almost fictional term with which one did not have to reckon as much; in a word, a station given such a wide understanding, submitting to the engine driver’s interpretation, was now less threatening, though still abhorrent.
It therefore became a question, above all, of never stopping the train at the place marked by regulations, but always to lean out beyond or before it.
Grot initially proceeded with utmost caution, so as not to awaken the suspicions of officials; the deviations were at first so slight that no one paid any attention. Wanting, however, to strengthen within himself a feeling of freedom, the engine driver introduced a certain diversity: one time he would stop too early, the other time too late—these shifts vacillated from one side to the other.
But eventually this caution began to irritate him; his freedom seemed a sham, an illusion, something in the manner of a self-deception; the calm spread over the faces of stationmasters, not befuddled by surprise, annoyed him, awakening the spirit of contrariness and rebellion. Grot became audacious. The variations became stronger with each day; the range grew and intensified.
Already yesterday the stationmaster at Smaglowa, a grizzly fellow with constant half-open eyes like an old fox, had been squinting suspiciously at the train that had stopped a good distance from the station. Grot even thought that the stationmaster had muttered something, while motioning in his direction. But somehow he got away scot free.
The engine driver had rubbed his hands and rejoiced: ‘They’ve noticed!’
Leaving Wrotycz at daybreak, he decided to double the stakes.
‘I wonder in what proportion will these gentlemen’s irritation rise?’ he thought, releasing the spigot into motion. ‘I would suppose to the nth degree.’
Somehow his conjecture did not fall short of expectation. This day’s entire trip would be one uninterrupted series of disturbances.
It began in Zaszum, the first major stop on the line, which he had intended to pass. Smiling maliciously under his moustache, he stopped the train a kilometre before the station. Leaning against the engine’s sill, Grot lit his pipe, and, puffing on it leisurely, he observed with interest the amazed faces of the conductors and the chief supervisor, who could not explain the behaviour of the engine driver. Several passengers tilted out their startled heads and glanced to the right and to the left, undoubtedly thinking some obstacle had hindered the train’s movement. Finally the stationmaster ran up and asked what was happening.
‘Why didn’t you come up to the platform? No obstruction was signalled; everything is in order.’
Grot slowly let out a large, dense puff of smoke, and not removing the pipe from his lips, he eased out coolly through his teeth:
‘Hmm . . . is that so? It seemed to me that the switch was badly set. It doesn’t pay to drive up this short distance: my old lady is a little out of breath.’ He tenderly tapped the barrel of the furnace. ‘Besides, the passengers are getting off by themselves—see for yourself—ah, there’s one, two; there goes an entire family.’
Indeed. Tired of waiting, the passengers were beginning to abandon the cars, and stooping from the weight of bundles and luggage, they were making their way to the station. With an ironical glance Grot followed their movement, not giving a thought to changing his tactic.
The stationmaster frowned slightly and, giving up on the situation, reprimanded Grot upon parting.
‘In the future try straining your eyes better!’
The engine driver dismissed the rebuke with contemptuous silence. A couple of minutes later, ignoring the station, the train was gliding along on its journey.
At Brzan, the next station stop, almost the identical story repeated itself, the only difference being that this time Grot fancied stopping the train a kilometre beyond the station. Here he did as he pleased and did not go back to the platform. He noticed,
It therefore became a question, above all, of never stopping the train at the place marked by regulations, but always to lean out beyond or before it.
Grot initially proceeded with utmost caution, so as not to awaken the suspicions of officials; the deviations were at first so slight that no one paid any attention. Wanting, however, to strengthen within himself a feeling of freedom, the engine driver introduced a certain diversity: one time he would stop too early, the other time too late—these shifts vacillated from one side to the other.
But eventually this caution began to irritate him; his freedom seemed a sham, an illusion, something in the manner of a self-deception; the calm spread over the faces of stationmasters, not befuddled by surprise, annoyed him, awakening the spirit of contrariness and rebellion. Grot became audacious. The variations became stronger with each day; the range grew and intensified.
Already yesterday the stationmaster at Smaglowa, a grizzly fellow with constant half-open eyes like an old fox, had been squinting suspiciously at the train that had stopped a good distance from the station. Grot even thought that the stationmaster had muttered something, while motioning in his direction. But somehow he got away scot free.
The engine driver had rubbed his hands and rejoiced: ‘They’ve noticed!’
Leaving Wrotycz at daybreak, he decided to double the stakes.
‘I wonder in what proportion will these gentlemen’s irritation rise?’ he thought, releasing the spigot into motion. ‘I would suppose to the nth degree.’
Somehow his conjecture did not fall short of expectation. This day’s entire trip would be one uninterrupted series of disturbances.
It began in Zaszum, the first major stop on the line, which he had intended to pass. Smiling maliciously under his moustache, he stopped the train a kilometre before the station. Leaning against the engine’s sill, Grot lit his pipe, and, puffing on it leisurely, he observed with interest the amazed faces of the conductors and the chief supervisor, who could not explain the behaviour of the engine driver. Several passengers tilted out their startled heads and glanced to the right and to the left, undoubtedly thinking some obstacle had hindered the train’s movement. Finally the stationmaster ran up and asked what was happening.
‘Why didn’t you come up to the platform? No obstruction was signalled; everything is in order.’
Grot slowly let out a large, dense puff of smoke, and not removing the pipe from his lips, he eased out coolly through his teeth:
‘Hmm . . . is that so? It seemed to me that the switch was badly set. It doesn’t pay to drive up this short distance: my old lady is a little out of breath.’ He tenderly tapped the barrel of the furnace. ‘Besides, the passengers are getting off by themselves—see for yourself—ah, there’s one, two; there goes an entire family.’
Indeed. Tired of waiting, the passengers were beginning to abandon the cars, and stooping from the weight of bundles and luggage, they were making their way to the station. With an ironical glance Grot followed their movement, not giving a thought to changing his tactic.
The stationmaster frowned slightly and, giving up on the situation, reprimanded Grot upon parting.
‘In the future try straining your eyes better!’
The engine driver dismissed the rebuke with contemptuous silence. A couple of minutes later, ignoring the station, the train was gliding along on its journey.
At Brzan, the next station stop, almost the identical story repeated itself, the only difference being that this time Grot fancied stopping the train a kilometre beyond the station. Here he did as he pleased and did not go back to the platform. He noticed,
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