A Life In A Moment (8 page)

I was
alive!

In my
excitement, I nearly missed the announcement of my train’s
arrival. Italian was not my forte.

Thank
Goodness, my English was good. I had my childhood friends to be
grateful to: Wilde, Dickens and Austen. It was thanks to them that I
had learnt English so I could read their works in their original
language. At long last, it was time to redeem all those quips and
quiddities I’d accumulated as an
unusual
child.

The voice
announced the train would arrive in eleven minutes. At nine minutes,
the engine appeared, at ten it slowed down before me, at eleven it
ground to a stop. Finding my carriage, I hopped on board. Putting my
suitcase in its place, I nestled myself in my window-seat, alone with
my desire to feel the train accelerate, leaving Ancona behind.

It didn’t
take long to see the station move away and hear its humdrum sounds
fade into nothingness. Once again, I felt such elation… I
lived dreamlike moments. I was unstoppable in my ache to live each
day.

I hid
myself away in a deep sleep to pass the time.

 
24

I was
nearly comatose for six hours. I woke only when the lights of Milano
Centrale dazzled me. Nobody had bothered to wake me up; that’s
why I was one of the last passengers to disembark. I pulled down my
suitcase, hopped off and started looking around for the ticket
office.

I was
lucky. The train to Paris left in an hour. It was morning and the
station was teeming with people. I wandered around. The station
looked like a small town. I had never seen such a thing. I saw a
telephone booth and it suddenly dawned on me that I had overlooked
something critical.

I had
forgotten to notify my brother. He must surely have learnt what
happened and would be frantically worried by now. I groped for some
coins in my pocket.

«Hello»,
I suddenly heard on the other side of the line.

«Pavlos?»

«At
last, Vassilis! Where the hell have you been? You’ve driven me
up the wall!» He didn’t sound as happy as I had expected.

«You’re
right. I should have called you earlier.»

«Where
are you?»

«At
the railway station, in Milan.»

«Milan?
What the hell are you doing there? It’s going to take you at
least two days to get here by train. Better catch a plane! We’re
worried about you. Aunt and Uncle are beside themselves.»

The father
I never had was now talking to me on the other side of the line. I
tried to put his mind at ease.

«Pavlos,
listen to me. I need some more time on my own. That’s why I’m
coming by train. I don’t know if you’ve learnt what
happened.»

His voice
calmed down. «I have... How are you?»

«I’m
feeling stronger with each hour. Don’t worry about me. I’ll
be there soon and we’ll talk about it all. Just call our aunt
and tell her we’ve spoken.»

After I
promised to call him back as soon as I arrived in Paris, I hung up.
Inadvertently, I had spoken the truth. Every hour was coloured by
something new. My mind had no time to go back to the past; not when
it had to stay put for the present.

 
25

Less than
an hour later, seated on the waiting train, I was looking out the
window. I observed, one by one, all the people who were waiting for
the train bound for their destination. They all had the same
expression on their faces. I might have the same expression myself.
It might be the expression all travellers have. The expression of
fatigue mixed with desire. If that was the case, then I had it, too,
though mine was coloured in black and blue.

It was ten
past eleven and the train departed in three minutes’ time.
While wandering around the platform before boarding, my eyes were
shaken by a sudden tornado flying in the direction of the train. I
thought it would overturn us all, but, as it came closer, I saw a
pretty, well-dressed girl, simply running to catch the train.

She
boarded the carriage, puffing and panting, looking for an empty seat.
The one next to me was her only choice. She turned to look at me with
a pair of glittering eyes.

«Sta
bene, signore?» she asked me, seeing my bruises.

I
understood that she had spoken in Italian, though her accent was
strange, perhaps French.

«I
don’t speak Italian», I said in English.

She
understood and repeated her question in the same language.

«I’m
Greek, and I’m going to England», I explained a little
later, having already reassured her that the injuries weren’t
as inconvenient as they seemed.

