May202013

OSBERT PICKLE IN MOSDUBIA MAY 17, 2013

by Writerwithbottles

CHAPTER ONE: Poetry in gray Boards

The pickup truck pulled up with a slight jerk.

"That should be the train station down there" the driver said.

I opened the door to get a better look. My little dog Napoleon shivered from the blast of cold air. Through the trees I could just make out the roof of a building at the bottom of a snow covered hill. From here the building looked small. I wondered if that was really a train station. Considering I had a small dog and a large trunk, I did not relish trying to get down the hill by myself. But I have had worse things happen to me over the years. Besides, I am not one to let a small hill become an overwhelming obstacle.

"Thank you for your trouble. The hill does not look that steep. I can juggle Napoleon plus the trunk and get us down the hill". I was trying to sound confident. I had paperwork that said I was authorized to enter the train station. The driver did not.

"You'll never be able to carry that trunk alone down that hill in the snow. Wouldn't want those books of yours gettin' wet. If you can put your dog in your knapsack, we can each grab an end and slowly make it down the hill".

"What about your truck"?

"It'll be all right".

"Come on Napoleon," I said as I gently put him in the knapsack. He is just the right weight to keep the knapsack on my back and shoulders without it sliding off as I move.

"The snow is deeper than I thought. It is a little past my ankles. I'll go down first. You take up the rear. How many books did you say you had in this trunk?"

The distance to the station wasn't that far, the hill was just steep. It was difficult to resist the temptation to sit on the trunk and slide down the hill.

My mother collected a variety of things, including this trunk, which she wanted to take with her on a ship and cross the seas. The mythical voyage was part of her eccentricities. I suppose looking forward to something we knew could never happen kept her from getting bored being a farmer's wife. At times, I have been thankful for my mother's, "voyage collection". Other times I have kicked myself for lugging it with me.

As we made our way down the hill, I thought I had the easier end. All of a sudden I tripped on a branch hidden by the trunk. I managed to correct my steps before we all went flying down the hill. After that, I took every step with more caution. I was never so glad to get down a hill in all my life.

At the bottom of the hill, it was time to say our goodbyes. Yes, this building was indeed a train station. Two days ago, this man picked me up while I stood with Napoleon and the trunk, beside a lonely country highway. After 19 ½ years and many kilometers under my feet, to see a friendly face is always a blessing. I was waiting half way between two villages spread far apart. Villages that no one seemed to come in or out of for days at a time. The driver did not have to drive this route. He could have left us at the entrance to the village, leaving us to walk into the village and to walk out here. He not only drove me, Napoleon, and my trunk, the whole distance here, he took us around the village to ask the location of the train station.

"I can get the trunk from here. I appreciate you giving me the ride and the help down the hill. Let me pay for some of your gasoline."

"Don't worry about it. Like I said before, I had to come this way. You keep your money and get a real nice room in that hotel you talked about."

"How about we come to a compromise? I'll give you one gold coin and if you don't need it, you can give it to someone who does."

"Ok. I can live with that. You take good care of that little dog of yours. Better get back to my truck. I'll pray for you. That you find what you're lookin' for."

"Thanks again!"

I walked up to the station. Upon seeing the train station up close, it was rather small. For a building that size the architecture was impressive. They do not make them like this anymore. All the cornices fit exactly as they should. The simplicity of design was a decoration in and of itself. The craftsmen it took to fashion the wood into beauty, are long gone. Their crafts have all but died out. The station seemed like a real survivor. My guess was that it was built between the First and Second Wars for Independence.

I hoisted the trunk onto the platform just as a man in a uniform came outside locking the door behind him.

"You just missed the train. Oh, wait. I don't remember approving your paperwork! You're just now getting here?" he said, suddenly becoming a little agitated.

"Yes."

"The next train comes in three days! How did you get here?"

"I walked down the hill, there." I pointed in the direction of the trail we made in the snow.

"Xylophone! Have you got the paperwork you need in order to be here? I'll need to see your D-119."

I took Napoleon out of the knapsack and handed the man my paperwork.

"You've got a dog?" the man sounded as if he might faint. "There'll be no messes on my new floor!" he shook his finger at Napoleon, and looked at me with all the seriousness of a brain tumor.

He read enough of my paperwork to know that I was authorized to be there.

"Come in I guess. We don't normally have people stay here overnight. Do you know what this means? Octogenarian! Xylophone!" He held his head in his hands. "My budget! I'll have to dip into the petty cash for the extra coal to heat the station. Mr. Rufenacht is not going to like this! He's always telling me why budgets are what they are, and how budgets must be adhered to. Young Mr. Wellek, that helps me on Tuesday and Friday mornings, will have to stay with you at night. That won't be easy. Or cheap! His wife will have to be up early, to make sure their cows get milked on their regular schedule... You people never seem to understand what walking in from the village does to us here. By saving a little money and avoiding the incoming train, you put budgets at risk and strain marriages!"

It seems that by changing one piece of this man's routine I caused an avalanche to fall on him.

"By the way," he continued, "My name is Mr. Ungar. I am the station manager. You are?"

"Osbert Pickle."

