Princessa

Chapter 6 Strangers On A Train

 “Why’d you join the army anyway” the girl asks “why not go to university, become something.” She’s looking out on the dark night from the partly-open window of the speeding train “oh, and by the way, I read your file” she adds. “What’s in my file?” he asks her “and… why would want you read it?” “Oh, I dunno, I like soldier boys, I guess; I admire them, their courage. I dunno, their… eagerness to take matters into their own hands. And you… seemed different, somehow; you didn’t seem to really care all that much about getting your medal or meeting the king, whatever.”

“Well let’s see” says Andy, all eager for the chance to talk about himself “if you read my file… you know what kind of” searching for the right word “troublemaker, I was. I mean, it was either the army or jail, right?  And… I was, even at university for awhile… when I was your age, I think”

“And?” she asks “didn’t you like it.” Yeah, he’s thinking, sex drugs stealing exams. “Um, nice school” he tells her. “It’s a great school” she says “one of the best.” “Oh yeah, that’s right. Your mom, runs the place.” “No” she says “she’s minister of education” then adds kinda sheepishly “and culture. And we have the best schools, the best museums and galleries and opera and theatre and…” “It’s true” he says “your mother… has made a big difference in our country; as big a… impact as anyone, I suppose.” “But she doesn’t run, the university” the girl says “the dean runs it, Dean Julus Moratye.

Andy knows that, having met the man on the sitting there smiling bored version of being screamed at. The fat old dean leaning over his big heavy ornate desk, almost spilling his coffee on the lovely colorful woven carpeting. All red-faced and perplexed as to why their most gifted young student would rather break all the rules, and laws on top of it, than just apply himself like anyone else would.

“No university president, huh?” Andy asks her. “We don’t do presidents in Malvia” the girl says. “Too bad, I’d vote for you.” “Half the country would vote for me” says the girl “just wear some tight jeans, and bend over. There’s half the vote right there.” “Two-thirds” says Andy. Unfortunately they both know that’s true. But aside from joking about it, it doesn’t seem to make any sense that people would actually decide such important matters based on how someone looks. And that wasn’t what the girl wanted to talk about or know about anyway.

“So…why always, be the bad boy?” Well that’s interesting, he thinks, coming from her. Maybe she’s wanting to try to figure out why she does all the things she does. But hell, all y’can do is talk from your own experience. He looks at young girl, so sweet and innocent, and with such a ‘wild reputation’ at least in all the magazines.

“I was… always the best at everything” he says “you know; as a kid, I was always the best athlete, the best student, all that sort of stuff. And… I guess I was always looking for something more; something wilder or more daring. More meaningful, you know.”

“What sports” says the girl. “Huh?” he asks, thinking of something else. “What sports were you… so good at.” “Oh, tennis, futbol, basketball… but my favorite was always hockey. That’s what I always… was pretty damned good at.” He thinks back to that time, being bigger quicker smarter than everyone else on the ice. Coulda played for the Russian national team, he thinks, maybe woulda liked that.

“Really” says the girl “that’s my favorite too.” “You’re kidding.” “No really” she says “it’s all we did when I was kid. Me and all the guys… at the palace. I played center, and I was great at it, really, like Gretzky.” “Yeah” says Andy “don’t suppose you got checked much.” Thinking of the skinny little beautiful girl, skating rings around a bunch of young boys all scared to knock over or rough up the king’s little granddaughter.

“Hell no” says the girl “drop the gloves... and have it. Then they leave you alone after that.” “Hmm” he says, impressed “thought you’d be more of a figure skater type.” “Oh, yeah, I did that too. Mom, wanted me to… you know, like Olympics and stuff.” “So why didn’t you?” “Oh God” she says “that takes… like ten hours a day. To be on, like their level, the girls who do that. It’s really hard. You know, people think it’s just, sissy stuff. But it’s all hard work, precision, practice, over and over again. I just, would never have time for it, you know.” Yeah, thinks the young man, just never time, to do, all the stuff you might want to.

“So what about you” she asks “what was it like, when you were a kid.” He thinks about it, his life as a boy. Growing up, in and out of trouble all the time. Finally sent away to reform school in the city. And even then they couldn’t do much with him, his penchant for wreaking havoc when he was around, and then not being around when he didn’t feel like it. What can you say, especially to someone who couldn’t possibly know anything about that kind of reality.

“Hey, here’s something” he tells her “I was...raised by my mother’s oldest brother, my uncle. He was a lot older than her, and a real mean son of a bitch. Liked to beat the crap outta me all the time. You know, try to make me into a good boy.” He smiles, thinking of how useless that was. “But anyway, I had this other uncle. A younger guy who was kind of a hunter-trapper type, you know. This was a small village, up in the mountains, way ways away from… anything else.

