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Archive for February 2, 2011
Orient Express by Peter Pogany
Feb 2nd
The train started with a jolt. It was soon out of the Gare de l’Est and its flickering red and white lights miraculously knew their way among the maze of rails, choosing the pair that headed toward Istanbul — the final destination.
In the waning afternoon one could still see inside the decrepit apartment houses that fringed the route. Repulsed by the shabbiness, the Pullmans gathered momentum.
“A-way, a-way from hopeless poverty,” the discretely clattering wheels chanted; “we must leave toil and tribulation behind. Oh, those monotone colors pealing off ramshackle, rain-soaked walls, drying linen on cloth lines — and so close — a-way.”
“The cross of daily life is light for us,” the wife of a well-known German industrialist noted sadly.
“At least they have sickness insurance in our country as of this year,” her husband replied while thinking about Chancellor Bismarck with gratitude and the timely death of Karl Marx with relief.
The luxury train hurdled faster and faster toward the charm of open fields and the serenity of mountains.
Inside the wood paneled, carpeted compartments, opulence and intrigue mixed with the passion for travel — curiosity for antiquities and new people, the excitement of coming face to face with the unimagined.
William, the flamboyant and most eligible young earl from London, walked casually down the corridor, chewing on his walnut-finished pipe. He glanced meaningfully into the compartment where Lilly sat across from her new, “sixty-something” Austrian baron husband.
Her wide grey-green eyes beseeched with shameless melodrama: “Please don’t recognize me! Later!”
“Of course,” his eyes responded, “I’m a gentleman, not just a bohemian.”
William had few scruples but a sensitive heart.
Until he saw Lilly again he was convinced that it was all over. Since their brief affair in Paris 16 months ago, he had become involved with three other women, and much to the detriment of his British stoicism, he was equally drawn to all of them. One was superbly intelligent and witty; the other held him with stirring romanticism, and the third, the youngest, enflamed his senses with unrestrained transports of passion.
What to do in such an unbearable situation? Fidelity to oneself — above all! Escape into adventure! And then just run into HER?!
Amidst all this frolicking, William faced an unpromising future. He hated war and was destined for a military career. He searched for love but knew full well that the empire’s interests and not his own inclination would determine when he would marry and whom.
Vienna-born Lilly, with a beauty that she blatantly milked to the last drop of its glory, was a former dancer at the Folies Bergère. William’s involvement with her was so utterly impossible that it was free of any social tension. And that’s exactly how he became hooked. Their fast-rolling togetherness without a tomorrow in the Third Republic’s glimmering Paris marked him for life.
Lilly, now in her mid-thirties, craved for dignified middle age and married a fellow Austrian, an aristocrat with access to the Schönbrunn Palace and a member of Franz Joseph’s hunting party.
“Will she cold-bloodedly punish me with a ‘no’? Or will she acquiesce to a quick flirt and leave me with my heartache and wounded pride?” wondered William as he walked on and looked into a compartment where three men were conferring. A narrow crack in the drawn curtain allowed a glimpse of their faces. They were rather somber. “Who are these people? They certainly do not look like happy travelers with their minds on fun.” One of them noticed William, stood up and unceremoniously drew the curtain, so as to eliminate peeping.
Without sitting down, the man turned to the other two:
“Please, repeat the order gentlemen.”
“You want His Excellency the Foreign Minister to be killed through the infliction of fatal stab wounds.”
“Correct. Any questions?”
There was silence. The apparent leader intoned:
“I die for the Kaiser!”
“I die for the Kaiser!” the other two mumbled.
This undercover cell of the Habsburg Court’s secret service was plotting to assassinate the Austro-Hungarian Empire’s foreign minister Count Tivadar Kalmanfalvy.
His crime was considered serious enough to be punished by death.
Romania’s German-born King Carol, fearing Russian hegemony, sought protection in Vienna through military alliance. On the advice of the Crown Council, the innermost circle of the ruling family, Kaiser Franz Joseph agreed to protect the Romanian King, but the Hungarian Kalmanfalvy was against it.
He tried to stall negotiations and finally, when he saw that the secret protocol would be signed anyway, he made the ill-considered remark that he would leak the deal to the Hungarian press and that could stir up unrest, maybe even another revolution against Austria. An informer turned him in.
