‘Madam,’ he said, leaning to the lady and assuming an expression of near seraphic sweetness, ‘you must be completely surrendering to a traveller’s mood?’
The woman, caught off guard, looked at him a little strangely.
‘Madam,’ explained Kluczka in a silken voice, ‘you are simply suffering from the so-called “railroad fever”. I am familiar with this, my dear lady, very familiar. Even though I am used to the railroad environment, I cannot master myself over it to this day. It constantly affects me with the same strength.’
The woman looked at him kindly.
‘To tell the truth, I do feel a little agitated; maybe not so much by the ride that awaits me, but by the uncertainty of how I’ll manage after I arrive at my destination. I’m not familiar at all with the town I have to go to, I don’t know to whom to turn, where to spend the night. I’m concerned about those first, exceedingly anxious moments immediately after one arrives.’
Kluczka rubbed his hand in satisfaction: the lady simplified most wonderfully his passing over to the ‘information-clarification phase’, which, in the progression of events, now appeared on the evening horizon. He drew out from a side pocket of his coat an impressive bundle of papers and notes, and spreading them out on the table, he turned with a friendly smile to his neighbour.
‘Luckily I can be of service to you in the information you seek. Is it possible to know where madam is heading?’
‘To Wyznia Retreat.’
‘Excellent. In a moment we’ll know more about it. We’ll take a look at the index in back of this station directory…. Wyznia Retreat…. Here it is! Line S-D, page 30. Splendid!... Time of train departures: Passenger train at 4:30 at night, 11:20 before noon, and 10:03 in the evening. Cost of a second-class ticket, about
10.40. Let’s go to the particulars of the locale. Wyznia Retreat— 210 metres above sea level—a city of third-class size—20,000 inhabitants; under district law; a starosta, an elementary school, a secondary school . . .’
The lady interrupted his reading with an impatient motion of her hand.
‘Hotels, my dear sir, are there any hotels?’
‘Just one moment…one moment and we’ll find out…. Yes! Two inns, one eating house under the sign of “The Cap of Invisibility” and the hotel “Imperial”—here near the station to the right, two minutes away—sunny, large rooms starting from three kopeks up—excellent service, heating according to one’s request, electricity, an elevator, steam bath below—a three minute leisurely, quiet walk away—dinner, supper, excellent home cooking. Mein Liebchen, was….’
Kluczka bit his tongue, knowing that in the ardour of presenting this information, he had gone too far.
The lady beamed.
‘Thank you, sir, thank you very much. Are you hired by this station as its information person?’ she guessed, taking out a purse from her bag.
Kluczka became confused.
‘Why, no, my dear lady. Please don’t consider me an agent of the information bureau. I only do this as an amateur, from purely idealistic motives.’
Once again the woman was seized by embarrassment.
‘Excuse me, and once again a sincere thanks.’
She gave him her hand, which he kissed chivalrously.
‘Agapit Kluczka, judicial clerk,’ he presented himself, tipping his hat.
He was in a rosy mood. The information phase today had surpassed all his expectations so that when, around ten, the porter threw out in the hall with a stentorian voice the cry for departure, the perpetual passenger carried out all his symbolic actions with the redoubled energy of a young man in his twenties. And though after his repeated return to the waiting room, the third intermezzo did not seem tempting, his high enthusiasm did not fall, and Kluczka’s spirit was bolstered with the memory of the successful information phase.
Despite this, today’s ‘journey’ was not fated to end happily. For when two hours later—that is, after midnight—Kluczka tried to force his way with his suitcase through the unprecedented crowds to a third-class compartment, he suddenly felt someone pluck him strongly by the collar and take him down roughly from the steps of the train. Looking around in fury, he saw by the light of a centre-track lantern the irate face of the conductor, and he heard in the tumult of voices the following apostrophe apparently meant for him:
‘Get the hell out of here! There’s a crush here so great that one can’t even move a pin, and despite this, this lunatic is pushing through the steps like a madman and shoving people aside, only to jump out later on the other side at the moment of departure. I know you, my bird, and not just from today; I’ve been watching you for a long time! Well, get the hell out of here or I’ll call the military police! There is no time today for indulging the half-witted whims of crazy people!’
