The Train Was On Time Read Online Free PDF Page A

was lying farther to the southeast. “Kherson,” he said, “that’s where we were last, and now we’re moving farther back, probably as far as Lvov or right into the Hungarian Carpathians. The front’s collapsing in Nikopol—I guess you heard that on the news, eh? They’re wading through the mud, a retreat through mud! Must be a madhouse, all the vehicles get stuck, and when three happen to get stuck one behind the other everything on the road behind them has had it, there’s no going back and no going forward, and they blow up the lot … they blow up the lot, and everyone has to foot-slog it, the generals too, I hope. But I bet they get flown out.… They ought to go on foot, on foot like the Führer’s beloved infantry. Are you with the infantry?”
    “Yes,” said Andreas. He had not taken in much. His gaze was resting almost tenderly on this section of the map, it wasyellowish-white with only four black dots, one big fat one: Lvov, and one slightly smaller: Cernauti, and two very little ones: Kolomyya and Stanislav.
    “Let me keep the map,” he said huskily, “let me keep it,” without looking at the other man. He could not bear to part with the map, and he trembled at the thought that the man might say no. Many people are like that, an object suddenly becomes valuable to them because someone else would like to have it. An object that the very next moment they might throw away becomes precious and valuable and they wouldn’t dream of selling it, just because someone else would like to own it and use it.
    Many people are like that, but the unshaven soldier wasn’t.
    “Sure,” he said, surprised, “it’s not worth anything. Twenty pfennigs. Besides, it’s an old one. Where’re you heading for anyway?”
    “Nikopol,” said Andreas, and again he was aware of that appalling void as he uttered the word, he felt as if he had cheated his companion. He dared not look at him.
    “Well, by the time you get down there Nikopol will be gone, maybe Kishinev … that’s as far as you’ll get.”
    “Think so?” Andreas asked. Kishinev didn’t mean anything to him either.
    “Sure. Maybe even Kolomyya,” laughed the man. “How long will it take you to get down there? Let’s see. Tomorrow morning Breslau. Tomorrow night Przemysl. Thursday, Friday night, maybe sooner. Then: Lvov. Let’s see, Saturday evening I’ll be in Kolomyya; you’ll need a few days longer, another week if you’re smart, in a week they’ll have left Nikopol, in a week Nikopol will be gone for good as far as we’re concerned.”
    Saturday, Andreas thought. Saturday feels quite safe, no emptiness there. Saturday I’ll still be alive. He hadn’t dared think that close. Now he understood why his heart had been silent when he thought in months, let alone years. That hadbeen a leap, far far beyond the goal, a shot in the void that had no echo, into the no-man’s-land that no longer existed for him. It’s quite close, the end is staggeringly close. Saturday. A fierce, exquisite, painful vibration. Saturday I’ll still be alive, all of Saturday. Three more days. But by Saturday evening this fellow plans to be in Kolomyya, so I should be in Cernauti by late Saturday night, and it isn’t going to be in Cernauti but between Lvov and Cernauti, and not Saturday. Sunday: he thought suddenly. Nothing … not much … a gentle, very, very sad and uncertain feeling. On Sunday morning I’m going to die between Lvov and Cernauti.
    Now for the first time he looked at his unshaven friend. He was shocked by his face, chalk-white under the black stubble. And there was fear in the eyes. Yet he’s going to a repair depot and not to the front, thought Andreas. Why this fear, why this sorrow? This was more than just a hangover. Now he looked the man straight in the eye, and he was even more shocked by that yawning abyss of despair. This was more than just fear and emptiness, something ghastly was draining him, and he knew why the man had to