June, 1960 — Vichy-France Railway System



“Not at all. By all means.”

The skritch of a match struck against the rough floor of the railway car as it thudded and bumped over the tracks. The flame brighted and crisped the end of a cigarette that had been rolled rather haphazardly in the dim light that barely crept in through the cracks in the big doors latched shut. A set of fatigued eyes with angled eyebrows struck up into sight as the rest of the woman’s face scrunched into itself to pull air through the poorly-assembled tobacco bunch into her lungs.

“Thank you,” responded a scratchy voice after a smoky exhale. “Christ, it’s hot in here.”

“Yeah.” Another long pause. The two didn’t know each other at all. Just a pair of awkward strangers stowing aboard the rail. Finding that the other existed in what was deemed obviously a solid solitary hiding place wasn’t a pleasant surprise for either. But there was no need to be discourteous. It had already been a four-hour ride with no incident. Neither slept. Not that either had planned to sleep at all, but neither was about to let the other out of their sight. Distrust was often a commendable method of self-preservation in Vichy France... but for two people ranking high on what would be considered by most as “distrustful,” the instinct was especially strong.

“Thanks for the light.” The woman’s head was covered in a red scarf, holding her long brown hair behind her ears and shoulders. The heat was relentless outside as it was, even in the dark of night, but inside what amounted to the wheeled wooden box it was almost unbearable. The hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette fanned its palm toward her face in a desperate attempt to manufacture any kind of cool air at all. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” 

He wasn’t much for talking. She let a long moment pass by. “Why go through all this trouble if you’re just going nowhere?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he shot back in a flat tone with a touch of iciness.

She smirked and quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll settle on not knowing anything, then.”

He grumbled and rolled his eyes. “I offered you a light.”

“Fair.” She took a puff on the cigarette. “I don’t mean to intrude.”

He shrugged. “No matter.” She blinked, apparently working to think of some way to tame down the obvious tension. She reached into her worn blue satchel and retrieved another poorly-rolled cigarette and gently tossed it toward him, deliberately landing it inches from his dirt-streaked hand. He studied her for a long moment before he took it, then repeated the process of striking a match for himself. “Honestly, I was just bothered you didn’t offer me one.”

“If only it was more apparent that I could have. Just look at that sour face.” Another long pause, broken by relieved but still nervous chittery laughter.

The ride would continue in comfortable silence.