Back

Rails, buildings, smaller buildings, trees, grass, fences, dots, longer dots, dragging lines, all moving faster and faster into a blurry running-away foxtrot. Leaving Vienna Central Station. Mel closed her eyes to lose the dizzy image and laid her head back into the cosy seatback. 

Coffee. She hoped the smell was more than a false brain trigger to her nose. She had slept enough and still felt sleepy. And hey, eighteen hours on a stinky bus crossing stinky borders in a stinky fog that smelled like despair. She had left her Plovdiv apartment after a short and lonely night to get to the bus station. And after crossing half-Bulgaria and unknown portions of Serbia, Slovenia, Croatia and Hungary, Mel had finally arrived in Vienna at about midnight. A great time to wander in a spooky neighborhood following the Google lady’s instructions to turn here or there on a freezingly unwelcoming December night. 

“Guten Tag, Madam!'' Coffee, tea?” Oh my, he was real! A chubby young fellow, blond, as one might have expected, in a red-and-white uniform and, yes, he was offering the best-smelling coffee in the whole world! “Thank you!”, she said, meaning he could keep the change, and grabbed the cup plus some packs of sugar and a coffee creamer.

She had a long way to Lisbon. And she felt good about it. That trip. She felt good about it. First Munich, then a change in Karlsruhe, an hour in Stuttgart and a train to Paris. She shrunk into the huge scarf she was using as a blanket. Paris. The first place where she would meet people. People she knew. She had arranged to spend the night with an old friend from school. Strangely, the idea of seeing a familiar face… She did not feel that good about it.  

Mel was never married. In her younger years, she had a couple of serious relationships and a series of not-so-serious encounters quite hard to trace in number and cause. She knew she was a drama queen. Always in love, always with a heart irreparably broken, most often by herself. Getting close to her thirties, she felt tired and longing to settle down. If others were doing it, motherhood had to be the trick to find peace. She felt ready for family business and family business seemed ready for her. She met Dan, who was a nice guy, although no one saw it that way, and in a couple of months, they were pregnant. A sign Mel was on the right track. Of course, she did not suddenly evolve into a Zen guru of stability and her drama-queen instincts kept leading her. And, of course, Dan was just as unnince as everyone had seen him be. 

The train stopped in Salzburg. She could see nothing from the station but felt excited. The last time she was here, Salzburg was charming. A man about thirty-five sat opposite her nodding for a “hi”. In a blue business suit with a hiking jacket over it, he looked confident and easy-going, like all western people looked to Bulgarians. The landscape started moving again. The man opened a laptop on his knees, although there was a table between him and Mel. Those easy-going super confident western people… Mel opened her book and shrunk deeper in the blanket. 

Stuttgart was grey. Both the station and the people. Mel got another coffee and a sandwich but did not feel like eating. It was too cold and gray. She went out of the station for a cigarette. 

The train to Paris was dark-blue. Or at least that was how she felt about it. Sensing the world in colors had always been her way to process the inexplicable feelings it gave her. It was dark blue and that was good. Mel thought she could read, the ride would take hours. But she did not. The people around her and her sleepy eyes distracted her. Surprisingly, not all the people on the train spoke French. In fact, she was not quite able to distinguish the languages. The blond girl in the front seat looked like a fifteen-year-old going home after school. Mel’s two girls were younger, but she thought that someday they might be traveling on some train, feeling confident and easy-going like that western girl. Not because of the West, but because of the new. The new times where her West and East would be historical notions. In fact, Mel was new. Right there, in her cosy train seat and her huge blanket-scarf, napping peacefully on a foreign train and feeling not tense at all. 

Her phone beeped. “Mel, darling, leaving the office to meet you! Can’t wait!”. Nadia. The familiar face she was unsure about. Mel smiled. Yes, she was meeting someone too, she was not the only odd individual on that even train! And when the train stopped at Gare du Nord and everyone headed out, she was eager to see a familiar face. 

Nadia allowed her to smoke at the kitchen window so they could chat while cooking. Mel had never been to Nadia’s place before, all those fifteen years since she moved to France. It was small and had no balcony. The living room windows were huge and the dim-lighted Parisian streets felt Bohemian. 

“So, Lisbon? Will you finally tell me?”

Nadia was curious about the trip and Mel had promised to tell. 

“You know, I have always wanted to go there. Since university.”, Mel said. She had studied Portuguese literature.    

“I see… We’ll need wine. Paul, time for some red! Glasses too, please!”

Her husband, just as small in size and just as cosy-feeling as Nadia, brought a bottle, two different glasses and two beers, just in case. 

“Going to the bakery, ladies. Don’t drink the beers, I’m back in no time! And I want to hear the trip story!”

The apartment door closed and they looked at each other. Mel was ready to talk.

“I will be quick as it may sound strange. But you know me. I’m strange.”

