Though she lowered the window, everything looked as if it was being seen through dirty glass: grey station buildings, remnants of dirty snow on the platforms. She stood in the corridor of the couchette and watched people crowding on the platform by the entrances to the carriages.
She didn’t understand where this change came from, why everything happening felt so hostile. She was tired. She had hoped for a few days of peace, but the boorish crowd at the station—pushing its way to take a seat on the train—and the insolent harridan, the couchette conductor, drove her to despair, as if she didn’t already feel despair.
The train left shortly before eight. On time, but she didn’t notice it. She stood shivering by the open window until someone in the adjoining compartment, gruffly, told her to close it.
“Close the window.”
She closed the window and leaned against it as she watched the passing city lights. Everything had changed. There was not even a thought she could rely on. A feeling of helplessness swept over her. She felt deceived and betrayed, even though it was she who had made all the decisions.
When she kicked Piotr out of the house she no longer felt any bond, only an ocean of regret. His lies poured out the measure. She would forgive him—she would forgive him for his drunkenness, she had saved him many times—but for not taking her side on the school council she could not forgive him. It was a blatant betrayal. And it was supposed to be different. He said he wouldn’t sign the loyalty paper, but he lied to her. He must have signed it, because he didn’t get fired, and she was the only one who looked like a fool.
Piotr lost her and she lost everything.
She gritted her teeth to hold back the tears. She looked around. Passengers had already made themselves comfortable in their compartments. She was still standing in the corridor with her luggage by her feet. The train was approaching Stargard.
She didn’t wait for more people to get in. She opened the door and stepped into the compartment. The passengers on the lower bunks, a middle-aged couple, greeted her with polite looks, then returned to their interrupted conversation. Their son was lying on a bunk opposite Anna’s bunk. He was reading something using a torch.
Anna shyly asked him if it would disturb him if she switched on the overhead light.
“It wouldn’t.”
She tossed the bag on the highest bunk opposite her and prepared her bed. From her luggage she discreetly took a toiletry bag and a towel, so as not to make a fuss. The train was now in full motion. She put the bag at the foot of her bed, turned off the light in the compartment, and went out into the corridor.
Alone again—as she preferred to be. Alone with her regret and her grudge. He owed her a lot. Too often she had put him back on his feet, and she finally doubted his genius. She probably had doubted it already, when they argued about moving to Szczecin. He drank for several days, and his master’s degree in quantum teleportation she had to finish for him. But did she really have to?
That evening he had come home drunk and tried to explain something to her. He said that it was she, not he, who was wrong, but this had happened too often. She ran amok, swore at him, and finally slapped him in the face. She couldn’t bear his weakness—this weakness that had let him sink so low. Tears streamed from her eyes. She stood with her elbows pressed against the glass, staring at her reflection as teardrops ran down her cheeks.
“Enough,” she thought. “Really enough.”
Without changing the position of her hands, she wiped the moisture from her face with her thumbs. It wasn’t her, after all. She never even snivelled.
She stepped back into the compartment but did not turn on the light. She reached for her things and went out into the corridor. Swaying slowly with the carriage, she walked—without looking around—to the toilet.
It was free.
She closed the door behind her and her gaze wandered round the small, dimly lit room. Though it was warm inside, the panes of glass were frosted, and cold seeped through the gaps. She looked round, saw the toilet was clean, and saw her reflection in the mouldy mirror. She looked closer and saw her face looked swollen. She wasn’t aware she had been crying so much, and she didn’t look very pretty. Grey mouse without makeup.
“Where’s that pretty face, those laughing blue eyes—where’s it all gone? Is it old age?” she thought.
Yes, she definitely felt the passage of time.
“It’s been thirty years already!”
Water ran out of the tap and surprised her that it was warm. She plunged her hands into it and felt relieved. She reached for the towel slung over her shoulder and wiped the drops off slowly.
“What am I actually doing here?” she asked in a whisper.
She shouldn’t be on this train. If it wasn’t for the stubbornness of her mother, who pressed the money into her hand, what Anna had wouldn’t be enough to leave. Even her brother had arranged a lodging in Zakopane. As generous as ever. But she didn’t feel he was on her side. Nothing had changed here. Nobody understood her. They didn’t understand her when she lived with Piotr in her apartment in Pogodno, they didn’t understand when she showed him the door.
Her head was churning. She felt an unhealthy heat in her body and needed more water. She pulled her shirt over her head without undoing the buttons. She stood for a moment, looking at the slim, fragile, almost childlike figure in the mirror; at the sad face framed by long, light brown hair. She pressed the water pedal again. She wet her face and hair again, sprinkled water over her shoulders, not paying attention that water was pouring onto her breasts and the drops were rolling down her stomach. Tears streamed from her eyes again.
The train slowed down first, then jerked violently a moment later. They were approaching the next station.
She came to her senses and quickly dried herself with a towel and pulled on her shirt. She didn’t tuck it into her pants. She tossed her hair to one side, brushed her teeth thoroughly, and felt in control of herself again.
On leaving she closed the toilet door behind her—almost at the same time the train stopped.
She was walking down the corridor looking ahead. She was not interested in where they were stopping.
She entered the compartment. The people on the lower bunks were talking quietly to each other. The boy was already asleep. She took her shoes off and slipped into her seat. She placed her head by the window.
She wasn’t drowsy.
She lay on her side with a hand under her cheek. The train was on the move again. It rocked her body pleasantly, as if to soothe her. But she was still in the midst of her wandering thoughts—trapped among them for three months, or perhaps years.
Piotr kept pleading. He came to see her regularly, disturbingly sober, but she didn’t feel like talking any more. Decisions were made long ago. Their relationship was like sitting on a bomb, and it finally exploded. But it seemed to him that there was still some change possible.
“I can’t imagine going to bed with you again,” she finally told him.
She was fed up with “Help me,” when he was drunk and tried to get into her and couldn’t cope.
It wasn’t him—and she was completely different as well.
But what was she like?
She didn’t know.
She felt regret and weariness.
It was hot in the compartment—too hot for her. She came down from the bunk taking cigarettes with her. Shoes again.
“It’s already routine,” she thought.
They were approaching the next station.
She went outside and pulled the window down, leaving a small gap through which she blew the smoke out.
The conductor passed her in the corridor.
“You will catch a cold,” she said in a neutral voice.
But Anna didn’t even look at her. She put her face to the glass and watched the city twinkle in the darkness outside the window.
She recognised it easily.
They had been to Poznań before.
She first met him in the fourth year.
It was October.
She went with her girlfriends to Accumulatory; a few weeks earlier she was free again, so she needed a change…
In the club, right across from the entrance to the dorm, one could hear a loud hum of voices. There was supposed to be a concert, but as always it was late. It didn’t seem to worry anyone, however. Small and larger groups of students crowded the corridor and the hall.
Piotr stood in the company of three girls in the doorway. Laughing, with a sweater over his shoulder, he was telling something, gesturing wildly. It must have amused them, as they were laughing out loud. As she tried to walk through the door he looked at Anna and made room for her. His anxious blue eyes were glowing. They paused for a moment, then returned to the laughing girls.
He was brilliant in his own way.
He was studying physics, but she met him again in math exercises. Listening, she sat in the last row and watched him talk about Banach’s spaces. In the corridor he walked over to her. He was just as hot as he had been at the club a few days earlier.
After that things just happened.
She did not remember how they finally ended up in bed; she only remembered that it was in his house and that she had already stayed there…
The train reached the platform.
The crowd stretched along its length, nervously waiting for the carriages to stop. Some were more anxious than others.
She lowered the window.
She watched as people ran with their backpacks, suitcases and bundles in all directions in search of places. There were fewer people in front of the couchettes; they were standing in relative order. But Dantesque scenes were played out by the ordinary carriages. She watched without understanding as people were pushing themselves, screaming at each other at the entrances—someone was even pushing someone in through the open window. The luggage travelled the same way.
Like in a strange dream.
It was unthinkable a year ago. Probably not only for her.
On the platform, in front of the entrance to the couchette, there was someone who had not participated in this madness.
The calmness caught her attention.
The man stood and stared at the stranger with a look of kindness on his face. His gaze wandered round the platform until he made a strange movement with both hands, folding them in front of him, looking through them at the train and at people.
She had never seen such behaviour before.
She looked at him.
Railway guards approached him. Three. One stouter than the others, one more scruffy than the others. They asked him something, but he hardly looked at them. He looked over their heads and went back to watching the people on the platform. Baffled, they looked at each other and, after a moment’s hesitation, walked on.
He was tall.
They seemed so… small. Redundant.
She continued to watch.
Now she really was interested in him.
