A silhouette moves in the ticket office. Gruner stands up and walks decisively over. Steam from the heaters wafts out between the white bars, carrying homey smells. The man smiles with goodwill and offers him more broth. Gruner asks what time the next train passes. “In an hour,” says the man, and his offended hand shuts the ticket window and leaves Gruner alone once again.
Everything repeats like in a natural cycle, thinks Gruner an hour later, as he forlornly watches another string of cars go by without stopping, an exact copy of the previous train. In any case, morning will come soon and workers will arrive at the station to buy tickets, many of them probably with change. If there are trains to the capital, it is thanks to the passengers who must travel there every morning. Yes, as soon as I get to the capital I will report that man, thinks Gruner, and someday I’ll come back with change to this wretch’s station just to make sure he no longer works here. With the relief of that certainty, he sits on the bench and waits.
Time passes, during which Gruner’s eyes get used to the night and read shapes in even the darkest places. That’s how he discovers the woman, her figure leaning against the waiting-room doorway, and he sees her hand waving to invite him in. Gruner is sure that the gesture was for him, and he stands up and walks toward her; she smiles and ushers him in.
On the table are three plates, all of them served, and the steam comes not from soup, broth, or dog food, but from substantial sausages bathed in an aromatic white cream. The room smells like chicken, cheese, and potatoes, and then, when the woman brings a casserole dish full of vegetables to the table, Gruner remembers the dinners typical of the capital’s happy civilization. The miserable ticket man, so elusive when it came to buying a ticket, enters and offers Gruner a seat.
“Have a seat, please. Make yourself at home.”
The man and woman begin to eat, satisfied. Gruner sits with them, his plate also heaped with food. He knows that, outside, the cold is damp and inhospitable, and he also knows he has lost another battle, since he wastes no time in raising the first forkful of an exquisite chicken sausage to his mouth. But the food doesn’t guarantee he’ll get out of this station soon.
“Is there a reason you won’t sell me a ticket?” asks Gruner.
The man looks at the woman and asks for dessert. From the oven emerges an apple tart that is soon cut into equal slices. The man and woman exchange a tender glance when they see how Gruner devours his portion.
“Pe, show him his room, he must be tired,” says the woman, and then the first mouthful of a second serving of tart stops en route to Gruner’s mouth, stops and waits.
Pe stands up and asks Gruner to come with him.
“You can sleep inside. It’s cold out there. There are no more trains until morning.”
I have no choice, thinks Gruner, and he leaves the tart and follows the man to the guest room.
“Your room,” says the man.
I’m not going to pay for this, thinks Gruner, at the same time as he sees that the two blankets on the bed look new and warm. He’s still going to lodge a complaint; the hospitality doesn’t make up for what happened. The couple’s conversation reaches him faintly from the room next door. Before he drifts off, Gruner hears the woman tell Pe that he needs to be more considerate, the man is alone and this must seem strange, and Pe’s offended voice replies that the only thing that wretch cares about is buying his return ticket. “Ungrateful” is the last thing that reaches his ears; the sound of the word fades gradually and is reborn in the morning, when the whistle of a train already passing the station wakes him up to a new day in the country.
“We didn’t wake you because you were sleeping so soundly,” says the woman. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Hot coffee with milk and cinnamon toast with butter and honey. While Gruner eats breakfast in silence, his eyes follow the woman’s steps as she cooks what will apparently be lunch. Then something happens. An office worker, a man with Asian features and dressed like Gruner, someone who is possibly taking the next train and has enough change for two tickets, comes into the kitchen and greets the woman.
“Morning, Fi,” he says, and with a son’s affection he kisses the woman on the cheek. “I’m finished outside. Should I help Pe in the field?”
Once again, the food that was moving toward Gruner’s mouth, in this case a piece of toast, stops halfway and hangs in the air.
“No, Cho, thanks,” says Fi. “Gong and Gill already went, and three are enough for the job. Could you get a rabbit for supper?”
“Sure,” replies Cho, and with apparent enthusiasm he takes down the rifle hanging next to the chimney and withdraws.
Gruner’s toast returns to the plate and stays there. Gruner is going to ask something but then the door opens, and in comes Cho again. He looks first at Gruner and then curiously asks the woman:
“Is he new?”
Fi smiles and looks affectionately at Gruner.