Nadia laughed. 

“Yes, dear. At least you used to be. In the nicest possible way, of course!”

“So, you know, I was not born in Plovdiv. We moved there from Asenovgrad when I was five.”

“Yes, everyone knows. Asenovgrad is the place and Plovdiv is just a stinky backyard. That’s what you always say.”

They both laughed. Not because Asenovgrad was twenty times smaller than Plovdiv, the second-largest city in Bulgaria. But because Mel needed a laugh.

“So back there, in Asenovgrad, I had a friend. Jason. He lived in the next building. In fact, it appeared he lived in my building, on the second floor. I was on the tenth.”

“The tenth? Weren’t you afraid of heights?”

“Oh, yes, probably since then, who knows. So, Jason, all those years I have had only vague memories, just pieces, you know. Some parts are like flashbacks, bright and clear. I remember he had black wavy hair, his eyes were brown. I remember his face so clearly as if I see him grown-up.”

“Wait, didn’t you say you were five when you moved? He must have been the same age, right? A baby boy, Mel!”

“I know, I told you it was strange. But wait. Back then, we played together. I remember us in front of the building, running between the parked cars. I remember us talking. I don’t know what, just talking. I remember once we were bored. I offered to go to see my grandparents who lived in Plovdiv. I told him I knew the way, I thought I had memorized it while traveling with my parents. So we left.” 

“What? Two five-year-olds on a 30-kilometre walk?”

“Yes! You know how kids are.”

Nadia did not have kids. Mel felt uncomfortable.

“Some neighbor must have seen us in the street and brought us back home. But that is one of my clearest memories. The other one is me leaving for Plovdiv. Or rather, the day before. We both knew I was leaving. So we did not speak, we felt sad. I remember his eyes. Blaming me. I felt so guilty.”

Mel made a pause. Nadia asked nothing.

“You know, I still remember that feeling. And now, when I am forty, and I feel completely lost because of so many things I do not want to talk about, now, I still feel guilty. Maybe not for leaving that boy over thirty years ago. But… You know, I don’t know why. And I don’t know why I have not forgotten his dark, blaming eyes.”

“Did you see him again?”

“No.”

“And let me guess. Oh, no, Mel, you are searching for him in Lisbon, right?”

“No. I found him in Lisbon. I am going to see him. He is waiting for me.”

Nadia said nothing, just her wide-open eyes showed her brain was working on it.

“Ok. I see. It makes sense, actually.”, she finally said while leaving her glass back on the table, “Mel, tell me, please tell me. What happened? Did Dan come back? Something with your parents?”

“Nadia, no, nothing happened. Nothing in particular, really. I just… I feel so lost, I have been feeling lost. And so wrong, and guilty. I don’t know why. I had to do something, I just had to do something. And that memory… Why was it there? So one day I just knew. I had to find him, get back to him. Maybe I had promised to get back to him and never did, I don’t know. Maybe he had to be in my life and he was not.”

“Mel, stop, stop. Just think. You were five, girl, five! You were not real people back then! That is not a real bond!”

Mel wanted to object. But just waved her hands and found no words. Nadia had to say something.

“Fine, I understand. Maybe it’s not that crazy. A trip back to yourself rather than to this guy, this way I can get it.” She paused. “And still. Who is he now? Is it safe to see him? Are you sure he is the same person?”

“Yes. I searched for him - Internet, Facebook, old acquaintances from Asenovgrad. I found out he had moved to Portugal with his family when he was twelve. It took a week or two to find him. Quite fast, ah? And I wrote to him. He responded. We shared details about the past. First, he seemed not to remember me. Then he did. And when he did, he stopped writing for four days. Strange, don’t you think?”

“Strange… or suspicious.”

“Come on, he stopped writing because he was still mad at me.”

“Mel, that’s stupid.”

“It’s not! People are people even at five. If I can feel guilty 35 years later, then he can feel mad too, why not?”

“Ok, if you say so.”

“So, eventually he wrote again. And we decided to meet. And now, that will sound strange. I don’t know what he looks like.”

“You don’t? Facebook, internet?”

“Yes. But he posted no pictures of himself. Just places, jokes, articles, stuff like that. Not a single picture of himself.”

“Wow! Psycho alarm, dear…”

Mel gave her an I-knew-you-would-say-that-and-I-don’t-care smile.

“Is he married?”, Nadia asked.

“Well, yes. But they separated. He has a son.”

“How convenient!”

“Nadia, I am meeting him! Don’t talk me out. I am halfway there, you see. I left the girls with my mother and just took the train. Do you think I hesitate at all now?”

The door opened. Paul rushed in with a heavenly-smelling bag from the bakery. 

“Alright, I am here! Give me that beer and let’s listen to the Lisbon mystery!”

Nadia and Mel said nothing. 