He looked to be in his early thirties, maybe a few years older. Despite the cold his head was bare. Quite long, black curly hair. There was something special about his attire. He looked different from everyone else. He was wearing an American military jacket with a white sheep’s wool sweater sticking out beneath it, tight jeans and light leather trapper boots with coloured wool gaiters rolled over them. He had a large leather bag over his shoulder, heavy-looking judging by his posture. At his feet stood an Alpine backpack with a photo tripod strapped to it.
“This move was a frame,” she thought, pleased as if she had guessed some important riddle.
People were entering their car.
She withdrew into the compartment to make room for them.
When she returned to the corridor he was no longer on the platform.
She opened the window and leaned out.
The last passengers were getting on the train.
Disappointed, she returned to the compartment.
She was surprised by the jump in her thoughts.
The place in front of her, upstairs, was already taken. Someone appeared out of nowhere and almost disappeared unnoticed above their heads.
Anna returned to her bunk.
She put her head on the corridor side, away from the ladder, probably because she wanted to see something else outside through the gaps in the curtains.
The door slid open.
The man from the platform stood in it.
He politely apologised and turned on the overhead light. He exchanged a few words with the people on the lower bunks and was surprised to see how easily he made them smile.
He also had something for her.
“You have endured this cold bravely,” he said. “I have already begun to worry about you, seeing you tremble.”
She felt her face flush; she hadn’t expected that.
His look of peace and kindness deepened the first impression even more, and the contrast with the surroundings became even greater.
The train jerked and started to move.
He took off his jacket, threw it on his bunk, took something out of the bag and easily slipped the luggage into the slot above the corridor. He smiled at her and went out into the corridor, turning off the light above him.
She looked at her watch.
In the dim light she saw clues and numbers.
It was almost eleven.
So they were on time.
She peered through a gap in the curtain into the corridor.
He was sitting in a fold-out seat where there was some light. He was smoking a cigarette and reading a book.
She couldn’t resist looking at him.
His presence.
Again various thoughts flashed through her mind. Some women’s and men’s matters. Some distant memories, expectation and movement…
She didn’t notice when she fell asleep.
Or maybe it wasn’t sleep.
She passed through cramped rooms, first empty and strange, then populated with familiar faces. Sudden brightness. She saw the smiling face of Piotr. She saw herself being carried by the burdocks on the Warta bank to his favourite quiet place, so that they could throw themselves at each other, regardless of insects and dampness coming from the river.
She lost him later.
She was walking in the dark, through the narrow corridors again, full of fears and old unspoken matters. Some unimportant details and smells. Or maybe they were what mattered.
She had no one to help solve this mystery.
The train wheels clacked steadily against the rail joints—
until a sudden jolt woke Anna from her sleep.
She looked around.
She was lying with her face turned towards the inside of the couchette. It was dark in the compartment and in the corridor. Sounds of breathing of different types reached her from all sides.
The upper bunk was also occupied.
“So he went to sleep too,” she thought, looking at the hand dangling along the belt supporting the bunk.
It was so close to her.
She felt uneasy.
The anxiety of this proximity.
Or maybe it was something else.
Though she couldn’t see the details, his strong bare arm, his hand, were within reach.
She felt her heart speed up.
She raised her left hand.
Her fingers were inches from his hand…
She lowered her arm.
But she couldn’t resist the closeness.
She raised her hand again and rested it on the canvas belt. Her fingers began to climb up until they reached his fingers.
A brush?
Still accidental.
She withdrew her hand—
but she didn’t put it on the bunk.
She stayed waiting for a move.
It didn’t happen.
She touched the palm of his hand.
She ran her fingers lightly over the pale skin.
The hand slowly began to close.
It wasn’t a reflex.
It was looking for her.
It was the answer.
She moved her fingers higher to his wrist.
His fingers wrapped round her wrist too.
She felt the warmth descend down her arm, spreading over her body.
Thought went out of her head.
Only scraps of images flew through her—some literal, almost like touches, others as distant as calls from distant worlds.
Their hands caressed each other.
They talked to each other.
And Anna fell deeper and deeper into her body.
She felt a tingling; the wetness was not only in her mind but poured into the most physical desire.
Another wave of heat passed through her.
She had never known such emotions before.
Her right hand wandered around the button of her jeans, but she didn’t dare unbutton it.
She could feel sweat on her body and wetness between her thighs.
She did not know, did not understand what was happening.
She was looking for a thought, the strength to break it—
when the train jerked violently and swayed.
His hand went away.
The train slowed down.
The wheels screeched.
The carriages groaned as if torn by inhuman forces—
then calmed down.
The train sped up slightly.
Anna lay still.
She couldn’t find any clear thought in herself.
