Back on the train, listening once more to the clatter of the rails and the wind rushing through the windows, George was thankful of the time he had spent in the little village. John had been very welcoming, and he had spoken with a gentle and encouraging wisdom. He thought back to his time in the woods, collecting branches and sitting in meditation, and felt more at peace with his decision to go on this expedition.
His train ticket was to the port of Gorlis, a place from where he could maybe board a boat to a place with foreign names and customs, or perhaps work for a while and explore the city. It was reputed to be a rough place whose inhabitants had little time for the lazy or affected, but George hoped that he would settle in and find some enjoyment.
Outside the train George could see very little. Occasionally a tree that had grown very close to the track would whoosh by, briefly illuminated by the carriage lights, or a farmhouse in a field, whose windows glowed with warm amber, would appear in the distance. This might have been an anodyne experience, a relaxing time to rest, but rather it had a haunting quality. Why? Because in the black sheen of the glass, hovering in the reflection, was another version of himself, lit up by the carriage's stark lights, with deep and dark eyes.
George looked nervously at that spectoral twin, who looked back at him with unnerving precision, and was forced by this impression to think that perhaps failure would come upon him as quickly as the train ran on. Maybe he would find in the port that he would be cheated by people who thought him naive, or he would get lost and feel like returning home, pretending he had succeeded.
The conductor, more surly than the last, came into the carriage then to inspect tickets one last time, and scutinised George's for several moments before handing it back with a snide look in his eyes. This was the final impression to push George towards the idea of renting a room in a good hotel for the night, and the next morning going back to his little town. How quickly his mind had been changed by the night.
His train ticket was to the port of Gorlis, a place from where he could maybe board a boat to a place with foreign names and customs, or perhaps work for a while and explore the city. It was reputed to be a rough place whose inhabitants had little time for the lazy or affected, but George hoped that he would settle in and find some enjoyment.
Outside the train George could see very little. Occasionally a tree that had grown very close to the track would whoosh by, briefly illuminated by the carriage lights, or a farmhouse in a field, whose windows glowed with warm amber, would appear in the distance. This might have been an anodyne experience, a relaxing time to rest, but rather it had a haunting quality. Why? Because in the black sheen of the glass, hovering in the reflection, was another version of himself, lit up by the carriage's stark lights, with deep and dark eyes.
George looked nervously at that spectoral twin, who looked back at him with unnerving precision, and was forced by this impression to think that perhaps failure would come upon him as quickly as the train ran on. Maybe he would find in the port that he would be cheated by people who thought him naive, or he would get lost and feel like returning home, pretending he had succeeded.
The conductor, more surly than the last, came into the carriage then to inspect tickets one last time, and scutinised George's for several moments before handing it back with a snide look in his eyes. This was the final impression to push George towards the idea of renting a room in a good hotel for the night, and the next morning going back to his little town. How quickly his mind had been changed by the night.
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