The next morning was cold. Walking along the platform, Mel remembered the warmth of Nadia’s coffee. And Nadia’s long hug at the metro while she was promising to call or text every two hours. The dark-blue train arrived. Right on time, right in place. Western punctuality. Buildings, dots, lines, running away foxtrot… Now it looked like a Renoir with the raindrops melting on the train window. Mel had to arrive in Hendaye, the Spanish border, in the late afternoon. And then, the night train to Lisbon. 

French police were checking the trains with dogs. Regular checks. Cute dogs, Mel thought and was about to say it when the cute dog stopped next to a young man two seats from her. The police lady asked him to take his bags and follow her. Mel froze and thought she had a croissant in her bag. She prayed that police dogs would not eat people because of croissants in their bags. 

The landscape was impossible. With the TGV and about 300 kilometers per hour, one can only imagine. 

Hendaye. It was about 20 degrees. Mel took off her winter jacket and the blanket scarf and put them on the suitcase. Two hours to wait. The right time to check on her mother and the girls. No answer. She would try later.

The night train to Lisbon was light-green. It was a Spanish train, in fact. The dark-blue French luxury was missing, and so was the red-and-white Austrian comfort. But it felt more like home. Like the gray-purple dusty trains in Bulgaria. Although that one was clean. Mel found her seat. She did not want to pay for a sleeping car. And she was not planning to sleep. Five minutes to go. Enough time to fill in the trip details in her global train pass, to prepare the book she had fifty pages left from and one more, and text Nadia: “Lisbon, I am coming!”

She did not wake up until somewhere after the border when the train guard asked for her ticket. “I’m in Spain”, she thought and fell asleep again. Somewhere after the Portuguese border, the train guard checked her ticket again. Mel only realized she was in Portugal when the train stopped. She looked out. It was dark and there was no station. Then she saw car lights in the distance and three police officers dragging a man who was shouting “Idiots! let me back on that train, idiots” in Portuguese. 

The train guard came in again.

“Everything is fine, we are leaving in a minute, an hour to Coimbra! An hour to Coimbra, everything is fine, we are leaving!”

Fine then. She could sleep some more.

When she finally woke up, the sky was tender, like the lilac in her garden on an April morning. She was not aware of the directions but she knew the sun was rising from Lisbon. Fifty minutes to Lisbon. It felt chilly on the train, and the air looked cristal outside. That feeling in her stomach... She was almost there! She jumped from her seat, opened her handbag to check if everything she needed was there and went to the bathroom. Could she look prettier at forty and after a night on a train?

Twenty minutes to Lisbon. It was morning in Bulgaria, she could try again. 

“Hey, baby! Where are you, is everything fine?”, she heard. Her mom did not sound sleepy at all.

“Yes, perfect, almost arriving. How are the girls?”

“Sleeping, we are great here, don’t worry.”

Mel felt strange. It was time.

“Mom, I want to tell you why I am here.”

And she told her. She had never asked her mother about Jason, even if she could have helped her find him. But she would know, she would know about the mess, the lost feeling and the sadness. And she would be disappointed. 

“So that’s it. I am here to see him. After all those years, to go back to him and stop feeling guilty. I feel good, I feel great about it. Mom, say something.”

Her mother had not spoken, just listened. And now, she was just breathing. Not a word.

“Mom, please, I need a word from you!”

“Mel, baby”, Her voice was trembling, as if she would cry. “ I don’t know how to… I am not sure how… Mel, baby, you never had a friend Jason back in Asenovgrad.”

Mel froze. One, two, three, a minute.

“Maybe you don’t remember, you… That was a long time ago. You forgot.”

“I remember, baby, you had no friend Jason back in Asenovgrad. You never played with a boy from the building. I do remember, baby.”

Mel shut the phone and threw it on the seat as if it would explode in her hand. 

The train slowly approached Santa Apolonia station. It was 7:30 in the morning, the sun was bright and the world was yellow. She could see the Tejo river in the distance as if the train would just slide on it and keep going. Mel stood up, put the books back in the suitcase, the notebook and the pack of peanuts back in her handbag and fixed her hair. Her phone was still lying on the seat behind her when she stepped off the train. 

Her brain was silent but her feet were moving. Slow but confident. She walked along the train, all the cars, plus the engine. And when the train ended, she kept walking, across the hall, to the Tejo. 

And then she saw him. 

“Mel! It’s you! Hey, it’s me… It’s me, Mel.”

She looked into his eyes. And they were deep brown. Just the way she remembered. 

“I am sorry!”, she said.

“You came back. You did.”

“It took me so long…”

He took her suitcase and she felt his hand. Just the way she remembered. Then she touched his hair and his nose. He smiled. And in a second, she was in his arms, feeling his breath in her ear, the warmth of his neck, his fingers caressing her back. 

And she felt right.