Nicolau Takes the Train
Nicolau Costa looked at the small pile of his remaining possessions. The small toolbox would fit with little adjustment into the corner of the rectangular guitar case; the clothes that he had not sold or given away would fit easily inside of the suitcase.
With some reluctance, he took the small stack of books and put it aside, packing clothing and toiletries in the suitcase.
Books, he thought to himself,
are dangerous things. He was not sure what the his new employers might make of the collection of books he had been using to teach himself German: Spanish and German copies of
Das Kapital, Spanish and German copies of the
Communist Manifesto, German and Spanish printings of the Holy Bible, and a German-Spanish pocket dictionary he had finally found last week in a new bookstore.
With reluctance, he tucked the pocket dictionary into his suitcase, along with a much-loved copy of
Don Quixote and a well-thumbed book of useful tables. The other books he would sell at the corner bookstore – they were not useful to him, and he might need spending money along the way.
It is a pity, he thought to himself,
they were interesting reading. He had never been particularly political or religious, but he thought he could see now why people found it so intensely interesting, and it was nice to know the origins of the quotes that he heard so often while out and about. He stuck his room key in an envelope and headed downstairs, pushing the envelope in through his landlord's mail slot and briskly walking on before the landlord could come to the door to see him leaving.
Rent had been past due, a little bit. Nicolau felt bad about that, but there wasn't much to be done. He briskly walked by a watching policeman, and ducked into the corner bookstore. The policeman followed, curious about a young man moving hastily with a suitcase and an instrument case.
"Excuse me, how much could I get for these?" Nicolau asked, dropping the stack of books on the counter.
The clerk spared a nervous glance behind him. "Ah. Well, not much of interest here, really, we don't deal in these sorts of books usually..."
"What? I bought them here," Nicolau said. "I know you don't want to give me the same price back, half maybe?"
"You must be mistaken, you have us confused with some other bookseller," the clerk said, looking over his shoulder.
"What? Don't jerk me around like that. I may be new in the neighborhood, but that's no reason to cheat me. You can at least give me half back what I paid," Nicolau looked at the clerk crossly.
"You're delusional. Fine, here, have some money. Consider it a charitable donation. Go use it to get your head fixed." The clerk pushed some coins on the counter.
Nicolau swept them away before the clerk could change his mind, hurrying out of the bookstore. The policeman stayed in the bookstore to talk with the clerk as Nicolau headed to the train station for his ride to Barcelona.
He boarded the train with a few minutes to spare. Peering out the window at the disappearing station, he saw a pair of policemen rush out to the station, pointing down the tracks at the train.
Perhaps they had meant to take the train to Barcelona as well, Nicolau thought to himself.
It is a pity, you would think police officers would be well-organized enough to get to the station on time.
The train stopped in what would have been in plain sight of the station in Barcelona had the weather been clearer. Some unannounced delay or mechanical failure. Unfortunate. He had a ship to catch, and he wanted to hurry to do so. Nicolau let himself out of the train, walking across the tracks in the rain to the road. Passing by the station, he noticed a couple of policemen arriving at the station. A minute later, he could hear the train resume its motion, moving the last quarter mile into the station.
Nicolau shook his head. If he had known it was a short delay, he might have waited, but he'd had no way of knowing that. He made it down to the docks without further incident. Wet and a little tired, he patiently explained that while his reservation hadn't been paid for, yet, and he didn't quite have enough money to do so, his employer would provide payment in full at the other end. After a small bribe – described as a "surcharge for personal consideration" - he made his way aboard the ship.
Sentimentally, he watched from the deck as the familiar city of Barcelona disappeared, and then retreated to his steerage quarters to carefully count his remaining money. He felt a little nervous, reflecting over how the terms offered to him had suddenly changed for the worse after he had agreed to take the job. Perhaps they would change again when he arrived. If they did, he decided, he would try to find work elsewhere in Austria-Hungary. Perhaps he could make money as a musician for a little while – that did not require speaking the language very well, and it was a very good way to meet people.