Chapter 12 - The Restaurant Car
Raul felt much better after a shower. Going back into the cabin, he changed into white t-shirt, with a peach colored shirt over it and pulled up a blue jeans. He more or less live in denim 24/7. The air inside the cabin was perfumed, by the scent of the lemon grass and musk from his clothes.There is something unsettling about the smell. It has a familiarity, that took him way, back in his life. The smell engulfed him and he smiled. She had me surrounded - he thought as he adjusted his hair looking at a small mirror on the cabin wall.
The train has ample storage space, under the bed. He lifted the bed to place his backpack inside and closed it, tugged on the lock of the backpack to see if it fastened well. He drew the window curtains back, kept the pillows properly and placed the folded blanket and bed-sheet on top of it. The phone charger was kept near the mineral water bottle on the coffee table. He took a good look inside the cabin and taking a mental photograph of how the cabin looked, especially focusing on how he placed the things. That way he would know if anyone has been in his cabin while he was away.
It is a habit for him to keep a mental map of every belonging of his when he is in a new place like a hotel room, a friend's place, a new office, airport lounge or in this case the train cabin. Every time he takes anything out of his backpack, he registers it in his mind and keeps it in an orderly way. This way, he maintains a discipline. He creates minimum mess scattering things around. This is done keeping in mind that in case, if he wanted to hurry, it only took him a few seconds to pack everything in one sweep and clear out of that place.
He got out of the cabin, sliding the door shut behind him. He went to fetch the provodnitsa (Carriage Attendant) to lock the cabin door. Three cabins to his right is the conductor's cabin.
The Provodnitsa wasn't beautiful in the classical way, no flowing golden curls or ivory skin; no piercing eyes of green. She was shorter than average and certainly larger than a catwalk model, but in her ordinariness she was stunning. Something radiated from within that blue uniform that rendered her charming.
The tiny badge with red, blue and white graphics was clipped to her her navy blue overcoat. It read "Vera".
"Здравствуйте (Zdravstvuyte- Hello)" said Raul
"Здравствуйте"
"Вы можете закрыть дверь кабины?(Vy mozhete zakryt' dver' kabiny?-Can you close the cabin door?)- я собираюсь пообедать в вагоне-ресторане (ya sobirayus' poobedat' v vagone-restorane'- I am going to have lunch at the restaurant car)"
"Ok" said the provodnitsa.
Raul walked ahead, followed by provodnitsa.
Securing the door, Raul walked towards the restaurant car.
..
..
The restaurant was empty if not for a couple in their early twenties having their lunch. Rual gave them their privacy and sat two tables behind them. He didn't want to be near the door, having his lunch disturbed whenever some one walks by. Two Tables was the only distance of privacy Raul could offer the couple.
Raul flipped through the menu looking for the vegetarian section. He ordered a simple meal of Borsch, bread, dill potatoes and soup.
The large windows on the Restaurant cabin gave a very wide view of the world outside.The winter trees are iced as thickly as the Christmas cake frosting. A few days before they were rough twigs, their beauty having fallen to the ground in autumn. Today they capture the eye and raise the spirit; today they are living art, looking regal and brilliant in sun-rays. Were the bark silvery and white they might not be so pretty, for him it is the contrast of the pure white snow against the deep brown bark that perfects the scene, for his life too was a time line of contrasts.
Raul, looked at the far end of the restaurant, waiting for the food to arrive. He could see the woman through the corner of his eyes. She fiddled with the strap of her clothes and went back to playing hockey, with the fork and spoon with her food on the plate.
The thoughts will always chain you to your past. Thoughts are a vital survival mechanism for any animal to evolve. They are the index of the register that our brain keeps on every chapter in life we survived; somehow, the register named "melancholy" is thicker and with many volumes than the register named "Joyous". If brain was a library that we could walk in, " joyous" would be the one that is ignored lying in a pool of dust in some corner; melancholy would be all over the library filling up shelves and shelves with its numbered volumes.