The two agents were under deep cover. One traveled with a false Argentine passport as Maximilian Sanches Fedora. This Austro-Italian businessman and naturalized Argentine citizen allegedly returned from Buenos Ayres just to take one of the early runs of the already famous Orient Express. The other’s passport was made out to a Dutch-born maritime shipping entrepreneur Mynheer Hans Aristide Rotterdam.
The plan was built around a short welcome ceremony on the afternoon of the third day at the railroad station in Budapest. Kalmanfalvy, who was in town at the time, was invited to be the guest of honor. The Kaiser’s secret service arranged for Kalmanfalvy to be called to an office at the station after the ceremony where the two operatives, dressed in the uniform of the Hungarian Railroad Company, would wait for him. After accomplishing the deed, they would board the baggage car and change back into their traveling clothes. By the time the dead body was found the train would have left the station.
“The best laid plans,” as the saying goes . . .
Among the travelers were a widowed Italian Marquesa and her 22-year old daughter with the face of Botticelli’s Venus. The Goddess had been reluctant to go on this trip but circumstances ran away with her.
They lived in Milan where she became the lover of a violinist at La Scala. The man, Camillo, was married and the Goddess suspected she was pregnant. She had to tell her mother. The Marquesa fainted into her favorite armchair, her tears running as profusely as swollen alpine brooks in the springtime.
This scene took place just as the Goddess’ admirer, a Swedish art collector and member of the same Karlssons family that owned Scandinavia’s largest iron ore and copper mining empire had arrived for an unannounced visit. The mother was asked to send him away. The Marquesa walked by her scapegrace offspring with a contemptuous
“If your father were alive he would kill you.”
“Oh, Bettino, oh Bettino, why did you have to leave us?” she remonstrated as she descended the winding, broad staircase to talk briefly with the balding, bespectacled Swede who was head over heels in love with Simonetta.
She had news when she climbed up the stairs again. She had accepted Mats Torwald Karlssons’ invitation to travel on the Orient Express. Departure in a few days, there is no time to waste. They would have to travel to Paris first.
Looking thin and frail in her black dress, her face marked by ceaseless mourning, the Marquesa sat next to the prodigal daughter in a compartment adjacent to the Swede’s.
On pain of being legally disinherited, the Goddess was instructed to be forthcoming with Mats Torwald. On the fourth night — somewhere in Romania — she would go on an unchaperoned dinner date with him in the restaurant coach, making sure he had too much to drink. The tryst would take them back to his quarters, which the stewards — as the routine went — would have transformed into a bedroom while they dined. At midnight the Marquesa would open the door on them (“Make sure it is not locked”), finding that the flirt got out of hand. She would briefly faint; make a scene, causing commotion, demanding an explanation from Signor Karlssons.
The Swede would propose. Premature birth is not so unusual. Ruse to catch a husband under extreme circumstances “yes,” murder through abortion: No!
Fate cast a sarcastic smile on this best laid plan too.
But we are not there yet. The trip has just begun.
As dinner time approached on the first night, the passengers mingled in the corridor, exchanging pleasantries, praising accommodations. A Frenchman joked about the chickens he saw being taken on board.
“That was the last time I saw tonight’s star on the menu — chicken à la chasseur — still alive,” he said, causing waves of laughter as the joke was translated into different languages, eliciting witty responses. The French had their own merriment at the expense of stupid foreigners who did not know how incredibly old this joke was.
On the afternoon of the fourth day, they were in Budapest. The ceremony took place as scheduled but there was no murder. Kalmafalvy was tipped off and did not show.
The plot turned quite unfortunate for the operative posing as “Mynheer Rotterdam.”
The assassins waited far beyond the time their victim was supposed to appear. Finally, they had to run to catch the train. “Senor Sanches Fedora” boarded without difficulty but as “Mynheer” tried to grab the handle at the end of the baggage car, someone tripped him.
He had a bad fall and was taken to the police station where he was treated with diminishing politeness as he could not give satisfactory answers to such simple questions as “Where are your papers? How did you get this uniform? Who the hell are you?”
