I awoke to his voice and the gentle touch of his palm on my cheek. It was early morning. I was lying across the cushioned seat, covered by a heavy woolen coat. Groggily, I pushed the coat off, sat up, and began to focus. The world outside the window was grey and frozen, projecting a harsh light into the little room. He stood before me holding something wrapped in a clean handkerchief. I made room for him on the bench, and he immediately sat down, handing me the little package. I unfolded the handkerchief to find my uneaten teacake from the previous evening.
"You must eat something now," he said. This time I did not protest. I ate slowly, watching him. He stared out the window and was silent, but his presence overwhelmed me. I thought back to the sensation of his body against mine as he had held me the night before. My flesh prickled with goose pimples and I felt a fluttering in my chest. I wanted him to hold me again—to smooth my hair and speak in low tones. But he sat motionless beside me. I finished the little pastry and rose to find the washroom.
Once there, I appraised my reflection. My hair had fallen from its chignon during the night and now framed my pallid face with strawberry curls. My eyes were still heavy with sleep, but even sleep could not extinguish the deep blue of their color. I straightened my frock, splashed a little water on my face, and attempted to pin my hair up once again. When I returned to the compartment, Erich was standing uneasily in front of the window. His face softened as he saw me, and I smiled in return.
"I hope you slept well. You seem much refreshed."
"Yes, thank you."
"That makes one of us. I myself could not sleep."
