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" Her nose wrinkled as if the entire city was swimming in raw sewage . "I love Stuttgart," Marco said, just to watch it unwrinkle . "Oh, well.1' Her shoes caught her attention. She kicked them off with littl e regard as to where they might land. Marco braced for a jolt of foot odor bu t then realized it had little chance of competing with the cheap perfume . In self-defense, he pretended to nod off. She ignored him for a few minutes Page 157 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html , then said loudly, "You speak Polish?" She was looking at his book of poetry . He jerked his head as if he'd just been awakened. "No, not exactly. I'm tryin g to learn it, though. My family is Polish." He held his breath as he finished , half expecting her to unleash a torrent of proper Polish and bury him with it . "I see," she said, not really approving . At exactly 6:15, an unseen conductor blew a whistle and the train started t o move. Fortunately, there were no other passengers assigned to Madame' s car. Several had walked down the aisle and stopped, glanced in, seen th e congestion, then moved on to another cabin where there was more room . Marco watched the platform intensely as they began moving. The man fro m the bus was nowhere to be seen . Madame worked the brandy until she began snoring. She was awakened b y the conductor who punched their tickets. A porter came through with a pushcart loaded with drinks. Marco bought a beer and offered one to hi s cabinmate. His offer was greeted with another mammoth wrinkle of th e nose, as if she'd rather drink urine . Their first stop was Como/San Giovanni, a two-minute break during which no one got on. Five minutes later they stopped at Chiasso. It was almost dark now, and Marco was pondering a quick exit. He studied the itinerary; there were four more stops before Zurich, one in Italy and three in Switzerland. Which country would work best? He couldn't risk being followed now. If they were on the train, then they had stuck to him from Bologna, through Modena and Milano, through various disguises. They were professionals, and he was no match for them. Sipping his beer, Marco felt like a miserable amateur. Madame was staring at the butchered hems of his slacks. Then he caught her glancing down at the modified bowling shoes, and for that he didn't blame her at all. Then the bright red watchband caught her attention. Her face conveyed the obvious-she did not approve of his low sense of fashion. Typical American, or Canadian, or whatever he was. He caught a glimpse of lights shimmering off Lake Lugano. They were snaking through the lake region, gaining altitude. Switzerland was not far away. An occasional drifter moved down the darkened aisle outside their cabin. They would look in, through the glass door, then move along toward the rear, where there was a restroom. Madame had plopped her large feet in the seat opposite her, not too far from Marco. An hour into the trip, and she had managed to spread her boxes and magazines and clothing throughout the entire cabin. Marco was afraid to leave his seat. Fatigue finally set in, and Marco fell asleep. He was awakened by the racket at the Bellinzona station, the first stop in Switzerland. A passenger entered the first-class car and couldn't find the right seat. He opened the door to Madame's cabin, looked around, didn't like what he saw, then went off to yell at the conductor. They found him a spot elsewhere. Madame hardly looked up from her fashion magazines. The next stretch was an hour and forty minutes, and when Madame went back to her flask Marco said, "I'll try some of that." She smiled for the first time in hours. Though she certainly didn't mind drinking alone, it was always more pleasant with a friend. A couple of shots, though, and Marco was nodding off again. Page 158 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html The train jerked as it slowed for the stop at ArthGoldau. Marco's head jerked too, and his hat fell off. Madame was watching him closely. When he opened his eyes for good, she said, "A strange man has been looking at you." "Where?'' "Where? Here, of course, on this train. He's been by at least three times. He stops at the door, looks closely at you, then sneaks away." Maybe it's my [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |