“What’s that you’re saying?”
“Yes. As if we were ignorant fools who couldn’t grasp what they were really talking about.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable, yes. But just wait until you hear what happened next.”
I waited. The lady looked at me meaningfully several moments before she said, “He offered her apples.”
“Apples?” I gestured towards the girls.
“Yes. The same apples that these poor things now have to eat. I thought I would faint when I heard it.”
I shook my head.
“And if you’d only seen how lustfully he looked at her as she bit into the apple! As I’m sure you are aware, fruit is very juicy, but she paid no attention whatsoever to that fact. She let the juice dribble out of the corners of her mouth and run down her chin. Then he took out a handkerchief and wiped the juice. Before my very own eyes. And she let him do it, calm as you please. With an impish grin. She even turned toward me briefly and gave a defiant look.”
The lady raised the back of her left hand to her forehead and bowed her head dramatically. The girls across from her sniffled in unison.
“How was I to know,” she continued after a short pause, “that this was just an inoffensive prelude to what would happen in the tunnel?”
“Mama,” mumbled the girl next to the door, her mouth full.
“Quiet!” said the woman sharply, silencing her. “Even though it is our shame, there’s no reason to hide it. Let everyone know what your father was like. The fact that he is now dead doesn’t mitigate his guilt one bit.”
The girl in the middle raised her head. It looked as if she were going to protest, but then she lowered her head again and continued eating her apple.
“As you know,” said the woman, continuing our conversation, “when the carriage enters a tunnel all light disappears. We are in the pitch black. And right then, as she so ceremoniously ate the apple, he her willing assistant, we went into a tunnel. It was the worst thing that could have happened. I don’t like tunnels in the best of circumstances and I went numb with fear. If this was how he acted while we were watching him, what would he do when we couldn’t see?”
Just as she said this, we were plunged into darkness. A tiny hand dropped gently onto my left knee. “It was just like this. You surely feel uncomfortable too, don’t you?”
“Well, a little, yes.”
Her hand squeezed a bit harder. “Don’t be afraid. This tunnel is short, the light will soon return. But at that time, unfortunately, it was very long. Long enough for him to tell her the whole story.”
“Story?”
“Yes. The story of the wax button. Our most intimate secret. Until that moment no one knew about it except the two of us. It should have stayed that way. We should have taken it to the grave with us. But he divulged it to her shamelessly. To me he died, completely and irrevocably, before the light returned.”
A quiet cough came out of the darkness to my left. I turned that way, even though I couldn’t see anything. The little fingers seemed to dig into my knee, so I quickly turned back around.
“Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s trying to arouse your pity. He expects you to feel sorry for him because he’s dead. But he doesn’t deserve your pity, not at all.”
The pressure from her fingers was suddenly released.
“Or maybe you think otherwise?”
“I wouldn’t know . . . ”
“Perhaps you think that what he did wasn’t so terrible? That I was unmerciful?”
“No, actually . . . ”
“Perhaps you even think that I’m to blame for everything, that he is only an innocent victim of my callousness?”
“Certainly not, of course . . . ”
The tiny hand removed itself from my knee and the chandelier lights went on the same moment.
The woman once again took her handkerchief out of her sleeve, but this time she only twisted it in her lap. The girls had stopped eating their apples and were staring at us fixedly.
“I was wrong about you,” she said in a choking voice. “I believed you to be a true gentleman.”
“But . . . ”
“It serves me right for being so easily fooled. I clearly should have been suspicious right away, as soon as the conductor put in a good word for you. Polished and full of compassion—indeed!”
“I assure you . . . ”
“Please, not another word,” she said sharply, me. “Have at least a little consideration for the children. nothing more to say, in any case. Everything is quite clear.”
She rummaged for a moment through the black between us, then took out a silver bell and rang it. Almost the same instant the door slid open and the conductor’s head poked through the curtain.
“The gentleman will be leaving us,” she said in an authoritative voice. The conductor pulled the curtain aside without hesitation and I stood up. I stopped at the door and turned around. The father was still engrossed in his knitting and the mother had returned to her book. Only the girls looked at me as they continued to bite into their apples. Their chins were wet from the juice. Not knowing what to say as I left, I merely nodded briefly and went out into the corridor. The conductor quickly pulled the curtain shut behind me and closed the door.
We stood for a moment facing each other in silence. Then he took a pair of manicure scissors out of the right breast pocket of his uniform.
“Please, allow me.”
He took hold of my left hand started to trim my nails, starting with the thumb.
“That was a mistake, of course,” he said when he reached the middle finger. “I shouldn’t have taken you into their compartment. But all one can do is hope. I thought that things might have changed. I was waiting here in front of the door and the silence was encouraging. I’d started to believe that things would be different this time, and then I heard the bell. I feel very embarrassed. Please forgive me.”
“I don’t blame you for anything . . . ”
Before he moved to my right hand, he put the clipped nails in his pocket, then looked me straight in the eye.
