Sometimes people have extraordinary friendships; school, work, neighborhood, street… There is one where after long journeys become unbearable, a person’s need to talk subtly nudges them and after a while, deep conversations start…. Different accents, even languages on trains…
In one, I had a gypsy travelling companion, in another, a big-bellied old man who snored while spitting… In another, gypsies had slaughtered chickens and were washing clothes, it was obvious that they had another more 15 hours…
As a child, I would lean against the window and look at the mountains and rocks. Sometimes I would come across fruit trees and try to pick a plum.
Once, out of curiosity, I wanted to go to the last wagon of the train. Just as I was about to step in the last door, the light coming from the rails and the deafening sound that came out of them gave me a fear that I would never forget in the middle of the night. My step stuck in the air at the last moment was like my previous breath….
Waiting at the station, sleeping curled up here and there, all of them seem like torture now, but we were young then….we could forget the cold we had experienced, our lack of sleep the next day…as I said, we were young then…
Believe in that trains almost have a soul, maybe it is because of the sad stories of exile in the documentaries I have seen, the innocent wagons that took lives…the number of which exceeded 200 thousand, the Crimean Tatar Turks, the Meskhetian Turks exiled from the Caucasus….well, not all journeys start with excitement and end well.
Journeys that start in the evening and end in the morning always attracts me much . While drifting from dream to dream to sleep.. Between existence and non-existence, whose tears flowed under her glasses disappears in front of my eyes.
