Passing Through

Passing Through
(Sic Transit Gloria Mundi)

"There's a place near barcelona, where the wine is always strong.
The old men lie asleep in the warm sun.
But I am only passing through, I have no time to spend with you."
(Steamhammer)

THE STORY

Mike Rocozem sat down heavily on the padded seat of the Barcelona
train. Hitching north had been difficult, and the oppressive heat of
the Spanish sun had all but exhausted him. He smiled at the young woman
who sat opposite him, as he placed his rucksack on the floor.
Travelling by train was a last resort. It was not so much the cost, as
the principle. It was almost as though he had been defeated. There was
no challenge, no adventure, and little chance of a conversation. All
that he could expect was the monotonous sound of the train wheels as
they rolled along the track, leaving the past far behind.
As the platform began to pass slowly by the open window, he began to
experience a strange melancholy, and he knew that he would never
return.
"Excuse me" he said politely to the young woman, who was now studying
him intently, "Do you speak English?"
She smiled, exposing a row of sparkling white teeth, and Mike noticed
that she was perhaps the most beautiful woman that he had ever
seen.
"Just a little." she lied.
He stood and gestured toward his rucksack.
"Would you look after this for me, I won't be a minute."
"Of course." replied the woman, showing vague signs of amusement. Mike
opened the sliding door and was erased from her sight.
The corridor was cool and draughty, a pleasant change from the stuffy
carriage. Passengers lined the route, as he made his way from carriage
to carriage, searching in vain for a buffet car.
"This is ridiculous." he whispered through clenched teeth "It's a four
hour journey to Barcelona, and nothing to eat or drink." He made his
way back to his seat and sat down with a sigh.
"There is a problem?"
Mike realised that the young woman could speak better English than she
had indicated, and her accent betrayed a hint of American.
"What? -- Oh, not really. I was just looking for a buffet car, that's
all."
"And there isn't one?"
"No, I've been right to the end of the train. You would think that
there would be one, it's a long enough journey."
The woman smiled, and a wave of emotion swept through Mike's body. Was
it desire? He felt certain that she could tell exactly what he was
thinking.
"I'm sorry to ask you" he began - though he was not at all sorry - "but
have you spent some time in America?"
She laughed and threw back her head.
"It's just that I thought that I could detect an American
accent."
"Maybe I am from Mexico?"
Mike knew that he desired her - in fact he wanted nothing less than to
make love to her, right then and there in the train carriage - but he
said only "I see!"
"It's heavy - your rucksack?"
He could not bring himself to believe that she actually wanted to begin
a conversation - with him.
"Yes, it grows heavier all the time."
"I've always wanted to know what people keep in those things?"
Mike considered the cheap souvenirs of Spain, and unwashed clothing
that formed a solid mass, bounded by the nylon walls of his
baggage.
"People carry their past in these things, didn't you know?"
"I think that your past must be very heavy."
Mike smiled, then after several seconds of silence, during which she
appeared to be considering something, she leaned forward as if sharing
a secret.
"Would you like to make love with me?" she asked, with a mischievous
sparkle in her eyes. Mike could not believe that he had heard her
properly.
"What?" he blurted out, just before his jaw dropped and remained wide
open.
The woman laughed as she repeated the question, adding "Am I not the
woman you have been waiting for?"
Mike did not know what to say, or what to think, as he felt the heat
rising in his cheeks. She stared into his eyes for a second, then threw
herself back in her seat with a shrug.
Mike sat rigidly on the edge of his seat, his jaw wide open, staring at
the exposed flesh of her full breasts above her dress. She remained
silent, looking out of the window, with the faint trace of a smile on
her lips.
The train slowed as it entered the station, and Mike watched, as if in
a dream, as she stood and opened the carriage door. He was still
staring as she stepped onto the platform, and turned to give him one
last smile.
"Goodbye!" was all she said.
The question was repeated over and over in his head, as he began to
recover his composure. He should have blurted out "Yes! Yes! You are
the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen", but it was too
late.
The train was leaving the station as he leapt to his feet, the rhythm
of the wheels growing faster by the second, and he realised that he had
missed his chance.
"Perhaps she was nothing more than a prostitute?" He told himself,
though he suspected that she was not. He would never know - unless...
He snatched his rucksack and stood by the door, waiting for the next
station. He would cross the platform and take the next train back - he
had to see her.