“You talked about her, didn’t you? I can only imagine what the woman said. But you mustn’t believe her. Please, I implore you. She doesn’t like her. Actually, it’s even worse, she hates her. Although there’s absolutely no reason, of course. She accuses her of something that is entirely not her fault. She’s not the reason that the woman is a widow. The woman herself is to blame for that.”
This time he started with the pinky.
“By the way, just between you and me, his death is rather suspicious. All right, he might act like he’s defunct, but that doesn’t prove a thing. What if she changes her mind and orders him to stop knitting? It wouldn’t surprise me in the least. She’s liable to do anything. Then what?”
He raised his eyes to mine. I shrugged my shoulders.
“Did she mention a button?” he asked quietly, after hesitating a bit, concentrating on the hangnail on my index finger.
I answered with a nod, although his eyes were lowered and he couldn’t see it.
“A wax button?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Let me clue you in.”
He didn’t do it right away, though. He put the scissors back in his pocket along with the newly clipped nails, took out a nail file and got down to work.
“She lied to you,” he said after finishing three fingers on left hand.
“Is that so?” I replied, surprised.
“It wasn’t made of real wax at all.”
“It wasn’t?”
He raised my finished hand up high, blew on it, polished the nails a bit, then took my right hand.
“It wasn’t,” he continued after finishing my ring finger, “but I’m not at liberty to say anything else, unfortunately. I’ve already told you too much. It might cost me my job. You won’t report me, I trust?”
He stopped filing and looked at me imploringly. I hastened to reassure him.<
br />
“Heaven forbid.”
His face lit up. “I knew I could trust you.”
Since my other hand was now polished and inspected, he
nodded in satisfaction. “There. Now everything’s in order. How do you feel?” I spread out the fingers of both hands and looked at them. “Fine,” I said. “Quite fine.
“Wonderful. Shall we continue, then?”
He put it in the form of a question, but didn’t await my reply. He placed the file back in his pocket, turned and headed for the entrance to the second compartment.
He halted in front of it, turned towards me and signaled with his hand that I should stop, although I hadn’t moved at all. He opened the door quickly and slipped through the curtains, then closed the door behind him.
He remained inside for a short time. When he emerged he was smiling ear to ear.
“The brothers will receive you. It is a rare honor. Please show due consideration for their rules of behavior.”
“Certainly.”
He moved aside but did not pull the curtains open. I slipped through them as he had a moment before and entered the compartment. From behind me came the sound of the door sliding shut.
Inside I found six monks. They were sitting pressed together on four seats, leaving two places empty next to the door. They were wearing long brown cowls and had white cords around their waists. One of them had his hood pulled down. He was sitting on the left next to the curtained window, head bowed, so I couldn’t see his face. The attention of the other brothers was focused on him. All five were holding notebooks and writing something in them.
At first no one paid any attention to me. Finally, the closest monk on the right turned towards me and put his notebook in his lap. Just like the others, he had a smoothly shaved head and ruddy face. He put his hands over his ears and bowed to me. I returned the bow the same way. He indicated with a nod that I was to sit on the empty seat next to him. When I sat down, he raised his right index finger to his lips.
We looked at each other in silence for some time. Then he took his notebook, turned the page and started to write. When he had finished, he handed me the notebook.
Please forgive me for not being able to talk to you in the normal way. The members of our order have taken a vow of silence. But there are no restrictions as far as writing is concerned. You may speak to me by whispering in my ear.
I put my head close to his and whispered, “I am very honored by the fact that you have taken me into your compartment. I hope I won’t be any bother.”
The monk shook his head briskly, then set about writing in his notebook again. When he handed it to me, I saw that he’d written down my answer under his first message, and then his new words:
Do you play chess by any chance?
I didn’t reply at once. His face was full of eagerness. I finally nodded.
The monk quickly scribbled: Would you like a game?
“Here? Now?” I asked in a whisper.
He quickly wrote his answer: Yes. Yes.
I thought it over briefly, then shrugged my shoulders. “Why not? If it won’t disturb the brothers, of course.” I motioned my head towards the monks engrossed in their writing.
On the contrary, came the new message. They won’t have anything against it. They love chess, too. It’s our order’s favorite game.
“Then fine.”
The monk smiled and clapped his hands. The brother with the hood pulled down over his face didn’t move, but the other four stopped their writing and fixed inquisitive eyes on us.
My mute collocutor turned the page of his notebook, wrote something brief, and showed it to the brothers. When they read the message there was an instant uproar. First, almost all of them jumped up from their seats, clapped each other on the shoulder, and even hugged each other. The two of us stood up too. Then the monks went one by one to the monk next to me and kissed him on both cheeks and twice on the forehead. He stood there beaming with joy, his eyes closed. Finally, they all shook my hand firmly.