She felt panic overwhelm her.
She turned aside, inside the compartment.
With her right hand she pulled back the curtain separating her head from the corridor glass.
She tried to recognise where she was.
Outside, the lights of a large city could be seen.
The carriage moved slowly, clicking on the rails.
Her hearing had learned to recognise the details.
They had just entered a dimly lit platform.
Wrocław Mikołajów.
So they were approaching Wrocław.
The train stopped with a slight jerk.
Despite the curtains on the doors, light from the station flooded their compartment. There was a lively sound behind the wall on her side—someone had finished his journey.
Anna registered all these details as if to make sure she was in the real world.
She heard movement from the top bunk.
In a gesture of horror, she turned to face the wall.
“God, what am I doing?” flashed through her mind.
The upper bunk groaned. She heard the clash of belt fittings and the rolling of the sliding door.
He stepped out into the corridor and slid the door behind him.
She didn’t know what to do.
All her confidence flushed away.
She could pretend she wasn’t there—but in the end she had to face him anyway.
The thought prevailed.
She turned and gripped the belt. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped herself around some unimaginable centre, and found her feet on the floor, a little amazed at how easy it was. She knelt down on one knee, then on the other, and put on her shoes. She tossed her hair back as she stood, reached for the sweater lying on the bag, pulled it over her head, used her fingers to tuck the hair beneath it—
and walked out into the corridor.
He was standing on the right side of the entrance, leaning against the window of the compartment, his hands folded behind him.
She slid the door closed and stood just like him, on the left side.
He turned his head and looked at her.
Anna did the same.
Only now could she see him closely.
She would take any bet that he was thinking the same thing.
She looked right into his eyes.
Deeply set. Almost black. Completely inaccessible to her.
They seemed narrow—perhaps it was the shadow of his eyelids, or he had narrowed them slightly. Their pupils were perfectly black. Long eyebrows. Slightly curling hair. A well-proportioned face. Narrow pursed lips.
An electrifying impression.
She felt as if she wanted more.
The corridor on her side was taken by passengers with luggage. She heard it and turned her head towards them. She looked at them distractedly, as if not understanding what they were doing there, until they were at her height and she realised they wanted to pass.
She sucked in her stomach.
A married couple with three children entered and filled the compartment next to them.
She looked back at him.
Without changing his body position, he watched over his shoulder—as if thoughtfully—while the new passengers installed themselves in the neighbouring compartment.
From the side of the service compartment a gendarmerie patrol was walking towards them.
Two soldiers.
They looked inside every couchette. Checked documents. Spoke to the conductor. Looked at papers.
They walked over to them.
“ID please,” said the first gendarme.
“We’re talking right now and we don’t want to be interrupted,” he said, nodding his head at Anna.
The soldier looked at him in surprise.
Their eyes met.
He hesitated—
suddenly smiled in Anna’s direction and saluted, almost gallantly.
“Sure. Good night.”
Both soldiers passed by them and, not disturbing other passengers, got off at the rear end of the car.
“So it’s that simple,” she thought. “How does he know such things? How did Piotr know this?”
A loud whistle from the platform.
The train moved.
The door of the couchette slid shut.
He lifted his head and looked at her again.
Research.
This time his eyes were talking to her. Even asking.
Not knowing why, she nodded.
He stared at her for a moment—
then pushed himself off the compartment wall and walked to the right, disappearing into the service compartment.
He returned after a while.
He walked toward her with springiness, absorbing the rocking of the carriage.
He stopped beside her.
Lifted his right hand.
His fingers scooped the hair spilled behind her left ear.
Everything about her trembled.
He smiled with the corners of his lips.
He slid open the compartment door, stepped inside, climbed onto his bunk.
After a moment he was back with her.
He grabbed her left arm with his right hand and pulled her along the corridor.
Completely stunned, she obediently followed him.
They stopped at the open door of the service compartment.
He stepped in.
As if in a dream, she watched him press a bundle of banknotes into the conductor’s hand.
“Ten,” she heard again. “At the other end of the coach.”
He came out of the compartment.
He had a key in his right hand.
“Follow me.”
His voice was calm.
He passed her and walked along the side of the coach.
As if hypnotised, she followed him.
He stopped at the last compartment, holding a heavy key.
He went inside.
She stood at the doorway, staring at him, looking back and forth as if the car had picked up her hesitation.
Her heart pounded furiously.
Some force pushed her inside.
He turned her, passed, walked to the door.
Closed it.
