A dream is good and useful, provided we do not forget that it is a dream. — Joseph Ernest Renan
“Artyom, you must have got something mixed up. I know the timetable by heart. There is no such train. There's one at 10:15, then another at 10:35. Nothing at 10:27. There never has been!” Irina patted her classmate on the shoulder and spread her hands with a wink. “Don't be upset. It happens.”
But Artyom had no intention of getting upset.
“There is, there is!” he said with a grin. “Your timetable is wrong. I take the 10:27 every day. It's a very comfortable train. It's never crowded, and the windows are made of something like sapphire or crystal. All the colours outside are bright and vivid and rich. And the best thing is that when you're riding this train, the sky is never gloomy. The sun is always shining…”
“Artyom,” Irina interrupted with a frown, “are you trying to fool me? What do you mean, always? I'm telling you, there is no such train. Sometimes I miss the 10:15 and take the next one, the 10:35. And never—do you hear me?—never has another train come between the two. Tell me you were only joking.”
Tyoma glanced at his watch.
“You'll see for yourself in a moment.”
Irina studied her companion and felt an urge to touch his forehead. “Perhaps he's ill,” she thought. “Honestly, what nonsense is he talking? What train? What sapphires and crystal? What sunshine? Particularly today! It's still morning, and it looks as if evening has already fallen…”
“Look, look!” the boy cried. “Can you see it?”
“See what?” Irina stared at him.
“What do you mean, what?” Artyom pointed towards the platform. “The solar train is arriving! Get up! Why are you still sitting there?” He held out his hand.
At first Irina laughed, but when she saw her classmate's radiant face, she spoke with sudden fear.
“What's wrong with you, Tyoma? Are you sick? What solar train? I've already told you there's no…”
“So are you coming with me?” Artyom interrupted.
Irina stood in silence.
“Are you coming or not?” he repeated.
She had no idea how to behave. Something was plainly wrong with the boy, but she couldn't bring herself to tell him to his face that he'd lost his mind.
“Tyoma,” she said, lowering her eyes, “you see…”
“All right, see you!” Artyom replied cheerfully. “You're just frightened. Maybe we'll ride together next time. I'll wait for you at the last station!”
His voice faded away. Irina sat silently for a while, afraid to look at her classmate. When she finally raised her head, he was no longer on the platform.
She looked to either side, got up from the bench and walked along the platform, but Artyom was nowhere to be seen. She even called softly, “Ty-o-o-ma! Stop it! Enough fooling around!”
At exactly 10:35, according to the timetable, the commuter train arrived. Irina boarded it, and right up to the last second before the doors closed she remained certain that Tyoma would spring out from somewhere, throw his arms around her, laugh delightedly, and they would travel together.
But no miracle happened. Not there, at the beginning of the journey.
At the end, however, Irina received the shock of her life. As her train approached the terminus, she suddenly saw Artyom through the carriage window. He was standing on the platform, waiting for her.
“How did he get here?” she whispered to herself. “All right, suppose he'd climbed into another carriage and meant to come up behind me for one of his silly jokes. But we're only just arriving. The doors are still shut, and he's already on the platform. How is that possible? Can such a thing even happen?”
It was astonishing. There was no other transport fast enough to get here before her—unless he had taken a rocket, and nobody had invented suburban rockets yet.
Irina looked again at the young man waving from the platform. There could be no doubt: it was Tyoma. She got out and asked in bewilderment:
“How did you get here? What did you travel on?”
“Ira,” he smiled, “you thought I was joking, didn't you?”
“About what?” Irina raised her eyebrows.
“About the solar train. I told you about it. Didn't you believe me?”
“Listen, dear,” Irina said irritably. She understood nothing. “What train? We were standing there together. Where did you see this solar train of yours? Do you think I'm a fool?”
“Calm down, Ira,” the young man said, taking her hand. “It's not a prank. It's…”
“Then what is it?” she asked sarcastically. “How did you get here before me? Can you explain?”
“I'm afraid I can't. Not yet,” Artyom replied sadly.
“And why not?” Irina asked in surprise. “Are you keeping secrets from me?”
“No secrets,” Artyom answered. “You just need to calm down. Do you understand?”
“No, I don't,” the girl retorted. “I am calm. So go ahead and tell me.”
“Let's go to the park,” the boy suggested unexpectedly. “We'll find somewhere quiet. There aren't many people there in the daytime, and I'll explain everything properly. Agreed?”
Irina said nothing. She merely nodded.
The park really was deserted. A few passers-by, mostly elderly people, moved slowly along the carefully swept paths, enjoying what old people call “a breath of fresh air” or “stretching their legs.” At least, that was what Artyom's grandmother had always called it when she was alive.
She had died the previous year. But a few days before her death, she had managed to share a secret with her grandson and tell him about an extra train: the very one Artyom called the solar train.
“Well, tell me!” his friend finally demanded.
“You see, Ira,” Artyom began, “the solar train isn't an ordinary train.”