"Yes. Your paperwork did say. There aren't any beds for passengers in here you know. We have a fold up army bed for staff. We've got a long wooden bench we pull out in emergencies like this. You can wad up a jacket or a couple of shirts to use as a pillow. I'd better get on to my wife. She'll be wondering where I am in a few minutes."

Mr. Ungar entered the office behind the ticket booth and picked up the phone.

"Hello, Gladys? Can you connect me with my wife? Thank you... Mrs. Ungar, I won't be home till this evening. We have another, "walk in" passenger. Can you bring us two portable lunches around noon time?... Hang on I'll ask him... Do you eat sliced real beef on your sandwiches? Or would you prefer imitation?"

"I like real beef."

"You can save yourself a trip to the store. He eats real beef... Ok, I'll see you around noon then... Gladys, can you connect me to, Mr. Wellek?"...

As Mr. Ungar made arrangements for my nighttime companion, I walked over to one of the waiting room seats. The realization that this was going to be a long three days came to me as I sat down.

My eyes fell on the floor first. Mr. Ungar said that the floors were new. As beautiful as they were I could tell they were not new. The floor was newly restored maybe, but definitely not new. Everything about the insides of the train station spoke of a long forgotten time. Even from this vantage point I could tell that great care had been taken when they built it. There were still the old-fashioned lamps like I remember from my grandmother's house.

Mr. Ungar finished talking to Mr. Wellek about his new work schedule. Then I heard him trying to explain to someone, whom I assumed to be Mr. Rufenacht, why he needed a budget increase to cover, Mr. Ungar's, and Mr. Wellek's overtime. After that was an argument about money for extra coal.

Napoleon had been patient ever since we arrived at the top of the hill. He did not once complain when he was inside the knapsack. The poor little dog was often hid in there out of necessity. He had not once barked or growled at Mr. Ungar. Once I sat down, he curled up on the floor near my feet. Now that Mr. Ungar has finished with his telephoning, Napoleon was doing his little dance.

"Mr. Ungar, is there a place that I can take my dog for a walk?"

"Yes! I ought to tell you to take that dog back to the city and wait for the inbound train. But since I've made arrangements, and rearranged everything... you can take him to the base of the hill. Make sure you take him as far from the station as you can. I don't want to run the risk of anyone tracking dog mess onto my new floor! Is that trunk locked?"

"Yes."

"I guess since it's just the two of us, you can leave it there. Remember though, I am not here to watch your belongings. Even though I would normally be working elsewhere, I do have office work I can catch up on. I can't be held responsible for anything of yours that is lost or stolen."

"I'll be back soon." I grabbed Napoleon's leash and headed out to give him a walk.

As we returned inside, Mr. Ungar was panicking again.

"I nearly forgot! You'll be needing more than just the portable lunch today. You'll be wanting at least nine meals! I need to arrange for someone to bring food. Xylophone! Xylophone! That requires me to squeeze more money out of Mr. Rufenacht." Mr. Ungar sat silently in his office for a moment with a worried look on his face.

The silence was broken by the bells on the front entrance to the station. In walked Mrs. Ungar.

"I hope you don't mind, I brought your portable lunches a little early. I'm supposed to be in the village for the quilting bee at 1:00 pm. Mr. Ungar, you look as if you were abandoned by your mother."

"Oh. I thought I got everything arranged for our, "walk in," then I remembered he will need to eat. I will have to contact Mrs. Hueber, who brings food on Tuesdays and Fridays. I don't know how I'm going to get any more money from, Mr. Rufenacht. It was hard enough getting the money for the extra Coal and wages."

"Do you have to call Mrs. Hueber? Can't ya save coal by heatin' only the office and lettin' the waitin' room stay cold? If ya give me some of the Coal money, I can cook extra for our meals and you bring it up here."

"I don't know. What would Mr. Rufenacht say?"

"What he don't know..."

"I suppose so... What could it hurt? It could cost me a job that's what it would hurt! But... If we are careful, and we have a budget surplus. That will look good won't it... I guess you'll have to sleep on the bench in here with young Mr. Wellek... Make sure you bring your trunk in here so your toothpaste won't freeze. I'll call Wellek and make sure he eats his suppers at home before he comes... Thank you Mrs. Ungar! What a good idea that was!"

"I have to get to the quilting bee. One of the ladies is home tending to her sick mother. If I'm not there the quilt won't be done in time for the spring festival."

Mrs. Ungar left for her quilting bee and I remembered the many quilting bees my mother hosted at our house back on the farm near _________.

"Isn't she the sweetest? ...Mr. Pickle, I'd like to apologize to you. I'm awful sorry for using those swear words earlier."

"Swear words?"

"Xylophone and Octogenarian."

"Never mind about them. I remember when those words were perfectly harmless..."

"Weren't those the days!"

"I was noticing how well built this building was. Do you happen to know how old it is?"

"Ah, history! My favorite thing... This wonderful old survivor was built before the First War for Independence. It was originally used only for royalty. That's why it is so small. It wasn't meant for the masses of passengers that used to crowd into Vilinošs. It has survived three wars and four different types of government. One of those different types of government, was the kind that despised all things of The Opulence."

"That's explains it. It's a very simple beauty in here. It must be a pleasure to get to work in here."

"It is! Despite the odd hiccough like today, I wouldn't trade this job for anything."