Stupefied, frightened to the bone, Kluczka found himself unexpectedly beyond the tight crowds of the passengers, and, as if drunk, he staggered somewhere among the columns of the platform.
‘You deserved that,’ he murmured through tightened teeth. ‘Why did you have to push your way to the third-class compartment instead of the second? Inferior compartments, inferior service. I always told you that. One can tell a gentleman by his knee-boots.’
Calmed a bit by this reasoning, he straightened his crumpled coat and went stealthily from the platform to the waiting room, from there to the entrance hall, and then to the street. He had had enough ‘travelling’ for today—the last occurrence had disheartened him from finishing his journey, cutting it short by one hour.
It was already after midnight. The city slept. The lights of roadside inns had died out, beerhouses and restaurants had become silent. Here and there a consumptive street lamp at a corner in the far distance brightened the darkness of the street; here and there, the faint gleam from some underground den slid along the sidewalk. Now and then, the quick step of a late passer-by, or the distant baying of dogs let down from a chain, interrupted the quiet of sleep….
With his suitcase in hand, the perpetual passenger dragged on slowly along a narrow winding street that crept somewhere among secluded lanes by the river. His head weighed like lead, his legs trod stiffly, wooden like crutch stilts. He was returning home for a few hours of sleep before daybreak, for tomorrow morning a desk was waiting for him, and after three o’clock, as today, as yesterday, as for many forgotten years, a symbolic journey.
IN THE COMPARTMENT
THE TRAIN SHOT THROUGH THE LANDSCAPE as quick as a flash. Fields plunged into the darkness of evening, fallows bare and stark moved submissively behind, appearing like so many segments of a continuously folding fan. Taut telegraph wires went up, then went down, and once again unreeled along with perfect level straightness—stubborn, absurd, stiff lines.
Godziemba was looking through the coach window. His eyes, glued to the shiny rails, drank in their apparent movement; his hands, digging into the window sill, seemed to be helping the train push away the ground being passed. His heart rate was fast, as if wanting to increase the tempo of the ride, to double the momentum of the hollow-sounding wheels.
Winged with the rush of the locomotive, a bird flew easily from the fetters of commonplace existence and flashed by the lengthy coaches, brushing their windows in its exhilarated flight, and overtook the engine to soar to the wide, vanishing horizon, to a faraway, mist-covered world!....
Godziemba was a fanatic of motion. This usually quiet and timid dreamer became unrecognizable the moment he mounted the steps of a train. Gone was the unease, gone the timidity, and the formerly passive, musing eyes took on a sparkle of energy and strength.
This notorious daydreamer and sluggard was suddenly transformed into a dynamic, strong-willed person with a feeling of self-worth. And when the lively bugle signal faded and the black coaches started towards their distant destinations, a boundless joy permeated his entire being, pouring warm and reviving currents into the farthest reaches of his soul, like the rays of the sun over the earth on summer days.
Somet
hing resided in the essence of a speeding train, something that galvanized Godziemba’s weak nerves—stimulating strongly, though artificially, his faint life-force. A specific environment was created, a unique milieu of motion with its own laws and power, its own strange, at times dangerous, spirit. The motion of a locomotive was not just physically contagious; the momentum of an engine quickened his psychic pulse, it electrified his will—he became independent. ‘Train neurosis’ seemed to transform temporarily this overly refined and sensitive individual into someone who exhibited a beneficial, positive force. His intensified excitement was maintained on an artificial summit above a frail life that, after the retreat of the ‘fortunate’ circumstances, descended into a state of even deeper prostration. A train in motion affected him like morphine injected into the veins of an addict.
