The Somber Side of a Scientific Mind. Christian Tyoder
reaction. The latter slowly fell asleep. Abd took two sips from the cognac bottle. Gradually his eyes became dull and finally closed. Complete silence permeated the parlor, occasionally interrupted by the usual rhythmic Hans’s breathing noise. The quietness of the night persisted when suddenly Louis’s heavy footsteps pounding on the wooden stairs just a few minutes before the grandfather clock chirped six o’clock woke the two men up. Outside the snow was tapering off. There was practically no human activity on the snow-covered dark streets. That was a Sunday morning on a dreary day that enticed even the most active person to leisurely stay in bed.
Abd lit his pipe, took two puffs then turned to Hans. “I am hungry. How about you? Should we ask Louis whether he still has some leftover bread? I have two jars of jam in my car. The bakery stores remain closed until eleven on Sunday in Paris.”
Hans nodded his head, showing his approval. As Abd had the intention of going to his car parked on a side street, he opened the entrance door, stepped out onto the platform, but quickly got back inside, shivering. “It’s colder than last evening. I hope I will be able to start my car.”
Through the tiny side window’s glass panel, a barely perceptible quivering moonbeam slowly swept over one of the round tabletops. The outside weather was bleak and cold. The temperature in the room had dropped significantly during the night, forcing Hans to put on his winter coat, lamenting, “It’s too late for me to catch the train for Basel at 6:15 a.m. Perhaps I should go back soon to the railroad station to find out whether there is another later on that has connection in Basel with trains going in the direction of Liechtenstein.”
He was quite astonished when he heard Abd say, “Don’t worry, Hans. Unless you are in a real hurry to rejoin your family, I would be most happy to have you travel with me by car at least to Basel. I prefer to go through large cities before arriving in Vienna anyway.”
Intrigued by Abd’s route preference, Hans remained silent for a brief moment then directed his eyes to Abd. “Thank you for your offer. It’s very kind of you. But I am curious. You must have a definite reason for choosing the heavy traffic of the large European cities.”
Abd heaved a deep sigh. “My health problem is the reason. Specifically, my leukemia is for the moment in remission, but it could flare up at any time, even though I have just finished a full course of chemotherapy plus radiation and I am going through a maintenance treatment plan. Therefore, during my trip I am trying to stay closer to medical centers that have a leukemia treatment protocol.”
Hans’s earlier suspicion of a drug addict had evaporated. He felt very reassured and without hesitation responded, “I would be glad to accompany you if you think I could be of some assistance in case you need an extra set of hands.”
“You certainly could be very helpful to me. I will further explain to you once we are on our way to Basel.”
After their breakfast, consisting of croissants left over from yesterday, marmalade, and coffee, Hans placed in Louis’s hand a twenty-frank and a ten-frank bill folded together, saying, “Thank you very much for your hospitality. This is from both of us and for the cognac you left on the counter last night and the breakfast. Please keep the change if any.”
After retrieving their possessions, the men put on their heavy coats, walked to the door while turning back their heads, and waved goodbye to Louis. They strode out of the café house in the bitter morning cold, heading for Abd’s car. All of a sudden, the wind shear at a street corner blew Abd’s beret away, exposing his bald and shiny vertex. Carefully, step by step, he waded through the wet snow, deep to above his ankles, crossed the narrow cobblestoned street, and freed his head covering stuck between the two twirls of a window wrought iron ornament. Against the forceful glacial penetrating wind blasting his frail body, Abd struggled to reach his Citroën hidden under a thin sheet of snow. The vehicle was parked on Rue Le Favre, half a block away from Café de la Gare. Abd pulled out of his wrinkled shirt pocket the car key, opened the trunk half full with what appeared to be a small camping tent, a transparent plastic bag containing aluminum connecting rods, a medium-size worn-out brown leather suitcase, steel chains, thick coiled ropes, an opened carton box holding half a dozen jars, and a clear plastic four-gallon container two-thirds full with a clear liquid. A large neatly folded green blanket occupied the remaining trunk space. He lifted it up and placed it over the suitcase, making room for Hans’s belongings, and cast a friendly look at his travel companion. “Place your valise and your handbag in the trunk’s empty space, but bring your coat inside and leave it on the back seat. You might need it later.”
Hans gently opened the squeaking door on the passenger side, waiting for Abd to slide over the front seat behind the felt-wrapped steering wheel, before he placed his left leg on the car floor to get himself inside. Abd looked straight ahead and put the key in the ignition. The motor started at once. A dark cloud of smoke ejected from the exhaust pipe. Turning his head toward Hans, Abd uttered, “Are you ready?”
Hans calmly replied, “Yes, Abd. I have a permanent international driver’s license. When you are tired, please don’t hesitate to let me take over, okay?”
The Citroën squeaked and rattled over the cobblestone-paved streets. The dashboard clock time was 7:18 a.m. and the fuel tank less than two-thirds full. Paris was quiet at this time of day on the weekend. Off and on in the suburb Chateau de Vincennes, freshly baked French bread aroma smelled in the air, giving the men an insatiable appetite for an oven-fresh French baguette. But no stores were opened and the men kept driving. At this point, they were out in the countryside. Houses were no longer conglomerated.
Hans cast an inquisitive look at his driving companion. “I am curious. What route are you going to take from here on, and what cities are we going to drive through?”
While keeping his eyes on the roads covered with a thin layer of snow free of vehicle tracks, Abd responded, “From my past experience, the most direct way to Basel is through Troyes and Dijon. The roads, for the most part, are fairly wide, well maintained, and the attractive landscapes are dotted with old churches of all shapes and ages. However, we might encounter some black ice, especially in the vicinity of Dijon. If you are not in a hurry, we can make a stop at Troyes Cathedral to admire the multicentury-old cathedral, ornately decorated with over sixteen thousand square feet of stained glass windows and the flaming gothic facade. After that, if you still want to see one more national monument of France, we can make another stop at Dijon Cathedral, a masterpiece of Romanesque art.”
Hans did not immediately respond to Abd’s suggestion, as the thought of letting his parents impatiently wonder of his present whereabouts during this snowstorm haunted him. The Citroën passed a couple of small villages with scattered modest snow-roofed houses lined along and on the south side of the road. After a few long minutes of silence, Hans lifted his set of road-watching eyes from the snow-slushed winding pavements and turned his head toward the driving companion. “If there wouldn’t be too much inconvenience, I would like to make a call to my parents at the next public telephone booth. I should allay my folks of their anxiety for not knowing where I am and what mode of transportation I will take to get to Buchs.”
“Of course, I will stop when you want me to. Besides, we need some provisions for the day. I will try to find a corner store within the next couple of hours when stores are opened for business. Any food you don’t care for or you are not supposed to eat? I will look for a two-day supply while you make your phone call.”
Hans took a glance at the dashboard clock. It was almost 10:30 a.m. Due to time zone changes since he boarded the plane in Boston and the lack of a regular sleep pattern, Hans had completely lost his sense of time and space. Bewildered somewhat by the absence of human activities on both sides of the deserted streets, he astonishingly uttered these words, “Is it Sunday today?”
Abd looked at him, amazed. “Yes. As you probably are well aware, in Latin European countries, people take very seriously Sunday as the day of rest, just like the seventh day of the week as the day of worship for Christians. Only food stores are opened and just for a couple of hours on Sunday.”
By this time the two men were about halfway to Troyes. The snowstorm of yesterday minimally affected this region. Plowed wheat fields were bare, dotted here and