RUDOLPH… the mesh bag
Romanesque capital “The death of the righteous” (detail). Basilica of San Michele Maggiore in Pavia – Italy
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Voce narrante Giuliana Poleggi Quaranta
A train taken at the last minute makes us reflect on life, a metaphor for a one-way trip. Who are the passengers of the story? How come everyone travels without luggage and the lady, the only one carrying a simple mesh bag, ends up leaving it neglected on the compartment seat? What do the ceremony dress and the intact shoes of her child mean? ... and the cross that is torn from her neck? Where are well-dressed travelers headed and why is the conductor wearing the unlikely uniform telling them where and when to get off? Who is this strange character and what does he represent? A railway company employee or a creepy psychopomp?
Today I really caught the train at the last minute. As soon as on the provincial road, first an agricultural tractor that was moving at walking pace and whose maximum speed was obviously minimal for those, like me, who were behind it and had to go to the railway yard and, a little further on, an Ape vehicle, which also proceeding like a snail, had caused a line of cars to follow it.
There was no point in honking the horn and overtaking was practically impossible: the risk of crashing into some other car coming from the opposite lane in that winding provincial road highlighted by the continuous center line was too great.
I travel the same route every day and have seen accidents caused by impatient young people who then ended up in a hurry to the hospital with the ambulance sirens explained … or even to the morgue …
Just in anticipation of delays, I get up early and always leave early. I take the train, when it is still pitch black, to reach the city at the first light of dawn and, due to city traffic, arrive at my workplace just on time if not, sometimes and in spite of all my efforts, late.
Although you do not know each other personally, the faces of the morning travelers you meet daily on the train are almost always the same, generally commuters who work in the big city. Each carriage ends up having its usual passengers.
This morning I did not wait patiently for the railway train more or less at the height of the passenger coach where I usually get on, but I got on the first one that I found on my right as I exited the underpass, running along like a desperate one with the backpack beating on my back.
Woh! There are free seats! Very few, but there are! The carriage I usually take is overcrowded with people sitting and standing. At this point, I believe that, from tomorrow, I will change the carriage also because, even if the journey is more or less than an hour, it is not pleasant to do it in uncomfortable conditions … You are lucky if you get a free seat towards the window , which happens very rarely, but already on the corridor side you are continually bumped by people and suitcases passing through the narrow passage, not to mention when you are forced to travel standing up … in precarious balance and continually pressed against the side of the seats to facilitate the transit of travelers and their luggage… I don’t see why I shouldn’t change a habit if it means improving a situation.
I couldn’t define the age of the woman sitting in the seat in front of mine, which is opposite to the travel direction. Fifty? Sixty? A lady, who I would not say beautiful but with a pleasant and elegant appearance. She is wearing a dusty blue dress with small white flowers with long sleeves whose cuffs are barely visible from a cream-colored wool v-neck jacket that she wears over her dress. I note her comfortable, flat shoes, a Mary Jane model, medium brown color. She is blonde, smooth hair with a very modern French bob cut. Her beautiful clear eyes, which, at first glance, seemed lively and curious to me, are instead liquid and as though veiled by a great sadness. She wears very graceful small earrings and a gold chain with a precious pendant. On her left ring finger, I notice a white gold wedding band with a diamond set in the center of it. Her hands are cured, her skin white, her fingers tapered, her nails without nail polish. Sitting next to her there is a little girl: her daughter, her granddaughter?…Or who knows what other relationship between them.
Jheronimus Bosch, Saint john on Patmos
Jheronimus Bosch, The Garden of Earhtly Delights (detail)
The seat next to mine is free.
Relaxed, I look around: on the opposite side, further ahead, I notice an old man holding a walking stick between his legs and a man of about fifty, of robust build, with a complexion in his face, I would say purple. Parallel to mine, but on the other side of the corridor, a lady wearing a nice violet hat with three knitted flowers applied on the left side, next to her an elderly woman, dressed in a dark gray chemisier dress with a small cashmere pattern, with a mesh shopping bag, of those that are no longer seen around, resting on the legs and, accommodated on the front seats, a couple with a child who passes from the knees of one to those of the other.
It amazes me that, at this time in the morning, almost all passengers are elegantly dressed, as if they were going to a reception or an important ceremony. No baggage, apart from the knitted bag, the only discordant note in this context of general accuracy.
I assume is the conductor the man I see approaching along the corridor and I start looking for my wallet and the pass card to show at his request. The railway company must have changed the uniform of the employees because he is not wearing the usual blue and green uniform, but a dark purple suit with a strange red top hat. I am surprised about the extravagances of fashion that has even reached the clothing of railway workers and about the total uselessness of such a change. I am not an expert but, as far as my personal taste is concerned, these colors do not seem suitable for what the uniform represents … but … I must admit … I am not competent. I remember the old, sober, blue uniforms, with light blue shirts and burgundy ties that my railway worker grandfather wore.