Finding himself in the four walls of a compartment, Godziemba became instantly enlivened. This misanthrope ‘on the mainland’ threw off the skin of a recluse and initiated conversations with, at times, reluctant people; this taciturn and difficult man was suddenly transformed into a splendid conversationalist who showered his fellow travellers with anecdotes put together quickly in an adroit and witty manner. An oaf—who aside from his remarkable transformation aboard a train was undistinguished in everything else—became, from neither here nor there, a strong individual, venturesome and incisive. This chicken-hearted wallflower changed unexpectedly to a blustering brawler, who could even be dangerous.
Quite a few times during a ride Godziemba had gone through some interesting adventures, from which he emerged triumphant thanks to a pugnacious and unyielding attitude. A sarcastic witness to one such scene, who knew Godziemba well from another place, advised him to settle all his affairs of honour in a train—and one travelling at full speed at that.
‘Mon cher, always duel in coaches; you’ll fight like a lion. As God is my witness!’
But the artificial intensification of his life-force reverberated badly on his health: he paid the price for almost every ride with some illness. After each temporary increase of psychological powers an even more violent reaction would follow. Despite this, Godziemba liked riding trains immensely and repeatedly invented fictional travel goals just to opiate himself with motion.
So, yesterday evening, getting on the express at B., he really didn’t know his purpose; he did not even reflect on what he would do tonight at F., where in a few hours the train would deposit him. All this was of little consequence. What did it matter to him? For here he sits comfortably in a warm compartment, looking through the window at the landscape whisking by, and he is riding at a speed of 100 kilometres an hour….
Meanwhile, outside it had darkened completely. A lamp near the ceiling, turned on by an unseen hand, vividly lit up the interior. Godziemba drew the curtain, turned his back to the window, and glanced at the compartment. Having been engrossed with the murky countryside, he had not noticed that at one of the stations two people had entered his compartment to occupy the empty seats opposite him.
Now in the lamp’s yellow light he saw his fellow passengers. They were probably newly-weds. The man, tall, lean, with dark blond hair and a clipped moustache, appeared to be in his thirties. Bright, cheerful eyes looked out from under his heavily defined brows. The sincere, somewhat long face was enhanced by a pleasant smile whenever he would turn to his companion.
The woman, also blonde but with a lighter hue, was small but very well developed. Her luxuriant hair, twisted unpretentiously in two thick braids at the back of her head, framed a face that was delicate, fresh, and attractive. The short grey petticoat, clasped simply with a leather belt, emphasized the alluring curves of her hips and firm, young breasts.
Both travellers were covered heavily with the dust and dirt of the roads; they were apparently returning from an outing. An aura of youth and health came from them—that refreshing vigour which mountain climbing gives to tourists. They were occupied in a lively conversation. It seemed they were sharing impressions of their excursion, for the first words Godziemba heard referred to some uncomfortable summit hostel.
‘It’s a pity we didn’t take that woollen blanket with us; you know, the one with the red stripes,’ said the young lady. ‘It was a bit too cold.’
‘Shame on you, Nuna,’ scolded her companion with a smile. ‘One shouldn’t admit to being so weak. Do you have my cigarette case?’
Nuna plunged her hand into the travelling bag and withdrew the requested article.
‘Here, but I think it’s empty.’
‘Let me see.’
He opened it. His face registered the disappointment of a passionate smoker.
‘Too bad.’
Godziemba, who had managed several times to catch the glance of the vivacious blonde, took advantage of the opportunity and, removing his hat, politely offered his abundantly-filled cigarette case.
‘Can I be of service?’
Returning his bow, the other man drew out a cigar.
‘A thousand thanks. An impressive arsenal! Battery beside battery. You are more far-sighted than I, sir. Next time I’ll supply myself better for the road.’
The preliminaries were successfully passed; a leisurely conversation commenced, flowing along smooth, wide channels.
The Rastawieckis were returning from the mountains after an eight-day excursion made partly on foot, partly on bicycles. Twice rain had drenched them in the ravines; once they had lost their way in some dead-end gully. Despite this, they ultimately overcame their difficulties, and the vacation had turned out splendidly. Now they were returning by train, soundly tired but in excellent humour. They might have had one more week of fun among the ranges of the East Beskids if not for the engineer’s surveying job. Anticipating an avalanche of work in the near future, Rastawiecki was taking just this short break. He was going back gladly, for he liked his work.
