Night journey

At one of the lowest points in my life, I traveled almost weekly by night train the 700km to visit my ailing parents. Night journeys seem to last forever; the hammering of the wheels penetrates the mattress and pillow directly into my brain, making me invent the most absurd stories. A chance glance down the sleeper car corridor, the encounter of two lives in a tenth of a second, would plunge me into agonizing fantasies for hours.

I always thought I had no problem with getting older. But when the little innuendos, hidden barbs, and tiny digs at me, a near-fifty-year-old, started piling up, I began to seriously reconsider things. I started hearing things no one had said; I began to observe myself more closely and soon discovered this and that, things you only notice when you start observing yourself critically and suspiciously.

What struck me most painfully was that the young and pretty girls I, as always, admired on the tram, reacted to my flirtatious glances with surprise or bewilderment, and returned them less and less frequently. Tick. The realization that I was no longer the irresistible conqueror (of tram-riding beauties), even if only for the duration of the journey from stop A to stop B, brought self-doubt to the surface. Tick. The cogwheel of self-alienation turned another tick, the self-doubt sank deeper and lay leaden on my increasingly lame loins. Tick. I'm getting old, my loins suggested, it'll all be over soon! Tick. Damn it, what did you expect?! Tick.

A chance glance in the sleeping car corridor, the encounter of two lives in a tenth of a second, makes me sink into agonizing fantasies for hours.

"Your brain's shot," Jack quoted, "when the sky's full of violins!" I cautiously peeked out of the corner of my eye at the pretty blonde woman who—like me—was standing in the aisle of the sleeper car, smoking. I quickly finished my beer and, trembling inwardly for no good reason, went up to the conductor to get another bottle. "Don't be silly," I heard Jack's voice say, "you just want to walk past her and talk to her!" Jack knew as well as I did that this was impossible.

No, I'm not schizophrenic at all, but Jack is something like the personification of my parental ego, as Freudians would probably call it. He's been with me since my youth, correcting, criticizing, and annoying me with his cold and clear logic. That he's the one who stares at the speedometer needle and growls "130!" or who spoon-feeds me the sensible and logical sentences that I then only have to parrot to appear logical and reasonable is perhaps acceptable. That he's a logician and mathematician through and through and loves computers above all else, indeed can practically see into them with X-ray vision, is the basis of my professional success. But I was fiercely determined to completely ignore Jack today, here and now. As if my life depended on it.

With the new bottle in my hand, I slowly made my way back to my compartment in the swaying train. As I passed her, she looked at me, and that look completely threw me off balance.

In truth, I stopped because I was out of breath and couldn't take another step. I broke out in a sweat, and she probably saw my face change color despite the dim light.

I spoke to her.

She smiled at me, her eyes radiant, her whole being inviting. Suddenly my daze lifted, and we chatted about the things travelers usually talk about in such situations—where they were going, what they were doing, whom they were visiting. Evi, that was her name, worked as a therapist and had just returned from visiting my parents. I mentioned that I was about to visit my parents myself, and I steered the conversation toward my elderly mother's illness, since it coincided perfectly with Evi's work. I don't know, maybe I was getting on her nerves with it, but it had been on my mind ever since I'd bought the ticket.

Jack retreated, grumbling. From a distance, I sometimes heard him mutter, "He wouldn't dare!" and defiantly, I thought, "Yes, he would!" While Evi and I were engaged in lively conversation, a compartment door opened behind us, and a sleepy passenger came into the corridor. Correctly interpreting his expression, I asked anxiously if we were disturbing his sleep, and he nodded grimly. I looked at Evi, gave myself a jolt (and, folks, bungee jumping is nothing compared to this!), and offered my compartment so we could continue our chat. My knees were trembling, and I was waiting for the end, hoping it would be quick and painless.

She asked again if I was alone in the compartment, and when I said I'd reserved it so I could travel alone, she said, "Yes." I could practically see Jack's face turn green, and he said, "You wouldn't dare!" "Yes," I whispered back, and walked surprisingly calmly with Evi into my compartment.

I looked at her as we talked, and I felt myself becoming more and more attracted to her. At first, I started by talking about my professional successes, but then I thought that was actually a lame excuse and somehow ended up talking about sex, love, and relationships. Maybe she was taken aback by the change of subject, or maybe she was perfectly fine with talking about it, and we became more serious and grew closer.

Closeness. She offered me the informal "you," I began to open up to her more and more, a blissful intoxication of opening up began to take hold of me.

Seize. I noticed that in the last few minutes I had been taking her hand more and more often when I spoke about things that had been kept secret for years.

It doesn't really matter what we talked about, dear Jack; what was important was that she had a kind, open nature and was neither a bitchy city slicker nor a dim-witted, naive country bumpkin. She was simply Evi, who talked about her ideas on relationships, her work, her parents in Vienna, and her apartment. Jack adds that it was Evi who let me talk for a long time, almost too long.

To speak out. As if I had been condemned to silence for life (which wasn't true at all!), I clung to her and told her about my loneliness, my grief over the things I had lost in my life, but also about things that didn't exactly paint me in a flattering light. It suddenly seemed important to me to stand there completely open, honest, and naked, leaving all the social posturing aside. At times, I was genuinely afraid of my own courage; I was worried that Evi would be repelled by my directness and my refusal to portray myself as some grandiose showman, and that she would leave.