«Oh!
And you chose the train for such a long trip!»

«Yes.
It’s a long story.»

«Not
with a good ending, I suppose», she said, speaking English with
a pleasant French accent.

I saw what
was going to happen. That girl would effortlessly elicit my story,
beginning with my lost parents and ending at my girlfriend’s
unfaithfulness and a friend’s betrayal. I wouldn’t be
able to refuse. After all, I needed a stranger to confide in and get
it all off my chest; someone I would travel with for several hours
and later would say goodbye to, never see each other again.

She sat
next to me, her body leaning towards mine, so that she could listen
more attentively. She wore a colourful cap and a matching woollen
scarf. She had a charming voice, deep, but not raspy, from which I
could gather she was around my age — or perhaps slightly older.

Only when
she took off her cap did I see her more clearly. An oval face framed
her expressive black eyes and an elegant nose, rendered with the
classic, French chisel. Her thin lips exuded civility and
seriousness, which gave her face an air of insouciance and naivety. A
halo of golden yellow hair fell softly to her shoulders.

«My
name’s Angelique; I’m French — if you haven’t
already figured that out», she said and smiled, starting our
conversation in a somewhat official way. «I was in Milan for a
day to see a friend of mine, and now I’m back off to Paris.»

We shook
hands as I introduced myself. «I’m Vassilis and... I told
you already, I’m Greek and I’m off to London.»

«...by
train due to a long story with not a good ending», she added,
smilingly summing up what we had said before.

«Bon
voyage.»

«Bon
voyage», I repeated with a bad French accent, and decided to
continue our conversation. «So, do you live in Paris?»

«No.
I’ll be staying at my grandma’s for only a few days and
then I’ll be catching the train for Strasbourg. That’s
where I live.»

I learnt
that she had grown up in Strasbourg and was studying International
Relations, even though her dream was to become a photographer.

Having
left Milan behind, we were travelling with the sun following us —
its warm light suffusing our carriage.

«Are
you studying?» I heard her ask me, while I looked abstractly at
the passing outskirts of Milan.

«Me?
No.»

«No?
What are you doing? Working?»

«Sort
of. I used to have a bookshop in Greece, which I’ve... left
behind now that I’m moving to London.»

Angelique
knitted her eyebrows. «Hmm... I don’t quite understand,
but I guess that’s part of the long story.»

«Exactly.»

She smiled
shyly, before she put her thought in words:

«Since
it sounds to be a really long story, why don’t we fill our long
journey with it? I like listening to stories. Unless, of course, you
don’t want to share it with a stranger...»

I had
foreseen my inability to refuse this predictable invitation. I looked
at her, without replying. I held my smile up to hers and began
telling her my story:

«Well...
I’m going to England to live with my brother, whom I met only
two years ago —
I’d hold
back surprise until later on! This is only the beginning…
»

Almost too
quickly, I managed to recount all that had happened in my life of
nineteen years, laying more emphasis on the past four. My narration
was often punctuated by Angelique’s exclamation marks of
surprise, her spontaneous interjections and her witty remarks. I
talked to her about Aunt Urania, Uncle Haralambos, Pavlos, Thanos,
Michalis, Ellie, the house by the sea, the beautiful veranda, the pub
in London, the bookshop and all that was a blot on the paper of my
life. Then, I explained what had happened two days before.

«So,
you decided to leave everything behind and start from scratch?»

«Exactly.»

«You
know, I have a saying... Never look back. The only thing you’ll
find is what you left behind or what let you go.»

I couldn’t
but wholeheartedly agree with her. However, much as I agreed, I
couldn’t keep my mind from strolling around back in Greece.

«I
must admit I’m impressed. You’re my age and you’ve
been through so much. How much more are you going to live with all
that force of yours?»

Angelique’s
question struck fear into my soul. That was something I had never
wondered about. If all this was just the beginning, what did the
future hold for me? What would the end be like?

