decide within the next minute or so to leave this gently heaving ship of isolation, I would die in this bed as if paralyzed, or be shot to death here on this pillow by the tireless myrmidons whose eyes miss nothing.
While I listened to her humming as she stood there by the stove gazing at the fire, its warm light growing with quiet wingbeats, I felt divided from her by more than a world. There she stood, somewhere on the periphery of my life, quietly humming and enjoying the growing fire; I understood all that, I could see it, smell the singeing of scorched paper, and yet nowhere could she have been further removed from me.
“Please get up, will you?” said the girl from across the room. “You must leave now.” I heard her put a saucepan on the fire and begin to stir; it was a soothing sound, the gentle scraping of the wooden spoon, and the smell of browning flour filled the room.
I could see everything now. The room was very small. I was lying on a low wooden bed; next to it was a closet, brown, quite plain, that took up the whole wall as far as the door. Somewhere behind me there must be a table, chairs, and the little stove by the window. It was very quiet, and the early light still so opaque that it lay like shadows in the room.
“Please,” she said in a low voice, “I have to go now.”
“You have to go?”
“Yes, I have to go to work, and first you must leave, with me.”
“Work?” I asked. “Why?”
“What a thing to ask!”
“But where?”
“On the railroad tracks.”
“Railroad tracks?” I asked. “What do you do there?”
“We shovel stones and gravel so that nothing will happen to the trains.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to the trains,” I said. “Where do you work? Toward Nagyvárad?”
“No, toward Szeged.”
“That’s good.”
“Why?”
“Because then I won’t have to pass you in the train.”
She laughed softly. “So you’re going to get up after all.”
“Yes,” I said. I shut my eyes again and let myself drop back into that swaying void whose breath was without smell and without trace, whose gentle rippling touched me like a quiet, barely perceptible waft of air; then I opened my eyes with a sigh and reached for my trousers, now lying neatly beside the bed on a chair.
“Yes,” I repeated, and got out of bed.
She stood with her back to me while I went through the familiar motions, drew on my trousers, did up my shoes, and pulled on my gray tunic.
I stood there for a while, saying nothing, my cigarette cold between my lips, looking at her figure, small and slight and now outlined clearly against the window. Her hair was beautiful, soft as a quiet flame.
She turned round and smiled. “What are you thinking about now?” she asked.
For the first time I looked into her face. It was so simple that I could not take it in: round eyes, in which fear was fear, joy was joy.
“What are you thinking about now?” she asked again, and this time she was not smiling.
“Nothing,” I said. “I can’t think at all. I must go. There’s no escape.”
“Yes,” she said, and nodded. “You must go. There’s no escape.”
“And you must stay.”
“I must stay,” she said.
“You have to shovel stones and gravel so that nothing will happen and the trains can safely go where things do happen.”
“Yes,” she said, “that’s what I have to do.”
We walked down a silent street leading to the station. All streets lead to stations, and from stations you go off to war. We stepped aside into a doorway and kissed, and I could feel, as my hands lay on her shoulders, I could feel as I stood there that she was mine. And she walked away with drooping shoulders without once looking round at me.
She is all alone in this town, and although my way lies along the same street, to the station, I cannot go with her. I must wait till she has disappeared round that corner, beyond the last tree in this little avenue now lying remorselessly in full daylight. I must wait,
While I listened to her humming as she stood there by the stove gazing at the fire, its warm light growing with quiet wingbeats, I felt divided from her by more than a world. There she stood, somewhere on the periphery of my life, quietly humming and enjoying the growing fire; I understood all that, I could see it, smell the singeing of scorched paper, and yet nowhere could she have been further removed from me.
“Please get up, will you?” said the girl from across the room. “You must leave now.” I heard her put a saucepan on the fire and begin to stir; it was a soothing sound, the gentle scraping of the wooden spoon, and the smell of browning flour filled the room.
I could see everything now. The room was very small. I was lying on a low wooden bed; next to it was a closet, brown, quite plain, that took up the whole wall as far as the door. Somewhere behind me there must be a table, chairs, and the little stove by the window. It was very quiet, and the early light still so opaque that it lay like shadows in the room.
“Please,” she said in a low voice, “I have to go now.”
“You have to go?”
“Yes, I have to go to work, and first you must leave, with me.”
“Work?” I asked. “Why?”
“What a thing to ask!”
“But where?”
“On the railroad tracks.”
“Railroad tracks?” I asked. “What do you do there?”
“We shovel stones and gravel so that nothing will happen to the trains.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to the trains,” I said. “Where do you work? Toward Nagyvárad?”
“No, toward Szeged.”
“That’s good.”
“Why?”
“Because then I won’t have to pass you in the train.”
She laughed softly. “So you’re going to get up after all.”
“Yes,” I said. I shut my eyes again and let myself drop back into that swaying void whose breath was without smell and without trace, whose gentle rippling touched me like a quiet, barely perceptible waft of air; then I opened my eyes with a sigh and reached for my trousers, now lying neatly beside the bed on a chair.
“Yes,” I repeated, and got out of bed.
She stood with her back to me while I went through the familiar motions, drew on my trousers, did up my shoes, and pulled on my gray tunic.
I stood there for a while, saying nothing, my cigarette cold between my lips, looking at her figure, small and slight and now outlined clearly against the window. Her hair was beautiful, soft as a quiet flame.
She turned round and smiled. “What are you thinking about now?” she asked.
For the first time I looked into her face. It was so simple that I could not take it in: round eyes, in which fear was fear, joy was joy.
“What are you thinking about now?” she asked again, and this time she was not smiling.
“Nothing,” I said. “I can’t think at all. I must go. There’s no escape.”
“Yes,” she said, and nodded. “You must go. There’s no escape.”
“And you must stay.”
“I must stay,” she said.
“You have to shovel stones and gravel so that nothing will happen and the trains can safely go where things do happen.”
“Yes,” she said, “that’s what I have to do.”
We walked down a silent street leading to the station. All streets lead to stations, and from stations you go off to war. We stepped aside into a doorway and kissed, and I could feel, as my hands lay on her shoulders, I could feel as I stood there that she was mine. And she walked away with drooping shoulders without once looking round at me.
She is all alone in this town, and although my way lies along the same street, to the station, I cannot go with her. I must wait till she has disappeared round that corner, beyond the last tree in this little avenue now lying remorselessly in full daylight. I must wait,
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