The joint Austro-Hungarian War Ministry’s Budapest office finally got him out of the morass. He was supposed to be His Majesty’s secret agent, engaged in an important counterespionage mission connected with the Orient Express.
The rendezvous between the Goddess and her lovesick Swede produced no lesser upset.
While alone during her daughter’s dinner date, the Marquesa had a change of heart.
“This is totally unfair to Signor Karlssons. It’s criminal. God will not forgive us. I simply cannot go through with it. There may be another solution to hide her pregnancy. Perhaps a long study trip to Greece . . .”
After wrestling with stormy and dolorous thoughts for an hour, she proceeded to the restaurant coach, resolved to abort the plan. The couple was no longer there. Suspecting the worst, she went to the Swede’s compartment and shyly opened the door. What she saw was more reminiscent of a latter-day pornographic movie than a pastoral scene hinting at the seduction of the confused virgin.
Mortified beyond measure, her mind alternating between plans of suicide and murder, she sobbed, prayed, and cursed everybody — including herself — all night long.
At dawn the door opened and a broadly smiling Simonetta entered.
“Puttana,” flew the bad insult from the Marquesa.
“Madre!”
“And you have the nerve to laugh.”
And indeed her laughter came in floods.
“Simonetta, what’s wrong with you?”
Finally she regained her voice and said calmly:
“I got my period.”
From Varna on Bulgaria’s Black Sea coast, a ferryboat took the passengers to the Turkish side. Then back on board of another first class train, the traveling party rolled into Istanbul Station where the famous “Gar bell” greeted their arrival.
Many more twists and turns awaited our quaint caboodle after that rainy October afternoon in 1883.
Inspired by the dark temperament of the restless Balkans, Lilly left her husband for William during the trip. Later they settled in Sydney, Australia, and although the royal family never wanted to hear from them again, their wish remained unfulfilled. The world press could never completely forget about them. (Yes, already then!)
Upon being warned about the plot on his life, Kalmanfalvy made a beeline for his ancestral castle among the mountains of Transylvania. He remained there, fearing for his life until five years later when he received a letter from the Court. It thanked him for his service to the Empire. The clear implication was that his secret death sentence was no longer in force. Like Napoleon, Franz Joseph liked to forgive his enemies, turning them into thankful subjects while eliciting public admiration. It is not known if Kalmanfalvy ever visited Vienna again although the possibility had never been ruled out.
Simonetta and the Swede were getting on fabulously but just as talk about marriage became serious, Camillo reappeared. The old flame won over the new one though not by much. Nonetheless, in this game — as it is well known — no matter how thin the margin, winner takes all.
Camillo left his wife and moved with Simonetta to the banks of the Neva where he joined the orchestra of the Russian Imperial Ballet. Outraged at her daughter’s behavior, the Marquesa, who in the meantime became very fond of the devastated Mats Torwald, made good on her threat and legally disinherited her.
A few months later, Camillo received an offer to join the orchestra of the brand new Metropolitan Opera in New York. They decided to emigrate to America where Camillo could get a quick divorce, allowing them to marry and start a new life.
Years later, mother and daughter reconciled but you could not have guessed that from the mutual renunciation that followed the elopement:
“May moths eat your fur coats, dear Marquesa! May all your diamonds turn to limestone! I’d rather live for love in freedom than loiter in empty and colorless wealth the way you have” — came the lightning bolts from the Goddess shortly before she and Camillo set out on their journey to the New World.
Well, Station Master Death’s final “Gar bell” long since greeted the voyagers of that old run of the Orient Express. When they come back unexpectedly for an occasional visit, they seem as weary, impatient, and excited as anybody else around them.
Beauty and the royal prince, love against impossible odds, cloak and dagger, unquenchable desire and extraordinary destiny continue to fill the compartments of our imagination. We don’t exactly know why we love to sip sober intoxication from champagne flutes filled with bubbling pastiche as we ride life’s Transcendental Express amongst blinking stars. It’s a train mystery we should not try to solve.
When Dreams Come True: The School Trip By Rebecca Emin
Feb 2nd
The week before October half term, my school year has a residential trip planned. The trip is all about outdoor activities, so it’s just my thing. We’re going to be doing orienteering, abseiling, potholing, and loads more.
