One Night With the College Girl From the Train novel · Chapter 1 of 12
Chapter 1: Lower Berth
My mom has tied a little bell to my ankle since I was seven years old.
She does it with a red ribbon, before I go to bed, and I let her because I walk in my sleep.
It's not a joke.
One night, when I was nine, I left my room in Tupiza, went down the stairs, opened the front door, and walked all the way to the plaza.
A dog woke me up in the church atrium.
Since then, we sleep with the bell.
That Thursday night, at the Oruro station, the bell was on my right ankle, under my corduroy pants, and it jingled with every step.
I was twenty-two, in my fourth year of Architecture, and I had a suitcase full of winter clothes for the holidays.
And a train at nine-fifteen.
The platform was freezing.
People's breath rose in clouds, and the blue locomotive waited with its lights on, releasing steam over the rails.
"Sleeper compartment six," said the conductor, checking my ticket with a flashlight. "Fourth door on the left."
I climbed aboard, my suitcase bumping against my knees.
The train car's hallway was narrow, with worn carpet and a smell of heating and machine coffee.
I found door six.
I opened it.
The compartment had four berths, two upper and two lower, with striped wool blankets and a wide window covered by a green curtain.
On the lower berth on the right, sitting with a book on his lap, was a guy.
Tall, thin, with short brown hair and thin-rimmed glasses.
He looked up when I walked in.
"Hi."
"Hi. Is this six?"
"It's six."
We looked at each other.
He was one of those men who don't speak before they think.
He had long hands, with slender fingers, holding the book very carefully.
"Ivan," he said.
"Wara."
"What a beautiful name."
"It means star."
"I know. My grandmother spoke Aymara."
That made me laugh.
I left my suitcase under the berth across from him and sat down, my heart doing a silly little leap.
"Is it just us?"
"The conductor says the other two didn't show."
"So we travel like this all night?"
"Twenty-two hours, if it doesn't snow."
"And if it snows?"
"Then longer."
The train moved with a long, smooth lurch.
The platform lights slid past the window like in a slow-motion movie.
Ivan closed his book.
"Going home?"
"To Tupiza. My sister's getting married on Saturday."
"I'm going to Villazon. Last year of med school. They gave me holidays for the first time in six months."
"Congratulations."
"Thanks."
We spent the next few hours talking about nothing and everything.
About cruel professors, cheap meals, the times you regret your career.
He talked to me looking me in the eyes.
Not at my chest, or my legs, like other guys.
In the eyes, with such complete attention that it made me warm.
We had salteñas for dinner with some coca tea the steward brought.
Around eleven, the train was crossing the dark altiplano.
You could hear the rattle of the wheels, a lullaby rhythm.
Ivan looked at my ankle.
"You're making noise."
"It's a little bell."
"A little bell?"
I told him about the plaza, the dog, and the red ribbon.
He didn't laugh.
He leaned in, rested two fingers on my ankle, and checked the knot with such gentleness that it took my breath away.
"It's loose," he said.
"I know."
"Let me tie it."
"You don't have to."
"Let me."
I stayed very still.
His fingers brushed my skin under the edge of my pants, the ribbon, the bone.
He retied the knot with a firm loop.
When he looked up, he was very close.
"My sister used to sleepwalk too," he said. "Until she was fifteen."
"And what did you do?"
"I'd follow her. So she wouldn't fall."
Something loosened in my chest.
At midnight we turned off the light.
Me on the lower berth, on the left, covered up to my chin.
Ivan, on the upper right, with his feet dangling in the dark.
The heater creaked, and the cold started to cling to the windows.
Lizeth texted me from Oruro.
"And the guy in your compartment? Is he hot?"
I answered with a single word.
"Very."
I turned off my phone.
I lay there, listening to the train.
And he breathed slowly, up there, a meter and a half away from me.
An hour passed.
Two.
I wasn't sleeping.
My body burned in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.
I thought it was the trip.
I thought it was the tea.
I thought that Ivan had left his hand hanging over the edge of the berth, and that I could reach it if I stretched out my arm.
"Ivan?" I whispered.
"Tell me."
"Are you awake?"
"Yes."
I took a deep breath.
"I'm going to have an episode tonight."
There was a silence.
"An episode?"
"Of sleepwalking. Sometimes my head moves, I say things, I get up." I swallowed. "You're not supposed to wake a sleepwalker suddenly. It's dangerous."
"I know."
"If you see me do something, don't wake me up."
"And if you do something you shouldn't?"
"I won't know."
Another pause, longer.
I heard the creak of the berth, and then his voice, very low, right above me.
"Wara."
"Mm?"
"You're awake."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said. "I'm asleep."
I heard a muffled laugh.
Then, the rustle of a blanket, and a long shadow sliding down to the edge of the berth.
"Then keep sleeping," Ivan said.
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