Marie snapped her head up, suddenly realizing there was silence. She replaced her glasses; only a few others remained in the sanctuary now, talking casually, some walking towards the library segment on the left side of the church building. Marie couldn't believe that she'd phased out for so long; the services ordinarily ended after an hour...surely she wasn't out for such a time...
And yet, on cue for 10 o' clock, Marie heard across campus a whistle blowing as the daily train arrived. She stood up slowly, her bookbag surprisingly still over her shoulder, debating what to do. She could take the train into Regen, and perhaps on to Regensburg for a day away from campus, although the weather, albeit somewhat calmed now, would likely make such an endeavor miserable. As she walked in the general direction of the station back on the other side of the student center and Goethe, she did have time to debate; the driver would have to take some time to turn the engine around on a small wye, as for the return trip the early 1900's locomotive pushed the two coaches rather than pulling them. The entirety of the train, and indeed the renovation of the rail line from the nearest civilization to the school, had been entirely funded once again by the Wagner family, although certainly further back than her parents.
Marie bit her lip thoughtfully, pulling the jacket closer about her body; the rain had halted, but the wind still whipped about ferociously, whistling among the high cornices and eaves of the buildings around her. The university had been kept alive with the intent of being firmly rooted in the past, as was evident with the appearance of the grounds; that which was not made from stone was made from wood and what was likely original Medieval plaster, and signs of electricity were not very evident or common - each dormitory room had just two electrical outlets, enough for a computer and perhaps a lamp.
She passed the fountain in the center of campus, her left hand brushing against the molded edges, long covered in moss and lichen. The fountain had frozen over back in December, become a static part of the winter campus much as the trees and grass had become. She drew back her hand as a rogue icicle drew blood from her index finger, held it to her mouth as she fell to a knee on the sidewalk. The coppery taste of her own blood danced across her tongue, and she watched a red droplet slide down the offending ice only to stop and freeze at the very bottom. She let her eyes remain for a moment, drifting out of focus.
Being ridiculously tired seemed to be a fact of life these days, she thought to herself as she stood up once more, continuing to the north corner of campus where a dark plume of smoke and sparks rose from the idling locomotive. She passed between Goethe Hall and the student center, where only two hours earlier she had made an epic journey in the ice and rain to have a breakfast she didn't want; letting her feet carry her now, she seemed at peace with the idea of taking the train, even if she didn't get off of it at the other end. She skipped up the steps of the depot office, turning left through the barricade (she'd never seen it closed, for the record) found herself on the platform for the first time in quite a while. Although the train came every day at eleven, five, and eight (ten, four and seven on Sundays) she hadn't so much as seen it or paid heed to its mournful whistle in what had to have been months.
The engine was beautiful, a vintage Czech piece from 1922, manufactured for the Soviet Union. Marie believed that it had been captured from the Russians during the second World War, although how it had escaped total destruction as so much infrastructure had was beyond her imagination. It was short, only perhaps 15 metres long, with four wheels to each side - one leading, two drivers, and a trailing set, the wet metal steaming from internal heat and friction from its journey to the school. The driver was perched precariously on the edge of the tender, covered in coal soot and oil grime. He waved casually to her with a grin accented by his blackened face; she returned the gesture, and started down the platform to the olive-drab coaches. These, too, were ancient, bearing the old Deutschebahn livery markings, meaning they were pre-war, though hardly spartan. She entered the coach farthest from the locomotive, where a few students sat reading, talking quietly, some of them dressed in uniform, some in their own clothing. Grey-haired Professor Stabling sat in the booth nearest the now-front of the coach, looking expectantly down the track, glancing at his watch.
The engine's whistle blasted twice sharply, a warning to any students who were still en route to the station to hurry up. The coach vibrated slightly as the driver permitted more steam into the pipes leading to the drivers, giving the expected rhythmic puffing noise. The whistle blew twice more, cheerfully, and with a jerk the train began moving slowly away from the platform. There was a thud as a straggler leapt aboard at the front end of the car, nearly upsetting Stabling's nervous meditation, and sat down with his back to her several rows up, breathing heavily.
