The Night Train

The night train left the city at ten o'clock. Helena found her seat by the window and watched the lights of the station slide away. She was going to see her father for the first time in seven years.

They had not spoken much in that time. A few short phone calls, a card at the end of the year, nothing more. When her father called last week and asked her to come, his voice sounded old and tired. So she packed a small bag and bought a ticket, in spite of all the years of silence between them.

The train moved through the dark countryside. Helena could see nothing outside, only her own face in the glass. She thought about the day she left home. There had been an argument, loud and angry, and she had walked out and did not look back. She was young then, and sure that she was right.

Now she was not so sure. As the years went by, the argument seemed smaller and smaller, until she could barely remember why it had started. But the silence had grown, quietly, until it filled the whole space between them.

A man came through the train, selling coffee. Helena bought a cup and held it with both hands. She tried to sleep, but she could not. Her mind was full of questions. What would she say to him? Would he look very different? Would he still be angry?

Near morning, the train slowed down. Helena saw the small station of her old town. The sky was turning grey and pink. She took her bag and stepped down onto the platform.

And there he was. Her father stood by the gate, smaller than she remembered, his hair now white. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he opened his arms, and Helena walked into them. Neither of them said a word. They did not need to. Seven years of silence ended there, on a cold platform, in the first light of the day.