Train Girl
I got onto the train and wandered down the corridor looking for an empty compartment to sit in. The first few were full and I was just resigning myself to being crammed between a vapid old granny and a sweating football fan when I looked into another one and stopped. It was empty except for a pretty good-looking twenty-something brunette. She was wearing a rather hip black dress, and a revealing blouse, both of which subtly enhanced her natural feminine beauty.
The next compartment was full, so I stepped into the brunette’s one. As I entered she turned her head and our eyes met. For a few moments I held her with my true blues, then she dropped her gaze.
“Is this seat free,” I asked, pointing at the place opposite her, next to the window.
She nodded.
“Yes, it is,” she said and smiled, then blushed slightly and looked out the window.
“Good,” I said. “I prefer a window seat”.
Sitting down, I pulled a book from my pocket and immersed myself. The train picked up speed and the girl turned her attention to the fleeting countryside. At least I assume she did.
A minute or so went by; then she spoke.
“Excuse me, you wouldn’t have a light, would you?”
I finished reading the last three sentences in the paragraph, then put the book down with a dissatisfied grunt. I looked at her. She looked back. She may have fluttered her eyelashes.
“No I don’t,” I said. “And as a matter of fact, I don’t believe in smoking at all. It’s a wicked habit and almost certain to give you cancer.”
She looked rather taken aback by this reply, so I leaned towards her and continued.
“Furthermore, if I were in the government, I would not hesitate to ban the practice entirely, as it is responsible for the deaths of more pretty girls than any other cause.”
My face was dead serious and she half smiled, unsure whether or not I was joking with her.
“At least I would for blondes,” I said and returned to my book.
“Why blondes?” she asked indignantly.
I ignored her question and tried to carry on reading.
“Well why?” she repeated.
I put the book down in an exaggerated movement and gave her a look.
“Because they are so rare that it’s such a shame to kill them off with nicotine,” I said.
She almost dropped the indignant expression so I continued.
“And of course because they’re so much sexier than the rest.”
I looked her straight in the eyes, letting my mouth curl just a fraction as I watched her expression. She sniffed, looked away, then became embarrassed that she had done so and turned slightly red in the cheeks. I chuckled and returned to my book.
Perhaps five minutes went by when I looked up suddenly and caught her watching me. She flinched, and then gave me a haughty look.
“I was wondering what you were reading,” she said coldly.
“Sartre,” I replied.
“I think I’ve heard of that book,” she said. “Is it nice?”
I looked at her and smiled. It was a long, sunny smile, the kind that you could use to cultivate Beaujolais grapes in.
“You know,” I said, looking as though she’d just made my day, “you remind me a lot of my blonde friends.”
“As in the ‘so much sexier’ ones?” she said making inverted comma signs with her fingers.
“Well actually, I meant intellectually.”
She flared up.
“Are you trying to insult me?” she demanded.
“Typical stereotype thinking,” I sneered, inwardly jubilant that she had taken the bait. “Who said my blonde friends are anything short of intellectual brain-boxes?”
“Well, it sounded that way, I mean-” she broke off confused. The train drew to halt outside a station.
“Oh! I must go now,” she said. “It’s my station.”
“Have a nice day,” I muttered as I hunted for the line in the book where she had interrupted me. I heard the door to the compartment close behind her. I sighed, pulled out a Galois cigarette, lit it and inhaled the luxurious smoke.
Train Man
I got off the train still unsure what to think of him. As I walked away from the train, I glanced back at the window where he sat and froze. Blue smoke curled away from a cigarette held in a nonchalant hand – his hand. I marched back to the train, got on and threw open the door to his compartment.
“Okay Mr.” I said, “you better explain yourself!”
He took a deep suck at the cigarette, turned to look at me and blew a languid haze between us.
“The train’s about leave, you know,” he said. “You should get off while you can.”
“Don’t worry about me!” I snarled. “I want to know what all that ‘cigarettes-are-evil’ stuff was meant to mean!”
