The Motion Demon

by Grabinski, Stefan

  In answer came a deep silence vibrant with the quickened breathing of twelve human chests.

  Wior smiled triumphantly.

  ‘Good. Everyone remains here of their own free will, everyone is responsible for their own decision at this moment.’

  The travellers were silent. Their restless eyes, smouldering with feverish light, did not leave the trackwalker’s face. One of the women suddenly got an attack of hysterical laughter, which under the steady, cold glance of Wior quickly passed. The railwayman drew out from his breast pocket a quadrangle paper with some drawing on it.

  ‘Here is the road we have so far been travelling on,’ he said, pointing to a double line that blackened the paper. ‘Here, on the right, this small point—that’s Drohiczyn, which we passed a moment ago. This other point, the large one at the top, is Gron, the last station on this line. But we will not reach it—that destination is of no concern to us now.’

  He paused and stared intently at the drawing. A shudder of terror shook his listeners. Wior’s words fell heavily on the spirit like molten lead.

  ‘And here, to the left,’ he further explained, moving a pointed finger, ‘appears a crimson line. Do you see its red trail winding ever farther away from the main track? That’s the siding line. We are supposed to enter onto it.’

  He became quiet again and studied the bloody ribbon.

  From outside came the clangour of unleashed wheels. The train had apparently doubled its velocity and was speeding along in maniacal fury.

  The trackwalker spoke:

  ‘The time has come. Let everyone assume a sitting or lying position. Yes…good,’ he finished up, passing a careful glance over the travellers, who had fulfilled his instructions as if hypnotized. ‘Now I can begin. Attention! In a minute we’ll be turning onto the siding….’

  Holding the drawing in his right hand at eye level, he fixed his eyes on it one more time with the fanatical glare of his suddenly widened pupils. Then he stiffened like a board, letting the paper drop from his hand, and stood frozen in the middle of the compartment; his eyes rolled up so strongly that one could only see the edges of the whites; his face assumed a stony expression. Suddenly he started to walk stiffly to the open window. He propped himself against the lower frame and bounced off the floor with his legs, leaning out half of his body into space; his figure, stretched out beyond the window like a magnetic needle, wavered a few times on the edge of the frame, then placed itself at an angle to the wall of the car….

  Suddenly a hellish bang resounded, as of cars smashing, a ferocious crash of crushed scrap-iron, a din of rails, buffers, a rattling of riotous wheels and chains. In the midst of the tumult of benches splitting into fragments, doors tumbling down, in the midst of the rumble of collapsing ceilings, floors, walls, in the midst of the clashing of bursting pipes, tubes, tanks, the locomotive’s whistle groaned in despair….

  Suddenly everything receded, was driven into the ground, was blown away, and the ears were filled with a great, powerful, boundless noise.

  And this noisy duration enveloped the world for a long, long time, and it seemed that every earthly waterfall was playing a song of menace and that all earthly trees were rustling scores of leaves. Afterwards, even this died down, and the great silence of darkness spread over the world. In the still and silent heavens, someone’s invisible, someone’s very caressing hands stretched out and stroked the palls of space soothingly. And under this gentle caress, soft waves were tossed about, flowing in by quiet pipes and rocking one to sleep…to sweet, silent sleep….

  At some moment the professor woke up. He glanced half-consciously at the surroundings and noticed that he was in an empty compartment. A vague feeling of strangeness seized him; everything beyond him appeared somehow different, somehow new, something one had to get used to. But the adjustment was oddly difficult and slow. In effect, one completely had to change one’s point of view and the way one looked at things. Ryszpans gave the impression of a person who enters into the light of day after a lengthy wandering in a mile-long tunnel. He looked with eyes blinded by darkness, he rubbed away the mist covering his sight. He started to remember….

  In his mind faded recollections followed each other, recollections that had preceded…this. Some type of crash, din, some type of sudden impact that had levelled all sensations and consciousness….

