where the fence has been loosened and an impression dug into the stone-flecked earth. Gheorghe sends Daniel through on his belly, before throwing his duffel over the fence and crawling under himself. They brush themselves off and look around for station guards.
It takes them an hour of stumbling around in the dark, of ducking every time they hear a noise, of giving a wide berth to the cones of yellow light that stand, like sentinels, every forty or fifty metres. Finally, they find an idling freight train pointed west. They wander up and down the track until they find a car with its siding left slightly ajar. Gheorghe places both hands on a metal door and pulls, causing the sudden, sharp screech of metal on metal.
They freeze, waiting to see if the noise will bring a guard. “All right,” Gheorghe says, and he pulls himself up the siding rail and steps through the darkened aperture. Daniel hears the thump of a falling body, and he sees potatoes skitter out of the siding and land on the tops of his feet. He hoists himself up, and for the next little while the two men mould high-backed seats out of mounds of seed potatoes. When this is done, Gheorghe stretches out, his hands clasped behind his head.
“So now we enjoy the ride. At least we aren’t going to go hungry, eh, Dani?”
Daniel chuckles weakly, trying desperately to hide the thick, dulling fatigue that has overtaken him. The train begins to vibrate, and loose potatoes, softened and covered with eyes, begin bouncing against the metal floor. Daniel crawls to the siding and peers out. The rail station is moving now. Soon, the city is sliding past, the tenements a dark brown blur, and Daniel is reminded of the battered apartment where he’d lived with his mother and the large family of his uncle Stefan. Farther into the city, they pass another perforated building, this one located right near the tracks. Pinprick lights beam from every other window, and the thought that every light may represent a story like his own makes him feel sad, and short of breath, and craving a glass of tuica
.
Loose potatoes are thrumming against the floor of the freight car, producing a noise like the hammering of an old washing machine. Daniel crawls around the floor, throwing errant potatoes back onto the pile so as to reduce the noise, only to find that every time he adds a potato, three new ones loosen. He gives up and returns to his space near the doorway. It is impossible to get comfortable—the floor is covered in small ridges, and the car is fumy with the dull methane odour of potatoes unearthed too long ago. When he calls out something to Gheorghe, his voice is a comic warble. Gheorghe shrugs, indicating he can’t understand him, so Daniel pulls out one of the vodka bottles and crawls across the car to hand it to Gheorghe.
Gheorghe beams, and yells, “This should keep us warm, eh, Dani?”
Daniel nods, and returns to his spot near the siding. There he spins open the top on the other bottle and takes his first appreciative glug; compared with tuica it tastes like tap water. He takes another, deeper drink from the bottle, and soon finds that thealcohol decreases the intensity of the vibrations travelling up through his spine and neck, and the sensation of cold transmitting through the cloth of his pants. After a time, his head begins to throb, though it does so pleasantly, the pressure behind his eyes blocking out the smell and the noise in the rail car. The pain in his joints recedes, and he feels warmer. He drinks more, and when the bottle is half gone he even starts to feel a little happy, for he is blearily imagining the life that he’ll have in America—strolls taken in parks, glasses of perked coffee had in fancy cafés, Hollywood films watched in red-curtained cinemas. He imagines comfort, and autumn leaves, and zoos, yet as he drifts closer and closer to sleep, those images bend, and waver, and darken, such that by the time he’s asleep his dreams have turned to dogs
It takes them an hour of stumbling around in the dark, of ducking every time they hear a noise, of giving a wide berth to the cones of yellow light that stand, like sentinels, every forty or fifty metres. Finally, they find an idling freight train pointed west. They wander up and down the track until they find a car with its siding left slightly ajar. Gheorghe places both hands on a metal door and pulls, causing the sudden, sharp screech of metal on metal.
They freeze, waiting to see if the noise will bring a guard. “All right,” Gheorghe says, and he pulls himself up the siding rail and steps through the darkened aperture. Daniel hears the thump of a falling body, and he sees potatoes skitter out of the siding and land on the tops of his feet. He hoists himself up, and for the next little while the two men mould high-backed seats out of mounds of seed potatoes. When this is done, Gheorghe stretches out, his hands clasped behind his head.
“So now we enjoy the ride. At least we aren’t going to go hungry, eh, Dani?”
Daniel chuckles weakly, trying desperately to hide the thick, dulling fatigue that has overtaken him. The train begins to vibrate, and loose potatoes, softened and covered with eyes, begin bouncing against the metal floor. Daniel crawls to the siding and peers out. The rail station is moving now. Soon, the city is sliding past, the tenements a dark brown blur, and Daniel is reminded of the battered apartment where he’d lived with his mother and the large family of his uncle Stefan. Farther into the city, they pass another perforated building, this one located right near the tracks. Pinprick lights beam from every other window, and the thought that every light may represent a story like his own makes him feel sad, and short of breath, and craving a glass of tuica
.
Loose potatoes are thrumming against the floor of the freight car, producing a noise like the hammering of an old washing machine. Daniel crawls around the floor, throwing errant potatoes back onto the pile so as to reduce the noise, only to find that every time he adds a potato, three new ones loosen. He gives up and returns to his space near the doorway. It is impossible to get comfortable—the floor is covered in small ridges, and the car is fumy with the dull methane odour of potatoes unearthed too long ago. When he calls out something to Gheorghe, his voice is a comic warble. Gheorghe shrugs, indicating he can’t understand him, so Daniel pulls out one of the vodka bottles and crawls across the car to hand it to Gheorghe.
Gheorghe beams, and yells, “This should keep us warm, eh, Dani?”
Daniel nods, and returns to his spot near the siding. There he spins open the top on the other bottle and takes his first appreciative glug; compared with tuica it tastes like tap water. He takes another, deeper drink from the bottle, and soon finds that thealcohol decreases the intensity of the vibrations travelling up through his spine and neck, and the sensation of cold transmitting through the cloth of his pants. After a time, his head begins to throb, though it does so pleasantly, the pressure behind his eyes blocking out the smell and the noise in the rail car. The pain in his joints recedes, and he feels warmer. He drinks more, and when the bottle is half gone he even starts to feel a little happy, for he is blearily imagining the life that he’ll have in America—strolls taken in parks, glasses of perked coffee had in fancy cafés, Hollywood films watched in red-curtained cinemas. He imagines comfort, and autumn leaves, and zoos, yet as he drifts closer and closer to sleep, those images bend, and waver, and darken, such that by the time he’s asleep his dreams have turned to dogs
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