Allie is the least excited of all of my friends. She’s not keen on getting dirty and she’s been going on to me about how she’s going to pack all her make-up and her hair straighteners. It seems a bit pointless, but she’s my friend, so whatever makes her happy.
The boys are being typical boys about the whole thing. I just hope their mums help them to pack or they will stay in the same clothes that they arrive in for the week.
As we’re all at the school waiting for the coach to arrive, I’m surprised to see Max and William looking quite smart. I can also smell something similar to my dad’s aftershave.
“Jeez, what is that stink?” I say to Max. His cheeks go a strange shade of pinky-purple as he says, “Oh I just borrowed some of my dad’s stuff.”
I shoot him a puzzled look.
“Why?” I ask.
Max has never bothered to do anything like that before.
“Oh, you know…” he replies.
But honestly, I really don’t.
I hope I won’t get stuck on the bus next to Max as I’m not sure I want to smell that strong niff all the way to Devon. Luckily I end up next to William, and Allie sits next to Max. I’ll have to ask her if she likes the smell later.
“So, are you excited about this week then?” I ask William.
“Oh, I really can’t wait, Charlie, it’s going to be brilliant. I can’t wait to go potholing,” he replies.
“I’m looking forward to abseiling,” I reply, “and going to the beach. I love being on the beach in autumn,” and as we sink ourselves into a long conversation about the week ahead, I thoroughly enjoy our journey.
When we arrive, we all get off the coach and grab our bags from the driver as he hauls them out of the storage area underneath. I smile at Allie but she gives me a strange look. She seems angry about something. I roll my eyes, and wait. It’s not until we have all been shown to our bedrooms in the hostel that Allie turns to me and says, in rather an aggressive way, “What were you talking to William about?”
“Um, just the usual stuff, you know…” I reply.
“No I don’t know, actually; why don’t you tell me?” she says. She looks really odd; she has her hands on her hips and looks as if she’s about to start throwing punches. I find it really hard to keep my laughter under control as I’ve never seen her like this before.
“Look,” I begin, “William and I have been friends since we were born; we talk about anything and everything. What is your problem?” But as the words leave my mouth, I realise. She is jealous because I was talking to William during the coach journey. Jealous of William and I. This is so ridiculous I have to battle with myself to not get hysterical but as I do a kind of snort-laugh I know it will only wind her up further.
“You know that I have absolutely no interest in William, don’t you? He’s like a brother to me. I don’t even like Daniel Radcliffe like you do, so why would I fancy his sort-of-look-alike?”
With this, Allie looks like she has relaxed a bit. “Sorry,” she whispers. “I’m just a bit… well…” and she sighs. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”
I give her a hug. “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Just don’t let it take over, as we have so much fun as a group, don’t we.” I stop short of telling her that he’s probably not interested, as it’s not up to me to tell her that. She needs to work it out for herself.
We get absolutely soaked on the beach. As soon as the coach pulls into the car park, the sky goes dark and a storm starts. I think the teachers are fed up but they herd us all off the coach anyway and we go for a bit of a hike in the rain and do some searching for beach life in rock pools like we were meant to, and then Isaac suddenly says, loud enough for a bunch of us to hear, “We’re so wet anyway, why don’t we go swimming.”
With that, a group of about eight of us leg it into the sea. We hear the teachers behind us frantically shouting “Come back,” but we all laugh and run on in. It was funny, but damn it was cold.
The coach driver is so pissed off. He says there’s no way we’re getting back on his coach unless we all take our trousers off. It’s fine for the others, they’re all boys, and they have boxers on, but I don’t feel brilliant about standing on the coach in my pants, especially as Max and William start to do some fake wolf whistles as I try to yank the soaking wet denim off my legs. I’m not sure it was worth the plunge into the sea to be honest. I sit on the bus shivering and feeling a bit self-conscious, so I decide from then on to fall in with what the teachers say. I don’t want to spend the whole week sitting on a bus in my pants.
That night we talk until really late, and when I finally fall asleep I have a vivid dream.