I was motioned to sit down again, and when I did so the monk I’d talked to moved to the seat across from me. One of the brothers knelt down on the dark red carpet runner and started to feel about under my seat. I raised my feet a bit to get out of his way. He pulled out a large chess set and handed it to my future opponent, but he didn’t get up. He stayed on his hands and knees and moved back all the way to the door, taking up the space between us. The brother across from me opened the set, shook out the pieces on the closed notebook in his lap, then placed the board on the back of the monk on the floor.
He sorted through the pieces a bit and finally singled out two white pawns. He picked them up and showed them to everyone. Four heads nodded in confirmation. He put his hands behind his back and shifted the pawns about for a while. Then he brought his hands forward, clenched into fists, and held them out in front of me.
I thought of standing up and asking him in a whisper what choice there was between two pieces of the same color, but I was hemmed in. I didn’t know if I would be able to sit down afterwards. In any case, it made no difference. After thinking it over briefly, I pointed to his left hand. It opened, and everyone clapped upon seeing the white pawn.
Two of the monks squeezed in between the chess player and the brother with the hood pulled down over his face. The third sat on the floor in front of the one who’d loaned us his back for a table. He quickly began to set up the pieces. But he didn’t set them in their starting positions and he didn’t use all the pieces. When he had finished, he moved back a little. All I needed was a cursory glance at the board to realize that before me was an endgame. The black king was in checkmate. I looked inquisitively at the brother on the seat across from me and shrugged my shoulders.
He took his notebook, wrote something in it and handed it to me. The message was short: Your move.
I pointed at the pen in his hand. When he gave it to me, I wrote in the next empty line: But the game is over.
He did not reply at once. First he showed the four observers my message in the notebook, to which they bowed deeply. Then he started to write again:
On the contrary, went his new message. It has yet to begin. The rules of our order dictate that we play chess from checkmate back to the opening positions.
I looked at him for several moments, then gave him back his notebook and stared at the pieces on the board. But I didn’t have time to evaluate the situation there, because the lights suddenly went out.
A stir broke out that same moment in the darkness. There was the rustling of cowls and then the sound of pieces flying in all directions. A voice from the side opposite me said in haste, “Get up, quick!”
I wasn’t sure whether this was directed at me, but I obeyed. As I stood up I collided with someone. I wanted to excuse myself, but there was no time, because that was when the singing started.
The darkness of the compartment was filled with a woman’s voice. The soprano emanated from where the monk was sitting with his hood drawn over his face. I tried to see through the murk to that side, but to no avail. The song was slow, almost dreamy, in a language I didn’t understand, full of open vowels. It sounded like a dirge. I couldn’t tell how it affected the monks, but it filled me at once with excitement. When it finished, it left behind the bitter feeling of something withheld.
Silence reigned for a while, and then the male voice of a moment before spoke again.
“That is her present to our brother.”
“I thought . . . ” I started in a whisper, but I didn’t finish.
“The vow of silence does not hold in a tunnel, you can speak freely in a normal voice.”
“Oh, I see.”
“We do not normally receive women into our company when we are not properly dressed—you cannot see, but we are wearing slippers instead of clogs under our robes. Nonetheless, our brother invited her in. He had the right by seniority. When she came in, she paid no attention to the others. She headed straight for him and sat in his lap. F
irst she only looked into his eyes, holding his hands, then she started whispering to him. This lasted for some time. All he did was nod his head. After she’d finished, she simply got up and left. Without a word. She didn’t play a single game of chess.”
“Not a single game?”
“Not a single game, but she made up for it. You heard the song.”
“It’s captivating.”
“It’s more than that. Do you know what it’s about?”
“No.”
“A horned egg!”
“Really?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t recount the story all at once, of course. It wouldn’t be possible, after all. It’s a good thing our brother only sings in tunnels, so there are breathing spells. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to keep it up. Singing in a woman’s voice is very taxing.”
“I would imagine so.”
“The rest of us welcome the breaks too. So we can write down what we’ve heard. It’s immensely important.”
“Quite so.”
“We will have to get down to work as soon as we come out of the tunnel. Please forgive us for not being able to finish the game. It is indeed a pity, because the position was quite challenging.”
“Think nothing of it.”
“We’ll make up for the loss the next time you visit us Please drop by at any time.”
“With pleasure.”
“Then goodbye.
“Goodbye.”
I stood there in the darkness. Incoherent chatter filled the compartment, punctuated by a giggle and coughing here and there. Someone’s hands suddenly covered my ears. They didn’t remain there long, but soon came back, a total of five times. It was only afterwards that I realized that it had been a different pair of hands each time. Immediately after the last salutation the door behind my back opened and something slipped through the curtains. I felt a hand take hold of my arm and lead me out. The next moment I was in the corridor.
“Aren’t they wonderful?” said the conductor. A large white towel was thrown over his left arm and the small table next to him bore a little dish with a bar of wet soap, a brush, a razor and a hand mirror in a silver frame.
“Yes, they’re pleasantly gregarious,” I replied.
Impossible Stories II Page 2