«And
you’ll be working at your brother’s pub?»

«Yes.
At least in the beginning...»

«I
see... Have you ever realised how full your story is of paradoxes?»

«Paradoxes?
No. What are they?»

«You’ve
been lucky, despite your trials and tribulations. You may have grown
up without parents, but you were raised by a good family. Your
girlfriend betrayed you, but you lived each moment of a wonderful
love affair together. You fled your country, but there was a place
for you to go. Imagine all those who want to give it all up and
escape, but hesitate because they have nowhere to go.»

She was
right, but I didn’t put it in words.

«So
that was my story. Change the subject now?»

«To
what?»

«How
about your story? For example, what do you want to do once you
graduate?»

«Hmm,
what I want... I want to work for the European Union, in one of its
offices in Paris.»

«In
Paris? Why not Strasbourg?»

«I
grew up in Strasbourg. I don’t want to spend my entire life
there. It’s a charming city, but life is too long to live out
in just one place. After all, Francois and I have plans to live in
Paris.»

«Francois?»

«Yes,
my boyfriend. We’ve been together for two years now.»

It was
silly, but this news somehow made me sad. It was as if I had already
fallen in love with her and Francois was my only obstacle.

She was
head over heels in love with him apparently. He was in the last year
of his Architecture degree, at the same university where she was
studying. Listening to her talk about him with such fond joy, an
unexpected desire came over me to steal some of that happiness and
sprinkle it like icing over my wounds.

How badly
I wanted to swap places with Francois. It would be him travelling to
Paris and me waiting for Angelique in Strasbourg.

The view
of the carriage filled with passengers who were talking, reading or
sleeping, brought me crashing back to reality. My thoughts filled
Angelique’s pauses.

«May
I ask you something?»

«Sure.»

«Aren’t
you curious to know what Michalis and Ellie did that night when they
learnt you left Greece?»

Was I?
Probably not.

«I
think that, for the time being, I just want to forget about them. As
you said, to not look back. To be honest, when I was on the ship, I
wondered endlessly whether they’d apologise or not. But now,
even if they do, I’ll never be able to go back to Greece and be
with them. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.»

«What
do you think will become of their relationship?»

«I
don’t think it will last. They’ll split up. On the one
hand, they will fight over who is more to blame, and on the other,
they’ll have to face the music of Thanos and Natalia... How
long could they keep it up?»

We talked
for hours on end about all sorts of things, important or trivial. It
was so intriguing talking to her. She had an informed opinion on
everything: art, literature, love, friendship, loneliness…

During our
pauses, I carried on observing our fellow passengers. They were
splayed out in their seats, weary from their long journey. That
traveller’s expression I had observed hours before, at Milano
Centrale, now seemed to have crumpled.

Angelique
had also allowed her eyes wander up and down the aisle. «Can
you imagine how many stories these people could tell? Some might be
even more outlandish than yours», she said, then paused for a
while before continuing. «You know what I do when I’m
amongst many people? I levitate off the ground with my mind. It’s
like flying. After I’ve reached a certain height, I feel I can
understand more things about them. It’s as if I can see the
threads that connect them. You may think it strange, but I believe
everybody on Earth is connected in some uncanny way. For example, one
of these passengers may have had a beer at your brother’s pub —
who knows?»

I tried to
absorb her every word, and although I attempted a flight myself, I
didn’t manage to fly high enough.

«Is
this also a way to feel closer to people?»

«Yes,
in a way. For instance, when I was a little girl, I had a sense of
the life my grandmother lived in Paris, even though I’d never
been there. Isn’t it bizarre?»

I didn’t
answer; it was more of a rhetorical question, anyway. We were both
tired, not of our conversation, but from the lazy light of an
overcast afternoon that made our eyes heavy. We spoke no more, as if
we had unspokenly agreed to suspend our talk. I dozed off quickly.