After what turned out to be about three hours, Tiny left Sybilla at her hotel, apologising that he would need to get back to the island. Before he left, they made a date to ski the next weekend.
“Don’t worry about skis, I can provide them,” he said. “Do you have enough money to buy suitable clothing?”
“Yes, I have the money I brought with me, and I receive an advance from Erich tomorrow.”
“Get good quality clothing,” he insisted. “I don’t have to tell you about layers, you’re probably more experienced than me, but it’s important you gear up for extreme weather—very extreme weather—okay?”
Sybilla’s brow was furrowed in puzzlement, but she was nodding slowly. “Okay, Tiny, I hear what you say.”
Sybilla spent the rest of the afternoon in Bariloche’s two winter sports shops. Following Tiny’s advice, she went above and beyond what she would have normally bought for skiing, making sure that she had good warm, weatherproof outer garments. Tiny’s remarks had puzzled her, but she assumed there must be a method to his madness.
The following day she met with the school staff and was escorted to each classroom in turn, where she introduced herself in German and in Spanish to the children. They had clearly been briefed prior to her visit, as each time she entered they would stand up and recite in unison, “Good morning, Frau Meyer.”
Sybilla found the staff friendly and helpful and the children polite and enthusiastic, but she was in no doubt that she was facing a tremendous challenge. The children were from widely differing backgrounds: Amerindians, Spanish, German and, more often, a mixture of two or more groups. In addition, she found a wide disparity of ability levels in spoken German, from the children and grandchildren of German immigrants, who spoke it as their first language, to many who had had no formal training in the German language.
Sybilla decided her best tactic was to split each class into three groups based on their ability to speak German. That way, she could focus most of her attention on the less able and perhaps use some of the more gifted children as mentors. For the next week, Sybilla worked feverishly to draw up a coherent teaching strategy and a set of lesson plans, which she presented to Priebke in the Friday lunch break. To say that Priebke was delighted and perhaps a little surprised would be an understatement, and it was with praise still ringing in her ears that she left the school that afternoon for her date with Tiny.
After changing into skiing attire and throwing a few essentials into a rucksack, she met with Tiny at the wharf on the lake. To her surprise, he ushered her into a small motor launch and, after climbing in beside her, started the twin Johnson 40 outboards and sped up the lake, leaving a trail of foam and spray cascading in their wake. As they travelled, Tiny pointed out various features, naming some of the mountains and islands they passed, paying particular attention to Huemul Island where he worked.
Tiny steered to the left of the island before turning west into a narrow branch of the lake, which became narrower the further they travelled into it. The scenery was quite breathtaking, and Sybilla felt a dull ache in her chest at the sight of the soaring mountains rising above them, reminding her so much of the majestic fjords of her homeland. Ahead, Sybilla could just make out a building on the southern shore of the lake. It was to this that Tiny was headed.
The building turned out to be a hotel, built in the Tyrolean style. Tiny had booked them a room each, and after settling in, they sat down together in the restaurant to enjoy the ubiquitous Argentinian beef steak accompanied by a bottle of local wine. They then retired to the lounge bar, where Tiny introduced her to some of his friends who had also come to the hotel, clearly a popular rendezvous for skiers. For a few hours, Sybilla, enjoying a drink in front of a roaring log fire among pleasant company, was able to forget her problems.
The following morning Sybilla rose early, as instructed by Tiny the night before. After breakfasting they pulled on their outer clothing and hoisted on their bergens. Tiny already had his skis, pointing vertically upwards so as not to impede his movement, attached to his bergen. He produced a second pair which he attached in a similar manner to Sybilla’s pack.
Once ready, Tiny smiled and pointed upwards towards the sky. “We’re going up!” he said as he stepped out along a barely discernible path which led from the hotel up the side of a shallow valley. A small stream gurgled its way down the slope in the centre of the valley.
“You should see this in the spring—it becomes a torrent, carrying the meltwater down from the hills,” he said, pointing to it. Chuckling, he added, “It’s less than one and a half kilometres to the slopes, it just seems like ten!”
In fact, Sybilla didn’t find the going too onerous; she had been used to it in her native Norway and had always kept herself fit. The valley opened out into a wide, sloping plain with perfect ski slopes. After a morning of strenuous skiing, they settled down for a bite of lunch. Both had brought a packed lunch, and it took Tiny no time to get a fire going to boil his billycan, which he had packed full of pristine white snow.
As they sat enjoying a coffee, Tiny pointed up the valley. “If you continue up there, the trees disappear and after about one and a half kilometres, you reach a high point. Looking westward from that point you can see a frozen mountain lake quite close by. People sometimes go there to skate, but it’s quite a hike. On the southern shore of the lake, close