Outside the stationmaster whistled. The smoking young man sat silent, lips curling in an infuriating manner. The train moved off. I stood defiant.
At last he laughed and said “Alright. If it’s that important to you, I’ll explain my smoking philosophy.”
I raised an eyebrow. He continued.
“I think smoking is very bad for people in general, and other people in particular. Cancer is one of the prime causes of death in this country. Obviously, it’s not in my interests for my friends and colleagues to die around me, so I’m all against them smoking.”
“But you smoke yourself!”
“Well why not? From my point of view, what difference does it make if I die at fifty or sixty? I know I won’t live forever in any case, so carpe diem, I say. I’m not one to haggle over a few years, you know.”
The train rattled round a long bend and I had to catch hold of the luggage rack to prevent myself from falling.
“That’s terribly selfish of you,” I said, sitting down on my previous place.
“Well I go out of my way to make sure nobody’ll miss me when I’m gone,” he said with a mischievous grin. “I’m most considerate!”
“Ha-ha! I can see that!”
I paused.
“So what you are saying is that when you refused to give me a light, you were actually paying an enormous compliment to my grace and beauty? Sorry, I’m immune to flattery.”
His brow crinkled for a moment, then cleared. He half-smiled as he reached into his pocket.
“Want a cigarette?” he said and offered me one.
“Oh you are rude!” I said, “and yes, I would like one, thank you.”
I took the cigarette from him and he lit it with a classy silver lighter that looked antique. The cigarette itself was rather unpleasant, yet strangely enjoyable. How fitting- except for the enjoyable part, of course. For some moments we sat watching each other, enjoying the smoke. He glanced at the door to the compartment, then with a casual movement, threw the half-smoked cigarette out the window. The ticket collector entered. He was a solid-looking man of about forty.
“I’m afraid this is a non-smoker ma’am” he said, frowning as he observed the cigarette in my hand. He pointed at a sign on the door of the compartment, which I hadn’t seen. I blushed crimson and threw the cigarette out the window, trying hard not to notice my companion’s evil grin.
“May I see your tickets please,” said the conductor.
It dawned on me then, that my ticket was only valid till the previous stop. I rummaged in my handbag trying to find it. I couldn’t. The ticket collector was now standing over me. I was holding him up. At last I found the ticket and handed it to him. He raised an eyebrow on reading it.
“This ticket only takes you as far as Nové Hůlky,” he said and began to rummage in his bag, no doubt for ticket to write out a fine on.
I could feel my ears burning as I started to stammer an excuse. My companion interrupted me.
“I’m afraid the young lady was unlucky enough to leave her handbag in the compartment when she got out at the last station,” he said. I shot a quick glance at him as he continued.
“And then the train started up before she had time to get off.”
“Ah, I wondered why you got off and on again,” said the conductor. “Make sure you leave the train at the next stop, ma’am. Good day!”
He turned and left the compartment. I heard him enter the next one and call ‘tickets please!’ My companion whistled a few notes and looked up at the ceiling.
“Thank you!” I said. “I’m sure he would have fined me if you hadn’t spoken up.”
“Well, I saw the terrified look of the multiple recidivist about to be caught flash through your eyes, so I felt honour-bound to come to your aid. Damsel in distress and all that.”
I giggled.
“Are you getting off at the next stop?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, yes. I was hoping I’d finish the book by the end of the journey, but what with all these interruptions…” He raised his hands in a despairing manner.
“Then at least let me buy you a drink to compensate and thank you for coming to my aid so gallantly a moment ago,” I said.
“If you insist,” he said and for once he actually smiled pleasantly.
“And it really is about time you introduced yourself,” I said.
“After you,” he said.
“I’m Jane,” I said and offered him my hand.
“Simon,” he said and took it.
The train stopped and we got out, he first so he could help me down with smirking chivalry. As I stepped down I decided I definitely wouldn’t be telling him any time soon the truth that my chestnut-dyed hair is in fact naturally blonde.
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