerio. "I can pay for it. I can bring you a new one tomorrow."

"No need," Valerio says. "This one knows the job already."

Cosmo stands at the door with his notebook open. His pen is ready. He looks like a boy who wants the best story ever.

The girl lifts her face. "What happened to it?" she asks. "How did it get this dent?"

Valerio looks at Cosmo. Cosmo looks at the sky and tries not to smile.

"Well," says Valerio. "Which story do you want?"