The Night Train to Lisbon – Part 1: Compartment Six

The night train from Madrid to Lisbon left at ten, and Compartment Six was already occupied.

Elena stood in the narrow corridor with her bag and her ticket, looking at the man on the bottom bunk. He was thirty-five, long-limbed, in a worn denim jacket, with a guitar case at his feet and a paper bag of oranges in his lap. He looked up and smiled, a little sheepishly.

"I think we're sharing," he said, in Spanish, then in English. "Gabriel. I'm sorry about the guitar."

"It's fine." She was thirty-two, a translator from Seville, on her way to a conference she did not want to attend. "I'll take the top."

"I can take the top."

"I like the top."

She climbed up, kicked off her boots and lay on the narrow bunk listening to the train rock out of the station. The city lights slid away. The carriage settled into a rhythmic clatter. Below her, she heard the soft click of the guitar case, then a quiet chord.

"Do you mind?"

"Please."

He played something slow and wandering, half a lullaby, half a love song. The notes rose in the dim compartment and the train beat time beneath them. Elena lay with her eyes closed, her chest loosening.

Hours later she woke thirsty. The train had stopped in a silent station; a sodium lamp threw orange light through the blind. Gabriel was awake, sitting cross-legged on his bunk, peeling an orange.

"Segment?" he whispered.

She took it. It was sweet, cold and perfect. They shared the orange in the half-dark, and talked in low voices about everything: her work, his music, the miles between towns.

"Can I ask you something?" said Elena.

"Yes."

"Where are you going?"

"Wherever someone asks me to play." He smiled. "This time, Lisbon."

"Green?" she said, a signal lamp on the platform.

"Green," said Gabriel, softly. "Very green. Sleep. I'll wake you for the sunrise."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Sunrise on the Tagus.