  An accident!—his haziness told him indistinctly.

  He glanced carefully at himself, ran his hand about his face, his forehead—nothing! Not even a drop of blood, no pain.

  ‘Cogito—ergo—sum! ’ he pronounced finally.

  A desire arose within him to walk about the compartment. He left his place, raised his leg and—was suspended a couple of inches off the floor.

  ‘What the hell!’ he muttered in astonishment. ‘Have I lost my proper weight or what? I feel light as a feather.’

  And he drifted up, until he reached the ceiling of the car.

  ‘But what happened to the others?’ he asked himself, going down to the door of the neighbouring compartment.

  At that moment he discovered Znieslawski at the entrance, who, likewise raised a couple of centimetres above the floor, shook his hand warmly.

  ‘Greetings! I see you’re also not in complete accordance with the laws of gravity?’

  ‘Ha, what can one do?’ Ryszpans sighed out in resignation. ‘You’re not injured?’

  ‘God forbid!’ assured the engineer. ‘I’m in the best of health. I awoke just a moment ago.’

  ‘A peculiar awakening. I wonder where we are exactly?’

  ‘So do I. It seems we’re tearing along at a terrific speed.’

  They looked out the window. Nothing. Emptiness. Only a strong, cool current blowing outside gave the impression that the train was running furiously along.

  ‘That’s strange,’ remarked Ryszpans. ‘I absolutely don’t see a thing. Emptiness above, emptiness before me.’

  ‘How extraordinary! It’s supposedly daytime, because it’s bright, but one can’t see the sun, and there’s no fog. We’re moving as if in space—what time could it be?’

  They both glanced at their watches. After a moment, Znieslawski raised his eyes to his companion and met a glance that said the same thing.

  ‘I can’t make anything out. The hours have merged into a black, wavy line. . . .’

  ‘And the hands are wandering around, not telling anything.’

  ‘The waves of duration flowing one to the other, without beginning or end….’

  ‘The twilight of time….’

  ‘Look,’ Znieslawski suddenly called out, pointing to the opposite side of the car. ‘I see someone from our group through the wall, that monk—remember him?’

  ‘Yes. That’s the Carmelite, Brother Jozef. I’ve talked with him. He’s already spotted us—he’s smiling and giving us signs. What paradoxical effects. We’re looking through that wall as if through glass!’

  ‘Our bodies’ opaqueness has completely gone to hell,’ the engineer concluded.

  ‘It’s no better, it seems, with our impermeableness,’ answered Ryszpans, passing through the wall to the other compartment.

  ‘Indeed,’ admitted Znieslawski, following his example. And they went through the wall and several others, until in the third car they greeted Brother Jozef.

  The Carmelite had just finished his morning prayer, and, restrengthened, was sincerely pleased with the meeting.

  ‘Great works of the Lord!’ he said, raising distant eyes clouded over with the mist of meditation. ‘We are living through strange moments. We’ve all been wonderfully awakened. Glory to the Everlasting One! Let’s go and connect up with the rest of our brothers.’

  ‘We are with you,’ echoed back several voices from all sides, and through the walls of the car ten figures passed and surrounded the talkers. These people were of various occupations and professions, including the engine driver of the train and three women. Everyone’s eyes were involuntarily looking for someone; everyone instinct
ively felt the absence of one companion.

  ‘There are thirteen of us,’ said a lean, sharp-faced young man. ‘I do not see Master Wior.’

  ‘Master Wior will not come,’ said Brother Jozef, as if in a dream. ‘Do not look for trackwalker Wior here. Look deeper, my brothers, look into your souls. Maybe you’ll find him.’

  They ceased talking, and they understood. Across their faces flowed a great peace, and they glowed with a strange light. And they read their own souls and fathomed one another in a wonderful clairvoyance.