I looked at him with admiration and pride: always elegant, among the other elderly people of the town when, having retired in pension, he used to wear them, after having removed the friezes of the railway company, to go out into the square to have a chat with his old friends.
Before coming up to me, the man in uniform stops in the middle of the compartment and invites to follow him a handsome and very well dressed young gentleman who does not hide his reluctance. It may be someone who got on without the ticket … He takes him by the arm, forces him to leave his seat and to walk in front of him. The man seems afraid, he looks around as if looking for solidarity but the other passengers seem reluctant to look up. At one point, he freezes in the middle of the carriage and begins to greet the travelers. Someone says “goodbye” to him, someone else gets up and hugs him hastily. It seems to me that his eyes are moist with tears …
Jheronimus Bosch, The last Judgement (detail)
I find myself thinking how normal it is to make friends between people who find themselves on the same train every day and that the man is almost certainly a commuter.
The conductor, interrupting that unusual farewell ceremony, takes him by the arm and, pushing him, forces him to continue until he gets out of the carriage.
The lady in front of me smiles slightly as she tells me: “He has arrived.” “Arrived? Where? I have to get off at Termini, at the second stop… but it doesn’t seem to me that we are already in Tiburtina… ”. The woman does not answer me. Did she not understand …? Could she be a foreigner? But she spoke in Italian … Anyway no … it can’t be Tiburtina: at that stop the train empties of at least half of its passengers.
Meanwhile, the conductor has returned to the compartment.
“Hello Chief, are we in Tiburtina?” He looks at me, doesn’t answer me and continues down the corridor. I stand up. “Excuse me… You didn’t answer me … I should get off at …” He doesn’t give me time to finish the sentence. “I should … Sit back down in your seat.” Then in a low voice, as if to himself: “I should … and who says it?” I look at him amazed.
This man is crazy … I think to myself. The man who has now stopped, turns around, looks at me, smiles at me, more than a smile, it seems to me a sarcastic grimace…: “I’m not crazy. Don’t worry … relax … don’t worry… I’m here. I’ll warn you when it’s your time. That’s why I’m here.”
Good heavens, he read my mind! Or maybe I didn’t realize it and thought aloud?
I was unwell last week and … by God how many changes the railway company has made in a few days! The uniform of the conductor … the travelers personally notified when they have to get off … I think they had to increase the staff…
A great challenge to know and remember the destinations of all the passengers on a train…
Meanwhile, the conductor has stopped in front of the elderly man with the stick between his legs who, with evident difficulty in his movements, without saying anything, gets up and follows him. Even the lady with the nice purple hat gets up at the railway employee’s gesture and also the woman with the mesh shopping bag that she leaves on the seat.
“Madam, sorry … you forgot your bag …” The old woman looks at me and smiles calmly: “Yes, yes dear, thank you.” But she continues without turning to pick it up.
Jheronimus Bosch, Triptych of Saint Anthony Temptations (detail)
I make as if to get up with the intention of handing it over to her but the conductor, without saying a word, places his hand on my shoulder forcing me to sit down again. It is a strong, heavy hand, I would even say eloquent in making me understand to mind my own business.
“They too have arrived.” It is still the woman sitting in front of me talking. I look out the window. It is pitch dark, not a light, not the slightest glimmer. Damn me! In the hurry to get on I must have taken the train that runs along the old railway section, the slow line that makes all the stops … I will arrive very late at the office and tonight I will have to make up lost time!
Meanwhile, some new travelers enter the compartment and sit where they find free seats. Looking around, I pause to observe the faces of those I can see from my seat: some of them have greenish gray faces, others a purple red, others more are deathly pale while some have a healthy appearance. For example, the little girl sitting in the other seat in front of me has a very white complexion on which large blue eyes stand out between two bluish dark circles.
She’s thin, her long blond hair almost reaching her waist and, despite it is being held on the left by a delightful white beaded clip, she continually removes it away from her face with a graceful gesture of her small hand. She is wearing a long, white, lace and tulle dress, very beautiful, more suitable for an important ceremony than for a train trip and nice clear shoes held by a thin strap on which a row of rhinestones sparkle. The small bag that she carries over her shoulder is really pretty: it is rectangular in shape, of a white-silver lurex material and it is closed by a flap on which a little heart stands out, whose bright red is the only note of color in her whole person. The gold chain with a beautiful cross, also in gold, that reaches lower than her breast, almost to her waist strikes me. She is calm and serene, I would say absent, while sucking, like it was a pacifier, the tip of the ear of a pale pink bunny that she holds tenderly in her arms.