Turned the lock.
Slipped the curtain.
He walked over to her.
Slipped his hands under her sweater.
Ran them down her back.
“No, no,” she whispered—
but she lifted her arms as it was dragged over her head.
He threw the sweater on the bunk.
Rested his forehead on hers.
Undid the buttons on her shirt.
Took it off her.
Put it behind the sweater.
Folded his hands behind her and unbuttoned her bra so that he could take it off.
He leaned down.
Started kissing her breasts.
She felt his hands fill up, her nipples harden, the warmth of his kisses and his hands pouring through her.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and put her head to the window on the lower bunk.
He knelt beside her shoulders.
She felt his caress, his lips on her breast, his hand on her belly, descending lower—to the button she had been afraid to touch earlier.
But he was not afraid.
He unbuttoned it.
Slipped a hand between her thighs.
She felt her nerves throbbing, carrying warmth all over her body, her veins swelling from the rapid beating of her heart, her clitoris filling and her vulva wet.
Something inside her was defending itself all the time.
But she felt that she didn’t want to resist—even if she had wanted to.
She slipped her right hand between his thighs.
She felt the force filling up his jeans.
With her other hand she reached higher, felt the row of metal-studded buttons.
She tugged.
Flipped open his jeans.
Pulled them down.
Released the penis.
She grabbed his buttocks and pulled him closer so she could take him in her mouth.
She felt no discomfort.
She even thought how closely their bodies fit together, how coherent their movement was.
She looked at him.
In the dim light she could see his grimace, the movement of his fingers, of his hand.
“Yes,” she thought. “I’ll look into his goddamn eyes.”
It seemed to her that her anxiety was gone.
That she was regaining control.
That she could finally taste the pleasure she was feeling—and give him pleasure.
He bent over her.
Slipped out of her mouth and out of her hand.
His eyes were against hers now.
She felt as if he was looking at the other side of the world through her—
but that feeling vanished into a kiss.
Strong.
Passionate.
Violent.
She felt his hand slide down her pants and the force that lifted her hips.
He pulled her pants off.
Set her on the bunk.
She wanted to protest—
but on his knees he impaled her on him before she could make a sound.
She didn’t hear the train.
In the dim light she could see his face, determined and tense, as if he was looking for something in the distance.
She felt as if she would like to see what it was.
He opened his eyes.
He was staring at her fixedly now.
His face changed.
She saw something like a smile.
He was with her.
She wanted more of him.
She followed his movements.
Strong.
Aware.
Looking for her.
She did not know such a love.
She looked at him with effort.
What was happening in her body was not coming from her head and was related only to him.
She was headed for him.
She surrendered.
Saw the response from his body through half-closed lids.
It was just for her.
No past.
Just a series of jerks that shook their bodies.
He put her on the bunk.
He got up.
Pulled up his jeans.
Removed the sheets from the top bunk.
Wrapped her sweaty body in a sheet.
Covered her with a blanket.
She was staring at him all the time, thinking that no one could have done it better.
He sat down on the floor.
His face close to her head.
He grabbed her hand with his left hand.
Squeezed it tight.
Placed the other on her face.
She felt gentle touches on her cheek.
The steady rhythm of the train wheels.
Rocking.
Finally—bliss.
Peace.
Now she could fall asleep.
Stillness and silence woke her.
The curtains in the window were open.
It was dawn.
She looked up.
The compartment was empty.
Her clothes lay within reach on the opposite bunk, neatly folded. Her shoes were on the floor.
Whistles and calls came from the platform.
She came to her senses.
It couldn’t be a dream.
Wrapped in a sheet, she sat down. Dressed quickly. Put on her shoes. Got up and pushed the door open.
She went to the window.
Passengers from other compartments stood at the windows, as she did. Some were talking quietly to each other; some were just staring at the platform.
Her eyes searched for the name of the station.
She turned back into the compartment and, avoiding people, went in the direction from which she had come the previous night.
She was looking for him.
She was looking for her place.
But everything was different today.
The lower bunks in the compartment were empty. The couple with the child was busy packing suitcases. One of them was lying on her bunk.
There was no one else.
She froze.
She rested her head against the glass door.
Looked at the empty upper bunk.
Panic again.
Another kind of panic.
“It shouldn’t end like this,” she thought.
At the same moment she heard his voice from the end of the corridor.
“Tea is waiting for you.”
She saw him leave the service compartment.
He walked over to her.
Touched her cheek.
“Come with me.”
She followed him.
