Close your eyes and picture the following... Somewhere in Bavaria, December... It is Christmas Day in the evening. You and your family have just finished putting away the dishes from a wonderful Christmas dinner. Your in-laws are talking up a storm with your wife, and the kids are busy playing with their newly-gotten loot of Märklin cars. You have some time to yourself... You decide to take a stroll out into the snowy landscape. There is only a sliver of moon, obscured tonight by clouds heavy and dark, but the streetlights glow through the large flakes of falling snow. You walk briskly from your house down the street and the hill, towards your favorite destination, the train station. It's not much, really, just a pair of passing sidings on a double-track mainline. It sees its share of traffic, though, with daily freights and passenger trains headed in and out of Munich, some twenty miles distant. A chill breeze causes the snowflakes to dance about your face. With hands in pockets, you pull your shoulders forward to keep the wind out of the back of your coat. Your feet crunch in the fresh snow. At the bottom of the hill a lone car glides almost silently by on the main road. Picking up the pace, you cross the road, barely looking both ways, secure in the knowledge that almost noone is out this evening. Ahead, between two apartment buildings lies the footpath to the station, a shortcut for schoolchildren. The path is unplowed, and you feel like a pioneer as you put the first set of footprints into the fresh 4 inches of snow. A minute or two later your eyes pick out the silhouette of the snow-covered rails down the path. You step down past the thicket of bushes and find yourself on the platform. To your left the tracks run along the platform for some distance, then disappear into a long tunnel. To the right sits the station, a handful of windows glowing warmly. You pick up the sounds of children's laughter from inside. A piano begins playing, and the air is filled with the faint sounds of "Es ist ein Ros' Entsprungen", a favorite Christmas carol from your childhood. The singers are lousy, appear to be somewhat drunk, and are not very good. No matter, their cheer brings a smile to your lips. You listen for a moment or two more, then turn to your left and walk slowly along the platform toward the tunnel's entrance. As you walk past the last of the platform lights and towards the end of the platform, the wintry night around you fades to shadows. The snow you looks warm and inviting, and you reach out and brush some off the handle of an abandoned baggage cart. Leaning against the cart you look out across the tracks to the valley beyond, then to your right at the faint light of the station and the empty platforms in front of it. Nope, no trains tonight. You remember too late the timetable and realize this was a walk in vain. Well, maybe not. Maybe it's enough to just appreciate the absolute stillness of a quiet winter night, or the silent majesty of a deserted train station on a snowy Christmas night. And it is quiet. You close your eyes and feel the snowflakes as they gently caress your cheeks as they fall. Wonderful. After what seems like hours, you open your eyes. It is snowing harder now. You turn to walk back towards the path and the warmth of your home and family beyond. Then you hear it. You stop to listen- still uncertain, that your ears might be playing tricks on you. There it is again, the rhythmic sounds of a steam engine and the clatter of freight cars. Certain now, you strain to hear more clearly. It a steam engine all right, a big one from the sound of it. You are only barely aware that your heartbeat has doubled. The sound of the train fades, but you know well it is the obstruction of a small hill some 3 kilometers down the line. She is coming from the north, and you stop walking, lest the station lights ruin this magical moment. The train should pass you and disappear into the tunnel in about 3 minutes. Suddenly warmed, you walk back to the luggage cart, throwing an occasional glance over your shoulder to make sure the train hasn't appeared yet through the blinding snow. Arriving at the cart, you lean against the handlebar, turn and wait. The "tsh-tsh-tsh" sound grows more urgent. She's really flying, you surmise. Finally a trio of lights pierces the falling snow. Brighter and brighter, the train heads towards you. In the distant glow of the station you catch the silhouette of the monster. She's a BR52, and the fireman must be shoveling coal for all he's worth! "TSH TSH TSH TSH" the engine roars towards you. It rocks back and forth a little over the tired rails, now almost upon you. The sound is deafening. You are unable to move, awestruck by the spectacle of black iron, steam, belching smoke, and that trio of bright lights. You look up as the engine roars past. You feel the warm blast of steam against your face as she goes by. Looking up through the cloud of snow that follows, you throw a wave at the engineer, his figure outlined by the orange glow of the firebox next to him. There is a shrill scream from the whistle which echoes eerily in the tunnel. The tender thunders past you, accompanied by another blast of snow blown from the tracks. Then the freight cars, clamoring along the rails and across the joints, a cacophony of sounds from the squeal of wheel flanges to the crashes of empty boxcars as they bound along the rails. Again and again the freight cars thunder past you. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the train vanishes, disappearing into the tunnel. The mechanical symphony fades, and soon the station is quiet again, all but for the ringing in your ears. Through the settling snow you take a deep breath. You are sure your face will be contorted with a smile for the entire walk home. Before you take the first step you pause and wonder: How can someone not believe in Santa Claus? As far as you are concerned, he was shoveling coal on a BR52 tonight. And he sure knew EXACTLY what it was that YOU wanted for Christmas... |