Jheronimus Bosch, Descent of Christ into Hell
The conductor comes, bends over her, with polite ways makes her stand up, takes her in his arms and delicately hands her the soft toy, placing it between his chest and that of the child, then, with a decisive gesture, holding the cross from the precious necklace, he snatches it away quickly, leaving the two broken parts dangling at the sides. I am so amazed that I can’t even speak! The child does not cry and does not even protest. Her purse has now moved behind her just above her waist. The little girl leans docile, her head on the hollow of the shoulder of the man in uniform as they leave the car. While seated, I notice that the soles of her shoes are intact, as worn as soon as you leave the shop.
Like everyone in the compartment, the lady in front of me had no reaction, as if the situation didn’t concern her.
“The baby has also arrived.” “But wasn’t she with you?” “No … I don’t even know her.”
A little girl traveling alone? Who knows? … maybe very busy parents who have entrusted her to the conductor and someone who will be waiting at the stop to welcome her? And the torn chain? How can they have trusted!
Passengers and a group of young soldiers still get on. They are young, handsome, strong. They look tired and their camouflage uniforms are smeared with mud and… blood. I stand up but, as soon as I see the figure of the conductor, I sit back down immediately. Even if with the child in his arms he seemed to express tenderness and emotion, he must be an argumentative and authoritarian type … and also dishonest … I do not want to argue but I have decided that, once I get off, I will certainly report his behavior through a detailed written complaint to the railway company.
It is still dark outside, but I realize it is because the windows are darkened and prevent you from seeing outside.
“Excuse me, why the tinted windows? You can’t see anything, not even if it’s day or night. “
Meanwhile, the soldiers, the last travelers arrived, have all got up and ready to get off the train. A really short journey theirs. The railway employee, who follows them like a police escort, signals me to turn to the window from which I can now see the outside. Only mine is no longer obscured. It is broad daylight, but the landscape that flows before my eyes is not that of the beautiful Roman countryside before reaching the big city.
Jheronimus Bosch, Christ in Limbo
Rubble, dust, mud… and a leaden sky… where are we? While it continues to run, the train crosses, at insane speed, cities, woods, plains… it passes through mountains… it even plunges into the sea … and then re-emerges and penetrates into homes… it splashes like a racing car into hospitals, restaurants, bars, discos, churches, offices, premises of all kinds, avenues, streets … among tables, beds, desks, cars … it quickly runs along the bed of a river from which it rushes violently down a waterfall to resurface in the center of a large lake and keep running wildly … I’m breathless and so shocked with terror that I can’t even scream! What train is it? And where are we headed? And what is all this up and down the hall? Where do these people come from and where do they go?
Frightened, I look away from the window just as the conductor re-enters the compartment.
Jheronimus Bosch, Ascent to the Empyrean
The man turns to me and stares at me insistently, he has a malicious smile, then, as if in a sign of agreement, he winks at me: my blood freezes in my veins … my body is shaken by shivers of cold. What is happening? I don’t understand. I feel a sense of oppression, I feel subdued as if someone is forcing me to lower my eyes to the ground.
“Rudolph! The time has come! Get ready to get off! ” I jump into the seat. The conductor is in front of me. How does he know my name? “It’s just that … I think I dozed off …” I look around. All the passengers have got up and are walking towards the exit. From the window you can see the buildings of the city illuminated by the morning sun. The convoy enters the station. The frenetic movement of those who leave and those who arrive is the usual one as every day.
As I walk down the corridor after putting my backpack onto my shoulders, I notice a mesh bag on a seat. I am the last one in the queue of travelers who are preparing to get off. I have the perception of feeling observed.
I turn my head back. From the back of the compartment the conductor is staring at me.
Before I, anxious to leave the passenger coach, turn quickly towards the exit, the man winks at me …
A train taken at the last minute makes us reflect on life, a metaphor for a one-way trip. Who are the passengers of the story? How come everyone travels without luggage and the lady, the only one carrying a simple mesh bag, ends up leaving it neglected on the compartment seat? What do the ceremony dress and the intact shoes of her child mean? ... and the cross that is torn from her neck? Where are well-dressed travelers headed and why is the conductor wearing the unlikely uniform telling them where and when to get off? Who is this strange character and what does he represent? A railway company employee or a creepy psychopomp?
ASCOLTA il racconto su file audio o su Youtube.
Voce narrante Giuliana Poleggi Quaranta
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