We’re on the school bus, and Allie and I are talking. It’s much the same as any normal bus journey. We stop at Jack’s bus stop. Everything starts to go in slow motion. The doors open, people get on the bus, and as Jack saunters onto the bus, it’s like he’s walking through treacle, but as he approaches the middle of the bus, where Allie and I are sitting, his eyes lock onto mine and he has a hint of a smile on his lips. He slowly walks back, level with us, and leans towards me. He says “hello gorgeous,” and as he leans closer and closer to me I shut my eyes. I suddenly sense that he has pulled back, and started to laugh. When I open my eyes to see what was going on, he’s standing bolt upright, pointing at me, and saying “Nice pants!!” loud enough for everyone on the bus to hear. I look down to see that I’m wearing a bright turquoise pair of pants with a picture of Mr Funny on.
At that point I wake up with a start. I can see that it’s very early in the morning as the chinks in the curtains reveal dark grey sky, but all of my friends are still asleep. I don’t want to go back to sleep in case I slide back into the dream. I stay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Jack. That was the second dream about him in as many weeks. And with thoughts of him in my head, I drift back into a dreamless sleep until the teachers knock on the door to wake us all up for the day.
I feel exhausted when we go down for breakfast but my friends cheer me up and the breakfast gives me more energy. It’s just as well as we’re going paint-balling and abseiling later. I can’t wait to abseil but I’m not so sure about the paint-balling, It might hurt. I decide to make sure that no-one manages to hit me.
Unfortunately, hoping to not get hit isn’t enough. By the time our hour is over, I have been hit three times by paintballs and each one stings worse than the last. I can’t wait to see the bruises, I bet they will be shiners. The abseiling is amazing. The people leading our session are so much fun. They’re called Jason and Bess and they don’t look all that much older than us, probably about eighteen or nineteen. I had always wanted to abseil and it turned out I was quite good at it. Allie, Max and William weren’t so keen but they were all good at it as well, even Allie when she finally managed to build up the courage to go for it. I was down at the bottom by this point and was willing her on. I actually felt quite proud to see her gracefully descend down the wall, and she looked delighted to get a hug from William at the bottom.
At the end of the session, we’re presented with certificates to show that we have abseiled down one hundred feet. As Jason hands mine to me, he shakes my hand, as he did with everyone else and quietly says, “You were by far the best at this, Charlie, you’re a natural at it.”
I smile at him, but I can’t really reply in case anyone else hears me. I just say, “Thank you,” as I take the certificate out of his hand. I also get a bit of a shock, as when he looks into my eyes as he hands me the certificate, I feel a weird feeling go up my arm and then down my back. I don’t know what is happening to me at the moment.
That evening, Allie and I sneak down to Max and William’s room. Everyone else is in bed. We grab some sweets that we brought with us, and creep along the corridor. I hope that we don’t get discovered as we’d be in deep trouble, but we make it ok.
Max and William have almost dozed off before we get there.
“Ouf, what, who… oh it’s you,” William says as we go in through the door.
“Hi again,” Max adds, running his fingers through his hair.
“So what now?” I say, “Anyone for a Starburst?”
As my friends hold their hands out for some sweets, Allie says, “Shall we play ‘truth or dare’?”
I roll my eyes in the darkness and hope that no-one can see. The last thing I want to do is take part in a game of truth or dare, knowing that Allie fancies William. It seems so wrong.
But Max says, “Oh yes, sounds like fun”.
This could get messy.
“Ok,” I sigh. “Who’s going first?”
“I will,” says Max. “Dare!”
What a surprise.
I try to think but before I can even take a breath, Williams says, “Snog Allie for ten seconds with tongues.” Allie looks really pissed off about this but she is up for the game so her and Max stand up and pretend to snog. I have to look away; it’s so cringe-making. Max looks like he’s happy after they finally separate.
William’s takes a turn next and he goes for a dare too. I want to help Allie out, really I do, but I can’t bear to watch her snogging William as well. “Hug Allie for a whole minute without letting go,” I say instead. “Oh that’s easy,” William says and they stand there hugging. William looks bored out of his mind, but Allie looks like she’s really happy. She probably enjoyed it more than snogging Max anyway.
When it comes to my turn, I opt for “truth”. I don’t want to end up snogging or feeling anyone up thank you very much. Of course Allie has to ask, “Tell us the truth, who do you fancy?”
Shit.