In the service compartment the conductor sat on the bunk, filling out columns with a pencil.
“Good morning, well rested?” she asked her with a slight smile.
Anna looked at the conductor in surprise.
But there was nothing in her pretty and kind face but sympathy.
Not a hint of ambiguity.
Not a trace of intrusion.
She nodded.
The conductor handed her a mug of tea.
“Take a seat, there’s plenty of room here.”
She put the prints she had in her hand on the shelf over the bunk and turned to Tomasz.
“Mister Tomek, drink calmly, the water is in the kettle. I have to finish my round.”
Tomasz let her pass and sat down next to Anna.
“Did you get any sleep?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I haven’t slept so well for a long time.”
During the day he seemed more delicate. No harsh shadows on his face. Smooth cheeks and chin covered in slight stubble.
He seemed younger than her.
But from his movements and voice she knew he wasn’t.
He drank his tea, watching her.
She felt as if he was examining every part of her body, every detail of her clothing.
Not appraisal.
Not harassment.
Completion.
As if he was adding to the picture he hadn’t finished the night before.
“Do you do that often?” she asked.
He took his time.
“You invited me. I had no reason to say no.”
He looked at her.
“I can’t afford to ignore the signs any more.”
“Signs?”
“What else could I call it?”
A pause.
“Never. Nothing happened to me that could compare to it. To this night.”
“And I still think how improbable it is.”
“I can’t estimate the probability of such a thing,” she replied, smiling.
“And you? Do you know how?” he asked.
“Yes.”
She laughed.
“Yeaah, I do. I am a mathematician.”
The tension turned warm.
“I’ll estimate when I cool down.”
Outside, they had already changed the locomotive.
The conductor returned.
“Come on, young ones. I will not be of any use to you.”
“Mister Tomasz, take care of yourself. Of her too.”
“Don’t be so afraid, kid. This is our world.”
Anna felt something shift under her skin.
No embarrassment.
Even when they returned to the compartment where she had spent the night.
Tomasz opened the door. Locked it when they were inside.
She almost clung to him as he passed.
He only stroked her hair.
Lifted the middle bunks.
Sat by the window.
She sat opposite.
Even the dirty windows did not prevent her from seeing beauty outside.
“Are you going on holidays?”
“No. I’m going to work.”
“To Zakopane? Lucky you.”
“You wouldn’t like it.”
“I will photograph tourists. Probably with polar bears in the background.”
“It is not the dream job. I’m just trying to survive.”
Each word completed him.
“What did you do before?”
“I’m a film operator. A documentary filmmaker. I film reality. Last summer we were making a news-film with the General. It was on the air. It seemed accepted by the censor. Then someone from the Prime Minister’s office called the producer. Said he wouldn’t let me portray his boss as an idiot. I was fired.”
He looked out of the window.
“It was an excuse.”
Silence.
“And what are you running from?” he asked.
“Why do you think I’m escaping?”
“You have too small a bag for someone going on vacation.”
A puff of smoke.
“The rest is in your head.”
She hesitated.
“Where to start?”
“With what hurts the most.”
She looked at his profile.
“You know it’s always about love,” she said. “About what we feel. What we want. And what we always lose in the end. I gave up my previous life. And I sent a man I loved to hell.”
He gathered his thoughts.
“I also lost my previous life.”
A long pause.
“The temptation is to think it happened without anyone’s fault. But the loss remains.”
“There is always something that is going to be lost…”
He opened the window and leaned out.
She touched his shoulder.
“Close the window. It will blow you away.”
“You’re right.”
They returned inside.
“You love her?” she asked, pointing to the ring.
“I love Piotr,” she said automatically.
“I don’t know, Anna,” he replied. “Love seems a distant concept. I see emotions everywhere. The rest is a better or worse played game.”
“And the ring?”
“My father’s. Another loss.”
“I am not strong enough to keep losing. It will not happen again.”
“I want everything just for myself. I am not going to give anything. Not anymore.”
He opened his hands.
“I don’t expect anything either.”
“Maybe with empty hands I can finally embrace someone.”
She listened.
Mountains rose outside.
Light.
Poronin.
“We only have ten minutes.”
They walked through the swaying corridor.
Maria smiled.
No words needed.
They packed quickly.
The train rolled into the station on time.
On the platform they stood facing each other.
“We happened on each other for a reason,” she said.
He nodded.
She wanted to add something.
Changed her mind.
She approached him.
Put her hand on his cheek.
Without a word.
The train exhaled one last time.
Then silence.