The Woman on the Train Read Free Page A

turning, said, ‘I look forward to watching you conduct one day.’
    ‘Yes, I’ll…’ But she’d gone, disappearing into the crowd.
    *
    So, now I had to find the African woman and deliver my message. It wasn’t difficult, she knew someone would be looking for her, and I saw her, a large, short black woman in her railway uniform with its peaked cap, carrying a pile of envelopes. She watched me as I approached her.
    ‘Can you tell me the time of the next train to Rennes, please?’ These were the words I was told to say.
    ‘Not for at least another two hours, Monsieur.’ And those were the words I was told would be said back to me. ‘Follow me,’ she said, in her thick African accent. She led me to the back end of a newspaper kiosk, checking round her in, what I thought, a rather obvious fashion. ‘Have you got something for me?’ I think she said.
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    She rolled her eyes. ‘Are you not listening? I said–’
    ‘Oh, yes.’ I fished the envelope from my bag and passed it her.
    ‘Good,’ she said, inserting my envelope into the middle of her pile. Without another word, she spun on her shoes and walked briskly away.
    ‘Thank you very much,’ I muttered under my breath. Nonetheless, I was hugely relieved to be shot of the offending document. Now, at last, I could breathe easy. I saw her enter an office with the words Personnel Seulement written on the door.
    I sauntered towards the station exit. Two French policemen stood either side, eyeing the crowds. Above the large doors was a framed portrait of Marshal Pétain, the head of our collaborationist government, bordered by a couple of French flags. I stopped to check the address of my piano teacher on a slip of paper, while people rushed past me. A mother, carrying a small but bulging suitcase, yelled at her child to hurry up; two men bumped into each other, and had started arguing. ‘Why don’t you look where you’re going,’ said the taller one, scooping up his hat off the ground. A station announcement broadcast the time of the next train on platform two; two men on ladders were affixing a new poster on the station wall.
    I was about to leave, when I heard another commotion behind me. The door to the station office was opened. I saw the back of a German uniform; I heard shouts in German-accented French, competing with the argument between the two Frenchmen who had clashed into each other. Had something happened to my African woman? I had to see if anything was wrong. Approaching, I heard a German say, ‘We can do this here or you come with us to HQ – it’s up to you.’ Others, like me, had come to see what was happening. We could see inside, the African women, dwarfed by two German officers, unable to escape their clutches. She caught my eye, her expression one of confusion and fear. One of the Germans followed her gaze. He saw me and the two of us remained frozen for a second, staring at each other. Then, instinctively, I ran. I heard the German yell, ‘Hey, you, stop.’
    The two French policemen had heard it too but they had moved away from the exit, having become embroiled with the two men arguing. I sprinted out of the station, zigzagging past people, porters and pigeons, and ran down the street, pursued by a number of men in uniforms. ‘Out of the way, out of the way,’ I heard one shout. ‘Stop right now,’ screamed another. I turned up a street on my right, running across the road. A car screeched to a halt, the driver sounding his horn. I had no idea where I was; I only knew I had to keep going. ‘Stop or we’ll fire!’ A warning shot rang out. People in the street screamed. A mother pulled her child in as she pinned herself against a wall. I knew the second shot would be aimed at me. I had no choice and came to a halt, putting my hands in the air, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. I refused to turn around but I heard their heavy boots on the tarmac rapidly approaching me. One of them pushed me against