The train

In a slow walk, head tilted forward and arms limp along his body, the man moved through the main hall of Amsterdam's Central Station. His glasses threatened to fall off his nose with every movement, but just in time he managed to prevent that with his right hand. With his eyes almost squeezed shut, he hurried to platform 8. Nervously, once he reached the top of the platform, he walked towards the waiting train. But just before he was about to board, his gaze fell on the board indicating the time of departure and the train's final destination.

Startled, he returned to the station hall. Without a moment's pause, he ran up another escalator and ended up on platform 6. Wrong again. He stampeded. With a pale face and some drops of sweat on his grey head, he returned to the station hall. The man's panic increased. What to do if he missed the last train to his hometown Vleuten? He stopped for a moment and looked around nervously. On the sign at platform 11, he saw that the last train to Vleuten would leave at 22:02. He had 15 seconds left, but surely the distance to the train was at least 20 seconds. With sometimes a long stride, sometimes a short one, he walked towards the train like a convulsive fast walker. He saw that the conductor was already moving the whistle slowly towards his mouth. With waving arms, he tried to get the conductor's attention. The last few metres were weighing him down.

He watched the conductor inhale. He was almost there. At the moment of the whistle, all the doors automatically closed, except the one near the man with the whistle in his hand. Tired, the man stood face to face with the conductor. The conductor had already seen the man coming and now even seemed to take a step aside to let him board. But that was pretence, because instead the conductor bent back slightly and picked up a plate, which the conductor held in front of the panting man. "That's too bad!", the man read and watched the smiling conductor, who was even still waving, slowly leave with the last train to Vleuten.

'Dam….', roared the man on the platform. He was furious! Angry! He jumped onto the rails and shouted at anyone who would hear.'.Fcking railways! F.cking railways! Bunch of ..bastards!' With furious movements, he thrashed wildly. He kicked furiously against a freight wagon. Along the way, he occasionally hit a dustbin. 'F.cking Railways!' , he roared again, this time in the main station concourse, hitting a yellow departure time board with his right fist. He had not quite calmed down yet. Even outside the station, on Station Square, he was still reacting. With tremendous force, he kicked an empty beer can into the air. The can landed exactly in a dustbin. He did not realise that some passers-by were applauding him. 'F.ck all of you!" he shouted in the direction of the station building. With pain in his back and his head down, he entered the first pub he came across on his way to the city centre. He felt he needed a few drinks to calm himself down a bit.

- You look tired and confused, sir.

- Yes, that knock...the last train...Vleuten. If I take that...if I... Just pour me a drink. I need to unwind for a while. (Why doesn't the writer have the barman pour me a drink, that's much more usual, he thought).

- A young one, please.

- Just fill one more. I'll send the bill to the f.cking railways. Bastards they are, sir. Cheeky, rude bastards.

- Ah yes, sir. The train runs or the train doesn't run.

- Gr...

(RADIO)

'And then we interrupt this broadcast for an important piece of news that has just reached us. Reuters reports to us that on the Amsterdam-Utrecht train route, near Vleuten, a train has derailed and then gone into the Amsterdam–Rhine Canal. This was reportedly the last train to leave Amsterdam for Vleuten. At two minutes past ten, I hear just now. According to the latest information, there would be no survivors as the doors remained locked. We will keep you informed as soon as we know more.'

The man in the café looked startled and puzzled.

- 'The last train to Vleuten...no survivors?! Bartender! Here, take it. Two hundred guilders. Everyone here, have a drink. And here...another five hundred guilders. Can I get two bottles of gin for that? Take it. The astonished barman looked at the money and handed the man four bottles of chilled gin.

- Have fun everyone!!!

Roaring and drinking, the man left the café. He felt supreme and felt he could take on the whole world.

'Long live the railways!' With his face straight up, as if worshipping some kind of God, he danced towards a well-known square in the capital, Dam Square.

'Long live the conductors and the railways!' While shouting, he reached Dam Square. 'Trains, trains...chuku, chuku,chuku!' Already chuku, chuku, chukund he ran around. 'Boarding, let's go! Trains, joohoo!' Bystanders, especially foreign tourists, did find the man's act admirable. One rather fat American woman even put her little daughter on the man's back, who was now moving around with her back arched and on all fours. A fat American man, the girl's father, happily walked around with the video camera to capture the spectacle.

Later that evening, the man fell asleep on Dam Square. He had drunk two bottles of gin. Muggy from drink and exertion, he dreamt about all the trains he was not in. All trains that went off the bridge, collided with other trains or just caught fire. The next day, he walked towards the station with swaying movements and a crooked back. In the main hall, he dropped to his knees and gave a big thank you to the railways. He decided to spend the rest of his life at the station and never leave again. Out of gratitude.