Godziemba listened only casually to these explanations, divided between the engineer and his wife; instead, he was taken up with Nuna’s physical allurements.
One couldn’t call her beautiful; she was just very pleasant and maddeningly enticing. Her plump, slightly stocky body exuded health and freshness, and aroused his libido with its seductive odours of wild herbs and thyme.
From the moment he saw her large blue eyes, he felt an irresistible attraction. This was odd, for she did not fit his ideal. He preferred brunettes by far, with slender waists and Roman profiles. Nuna belonged to the exact opposite type. Besides, Godziemba did not get excited easily; he was by nature rather cool, and in sexual relations abstinent.
Yet all it took was a meeting of their eyes to kindle a secret fire of lust within him.
So he looked at her intensely; he followed her every movement, her every change in position.
Had she noticed anything? Once he caught an embarrassed glance thrown furtively from under her silky eyebrows—and he also thought he had detected on her luscious cherry lips a little smile full of coquetry and pleased pride meant for him.
This stimulated him. He became daring. During the conversation he moved slowly away from the window and shifted imperceptibly closer to her knees. He felt them opposite his and their pleasant warmth radiating through the grey, woollen dress.
Then, when the coach gave a slight tilt at a turn, their knees met. For a few seconds he drank in the sweetness of the touch. He pressed harder, nestled there, and, with inexpressible joy, felt he was being similarly answered. Was this an accident?
No. Nuna didn’t withdraw her legs; on the contrary, she crossed one over the other in such a manner that her slightly raised thigh hid Godziemba’s slightly too persistent knee from her husband. In this manner, they rode for a long, exquisite time….
Godziemba was in an excellent mood. He told jokes and wicked witticisms that were, however, still acceptable in polite company. The engineer’s wife continually burst out with ripples of silvery laughter, revealing in sparkling profusion, a little predatorily, her even, shiny teeth. The movement of her rounded hips, shak
ing with shivers of laughter, was soft, feline, almost lascivious.
Godziemba’s cheeks became flushed, his eyes sparkled with fire and intoxication. An overpowering aura of lust exuded from him, forcefully drawing the engineer’s wife into his bewitching sphere.
Rastawiecki divided his gaiety among them. Some peculiar blindness threw an ever-thicker curtain over the duplicitous behaviour of his companion, some strange indulgence made him look through his fingers at his wife’s deportment. Perhaps he never had a reason to be suspicious of Nuna’s frivolousness, and that was why he acted thus. Perhaps he did not yet know the sex demon, suppressed under superficial domesticity, and had never been aware of its corrupting influence and deceitfulness. A fatal spell enfolded these three people in its domain and drove them towards frenzy and abandonment—one saw it in the spasmodic movements of Nuna’s body, the blood-shot eyes of her admirer, the sardonic grimace of the husband’s lips.
‘Ha, ha, ha!’ laughed Godziemba.
‘Hi, hi, hi!’ seconded the woman.
‘He, he, he!’ responded the engineer.
And the train rushed breathlessly along; it darted up hills, slid down valleys; it ripped up the landscape with its powerful chest. Rails rattled, wheels rumbled….
Around one o’clock Nuna began to complain of a headache; the lamp’s bright light bothered her. The obliging Godziemba let down the shade over it. From then on, they rode in semi-darkness.
The mood for conversation slowly died out. The words fell infrequently, interrupted by the yawning of the engineer’s wife; the lady was apparently sleepy. She tilted her head backwards, leaning it against her husband’s shoulder. But the legs that were carelessly stretched out towards the opposite seat did not lose contact with her neighbour; on the contrary, now, in the darkened atmosphere, they were considerably more unrestrained. Godziemba felt them continually, as their sweet weight exerted an inert pressure on his shin bone.
The Motion Demon Page 7