A Snapshot

This is going to be a big weekend for me. I am about to set out into the abyss and ‘publish’ one of my short stories. I’m going to post, later, about that. But here, I wanted to share something else I wrote, some ago.

I wanted to share a snapshot of something I saw on October 28, 1994 heading to Belgium to visit a friend. No rhyme or reason, just a moment froze forever in time with my words. Also an snapshot of my writing.

Here I sit, in the Nürnberg HBF, at 10:51. Almost everything is closed, including the reservation desk. So there was no way to get a reservation on the train. Especially for a couchette. I’m not too happy because of that.

The week was frustrating because I was trying to get some stuff, over the net, to here. Things were extremely slow or not working at all. A couple of times, I had the urge to grab a machine gun and shoot some machines. Thus, when it came time to have a beer at 4:30, I had a couple. Just to relax.

Elmar gave me a lift home, so I didn’t have to walk all the way back. Also to discuss a bit about my work here and possible directions. Which might lead to more trips here. After that it was time to pack and grab a bite.

This time, I decided to take an earlier train to Nürnberg. Partly so I would not miss my train to Brussels, but also I would be able to reserve a couchette so I could have a nap. I arrived in Nürnberg about 10:45. Almost everything is closed, save the bar. I’m going to have to take pot-luck on the train. Oh, well.

The “bar” I’m in right now is a study of contrast. A bit like the bus station they show in the John Laroquette show. The travellers, the drunks and the dregs of society. I am a little uncomfortable seeing the denizen of the station around. Be it the hustlers or the drinkers. So I sit, with my back to the wall; my backpack safely stowed beside me.

Two tables down is a man, with medium length, white hair. Head on the table. He is slowly scratching the back of his head. Fingers slowly going back and forth. Suddenly, he is interrupted by an old lady. His head slowly rises, as if gravity is stronger there, to reveal a long, scraggly, white beard. The head slowly sinks back down.

The old lady is short and bent. She shrieks in short bursts of words. Face lined with wrinkled age and drink. She holds chairs to keep steady, when she stops moving; a crutch she needs. Wizened hands waving at people as she ambles about the tables. A slouched walk, slowed by drink and age.

She eyes tables, looking for unattended glasses. The beer of the slumped man is fair game in her sights. A decrepit vulture, circling around the bar. With no sign from the slumped man, she raises her prize to her lips and takes a few sips. Once sated, she starts to search for the next price.

Blank, tired faces fill this smoke dense room. Loud voices echo, in the room, from the various tables, filling the room with a cacophony of sound. Not all are waiting for a train.

The voices convey emotion but say nothing. German floats and bombards me but I don’t understand a word. I hear the spoken sounds but all I perceive is noise. How I would love to catch snippets of the conversation, just to hear what is being said. No matter how banal.

A snapshot of human existence. People coming and going from the bar. Some walk, some stagger, some swagger. And there are those who can barely walk. Time here seems to be measured by a leaving train or closing time.

I come back to the slumbering man, who is now wearing a cap. The old woman has left, in search for her next conquest. And soon, I will be leaving. But will he leaving? Even though the bar is closing, will he be back tomorrow, same time, same position? I know, next time I am here, the picture will be different. Possibly with some of the same images but different. Here in this dark place, as the world goes by.

The slumbering man has just raised his head slightly. To shake it, as if to shake something off. And then he rests it back on the table. He sits there, wearing a long, black coat. Oblivious to the surroundings. Even the sharp cries from people toasting each other, tables apart. He stays there, undisturbed. Slowly breathing, slowly wasting away his time.