  ‘Brothers!’ resumed the monk, ‘our bodies are given to us for only a little time longer; in a few moments we may have to abandon them. Then we will part company. Everyone will go their own direction, carried by their own destiny that was forged in the book of fate ages ago; everyone will make their way on their own path, to their own area, which was preordained on the other side. Multitudes of our brothers’ souls await us with yearning. Before the moment of parting arrives, listen once more to a voice from the other side. The words that I’ll read to you were written ten days ago, measuring time in an earthly manner.’

  Finishing this, he unfolded some newspaper sheets, barely rustling them, and began to read in a deep, penetrating voice:

  ‘NW., November 15, 1950. Mysterious Disaster. A mysterious, unexplained event occurred yesterday, the night of the 14th–15th, on the Zalesna–Gron railway line. It concerns the fate that met passenger train number 20 between the hours of two to three after midnight. The actual disaster was preceded by strange fears. As if having a presentiment of ominous danger, passengers had been getting off in droves at stations and stops before the place of the fatal accident, even though their destination was considerably farther. Asked by station officials about the reason for cutting short their journey, these people were vague in their explanations, as if not wanting to reveal their motives for this odd behaviour. More characteristic is the fact that at Drohiczyn several on-duty conductors deserted the train, preferring to risk severe punishment and the loss of their jobs rather than riding farther; only three persons from the entire train personnel remained at their posts. The train left Drohiczyn nearly empty. Several undecided travellers, who at the last minute had drawn back inside the cars, jumped out fifteen minutes later while the train was in motion through an open field. By some miracle these people came away uninjured, returning to Drohiczyn on foot around four in the morning. They were witnesses to the last moments of the ill-fated train before the disaster, which had to have occurred several minutes later.

  ‘Around five in the morning, the first alarm signal came from the booth of trackwalker Zola, situated five kilometres beyond Drohiczyn. The manager of the station got on a trolley and in half an hour stood at the place of the accident, where he met an investigating committee from Rakwa.

  ‘An odd picture greeted those present. In an open field several hundred metres beyond the trackwalker’s booth, a severed train stood on the tracks. The two rear cars were completely untouched, then came a break corresponding to the length of three cars; and again two cars in a normal state connected by chains—a one car gap—and finally a tender at the front, its locomotive missing. There were no traces of blood on the tracks, the platforms, or the steps, nowhere were there any wounded or killed. Inside the cars it was also empty and quiet; not one compartment contained a corpse, and not the slightest damage was discovered in those cars present.

  ‘The visual particulars were written down and sent to headquarters. The railway authorities do not expect a speedy clearing up of this mystery.’

  The Carmelite became silent for a moment, put aside the paper, and then started to read from a second one:

  ‘W., November 25, 1950. Amazing revelations and details concerning the train disaster of the 15th of this month. The mysterious events, which were played out on the railway line beyond Drohiczyn the 15th of this month, have not been explained to the present time. On the contrary, ever-deeper shadows fall on the incident and cloud any understanding of it.

  ‘This day brought a series of astounding bits of information in connection with the accident that darken the affair even more and give rise to serious, far reaching reflections. Here is a summary of what telegrams from authentic sources tell us:

  ‘Today at daybreak, the 25th of this month, those cars of passenger train number 20, whose absence was noted ten days ago, showed up on the exact spot of the disaster. Significantly, the cars turned up on that space not as one solid train, but disunited in groups of one, two, or three, corresponding to the gaps noticed visually on the 15th of this month. Before the first car, at the distance of a tender, the locomotive turned up completely intact.

  ‘Terrified at this sudden appearance, railwaymen at first did not dare to approach the cars, considering them phantoms or a result of hallucinations. Finally, though, when the cars did not vanish, they plucked up enough courage to enter within.

  ‘Here their eyes were presented with a terrible sight. In one of the compartments they found the bodies of thirteen individuals stretched out on benches or in sitting positions. The cause of death is so far undetermined. The bodies of these unfortunates do not exhibit any external or internal injuries; also there are no traces of asphyxiation or poisoning. The deaths of the casualties will apparently remain an unsolvable puzzle.

