the creature I saw was no giant. It was large, yes, and clearly very strong, but it was of a more or less human scale. Also, the Yeti is always described as being covered with fur. The original name for the Yeti came from the Tibetan Miche, which means ‘man-bear,’ and there is even speculation that the original Himalayan sightings were of a species of polar bear. But the creature I saw wasn’t covered in fur. There was hair over its chest, its back and legs, but hair, not fur. In fact, it appeared to be similar to human hair. And its arms and legs were human flesh.”
Images of Vita came rushing over me. I saw her pale skin, her large blue eyes. I remembered the description of her at birth, with her rows of sharp teeth. I turned to Pierre. “What do you think of all this?”
“After Justine told me what she saw, I was doubtful,” Pierre said. “Her story was, frankly, very difficult to believe. But she was so shaken that I knew something had happened. Then I read Heuvelmans’s books. And went to the lectures in Lausanne. Cryptozoologists take their work very seriously. And their theories are backed by facts.”
“So you are a believer?”
He put his hand over Justine’s and squeezed. “I guess you could say that.”
Justine gave him a weak smile. “I admit, I have become the Don Quixote of the Alps. Pierre is kind. He doesn’t want me to feel alone. But every time we train, and we are up there on the glacier, I am looking to see another one.”
Pierre refilled Justine’s glass. Her cheeks were flushed from the wine, or perhaps from the excitement of the topic.
“But the Alps are so vast,” I said, eating the last bite of my rabbit and washing it down with wine. “It seems unlikely that you will ever have another encounter like that.”
“The odds are not so great as one would imagine,” Justine objected. “You should read about the Gigantopithecus, the species of ape dating from the Pleistocene period that Heuvelmans identified as the Abominable Snowman. It was a kind of orangutan, supposedly extinct. But it was not extinct at all. It lived in the Himalayas, undisturbed by human beings, and the species survived, perhaps for millions of years. The same could be true here, in the Alps, especially in this part of the mountains. It is so remote, so uninhabitable, that there could be any number of so-called extinct life-forms thriving here. The Yeti could be here, and humanity would never know.”
“And besides,” Pierre said, “the reward for a live Yeti is enormous.”
I looked from Justine to Pierre. “There is a reward?”
“Yes, the International Society of Cryptozoology has offered a generous reward,” Pierre said. “Any information that would lead to the capture of a Yeti brings one hundred thousand euros.”
“It isn’t the motivation for our search,” Justine added. “But it doesn’t hurt.”
“The Montebiancos know the secrets of these mountains better than anyone,” Pierre said, pouring the last of the wine. “We could split the reward three ways.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said. “But the only thing I know about these mountains is that it is incredibly difficult to get a helicopter out.”
Pierre was watching me carefully, too carefully, and I felt that he must suspect something. Maybe he’d guessed that I had been hiding information. It seemed, for a moment, that he could see into my soul—or, rather, into my genetic code—and glean the truth of my heritage. And while I shrugged off this feeling and finished my glass of wine, there was some truth to it all. I was hiding something, something my body carried deep inside it, wrapped up safe like a seed at the center of an apple.
Lunch, combined with my sleepless night at the castle, left me exhausted. By the end of the meal, I could hardly stay awake. Seeing my beleaguered state, Justine made up a bed on the couch and insisted that I take a nap. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, the kind of sleep that leaves one, upon waking, unsettled and disoriented. When I woke, night had fallen, leaving the room completely dark except for the flickering light from the fire. I had slept the entire day away. The storm wasn’t over yet—snowflakes swirled outside the window. There was no way around it: I would be in Nevenero for the night.
Pierre and Justine were in the kitchen speaking quietly in French. I strained to understand them. ?’est