This Is This

Chapter 28. John and Caroline
Map

The train to Austria came and we got on. It was hot so I kept a bottle of water down in my seat and hoisted my rucksack upon to the luggage rack. A couple in their early twenties stumbled into the compartment with more rucksacks.

“Um…” said the long-haired male, “…”

This is a ritualistic call of confusion and determination. Roughly translated, it means “I may not speak your language, but here goes…” 

I didn’t have to ask them if they were English. They were both sunburnt, they had long black hair, looked like hippies and were carrying bags of vegetables. Like me, only without the groceries and mine was light brown.

“Yes?” I asked them.

“Are these seats reserved?” she asked, pointing to the remaining two empty seats.

“No, go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“We can sit here, John,” she said to her companion.

The train pulled out of the station like a forlorn sigh as we set away from Greece.

When they were settled in, we asked each other the usual questions. They had been to Czechoslovakia and were going to Amsterdam before returning home to England.

“Where are you going?” she asked. Her name was Caroline.

“I don’t know,” I said, but thinking: “Where isn’t there Claus?”

“What?” said Claus, who was listening, apparently shocked that I had not made plans on the hope of sticking with him.

“Well,” I said, “I’m heading for Vienna, but… I’m not sure yet.”

They nodded.

“Oh, I’m sorry. This,” I said, “is Claus.”

John laughed, waved and said, “Hi, Claus.”

Claus returned an awkward smile. Seeing him feel uncomfortable with us after his platform blunder and Danish alienation aroused in me a guilt-free sadistic pleasure. I was driven by a darker force to prolong the agony.

“Claus is going to Vienna,” I said.

The couple nodded and looked at him. He nodded back and gave them the same smile. I turned away from Claus to face Caroline.

“So how are you getting to Amsterdam?”

“We change at Vienna. So we should be in Amsterdam at midday the day after tomorrow.”

“Have you seen a newspaper lately?” I asked them both.

“No,” said John, sitting up. “What’s happening?”

“I’m asking.”

“I haven’t seen anything for over a week. We could be at war for all I know.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” said Caroline.

Claus laughed. We all looked at him. He was compelled to say something. I was hoping he would screw up.

“England is crazy,” he said.

You’re doing fine, I thought, keep going. We continued to look at him.

“In what way?” John asked, sounding offensively intrigued.

“Well,” Claus said, trying to explain, “they’re so- conservative.”

Brilliant. Right in it. I sat back and watched.

“Sorry?” asked Caroline.

“Well they are.”

“How? In what way?” asked John again.

“They don’t like change, really.”

I stepped in. “We know what conservative means. How is England conservative?”

My tone of voice let him know he was not making friends.

“I don’t know. I can’t think of an example now.”

We dismissed the statement and dismissed Claus who excused himself to go to the toilet.

After he left, John said, “So how long have you two been travelling together?”

“Who?”

“You and Claus.”

“We’re not travelling together.” I was quick to correct him. “God no. Could you think of a worse travelling companion? Did you really think- Does it look like we’re together?”

It  worried me. I don’t consider myself an image-conscious person (who does?), but hanging around with him could damage any social prospects.

“No, not really,” said John, “I wish I’d known. I would have become offensive.”

“Next time,” I assured him.

John was twenty one and was studying music at Cambridge and had several friends who were joining MI6, Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service. He said there was a lot of that going on at the colleges. Caroline was nineteen and studying English literature at the polytechnic there.

They travelled well together. Even though they were a couple, I was proof that they didn’t close up to each other. I guess they realised that travelling involves opening up. They were the opposite to Hansel and Gretel on the Istanbul-Thessaloniki run. I told them I was eighteen and had just left school.

“How old is Claus?” asked Caroline.

I told them he was twenty, which he was, and they both looked surprised.

I was beginning to feel twinges of sympathy for the pitiful Dane, which is not to say I liked him.

———

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