The train rattled along the rails, cutting through the grey rain. Outside, drops slowly trickled down the glass, blurring the outlines of wet fields and sparse plantings. The compartment was warm, almost stuffy from the humidity brought in from the street by the passengers.
Parvis sat by the window. There were no more than twenty minutes left until his station, so he did not take off his hat. White, with a narrow brim, it completed the image, like the last point in a carefully calibrated ensemble. A snow-white jacket without a single crease, a fresh shirt, a blue waistcoat and a narrow tie - everything sat perfectly on the figure. Glasses in a thin metal frame emphasized the features of the face and hid the gaze in which, on closer inspection, one could see traces of tears.
He held a book in his hands: "The Good Mother" by Sue Miller. It had been sitting in the bookstore window for a long time, labeled "best novel of the year". Critics had praised it, the cover was laconic and clean, almost sterile. Parvis picked it up not out of habit, but out of curiosity - he had rarely read in recent months, but this particular book had somehow immediately caught his attention.
Now he read it, leaning his elbow on the armrest, holding the open page with his other hand. The story was heavy. Anna Dunlop was a mother, loving, calm, deprived of custody of her daughter after a divorce. She was convicted not for her actions, but for her freedom - for trying to live outside the mold. Without scandal, without catastrophe, simply because the court saw in her something it shouldn't. The book didn't scream, didn't press, but each paragraph hit home.
A tear ran down his cheek. Parvis didn't blink. He didn't wipe it away, he just sat there motionless, as if that was how it was supposed to be.
He was going to her, to his fiancée. And to her brother Walton, his friend from university. They had shared many things with Walton. Conversations until dawn, arguments about things that no one discussed anymore, trust that arose without explanation. He missed them both, although he did not show it outwardly. Everything was going as it should. Everything was as it should.
The train slowed. There was a stop ahead. Parvis kept his eyes on the book, although his thoughts were increasingly leading him away. He did not turn the page for a long time, as if wanting to savor what was written. He sat silently, in his hat, like a frozen figure against the rain.
And suddenly, a light rustling sound was heard behind the door. Not the creak of footsteps, not a voice, but a rustling sound – barely perceptible, as if someone were sliding their hand along the wall or making their way, trying not to give themselves away. Parvis looked up.
The compartment door quietly opened, and a man carefully poked his head through the crack – a young man, about twenty-five, maybe younger. He was dressed simply: a white shirt without a jacket, unbuttoned at the throat, gray fabric trousers. No luggage. No umbrella, no coat. He moved quietly, almost on tiptoe, reservedly, as if afraid of scaring away someone's shadow.
The man raised his finger to his lips - a "shut up" gesture - and immediately, without asking, sat down opposite Parvis. His movements were quick, polished, but at the same time devoid of rudeness. He did not smile, did not say a word.
Parvis froze. He looked at the stranger with undisguised amazement, even the book on his lap shifted slightly to the side. His heart slightly accelerated, but he did not move. On his face - the same external imperturbability, although in his eyes flashed: what was that?
The stranger, as if nothing had happened, turned to the window. His face expressed curiosity, like a child who saw rain through glass for the first time. As if he had come here not with intent, but by chance. Or along some internal route that had nothing to do with the train schedule.
The man did not take his eyes off the rainy window. For a few seconds there was complete silence in the compartment, then he said calmly, almost in a whisper:
"Lepidoptera, Pieridae. It calls us."
Parvis frowned, looking up from his book in confusion.
"Who is calling us?"
"It's about time, mister", the man said with a slight solemnity, without turning his head.
Parvis didn't know what to say. He looked at him as if he were seeing him for the first time. His throat was dry. After a few moments, all he could manage was:
"A-a-ah..."
The stranger continued speaking, measuredly, with an even intonation:
"They will still study it, they will think about us and argue about us. Of course", he paused, as if formulating the phrase in advance, "various opinions will arise, but in the majority of cases, future young people, I hope, will treat us with sympathy."
He finally turned to Parvis, looking straight ahead and serious:
"Do you agree?"
Parvis, still stunned, straightened up and, without realizing what he was saying, muttered:
"Absolutely."
Suddenly, hurried, heavy steps were heard outside the compartment door. Someone was quickly approaching along the corridor, and the next second a loud, sharp th-th-th-th! was heard - someone began to knock on the door with a force that left no room for doubt.
Parvis turned his head sharply, the book almost slipped out of his hands. He even stopped breathing, his heart jumped. The man opposite him, on the contrary, remained calm - as if he had been expecting this.
He stood up, straightened up and, with a completely different, almost theatrical voice, loudly said:
"What's the matter, gentlemen?"
A firm, harsh voice came from outside:
"Checking documents! Open up!"
Not a second passed before the man replied with cold politeness:
"Let the lady get dressed."
Parvis froze, his eyes widened. He stared at his interlocutor in complete bewilderment. What lady? What was he talking about? Everything that was happening seemed suddenly absurd.
The man turned to him, smiled slightly - almost sympathetically - and said quietly, in a soft tone:
"Calm down. Don't worry."
Then he went to the window and, acting quickly but without fuss, began to open the casement. The handle creaked. The rain was pouring outside, but that didn't stop him. His actions were precise, confident – as if he knew what he was doing.
The window was already slightly open, and cold, damp air from the street immediately rushed into the compartment. Rain dripped inside, leaving dark spots on the upholstery. The man stood by the window, holding onto the frame, and spoke almost calmly, as if continuing a conversation he had started:
"Let's not hide the fact that there were mistakes. Who can argue with that?"
He turned half-way to Parvis, looking intently:
"You don't argue with that, do you?"
Parvis took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He realized that something was expected of him – and decided to play along:
"I don't argue. There were mistakes," he said clearly, as if at a rehearsal.
The man nodded, as if satisfied. Then, putting his foot on the windowsill, he began to rise, while continuing more sharply, with a hint of tension in his voice:
"So, making noise, taking risks, jumping out of windows, you must agree, is reckless."
He turned around one last time, his eyes glittering in the rain.
"But we simply had no choice! I have the honor", he said and jumped out with force, disappearing into the gray wall of rain.
At exactly the same second, the door swung open with a bang - the lock couldn't withstand the impact. Two men in uniform tumbled into the compartment. They quickly looked around the compartment, breathing heavily, as if they had run half the train.
One of them - the older one, in a white jacket with stripes - took a step forward and glanced at Parvis. He was still sitting, motionless, in his impeccable clothes, with a book on his knees and slightly disheveled chestnut hair. The hat remained in place.
"Where is your lady?" one of the men asked sternly.
Parvis slowly turned to those who had entered, paused, and said with an imperturbable face:
"She? Jumped out."
The words sounded calm, almost casual, as if he was answering a question about where the guide was.
The officer in the uniform straightened up, stepped closer, and frowned:
Parvis looked out the window, his gaze becoming dreamy, as if he were plunging into some distant memory or vision. He
"Lepidoptera, Pieridae", he said with a slight hint of thought.
And he didn't add anything else.