Traveling reflexions

“We’ve made it! We’ve made it on time!” - I was repeating to myself chaotically.

Entering our compartment on the train to Thessaloniki we didn’t notice at once an old lady sitting by the window. It seemed she didn’t notice us either. For the first half an hour she was sitting still, blankly looking at the reddish landscape melting at twilight. Then, she turned to us affably smiling and asked if we had a pen. Despite the smile, her voice sounded dolorous and the eyes were hectically shimmering.

Several minutes later the lady was diligently writing something on the postcard. We didn’t dare to interrupt what seemed to be a sacral ritual for her, thereto exhausted by scorching Greek sun we didn’t have any strength to start a conversation.

Gently folding an envelope, she took out a bundle of letters. “I never send them,” she said wistfully and then pulled out a box of koulourakia biscuits.

As the steep desiccated slopes were changing by the velvety green meadows outside the window, our conversation gradually became more unconstrained. Though, it was rather a monologue as we were only murmuring “nai” and “endaxi” from time to time, our companion didn’t mind that we were not able to counter in Greek.

Dozing off from the heat, I lost a thread of the conversation for a few moments. I was still catching snippets of the narration… marriage, loving husband, children playing at the back yard… I distinctly imagined her backing koulourakia, waiting for the husband to come back from work and hearing children’s tinkling chants outside… Her voice started to tremble. I turned my head and drowned into her hopeless and dreary eyes.

She bakes her koulourakia, but there is no one to bake it for… She writes the letters, but never sends them…

The last piece of biscuit stuck in my throat. Sweet and delicate koulourakia out of sudden became the bitterest pastry I have ever eaten. From that every moment I am convinced that behind every breadcrumb in the world lies someone’s story of the life.

She got off the train and we remained silent until the end of our journey in the compartment filled with ambrosial vanilla odor.