The Night Train

Elena had always loved night trains. There was something exciting about falling asleep in one country and waking up in another. So when her university offered her a summer course in Vienna, she decided to go by train instead of flying.

Her compartment had four beds, but only one other passenger: a tall, thin man of about fifty with a grey beard. He nodded politely when she came in, but he didn’t say a word. Next to him, on the seat, was a long black case. He kept one hand on it all the time, even when he was reading.

At first, Elena didn’t think much about it. But as the evening went on, she began to notice strange things. When the ticket inspector came in, the man moved the case behind his legs. When Elena went to get a coffee from the restaurant car, he followed her with his eyes. And when she came back, he was talking quietly on his phone in a language she didn’t recognise. The moment he saw her, he stopped.

“What’s in the case?” she wondered. Money? Something stolen? She had seen too many films, she told herself. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

At midnight, the train stopped at the border. Two guards got on and started checking passports. Elena heard them in the next compartment, asking questions and opening bags. The man looked nervous for the first time. He took the case onto his lap and held it tightly.

When the guards opened their door, one of them pointed at the case. “What’s this?” he asked. “Open it, please.”

Elena held her breath. Slowly, the man opened the case. Inside, on a bed of red velvet, lay a violin. It was old and beautiful, with a deep golden colour.

The guard looked at it, then at the man’s documents. Suddenly his face changed. “You’re Pavel Novak? The violinist?” He turned to his colleague and whispered something. Both of them smiled. “My mother has all your recordings,” he said. Then he asked for an autograph.

After the guards left, the man finally spoke to Elena. “I’m sorry if I seemed strange,” he said. “This instrument is three hundred years old. It belongs to a museum, and I’m playing it at a concert in Vienna tomorrow. If anything happened to it, I would never forgive myself. I haven’t slept on a train for twenty years.”

Elena laughed with relief. “I thought you were a criminal,” she admitted.

He laughed too. “Many people think that musicians are criminals,” he said. “Especially our neighbours.”

The next evening, Elena sat in the back row of a concert hall in Vienna. The ticket was a gift from Pavel. When he started to play, she closed her eyes, and for a moment she was back on the night train, listening to the rhythm of the wheels in the dark.