I take a deep breath and say, “Sorry Allie, but I fancy Jack.” Allie looks slightly confused, but she then smiles and says, “I don’t blame you.” I am so relieved that she is not mad at me.
Finally we get to Max. For some reason he says “truth” as well and William says, “Tell us the truth, who do you fancy?” Originality is obviously not part of his repertoire. Max goes a shade of red that is noticeable even in the dark, and says, almost under his breath, “Allie.”
Allie coughs, and shoots me a worried glance. I take my cue and say, “Right, now we’ve all had a turn, have another sweet and we’d better go back to our own room.” The boys grab greedily for my Starburst packet and after they have managed to con me out of two extra sweets each, we sneak back the way we came.
Once we are safely in our beds, Allie asks me, “Did you know?”
“To be honest it was obvious from the way he looks at you,” I say.
“Oh dear…” Allie says.
Too right, I think. But we don’t talk any more as it’s late and we both crash out, luckily. I have a feeling that won’t be the last of it though.
The next morning I hear a quiet tapping on the door. I glance over at Allie and see that she is still fast asleep so I get up and open the door. William is outside our room in his pyjamas. “What’s up?” I whisper.
“I had to come and talk to you, Charlie,” he began. I look up and down the corridor and beckon him inside as I don’t want to risk having a conversation out there and being caught by the teachers. They get really funny about things like that.
We talk in hushed tones as I point at Allie and make it obvious that she’s still asleep. William says, “It’s been driving me mad, ever since the summer, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
“What?” I say in a panic. This is grossing me out. Doesn’t he know he’s like a brother to me? And that doesn’t even take into account the fact that Allie has the most enormous crush on him that I have ever had the pleasure of hearing all about.
I flick a look at Allie but she is still asleep and breathing in a steady rhythm. Thank goodness for that. She’d kill me if she’d heard what William just said.
As I look back at him, I sense movement, well within my comfort zone. He’s leaning right towards me and before I know what happens his mouth is pressed against mine and he’s trying to inch his arms around me and as much as I was feeling grossed out before I’m starting to feel excited. Suddenly it didn’t seem so wrong any more. But in my head all I could think was ‘Oh my god this is William, and Allie is over there.’ At the thought of Allie, I pull away and glance over at her. Although she looks like she is still asleep, I can see her eyes are flickering.
She is going to go mental.
As I start to panic, I hear a banging on the door.
Bang, bang, bang!
I sit up in bed, in a cold sweat. As I realise that it was only a dream, the relief takes over and I glance over at Allie as she sits up and rubs her eyes. I hear the bang on the door again and Mrs Tomlinson calls, “Come on girls, breakfast is in fifteen minutes.”
“Morning,” I say to Allie, “how are you feeling today?”
“Oh so much better, thanks Charl,” she replies, “but wow, I had a funny dream.”
As Allie begins to tell me the details of her dream about playing volleyball while being suspended from a wire bridge, I am just glad that she has no idea what I was dreaming about.
As we all line up to chose our breakfast I glance at William and I’m pleased to realise that the dream has not changed how I feel about him. I’m not sure why I have suddenly started to dream about every boy I have ever met, but at least it doesn’t mean that I have to fancy them when I wake up again.
We’re going on a bike ride along a disused railway line that has been covered in tarmac. It will be flat and smooth, and an easy ride compared with what William, Max and I usually take on through the woods. We’re all looking forward to it though, as we enjoy biking, and we pack our lunches up with enthusiasm. Even Allie is quite excited.
The morning passes without a hitch, and the boys and I end up at the front of the group because of our regular bike rides. Allie tries to keep up with us to start with but before long she realises that she’ll have more fun if she goes at a slower pace with some of the others. The whole time that we are ahead, William makes comments about some of the girls in our class and even some of the teachers at school. When he’s run out of people we know, he starts talking about actresses and pop stars. He’s not got any particular interest in anyone, it seems; he’s just realised that girls can be interesting for reasons other than as friends.
Luckily, by the time we stop for lunch he has exhausted that subject and starts talking about sport again. It’s nice to have the old William back. I’m not sure I’m interested in everyone’s latest obsession with snogging and stuff. I don’t really want to waste any time thinking about things like that.
Well, apart from when I have those dreams.