Marie looked down, her hands in her lap, debating what to do to pass the time on the 30 minute journey. The engine had reached full steam, puffing loudly behind her as they drew alongside the left of the dirt road, always devoid of cars. A few branches rattled against the left windows periodically, the assault continuing on against the green running light that tinted the forward end of the compartment. She reached into the front pocket of her bag, feeling a thick hardback volume therein.
Goethe's "Faust"...she had read up through the prologue in Heaven, the three angel's speeches, up to Mephistopheles:
Da du, o Herr, dich einmal wieder nahst
Und fragst, wie alles sich bei uns befinde,
Und du mich sonst gewoehnlich gerne sahst,
So siehst du mich auch unter dem Gesinde.
Verzeih, ich kann nicht hohe Worte machen,
Und wenn mich auch der ganze Kreis verhoehnt;
Mein Pathos braechte dich gewiss zum Lachen,
Haettst du dir nicht das Lachen abgewoehnt.
Von Sonn' und Welten weiss ich nichts zu sagen,
Ich sehe nur, wie sich die Menschen plagen.
Der kleine Gott der Welt bleibt stets von gleichem Schlag,
Und ist so wunderlich als wie am ersten Tag.
Ein wenig besser wuerd er leben,
Haettst du ihm nicht den Schein des Himmelslichts gegeben;
Er nennt's Vernunft und braucht's allein,
Nur tierischer als jedes Tier zu sein.
Er scheint mir, mit Verlaub von euer Gnaden,
Wie eine der langbeinigen Zikaden,
Die immer fliegt und fliegend springt
Und gleich im Gras ihr altes Liedchen singt;
Und laeg er nur noch immer in dem Grase!
In jeden Quark begraebt er seine Nase.
Since Thou, O Lord, deign'st to approach again
And ask us how we do, in manner kindest,
Marie saw in her mind's eye the mental image - God, upon a silver throne, his face obscured by the brightest of sunlight, the angels arrayed all around the marble-white cloud pillars thereabout. And yet Mephistopheles was as a stain on this image - he wore black boots, laced nearly to the knee, equally dark woven pants laced with chain; a lengthy wrought-iron sword hung from a belt woven from black horsehair, a black cloak flowing behind him in the heavenly wind, hood down to bare his strangely handsome, goatee'd visage.
And heretofore to meet myself wert fain,
Among Thy menials, now, my face Thou findest.
Pardon, this troop I cannot follow after
With lofty speech, though by them scorned and spurned:
My pathos certainly would move Thy laughter,
If Thou hadst not all merriment unlearned.
What a strange phenomenon this must be for both; Mephistopheles, banished to Hell since the fall of Lucifer, finally stood again before the Lord among His servants. She felt herself smiling darkly to herself at the proposal that He might not have a sense of humor; could God really laugh at a joke, for if one knew all, what could possibly be funny? The image in her brain, strangely enough, corresponded; she saw Mephistopheles' mouth turn up in a smirk much as her own had. All merriment unlearned...
Of suns and worlds I've nothing to be quoted;
How men torment themselves, is all I've noted.
The little god o' the world sticks to the same old way,
And is as whimsical as on Creation's day.
She nearly laughed to herself. Men tormented themselves, interpreted perhaps more clearly as "tormented each other", she thought; and she could surely attest after years and years of...of everything. Her parents, who she had thought would always be there for her, had abandoned her...no! They had been taken from the earth, by God's hand! God takes the good at heart...And yet, God had never favored pious, well-intentioned Marie Wagner, leaving her alone and unprotected, whimsically, as though no sin existed of yet.
Marie slammed the book shut, making the students nearest her jump in slight alarm at the miniature thunderclap caused. Mephistopheles was a devil, she told herself, a devil. Not someone to be trusted, even though this statement was through the pen of an author long-dead. Fiction, and nothing more...and yet now her heart beat as never before. Be it men or devils that had taken her family from her, she was left forsaken on the cold earth, without hope and without purpose - by God himself.
She didn't know why, but she was taking the train to Regensburg.
prev chapter
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing
