Proud Mountain

The train was late; again! I was pacing up and down the deserted platform feeling frozen as the wind drove fresh snow into my face. Through the dirty oily window of the waiting room door I saw someone sitting alone as I went in.

‘I hope you don’t mind, it’s started to snow and I am very cold.’ She looked up as I spoke.

‘Yes, I know snow. In my country we have lots snow and we like snow only outside.’ She radiated warmth and confidence as she answered in her eastern European accent with a firm friendly voice.

‘Where are you going?’ I asked and closed the door against the blowing shower. I sat down opposite, intrigued by the beauty of her smooth round face and dark blond hair. She closed her magazine and sat forward on the wooden bench to hold my attention.

‘I am going to see Mother and my dog.’ Her eyes sparkled as she spoke. ‘I miss dog, he is so funny.’ Her smile turned into light laughter.

I felt drawn by her excitement and captivated by the mysterious aura I sensed filling the small room. I wanted to know more about this beautiful stranger and encouraged by my curiosity she continued her story. She told me her name was Alexia and described to me the old architecture of Riga the capital of Latvia and how the countryside was flat and very wet. Her home was in a rustic village near the only hill called Gaizinkalns.

‘It is only 312 meters high, but we are very proud of mountain.’ She laughed delighting in the irony.

Sitting, she stamped her brown boots and swung her arms in a military fashion imitating when the Soviet troops came marching through and recalled that all children had to learn Russian songs.

‘My teacher said she was ashamed when we sing.’ She looked serious, then smiled. ‘But now after 1991 we all sing happy pop songs.’

Her enthusiastic eyes held my gaze as she took me on her visit to Rome.

‘I could not find the Spanish Steps, then I have lunch.’ she said and coughed as she laughed. ‘I have to run from police because I eat sandwiches sitting on Spanish Steps.’ She felt amazed on her tour of the Vatican and how it was so very rich and yet, in the world today there are so many poor people starving.

‘I have to take Mother to Rome, she dreams to see Pope,’ she softly stated.

Alexia was excited with the opportunities of coming to the West.

‘I feel like cat, I go where I want and do what I want.’ She purred and clawed her hand in the air. ‘People in West are so happy and nice, not like us, we are always anger and shouting and steal music from everyone.’ She smiled. ‘But we are learning how to live like West.’ She felt rich. ‘I already have money to buy a house for Mother and for me, a new car.’

We stood up together when we heard the arrival of the Intercity. I picked up her bag and carried it to the waiting train and impulsively embraced her.

‘I don’t like hug.’ she teased brushing her cheek against mine. ‘You are nice but we have to love each other to hug.’ I felt myself glow warm at her rebuke and was embarrassed by my familiarity. We laughed awkwardly as she took her bag and climbed the step into the warm carriage.

Watching the Intercity pulling slowly forward as it left the platform my thoughts of meeting Alexia were interrupted by the arrival of the local train on the opposite track. I quickly walked towards it to greet my friend Isabel, who leapt onto the platform and aggressively brushed past me without a glance, grumbling about the cold, being late and going straight home. The dismissive flick of her hand as she walked off sent a wave of humiliation through me and I felt very alone and stuck to the platform in frozen solitude. I turned away and watched the intercity as it picked up speed towards the bend of the tracks and disappear into the fluttering snow. I smiled and remembered her words; ‘We have to love each other to hug.’ Yes, I thought, I know.

- THE END -