I got up as well. “Will you stay inside too?” I asked, taken aback.
“Of course. I’m a nurse. They might need my help. At their age such things don’t go very smoothly. And my presence won’t bother them in the dark.”
I bowed towards the snuggling couple. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” replied the nurse. “They greatly appreciate the fact that you visited them on this of all days. They will never forget you.” The dimples appeared at the edges of her mouth again.
I put the piece of candy in my pocket and went out into the corridor. The conductor was standing in front of the door.
“This way, please.” He motioned towards a four-sided canvas screen to my left that looked like a changing booth in a clothes store. It was shoulder high.
I went in between the two sides that were ajar, and he closed them after me. Although it didn’t look like it from the outside, there was quite a bit of space within. A white suit was hanging on one wall. A white shirt was draped over it, and on the floor were white shoes and socks.
“You can hand me your clothes over the top, and leave your slippers inside. I’ll take care of everything.” I started to undress. “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes, it is. You must be properly dressed.”
“What for?”
“For the last compartment, of course.”
“Oh, I see.” I handed my coat to the conductor.
“Did she mention the cook?”
“Yes.”
“That part of the story has the most holes in it.”
“Really?”
“Above all, it’s not at all certain that he was a prisoner of war, and even less in the jungle.”
“You don’t say.”
“Various rumors about that are making the rounds. The most convincing one to me is the story that he was a missionary to a cannibal desert tribe. And an unsuccessful missionary to boot. Instead of him converting them, they converted him.”
“Are you saying . . . ” I handed my shirt and tie over the screen.
“Yes. And I’ll tell you one more thing, but in strict confidence. It’s quite possible that there was no cook.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, taking off my socks and slippers.
“It’s quite simple. The missionary was actually the gentleman himself. He returned to civilization with the talisman of longevity, which is all right, but with cannibalistic habits, which certainly is not. Judge for yourself. If that weren’t true, why would he have eaten his wife? Whoever would do something like that out of the blue?”
“No one, I suppose.”
“There, you see. I’m telling you, there’s something fishy there. Without even mentioning the nurse. With her things become dark and shady.”
“What are you saying? I never would have thought . . . She seemed so good-natured and harmless. She even offered me candy.” I threw my pants over the top of the screen.
The conductor’s face suddenly turned pale. “You didn’t eat any, did you?”
“No, I don’t like candy. I put it in my jacket pocket.”
“Thank heavens! I forgot to warn you. I’ll get rid of it at once. You can’t even imagine what might have happened to you!”
“What?” I took the shirt off the hanger and started to put it on.
“You’re better off not knowing. The best thing is to have nothing to do with cannibals.”
“The problem is that they want to have something to do with you.”
“That’s true, unfortunately. I hope the suit looks good on you.”
“I’m sure it will.” I took the pants. “The cloth looks first class.”
“The best that could be found. It doesn’t stain at all, as you will see. In addition, it needs almost no ironing. And it is very soft.”
“The pants aren’t tight around my waist. That’s very important. I can’t stand tight pants.”
“If the measurements are taken properly, the suit should fit like a glove. Many tailors don’t take sufficient care and then wonder where they went wrong.”
I put on the jacket. “It looks perfect.”
“Just wait until you see yourself in a mirror.” I looked over the top of the screen. The conductor was holding a large mirror in front of him.
“Just a moment.” I bent down and quickly put on the shoes. They were of very high quality white leather, light and supple. I pushed the side of the screen and came out.
“Wonderful,” exclaimed the conductor, eyeing me from head to toe. “Here, see for yourself.”
In the mirror I saw an elegant man dressed to the nines, who would fit quite nicely into any formal occasion. “Excellent,” I concurred.
“Just two more details,” said the conductor. He held out a white hat from behind the mirror and then leaned the large oval between two windows in the corridor.
The hat also seemed made to order for me. I nodded my head in satisfaction.
“And here’s the bow tie.”
It was over his left sleeve, large and white, as was to expected.
“Allow me.” He raised my shirt collar, attached the tie in the back then lowered the collar. He stepped back a bit and examined me once again.
“There. Now everything is perfect. You are utterly ready.”
He led me towards the last compartment. “She only receives when we’re in a tunnel,” he said, once we had stopped in front of the door.
“But then it’s dark.”
“Right. In addition, I will have to put a blindfold over your eyes.” He took a long band made of white silk out of his right pocket.
“Why is that?”
He tied the band behind my head, underneath the hat. “Because that’s the way things are done. It’s not too tight, is it?”
“No.”
“Can you see anything?”
“No.”
“Good. We’ll soon be in a tunnel. Be ready. When I give you a push, go inside. Stop right by the door. You will have to stand, unfortunately, because all the places are taken. You won’t find that too difficult, will you?”
“No.”
There was a brief moment of silence and then the conductor spoke again. His voice was low and pleading.