She left. She stood up suddenly, said she needed to use the restroom, and that when she came back, she didn't yet know if she would want to sleep with me; she might not be as in love as I was, but she liked me very much. I hugged her while she stood in front of me, and I said nothing, thinking only to myself, that's not important, I want to be close to you, to hug you—come back! After she left, I saw that she had left her handbag behind—was that trust? No one else I knew would ever leave her handbag in a stranger's compartment.

When she returned, we turned off the compartment light and sat very close together. We kissed and hugged, whispered, and were happy. The kissing and hugging turned into caressing, my hand searching under her sweater. "It's a bodysuit," she whispered, but I didn't know what that was back then. I confessed my problem, but she just laughed softly and quickly and easily undressed. I quickly got rid of my clothes, and we lay down next to each other.

I can remember every single little detail, that's how important that night was to me. Jack and the terrible air conditioning ensured that my already retired masculinity stayed in the background; I was far too afraid to sleep with her, since neither of us had any contraception with us – it was a surprising, completely unplanned event. (I'd have to laugh at myself if I carried a condom around all the time...).

I gave her my full attention, my tenderness, and let all the gentleness I felt towards her glide through my hands onto her beautiful body. She loved being stroked and caressed, surrendering completely to her feelings, and I tried to give her all the love and tenderness I felt for her—I often caught myself being too fleeting and insensitive, but I was terribly nervous, irritated by my surroundings, and thinking far too often about tomorrow. Only once did we both almost get too carried away, but Jack, the dependable one, was already there and pulled us apart just in time.

The hours passed in pleasure and tenderness, in gentleness and excitement, in closeness and concern. Eventually, though, we grew tired, whispered to each other and smoked, listened to the clatter of the wheels, and fell silent. Evi said she might want to sleep for another hour or two before getting off. I said goodbye to her body with many, many little kisses, kissing every reachable spot, and wept silently in my sorrow.

Then she got dressed, and as she put on the bodysuit, Jack looked closely at how it was constructed...

I gave Evi my card, scribbled my personal phone number on the back, and asked her to get in touch and give me some time to sort things out. We had reached a very difficult point. I suspected that now, tired, worn out, and sleepy, she might not be thinking about continuing. I told her to get in touch, please, but I also said (or was it Jack?) that it was her choice. She shouldn't feel pressured by me; I was burning with passion right now, but I knew I never wanted to be pushy or demanding with her. I can still hear her saying the same thing. That she could sense how in love I was, but she wasn't as in love as I was. She put my card in her purse and said she might get in touch, but she wasn't sure. "Bye," said Jack.

I don't remember the moment she left; only that I watched her for a long time after she had walked to the front. My eyes filled with tears that choked me, and I remained in the dark compartment. I set my alarm so I would be awake when Evi got off, lay down, and tried to fall asleep.

I didn't sleep. Jack had decided to keep me awake with his comments. All he had to offer was mockery and bitterness. And crystal-clear logic about the significance of each piece's position on the board—Jack and his board!

Jack explained: after her initial sleep-in, Evi would wake up, and there were several possibilities for what would happen next. Firstly, if this wasn't her first sleeper car adventure, she might think it was quite nice and then go about her daily business without making a big deal about the night. "Bye," said Jack.

Secondly, if it was her first such adventure, she might be ashamed, blame herself, or be shocked afterward by our directness, or even think I might label her a "loose woman"; then she would hardly seek contact with me. Instinctively, I wanted to punch Jack, but he was only concerned about me—and therefore I couldn't really be angry with him.

Evi could also be wise and know that Cupid's arrows can strike anyone at any time. That in the given situation, neither she nor I had any other choice. The usual beginning of a relationship, getting to know each other slowly and gradually becoming familiar with one another: that wasn't possible in this situation! But was everything lost because of that? On the other hand—what did I expect? Could I, approaching 50, ever hope again to meet such a beautiful and so much younger woman and be loved by her in return? Would I be able to manage to get my currently restless and stressful life under control in order to start completely anew, completely fresh, with a dear person like Evi? Completely anew? So that I could say: "without ifs, ands, or buts"?

What, a thought flashed through my mind, if Evi thought I was a cunning, dirty old man? What if she was convinced that I traveled on sleeper trains week after week just to lure young girls into my compartment? I asked Jack to leave me in peace—I didn't even want to think about it, because in that case I'd be completely out, totally out of the picture; she'd be glad to have escaped the old swine. "Bye," said Jack.

In the twilight, Jack muttered something about another man, suggesting that Evi surely had a lover, a relationship against which our encounter paled in comparison, and that Evi would quickly forget this night and return to her relationship. Desperately, I fought against this thought, clinging to her warmth, her scent, her womanhood, her closeness with all my senses, and I didn't speak another word to Jack.

I turned off the alarm before it could wake everyone and quickly got dressed. I saw that we were almost there and went ahead; Evi stood all alone, serious, and silent by the door. I was very inhibited and couldn't get a complete sentence out; perhaps she noticed, perhaps she was annoyed at how clumsy I was—I was going crazy at the thought of making a serious mistake now, at the last second. We were mostly silent as we stood there quietly next to each other, gazing out into the last misty November morning. Perhaps we even spoke to each other; I don't remember.

I glimpsed the first houses and the railway tracks only through a slowly blurring wall of tears, against which I fought, just as I did against the lump in my throat. The train slowed down and then stopped. As she got off, Jack automatically bent over her luggage, picked it up, and handed it to her.

Jack saw that on top lay a wilting, long-stemmed red rose.