You can't run from your past. You'll end up running in circles. Until you fall back down to the same hole you were trying to escape from, only the hole's grown deeper.
The bright restaurant, the cold snowy December winter, the romantic couple, somehow reminded him of his first official date, in his romantic life.
It all started with a phone call from an old friend.
The train has ample storage space, under the bed. He lifted the bed to place his backpack inside and closed it, tugged on the lock of the backpack to see if it fastened well. He drew the window curtains back, kept the pillows properly and placed the folded blanket and bed-sheet on top of it. The phone charger was kept near the mineral water bottle on the coffee table. He took a good look inside the cabin and taking a mental photograph of how the cabin looked, especially focusing on how he placed the things. That way he would know if anyone has been in his cabin while he was away.
It is a habit for him to keep a mental map of every belonging of his when he is in a new place like a hotel room, a friend's place, a new office, airport lounge or in this case the train cabin. Every time he takes anything out of his backpack, he registers it in his mind and keeps it in an orderly way. This way, he maintains a discipline. He creates minimum mess scattering things around. This is done keeping in mind that in case, if he wanted to hurry, it only took him a few seconds to pack everything in one sweep and clear out of that place.
He got out of the cabin, sliding the door shut behind him. He went to fetch the provodnitsa (Carriage Attendant) to lock the cabin door. Three cabins to his right is the conductor's cabin.
The Provodnitsa wasn't beautiful in the classical way, no flowing golden curls or ivory skin; no piercing eyes of green. She was shorter than average and certainly larger than a catwalk model, but in her ordinariness she was stunning. Something radiated from within that blue uniform that rendered her charming.
The tiny badge with red, blue and white graphics was clipped to her her navy blue overcoat. It read "Vera".
"Здравствуйте (Zdravstvuyte- Hello)" said Raul
"Здравствуйте"
"Вы можете закрыть дверь кабины?(Vy mozhete zakryt' dver' kabiny?-Can you close the cabin door?)- я собираюсь пообедать в вагоне-ресторане (ya sobirayus' poobedat' v vagone-restorane'- I am going to have lunch at the restaurant car)"
"Ok" said the provodnitsa.
Raul walked ahead, followed by provodnitsa.
Securing the door, Raul walked towards the restaurant car.
..
..
The restaurant was empty if not for a couple in their early twenties having their lunch. Rual gave them their privacy and sat two tables behind them. He didn't want to be near the door, having his lunch disturbed whenever some one walks by. Two Tables was the only distance of privacy Raul could offer the couple.
Raul flipped through the menu looking for the vegetarian section. He ordered a simple meal of Borsch, bread, dill potatoes and soup.
The large windows on the Restaurant cabin gave a very wide view of the world outside.The winter trees are iced as thickly as the Christmas cake frosting. A few days before they were rough twigs, their beauty having fallen to the ground in autumn. Today they capture the eye and raise the spirit; today they are living art, looking regal and brilliant in sun-rays. Were the bark silvery and white they might not be so pretty, for him it is the contrast of the pure white snow against the deep brown bark that perfects the scene, for his life too was a time line of contrasts.
Raul, looked at the far end of the restaurant, waiting for the food to arrive. He could see the woman through the corner of his eyes. She fiddled with the strap of her clothes and went back to playing hockey, with the fork and spoon with her food on the plate.
The thoughts will always chain you to your past. Thoughts are a vital survival mechanism for any animal to evolve. They are the index of the register that our brain keeps on every chapter in life we survived; somehow, the register named "melancholy" is thicker and with many volumes than the register named "Joyous". If brain was a library that we could walk in, " joyous" would be the one that is ignored lying in a pool of dust in some corner; melancholy would be all over the library filling up shelves and shelves with its numbered volumes.
You can't run from your past. You'll end up running in circles. Until you fall back down to the same hole you were trying to escape from, only the hole's grown deeper.
The bright restaurant, the cold snowy December winter, the romantic couple, somehow reminded him of his first official date, in his romantic life.
It all started with a phone call from an old friend.
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