論壇

第三章，车上

七号车厢内部比瑞克预想的要宽敞一些，但也仅仅是相对而言；两排面对面的深绿色绒布座椅被过道隔开，每个座位上方都有一盏小巧的黄铜壁灯，散发着柔和但不算明亮的光线，车窗宽大，但此刻被厚厚的双层玻璃和凝结的水汽模糊了外面的景象，车厢连接处隐约传来有节奏的金属撞击声和蒸汽管道低沉的嘶鸣；瑞克找到了自己的位置——靠窗的一个座位，这让他感到一丝满意，至少能看看风景，哪怕现在什么也看不清；他将箱子费力地塞进头顶的行李架，那架子发出不堪重负的吱呀声，引得对面座位上一位正用钩针编织着什么的老太太抬眼瞥了他一下，眼神里带着一丝不易察觉的审视；瑞克脱下那件还算厚实但已显陈旧的外套，叠好放在身旁，然后坐了下来，椅垫比他想象的要硬，但还算干净；列车似乎还在等待最后一批乘客或者调度指令，并没有开动的迹象；车厢里人不多，除了对面的老太太，斜前方坐着一位抱着熟睡孩子的年轻母亲，正疲惫地望着窗外模糊的光影，过道另一侧则是一位穿着粗呢外套、膝上摊开一本厚书的先生，眉头紧锁，似乎沉浸在文字的世界里；时间在等待中缓慢流淌，只有老太太手中钩针轻微的碰撞声和远处隐约的汽笛声打破沉寂；终于，一声悠长而浑厚的汽笛撕裂了站台的喧嚣，紧接着，脚下的地板传来一阵清晰的震动，并逐渐加强，伴随着「哐当」一声金属咬合的巨响，整个车厢猛地向前一挫，又缓缓平稳下来，窗外站台的景物开始缓慢地、继而坚定地向后滑去，越来越快；旅程开始了。瑞克将头靠在冰冷的玻璃窗上，感受着车轮碾过铁轨接缝时传来的规律震动，这单调的韵律竟意外地带来一丝疲惫后的放松。在晚餐时间，瑞克循着指示牌找到了位于列车中部的餐车；这里比二等车厢明亮许多，铺着白桌布的小方桌排列整齐，空气中飘散着廉价咖啡、烤面包和某种炖肉的混合气味；他点了一份今日特价的腌鲱鱼配黑面包和一杯淡啤酒，独自坐在角落的小桌旁，安静地吃着；餐车里的人稍多，交谈声也嘈杂些，大多是些关于行情的议论、旅途的抱怨或是家乡的琐事，瑞克只是默默地听着，偶尔抬眼看看窗外飞驰而过的、被暮色笼罩的荒凉田野和远处模糊的山丘轮廓；味道谈不上好，鲱鱼咸得发齁，面包粗糙得有些割嗓子，啤酒也淡如水，但这已经是旅途中难得的慰藉。填饱肚子后，他回到自己的座位，在列车有节奏的摇晃和昏暗的灯光下，倦意如潮水般涌来，他裹紧外套，头抵着冰冷的车窗，意识渐渐沉入了昏暗之中。

Chapter Three, on the Train

The interior of Carriage No. 7 was a bit more spacious than Rick had expected, but only relatively speaking. Two rows of deep green velvet seats facing each other were separated by the aisle. Above each seat was a small brass wall lamp, emitting a soft but not very bright light. The Windows were wide, but at this moment, the outside scene was blurred by thick double-glazed glass and condensed water vapor. At the connection of the carriages, a rhythmic sound of metal clashing and the low hissing of steam pipes could be faintly heard. Rick found his spot - a seat by the window, which made him feel a little satisfied. At least he could enjoy the view, even if nothing could be seen clearly now. He struggled to shove the suitcase into the overhead luggage rack, which creaked overburdened. This drew an old lady sitting opposite, who was crocheting something, to glance at him, her eyes carrying a hint of barely perceptible scrutiny. Rick took off the rather thick but old coat, folded it up and placed it beside him, then sat down. The cushion was harder than he had imagined, but still clean. The train seems to still be waiting for the last batch of passengers or dispatching instructions, and there is no sign of it moving. There weren't many people in the carriage. Besides the old lady on the opposite side, a young mother was sitting diagonally ahead, holding a sleeping child, looking out of the window at the blurred light and shadow, exhausted. On the other side of the aisle was a gentleman in a coarse tweed coat with a thick book spread out on his lap, his brows furrowed, as if lost in a world of words. Time flowed slowly while waiting. Only the faint clanging sound of the crochet hook in the old lady's hand and the faint whistle in the distance broke the silence. Finally, a long and deep whistle tore through the noise of the platform. Immediately after, a clear vibration came the floor beneath my feet, which gradually intensified. Accompanied by a loud "clank" of metal, the entire carriage jolted forward sharply and then slowly stabilized. The scenery outside the window on the platform began to slide backward slowly and then firmly, faster and faster. The journey begins. Rick leaned his head against the cold glass window, feeling the regular vibration of the wheels as they rolled over the joints of the railway tracks. This monotonous rhythm unexpectedly brought a hint of relaxation after fatigue. At dinner time, Rick followed the signs and found the dining car located in the middle of the train. It was much brighter here than a second-class carriage. Small square tables with white tablecloths were neatly arranged, and the air was filled with a mixed smell of cheap coffee, toasted bread and some kind of stew. He ordered today's special offer of pickled herring with black bread and a glass of light beer, and sat alone at a small table in the corner, eating quietly. There were a bit more people in the dining car, and the conversations were a bit louder. Most of them were discussions about the market, complaints about the journey, or trivial matters about his hometown. Rick just listened silently, occasionally raising his eyes to look out of the window at the desolate fields, shrouded in dusk, and the indistinct Outlines of the hills in the distance that were speeding by. The taste was far good. The herring was so salty that it was sickening, the bread was so rough that it cut your throat, and the beer was as light as water. But this was already a rare comfort during the journey. After filling his stomach, he returned to his seat. Under the rhythmic swaying of the train and the dim light, drowsiness came surging like a tide. He tightly wrapped his coat, pressed his head against the cold window, and his consciousness gradually sank into the darkness.