“So this other uncle, Georgi, he liked to drink, and play cards, you know, in the little village pub where everybody’d be, during the day or at night, whenever. I mean, there’s nothing else to do there, right. And he’d play music on his little concertina accordion, and dance with all the girls; young ones, old ones, he didn’t care. Well, that’s what... I wanted to be like, you know. That, ‘who cares’… do whatever you want to, whenever you want. And t’hell with anybody else, whatever they might think about it.”

The girl likes that, likes hearing about simple things and life in the little villages tucked away in the sunny snow-capped mountains. It’s a dreamy scene in her mind, so ways away from the bustling capitol. She relaxes and smiles and leans against him. Imagining herself in the cozy little pub there in the mountains with the sunlight flooding in from the windows. Maybe a fiery wood stove in the middle of the floor and the rugged old people in their rustic clothing and big heavy boots with traces of mud around the edges. Sitting there around the little tables in hard wooden chairs, eating a sandwich or drinking a beer.

She sees herself there with them. Coming in from skiing down the uneven slopes lined with evergreens and the stark contrast of the brilliant white and the wet black bark at the base of the trees where the snow melts in the sun. Inside now warming up, all out of breath, relaxing with a cappuccino and a little shot of grappa and some chocolates maybe, or fresh-baked cookies. It’s so quiet there. Such a tranquil natural way to live, as she thinks of it, like an endless vacation.

Andy puts his arm around her, but there’s something…a loose end, somewhere, in his train of thought. “Oh” he says “how come… your mother, isn’t; won’t, become queen.” “Huh?” says the girl, coming back to reality. “Oh, um… Mom’s got, like really bad nerves. She, doesn’t… get much involved in politics and stuff.” “But, she’s so much, into all of it” he says, thinking of all the times he’s seen her on the public service announcements for schools, on television. And ribbon-cuttings, and opening a new exhibit at a museum, all that kinda stuff.

“She hates it” says the girl “it’s tough; I mean, she’s like really into doing, all whatever, her job you know. Trying to make things better; in education… the arts, and all that stuff. But… any part of it, that’s like public or anything; with a bunch of people around, and you know, schmoozing and all, and tv and cameras; all that kinda stuff just kills her. It’s like… uh, all pills and booze and, just to make it through the day. You know, like a, kind of nervous condition, I guess.”

“I don’t get it” he says, all confused as to why rich royals wouldn’t just have it all made and be just perfectly happy in their perfect little world. “I mean, she seems like such a… so different from that, when you see her.” “Yeah, well” says the girl “I really don’t know, all that much about it… they don’t talk about it much. But I guess when she was a kid, it was… tough times, you know.

“Grandpa, her dad, was in prison, for… quite a while, waiting to be executed, I guess. And, her mom was, like… killed, or whatever; or she died in prison, anyway, I don’t know. But… so here she is, supposed to be some kind of little princess and all. And got no money or anything and… supposed to never let anybody know who you really are, because then you might be a target or something like that. So, I guess to her being the princess meant that, they murder your mom and throw your dad in prison, and then maybe come after you next. And all that was… just hard for her to deal with, as a little kid, anyway. Maybe she never got over it, I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry” he says, feeling all that hurt and pain. How terribly cruel, sad it is for that poor little girl to, should’ve had everything, but have nothing instead. It’s just not fair for things like that to happen. “Do you ever think, that maybe your grandfather should’ve just… stayed there, and… you know, not come back here, or whatever.” “Yeah, sure” she says “it’s a tough thing, isn’t it. He coulda maybe… stayed in France, or should have, who knows. Maybe been a shopkeeper or something. You know, ‘the king’s doughnut shop’ or something like that. But then I suppose you’d always have people coming up and asking you stuff like, so if you’re really the king of so and so, what’re y’doing here, baking bread. Why’nt you go home and throw the Russians out, and free your people, and be a real man. Or maybe you’d always be asking yourself those same questions. And who knows… does it make any difference, one way or the other.”

“I don’t know. But it’s… too bad, anyway.” But they both know that ‘too bad’ is a pretty relative term in their little country, where over the course of history more than half their people had been slaughtered or maimed or scarred by Turks, Russians, Nazi’s. ‘Too bad’ is just something everyone, every family has to deal with every day of their lives.

“Your mom?” asks the girl. “I dunno” says Andy, kind of detached “I guess… I was about four or five maybe, the last time I saw her… at like Christmas or something. She was a happy girl, a fun-loving girl. After that… I don’t know.” Hardly more than it had said in the file, thinks the girl ‘mother deceased, father unknown.’ The train slows down and then almost comes to a clanking stop before starting to gradually pick up speed again. We’re nearing the border now thinks Andy, be outta here soon. Like leaving the unknown past and heading toward the unknown future.