Free The Motion Demon by Stefan Grabinski, Miroslaw Lipinski Page B

first-class seat and settled comfortably in the red plush cushions. Because the train he was on crossed with the express from F., it stopped for a longer than usual length of time at Snowa, and Kluczka could surrender to the illusion of a symbolic ride in the direction of the mountains for a good half hour. But when the anticipated express flew by and disappeared in the distance in the midst of clouds of smoke, Kluczka imperceptibly took down his suitcase from the net and furtively slipped to the steps leading to the outside. When a minute later the departing wail of a bugle sounded, he ran unnoticed by anyone down the steps and found himself again in the waiting room. Along the way he once more paid off with a cigarette the porter, Wawrzyszyn, who was looking into his eyes a little insolently. In general, the poor wretch had from time to time to pay off the railroad service, so that it would look through its fingers at his caprices. He was well-known at the station under the nickname ‘the perpetual passenger’ and also another, less flattering one, ‘the harmless madman’.
    Meanwhile the train departed and the second interval began. The waiting room had become deserted. The next passenger train in the direction of D. was due at ten at night; people weren’t in a rush to get to the station.
    The station was filled with late-afternoon boredom and reveries: grey spider threads began to spread along empty benches and yawn in recesses and corners. Under the ceiling of the hall roamed a few flies, buzzing monotonously, and with a strange stubbornness circling about a large, hanging chandelier. Outside the windows the first lights of switch signals flashed and bright streams from electric glass balls invaded the interior. In the dimness of the closed waiting room the solitary silhouette of the law clerk could be seen, somewhat hunched, bent, laid low to the ground….
    By the light from the platform, Kluczka studied a frayed old timetable; he searched out fictional train connections. Finally, his face flushed, he marked out most precisely the route that he promised to himself to carry out ‘in truth’ around Easter when he would obtain a two-week vacation and a holiday supplement from his pension.
    Finished with his calculations, he was looking one more time at his tiny, precise notations when the hall suddenly brightened up; from under the ceiling five electric bowls shot out their beams, from the walls jetted several light-yellow projections: the waiting room took on an evening atmosphere. The door handles of the nearby door moved to the inside and into the hall came several travellers. The previous mood was blown away irrevocably. Everything became bright as if in broad daylight.
    Kluczka took his usual place of observation in the shadows of a heater; close by sat a woman of undetermined age. She seemed nervous, the corners of her mouth twitching and her movements fidgety. Kluczka felt very sorry for her all of a sudden and decided to calm his uneasy neighbour.
    ‘Madam,’ he said, leaning to the lady and assuming an expression of near seraphic sweetness, ‘you must be completely surrendering to a traveller’s mood?’
    The woman, caught off guard, looked at him a little strangely.
    ‘Madam,’ explained Kluczka in a silken voice, ‘you are simply suffering from the so-called “railroad fever”. I am familiar with this, my dear lady, very familiar. Even though I am used to the railroad environment, I cannot master myself over it to this day. It constantly affects me with the same strength.’
    The woman looked at him kindly.
    ‘To tell the truth, I do feel a little agitated; maybe not so much by the ride that awaits me, but by the uncertainty of how I’ll manage after I arrive at my destination. I’m not familiar at all with the town I have to go to, I don’t know to whom to turn, where to spend the night. I’m concerned about those first, exceedingly anxious moments immediately after one arrives.’
    Kluczka