“If she asks about me . . . although she won’t, of course . . . why should she, anyway . . . who am I, after all . . . but nonetheless . . . a man mustn’t lose hope . . . what would life be without hope . . . so, if she mentions me . . . please tell her that I am here . . . always . . . all she has to do is . . . regardless of everything . . . nothing else is important except . . . she is still . . . tell that to her, I implore you . . . ”
That very moment he nudged me in the back. I hesitated a bit because I didn’t hear the door opening in front of me, but I took a step forward all the same. I stopped after the second step.
“Take off the blindfold.” A woman’s voice came from my left, somewhat farther away. It was soft and lilting.
I untied the knot at the back of my head. When the blindfold fell off, I wasn’t in total darkness as I’d expected. The shapes on the five seats were outlined by a weak glow, as if edged by tiny sparks. They were disproportionately large, occupying the same space that passengers would have.
The wax button to my right was hexagonal, with a double ring of holes that flickered with a bluish tinge. The horned egg in the middle had two bent protuberances in its lower part resembling stunted limbs, with points that seemed to glow. The wooden dummy next to the window had been pierced at the top, and out of the hole flowed drops of liquid fire. The chocolate basin to my left contained something gelatinous and fluorescent. The glass corkscrew on the seat next to it was periodically suffused with short green flashes that seemed to come from somewhere inside. The last seat in the row was the opaque heart of darkness.
“Put the blindfold back on,” said the darkness.
I did as I was told.
“What do you see?”
“I don’t see anything.”
“Take a better lo
ok.”
I took a better look. “I see an apple that has fallen off a tree.”
“What is it like?”
“Large, green and juicy.”
“Put it back on the tree.”
“Put it back?”
“Yes. Apples should be on trees, shouldn’t they?”
I held it up to a branch and it clung to it as though drawn by a magnet.
“Doesn’t it look nice there?”
“Lovely.”
“And now look again.”
“I see the figure of a black queen.”
“What is her hair like?”
“Long and red. Wavy.”
“Stroke it.”
I shook my head. “I don’t dare.”
“Don’t hold back. She will enjoy it.”
I gently drew my hand over the cascades. The queen lit up with joy and ran forward.
“What a light step she has.”
“As though she’s not even touching the ground.”
“Look once again.”
“I see a large purple ball.”
“Throw it up into the air.”
“Into the air?”
“Yes. Don’t worry, nothing will happen to it.”
I threw it up. The ball started changing color as it got smaller and smaller. The purple turned to turquoise, the turquoise to blue, the blue to white, the white turned colorless.
“Did it disappear?”
“No, it’s still going up. You have set it free. What do you see now?”
“I see a yellow flower.”
“What is on the yellow flower?”
“A ladybug.”
“Blow on it softly.”
“But I’ll frighten it.”
“No, you won’t. Ladybugs love air currents.”
I blew a little puff towards the ladybug. As though set in motion by a breeze rippling the water of a lake, it spread its wings and fluttered off.
“Isn’t it gracious?”
“Like a ballerina.”
“Look one last time.”
“I see the bars on a prison door.”
“Pull them apart.”
“How can I pull steel bars apart?”
“It’s not at all hard. Try.”
I flexed my muscles, but no effort was needed. The bars gave way as though made of rubber and stayed apart.
“That is your way out.”
“My way out?”
“Yes. Go through the opening.”
“Now?”
“Now. Everything has been done.”
I had already started to pull myself through when I remembered something. I turned towards the heart of darkness.
“What about the conductor?”
“Tell him not to lose hope. That’s what is most important.”
“That will make him very happy,” I said, beaming.
“I know,” replied the melodic voice.
On the other side of the bars I was still in darkness. Then I felt someone’s hand on the back of my head, and the white silk blindfold fell off my eyes. Squinting, I saw before me the space at the end of the carriage. To the left was the door leading to the back platform and to the right was the clothes closet.
“If you please,” said the conductor, stepping in front of me. In his left hand was a medium-sized brown leather suitcase. “Everything is neatly packed inside. The laundry has been washed, the suit ironed, the shoes polished, the hat brushed, and the coat dry-cleaned. There was a stain in the lining that wouldn’t come out any other way.”
“I am extremely grateful. How much do I owe you for all you’ve done for me? This wonderful suit, too, and I must finally pay for the ticket.”
“Think nothing of it! Any payment is out of the question. It was an honor to be of service.”
I held out my hand. “Thank you once again from the bottom of my heart.”
We shook hands, but he held onto mine.
“Did she say anything, perhaps?” he said in a small voice.
“Oh, it almost slipped my mind. Yes, she said not to lose hope, that’s what is most important.”
The conductor suddenly fell to his knees before me. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. I tried to pull it away, but he wouldn’t let go. He pressed his cheek against it.
“I knew it . . . as soon as I saw you . . . your kindness . . . it was all so clear to me . . . no one else . . . would she otherwise . . . just how much . . . ”
His voice faded into sobbing. I felt my hand turn wet, and stopped trying to pull it free.
