24.02, On the train from Berlin to Amsterdam.
Here’s what I love about German trains: they are punctual, they are spacious, their comfortable seats and tables make up for the fact that you are basically staring at boring landscapes for at least the first three hours of the trip. And every hour, a Deutsche Bahn employee walks by in a perfectly pressed uniform, his left hand behind his lower back and balancing a small tablet with three paper cups of coffee on his right. The distinguished gesture comes with a polite and hilarious monologue that he softly delivers while walking through the carriage: “Can I delight anyone with a cup of coffee? Perhaps you would like some coffee to re-energize yourself, or maybe to accompany that sandwich you’re eating, or perhaps you are just in the mood for something to warm you?” It makes me feel like I am in a time machine, shooting through the green and yellow fields of north-west Germany.
I am somewhere in the late 1930s, wearing a mink fur and a lace veil hat, burgundy lips and reading Virginia Woolf’s recently published short story ‘The Duchess and the Jeweller’ in Harper’s Bazaar Magazine. Then he walks by. A tall, handsome man, a strong part in his slicked back hair, perfectly dressed in lavender trousers and vest, crips white shirt and collar topped with a bow tie and a deep violet slip coat finished with gold buttons. He catches my glance, walks over with his left hand behind his lower back and perfectly balancing a small wooden, inlaid Biedemeier tray on his right. On the tray, one cream colored procelain cup with a gold rim, a delicate little spoon resting on the saucer. It is steaming with black coffee. I put down my magazine and take the cup, our eyes locked in a gaze. It’s Monsieur Gustave. The last civilized man.