I am on a lumbering train, heading north from Belgrade through the desolate Serbian countryside. A tail of thick smoke follows behind. I imagine it is visible from very far away, a guiding beacon for anyone who might be in the game of tracking trains across Serbian fields. Occasionally, the train comes to a halt. The doors open slowly as if straining against some unseen will. I imagine hands on the other side, struggling to keep them from parting. But I never see anyone outside.
I am invisible again. I know this because it took six ‘excuse me-s’ in four different languages (Croatian, Spanish, English, German) and me jumping up and down for the lady behind the counter in the Belgrade Train Station to sell me a ticket.
“Budapest.” she said.
“Yes.” I said.
She shrugged and held out her hand in my general direction. I placed a few bills in her palm. She glanced briefly at them, pushed a ticket across the counter toward me and promptly went back to talking loudly to the woman a few windows away.
The train is ancient. The maroon vinyl on the seats looks as if it may have been there since the first war. Yellow foam is poking out of the edges. The seat next to me has two long knife slashes in the form of a cross. I wonder if the cross pattern was intentional. Maybe it is meant to be an X. Maybe the X is marking something.
Two women wearing puffy blue coats and fur hats suddenly burst into my compartment. They start to arrange their faux leather bags and white paper wrapped parcels on the seat. The cross is covered.
“Um, hello?” I say.
“Sto!” one of the says “Nisam vas vidjeti!”
“Well…”
“Sorry,” the other says. “We’ll go to another compartment.”
They clatter out. I am still invisible.
I have yet to figure out what makes me invisible. Often, I enjoy it. I become a part of whatever city I am in, indiscernible, even to the locals. I watch people openly as if they were my own private movie, except I have no control over the volume. I don’t mind so much. I learn a lot.
The sun hasn’t been out at all today. Serbia will forever be etched in my mind with a cover of clouds. I listen to the wheels of the train on the track, metal against metal: comforting, steady.
The train slows to a stop. I see the windowed blue booths of Hungary Border Control. I watch a female guard in the booth blow pink bubble after pink bubble of gum.
“Passport.” says a deep voice behind me.
I turn to find a Hungarian Border Guard looking right at me. He is dressed in a well-tailored blue and grey uniform and shiny black shoes. His blond hair is visible under his visor-ed cap. I think I can see myself reflected in the shiny metal of his coat buttons. Invisible no longer, I reach for my Passport. He takes it with a grin, swiping it easily through his card reader.
“Soooo,” he says, “Where are you headed?” His English is impeccable. He is smiling. He is gazing into my eyes. I think he really does want to know. “Of course he wants to know,” I think, “Its his job.”
“Budapest.” I say.
“An excellent choice. For how long?”
“Four days?”
“Sounds as if you’re not sure. I’d suggest at least twice that.”
“Twice?”
“Absolutely. Where are you staying?” he asks.
“Brody House?”
“Ok.” he says, writing that down.
“Why are you writing that down?” I ask.
“So I can look up the address later. I’m going to come by on, lets see..Today is Tuesday… I’ll come by on Thursday and take you around, show you Budapest.”
I stare at him. I hold my breath. Everything stands still for one instant. I feel as if I am in some silly rom-com and Molly Ringwald is going to appear at any moment.
“You’re going to..?”
“Yes. Look, I’ve got to keep working here. You looked so small there by the window when I first walked in, I almost didn’t see you. Then I noticed your smile. Ok? Don’t worry. I’ll come meet you at 11 in the morning. We’ll go walking. Please say yes. Ok?”
“Yes. Yes.” I say.
“Now, how many days are going to be in Budapest?”
“At least eight,” I say, “possibly more.”
“Excellent.” he says, “See you Thursday.”
He turns on his heel and exits the way he came. The train starts moving soon after. I look into my reflection in the window. It remains steadfast as buildings, roads, and cars appear in the landscape. The train stops, people get on. Someone says hello to me. I say hello back.
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