  ‘Among the thirteen individuals who met with a mysterious demise, the identity of six has so far been ascertained: Brother Jozef Zygwulski, from the Carmelite order and an author of several deeply mystical tracts; Prof. Ryszpans, an illustrious psychologist; Engineer Znieslawski, a respected inventor; Stwosz, the engine driver of the train; and two conductors. The names of the other persons are thus far unknown.

  ‘News of this mysterious event flew like lightning throughout the entire country, bringing forth startling impressions everywhere. Already numerous, sometimes profound, interpretations and commentaries have appeared in newspapers. Voices are heard, branding the defined “railroad disaster” occurrences as false and naive.

  ‘The Society of Psychic Research is apparently already planning a series of lectures, which several distinguished psychologists and psychiatrists will deliver in the upcoming days.

  ‘This matter will probably drag on for many years in the sciences, revealing new and unknown possibilities.’

  Brother Jozef finished, and in an already fading voice he addressed his companions:

  ‘Brothers! The moment of parting has arrived. Our bodies are already separating.’

  ‘We’ve crossed the border between life and death.’ The professor’s voice resounded like a distant echo.

  ‘To enter into a reality of a higher order….’

  The walls of the cars, misty like clouds, started to part, dissolve, deteriorate…. Indistinct sheets of roofs were sawn off, ethereal coils of platforms were deflected forever into space, together with gaseous spirals of pipes, tubes, buffers….

  The figures of the travellers, limp and completely transparent, weakened, disintegrated, came apart in pieces….

  ‘Farewell, brothers, farewell!...’

  Voices faded, died out, were dispersed…until they became silent somewhere in the interplanetary distances of the beyond….

  ULTIMA THULE

  IT HAPPENED TEN YEARS AGO. The event has already taken on dispersed, almost dreamy forms, covered by the azure mist of things past. Today it seems like a vision or a mad reverie; yet I know that every detail, even the most minor, occurred exactly as I remember it. Since that time many events have passed before my eyes; I have experienced many things, and more than one blow has fallen upon my grey head, but the memory of that incident has remained unchanged, the picture of that strange moment is permanently and deeply etched into my soul; the patina of time has not dimmed its strong outline—on the contrary, it seems that the passage of the years has mysteriously brought its shadows into relief….

  At the time I was the stationmaster of Krepacz, a small mountain station not far from the border. From my platform one could
see the extended jagged mountain chain of the boundary as clearly as the palm of one’s hand.

  Krepacz was the next to the last stop on the line heading to the frontier; beyond it, fifty kilometres away, was Szczytnisk, the final station in the country, which was watched over with the vigilance of a borderland crane by Kazimierz Joszt, my fellow colleague and friend.

  He liked to compare himself to Charon, and the station charged to his care he renamed, in ancient style, Ultima Thule. This fancy was not just a remnant from his classical studies, as the appropriateness of both names lay deeper than outwardly apparent.

  The Szczytnisk region was truly beautiful. Even though it was only a forty-five minute drive by passenger train from my place, it betrayed a fundamentally separate and individual character not met with anywhere in these parts.

  Nestling against a huge granite wall that fell straight down, the small station building reminded one of a swallow’s nest attached to the recess of a rock. The encompassing peaks, two thousand metres in elevation, plunged the surrounding wide areas, the station, and its warehouses into semi-darkness. The gloom blowing from the tops of these colossi covered the railroad haven with an elusive shroud. Perpetual mists whirled about the peaks and rolled down in wet, turban-like clouds. At the level of a thousand metres, more or less at the middle of its height, the wall formed a ledge in the shape of a huge platform, which, as if magically gouged, was filled to the brim with a silvery deep-blue lake. Several underground streams, fraternizing secretly in the bowels of the mountain, gushed from its side in rainbow-coloured waterfalls.