The conductor stayed in that position a little longer, and then seemed to come out of his daze. He abruptly let go of my hand, got up and wiped the tears off his face with his fingertips.
“Please excuse me. A moment of weakness. It will not be repeated. You surely understand, I hope?” I nodded. “Certainly.”
“Good. Now, unfortunately the time has come to say goodbye. It always comes, there’s nothing to be done. Such is the life of a conductor. Meetings and farewells. I believe that in spite of everything you had a nice time with us.”
“I had a very nice time.”
He handed me the suitcase, then unlocked the door and motioned towards the platform. I went out onto it and he followed behind.
We stood there facing each other for several moments. It seemed as if one of us might say something else, but when this didn’t happen I smiled, bowed, and descended to the station platform.
PART TWO
FOUR STORIES TIL THE END
1. The Cell
A knock was heard on the door of the cell.
I stopped playing the violin and laid it on the dresser next to the couch.
“Come in.”
The door opened without a sound and the guard appeared.
“You have a visitor,” he said, smiling at me.
I nodded and he moved aside to let the visitor in. I didn’t immediately recognize the large figure in a dark suit that almost filled the doorway. Gloom permeated the cell, while neon lighting brightly illuminated the corridor in front of it. The contours of the man were drawn like an eclipse of the sun edged by the corona, making it impossible to see what they surrounded. It wasn’t until the visitor spoke that I realized who it was.
“Good evening,” said my lawyer as he walked inside. The guard closed the door after him. Once again the cell was lighted solely by the lamp with a large green shade on the desk.
“Good evening,” I replied, stepping forward to greet him with outstretched hand. We shook hands warmly and then I indicated one of the two armchairs facing us.
“Please sit down. I hope you find this one more comfortable than the other, which wobbles a bit.”
“Oh, it will be fine, don’t you worry,” said the lawyer, settling himself in the armchair as it groaned under his weight. He placed the large black briefcase he always carried with him in his lap and laid his hands on top of it.
“Would you care for a drink?” I asked. “I’m afraid the choice is rather limited. All I have is orange juice.”
“I’d prefer something a bit stronger, but it can’t be helped. Is it chilled at least?”
“Yes, it is.” I opened the little refrigerator at the other end of the cell, took out a container and poured thick orange liquid into one of the four glasses. They were sitting on a tray on top of the refrigerator, covered with coasters. I put a coaster on the coffee table between the armchairs, and placed the glass on it.
“Thank you,” said the lawyer with a brief nod.
I went back to the couch and sat down.
“I’m sure you’re not aware, of course,” said the visitor after drinking half the glass of orange juice. “You’re a young man, it’s ancient history to you. But when I started my law practice, many years ago, the conditions in jail weren’t anything like this pleasant. All right, I agree, the choice of drinks might not be very discriminating, and the furniture could be of better quality or at least better maintained, but those are merely details that a
re easy to fix. You would be horrified if I were to describe the first visits to my incarcerated clients. I myself was shocked. It almost made me change my profession. But now I’m glad I didn’t. I’m not fishing for compliments, but if it weren’t for people like me we’d still be in that barbaric period.”
He stopped for a moment and took another sip of juice.
“It was particularly difficult,” he continued, “for inmates on death row, such as yourself. It was tacitly understood that prisoners’ surroundings during their last hours were more or less unimportant. Considering what they had in store for them, it allegedly made no difference. The trauma caused by the inhuman conditions would not be of long duration. Pure cynicism. Shouldn’t the same criteria be used for those of us who, after carrying out your sentence, retire to the warmth of our homes, convinced that we are lucky not to be in your shoes? But who among us can be certain that they won’t be joining you shortly? No one knows what the day may bring, or the night. And the statistics are inexorable: there are far more casualties outside of prison than inside.”
I nodded. “That’s true.”
The lawyer’s face expanded into a smile. “There, you see. I must admit, though, just between you and me, there’s one thing I miss from the old days. I know it’s a little selfish, but it can’t be helped. I’m no saint, I have vices too. Can you guess what it is?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Smoking,” replied the lawyer diffidently, opening his arms with a shrug. “Before, no one would hold it against you if you lighted a cigarette in a cell. Actually, no one paid any attention. You’d offer one to your client, of course. Now if I even flicked a lighter or struck a match, the alarm would start wailing the very same instant. I’d be debarred in no time flat. It’s not just visitors who are forbidden to smoke, though, the condemned can’t either. Not even one last cigarette. And that’s going too far, I think you’ll agree. Even hypocritical if you ask me. All right, tobacco kills, that’s beyond all doubt, but in the given circumstances that one cigarette couldn’t possibly do much harm. The antismoking lobby, however, is completely deaf to the voice of reason. They stick blindly to their principles and are powerful enough to put them into effect. Do you smoke?”
Impossible Stories II Page 5