Journey by Moonlight

“That’s interesting. Perhaps you no longer swoon at the sight of a Fra Angelico or a Bel Paese because you’ve been to Italy so often. But I still feel I am committing a mortal sin at every station where we don’t get off. There’s nothing more frivolous than travelling by train. One should go on foot, or rather in a mail-coach, like Goethe. Take me, for example. I’ve been to Tuscany, but I haven’t really been there. Oh yes, I travelled past Arezzo, and Siena was somewhere nearby, and I never went there. Who knows if I will ever get to Siena if I don’t go there now?”

“Tell me: when you were at home you never showed what a snob you are. What does it matter if you don’t get to see the Siena Primitives?”

“Who wants to see the Siena Primitives?”

“What else would you want to do there?”

“What do I know? If I knew, perhaps it wouldn’t be so exciting. But just to say the name Siena gives me the feeling that I might stumble across something there that would make everything all right.”

“You’re daft. That’s the problem.”

“Perhaps. And I’m hungry. Have you got anything to eat?”

“Mihály, it’s appalling how much you’ve been eating since we came to Italy. And you’ve only just had breakfast.”

The train pulled in to a station called Terontola.

“I’ll get out here and have a coffee.”

“Don’t get off. You’re not an Italian. The train might start at any moment.”

“Of course it won’t. It always stands for a quarter-of-an-hour at every station. Cheers. God bless.”

“Bye, silly monkey. Do write to me.”

Mihály left the train, ordered a coffee, and, while the espresso machine coaxed the marvellous steaming liquid out of itself, drop by drop, he began to chat with a local about the sights of Perugia. Finally he drank the coffee.

“Come, quickly,” said the Italian, “the train’s going.”

By the time they got there the train was half way out of the station. Mihály just managed to clamber onto the last coach. This was an old-fashioned third-class carriage, with no corridor. Every compartment was a separate world.

“Never mind,” he thought. “I’ll move up to the front at the next station.”

“Will this be your first visit to Perugia?” asked the friendly native.

“To Perugia? I’m not going to Perugia, unfortunately.”

“Then you must be going on to Ancona. That’s not a good idea. Stop off at Perugia. It is a very old city.”

“But I’m heading for Rome.”

“For Roma? You are joking.”

“I’m what?” asked Mihály, thinking he must have misheard the word in Italian.

“Joking,” shouted the Italian. “This train doesn’t go to Roma. My, what a witty fellow!” (using the appropriate idiom).

“And why shouldn’t this train go to Rome? I got on at Florence with my wife. It said Rome on it.”

“But that wasn’t this train,” the Italian replied with glee, as if this was the greatest joke of his life. “The train to Roma went earlier. This is the Perugia-Ancona train. The line forks at Terontola. Wonderful! And the signora is happily on her way to Roma.”

“Terrific,” replied Mihály, and stared helplessly out of the window at Lake Trasimene, as if an answer might come paddling across it towards him.

When he had taken his cheque and passport the night before he had thought — of course, not really seriously — that they might perhaps find themselves separated during the journey. When he got off at Terontola it had again flitted across his mind that he might leave Erzsi to continue on the train. But now that it had really happened he was amazed and disturbed. But at all events — it had happened!

“And what will you do now?” urged the Italian.

“I shall get off at the next station.”

“But this is an express. It doesn’t stop before Perugia.”

“Then I’ll get off at Perugia.”

“Didn’t I just say you were going to Perugia? You’ll get there, no problem. A very old city. And you must visit the surrounding countryside.”

“Great,” thought Mihály. “I’m on my way to Perugia. But what will Erzsi do? Probably go on to Rome and wait there for the following train. But she might also get off at the next station. Perhaps she’ll go back to Terontola. And she won’t find me there. It won’t be easy for her to work out that I left on the Perugia train.

“Yes, that’ll fox her. So if I now get off at Perugia, it’ll certainly be a day or two before anybody finds me. It will take even longer if she doesn’t stop in Perugia but carries on from there on God knows what line.

“Lucky that I’ve got my passport with me. Luggage? I’ll buy myself a shirt and whatnot — underwear is good and cheap in Italy. I was going to buy some anyway. And money … how are we off for money?”

He took out his wallet and in it discovered his National Bank lire cheque.

“Of course, last night! … I’ll change it in Perugia, there must be a bank there that will take it.”

He snuggled into his corner and fell deeply asleep. The friendly Italian woke him when they reached Perugia.

PART TWO IN HIDING

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright

In the forests of the night …

WILLIAM BLAKE

VII