It was a village or a small town, he never had been able to tell where
one definition ended and the other began. At least it was a small
enough area in which to find such an exceptional beauty. He stood
outside the ticket office not knowing exactly where to begin his
search. The sound of a flamenco came in waves from a small cantina
across the square, his mouth was dry as he approached.
"Perhaps she's in there?" he thought, and assured himself that this was
as good a place to begin his search as any other.
The barman seamed oddly suspicious, as Mike ordered a lemonade. He
placed the drink on the bar and said in perfect English "Are you here
on holiday?"
"Sort of..." replied Mike, pointing to the rucksack, and gulping down
the freezing liquid "...But I'm only passing through. I'm looking for
someone who arrived about half an hour ago, perhaps you've seen her?
She's in her twenties, with long dark hair - and very pretty."
The barman laughed.
"I have seen many hundreds of girls, in Spain, with this description,
but I think I know the one you are looking for."
"If you know where she is, I would really like to speak to her."
"Yes, I think that I do know this woman" confirmed the barman "But we
are all looking for her. She is Gloria Mundi, and if you find her you
must not let her get away. If she is here, then she is only passing
through."
Mike felt slightly confused by this reply, and wondered if the barman
was having a joke at his expense. Perhaps he did not know her at all
and he would be better off looking elsewhere.
"Why don't you ask the others?" called the barman, as Mike stepped out,
onto the pavement.

It was as though his life would end if he did not find her. His quest
had become an all-consuming fixation, and the power of his imagination
had exalted her to the highest plane. Who was she? Where had she come
from, and where had she gone? Surely the town was far too small to
conceal her?
It came to him in a flash of inspiration - he would wait for her at the
station. The barman had told him that she was only passing through, and
although he was probably only teasing him, it was safe to assume that
she would be leaving as she had arrived.
It could have been a Sunday. The station was deserted, except for a
group of three old men who sat with their backs against the whitewashed
wall, their hats pulled low, over their eyes, asleep in the warm
Spanish sun. Mike began to feel slightly ridiculous, as he began to
wait for her to pass through the station.

He emptied his glass, and called to the barman for more wine. Somehow,
the wine seamed stronger this morning, and the world took on a jagged
appearance as he stepped into the harsh light of another Spanish
morning.
He could not remember how long he had waited. Had it been years, or
only a few months? Every day he would leave the cantina, and cross the
square to the station. The trains would come and go, and as the
station-master locked the huge iron gates, he would make his way back
to the cantina - but today it would be different.
The old men were already there, against the wall. As he approached he
had the feeling that he was invading their private world.
They looked up at him with sad eyes, but did not say a word. He had
never heard them speak, or even seen them speak to each other. His
curiosity had grown with every day that he had spent at the station -
he had to ask them.
"Excuse me!" he began "I don't mean to intrude, but I've seen you every
day, and I was wondering... that is... I was curious..."
The old men laughed in unison. Mike felt that he had missed the joke,
yet began to laugh with them.
"Why are you here every day?" he continued, wondering if they were all,
just a little, insane.
The old man nearest to him scrambled awkwardly to his feet, and gripped
him by the shoulder, thrusting his face close to Mike's as he
spoke.
"Why do you think we are here?"
Mike felt somehow threatened by the closeness of the old man's face. He
could smell the stale wine on his breath, and thought that he looked a
hundred years old.
"We are here..." continued his companion, who had removed his hat and
was now staring up at Mike "...for the same reason that you are
here."
"I'm sorry, but I'm only waiting for someone."
"A girl?"
"Yes, a girl."
A pretty girl?"
Yes she is - very pretty."
"Then we are here for the same reason."
The old man turned and closed his eyes, while the others stared at him,
with what appeared to be pity. Mike felt uneasy in the company of these
three wizened old men, and begun to wish that he had not been so
curious.
"I see - but obviously not the same girl."
"Of course it's the same girl." Said the man who continued to maintain
his grip on Mike's shoulder.
"What?"
"We are all waiting for her."
"I think that you have made a mistake."
"No, it's no mistake. We have been waiting a long time to meet her
again."
Mike ran a hand through his hair> His capacity to communicate in
Spanish had improved, yet he was uncertain that he had
understood.
"I'm sorry, but I think that we may have got our wires crossed
somehow."
"Perhaps we have, but I think that you should look at this."
The old man who had so far remained silent, reached inside his jacket,
and produced a tattered photograph. The three old men huddled together
to get a glimpse, and then, almost reluctantly, held it up to Mike's
face.
"This is her - yes?"
Mike was struck dumb. It was her, yet the photograph looked as though
it were a hundred years old. Against a sepia background, those
brilliant white teeth, and smiling eyes looked out at him, almost
mockingly.
"But how..?" He stammered. "How old is this photograph? Who is
she?"
"You have missed her. Every day we wait for her to come, and she has
never come. We have grown old waiting, and now you have done the
same."
From out of his pocket he produced a broken mirror, and held it to
Mike's face. The reflection was of an old man, yet Mike was all too
familiar with those craggy lines etched into the skin. It was true, he
had missed his chance, and had waited in vain for her to come back. He
realised then, that she had passed him every day, yet he had not
recognised her. He had been too busy looking for an illusion.