“What do you mean?” Irina asked, for some reason in a whisper.
“Only people who want to see it can see it.” Artyom looked straight into her eyes. “You have to want to see it. Do you understand?”
“Not yet,” Irina admitted honestly. “But first tell me the truth. This isn't a joke, is it?”
“Why do you keep going on about jokes?” Artyom mimicked her.
“It's all so strange,” the girl replied, embarrassed.
“I swear!” he smiled. “It's not a joke.”
“All right,” Irina sighed heavily. “Go on, then.”
“Actually, there isn't much more to tell,” Artyom said with a shrug. “You either believe in the solar train or you don't. If you believe, you can see it and travel wherever you like. If you don't, you'll never see it. It will pass you by, just as it did today. I thought you'd believe me straight away, but you kept doubting right up to the last moment, and… I probably seemed ill to you, didn't I?”
“To tell the truth,” Irina said, clearing her throat into her fist, “I still think that. At least until I've ridden the train myself…”
The boy hesitated.
“There's one problem, Ira.” He chose his words carefully so as not to hurt her. “With that attitude, you might never see anything. I'm telling you again: you have to believe in the solar train. You can't step off the platform into a void—onto the tracks where there's nothing, can you? And as long as you doubt, that's all there will be: empty space. So you won't walk through the door until you've seen the train. Right?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so,” she agreed, then immediately suggested, “Then teach me.”
“Teach you what?” Artyom asked in surprise. “What am I supposed to teach you?”
“To believe!” Irina exclaimed.
“They don't teach that, Ira,” the boy sighed.
“Then what am I going to do?” Irina asked, close to tears. “And how did you see it yourself? Why did you believe it existed?”
“My grandmother told me about it,” Tyoma replied.
“And what? You believed her straight away?” Irina asked in surprise.
Artyom blushed. After a minute he answered:
“You know, I'm still ashamed to remember it, but I thought Grandma was a bit…” He twirled a finger beside his temple. “You know what I mean. She was nearly ninety. At that age, it's not surprising if someone…”
“Of course I understand,” Irina interrupted with a smile. “I thought exactly the same about you today. That there was something wrong with your head, I mean. Don't be offended, all right?”
“All right!” Tyoma nodded, smiling.
“But you have to admit, how could anyone believe it? Dozens of people stand on the platform, a train passes right by them, and none of them can see it. Can that really happen? And how long did you look for it before you saw it?”
“I didn't!” Artyom shook his head. “Grandma guessed what I was thinking and put my doubts to rest. 'Tyoma, don't imagine I've gone senile. I haven't. I'm just afraid I won't have time and will take the secret of the crystal train to my grave.' That was what she called it.”
“The crystal train?” Irina's eyes grew round. “So is it the solar train, or…?”
“It makes no difference,” Tyoma smiled. “Grandma called it the crystal train. I call it the solar train. Maybe you'll want to call it something else. The name doesn't matter in the slightest and doesn't affect whether the train exists.”
“And then? Come on, what happened next?” Irina demanded.
“Then it was simple,” Artyom continued. “The next morning Grandma and I went up onto the platform, and at exactly 10:27 the train arrived. We got in and rode together. The sky was dark and low that day, but from the carriage I could see the sun and dazzling white clouds.”
“That's amazing! Listen,” Irina cried happily, “could I call it the cloud train? I adore white clouds.”
“Of course you can,” Artyom nodded. “Who could stop you?”
“Oh dear,” Irina sighed sadly. “Now I just need to believe in it so that I can see it…”
“But don't you believe already?” Tyoma asked in surprise. “You've even given it a name. I thought we'd agreed. Or do you still have doubts?”
“Just a tiny, tiny bit,” she admitted honestly.
“You've still got time,” Artyom said. “Try to get rid of your doubts before tomorrow.”
“Yes, exactly!” Irina agreed, then added, “So we'll take the 10:27 tomorrow?”
“If you're ready, we will,” Artyom said. “It all depends on you… If that's what you want.”
“Of course I want to.” Irina moved closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. “Tyoma, I feel so happy with you.”
“I feel happy with you too,” the young man whispered, blushing.
“Listen,” Irina suddenly remembered, “what's its route? Our train, I mean? Where does it travel from and to?”
“I haven't tried travelling far on it yet. I was waiting for you. Grandma said you can board it only at our station, but you can go anywhere on the planet.”
Irina's mouth fell open and her eyes widened.
“Anywhere? Even Africa?”
“Even Antarctica,” Artyom smiled. “But again, you have to want to.”
“Yes, yes, yes!” the girl cried, clapping her hands. “I want to! I really do! So, so, so much!”
“Where to?” Tyoma asked.
“Well… I don't know yet,” she said, embarrassed.
“Strange,” Artyom murmured.
“What's strange about that?”
“You don't even know where you want to go, but you're saying you want to go there!”
“But I meant I want to travel, I want…”
“All right,” Artyom interrupted. “We've got all that ahead of us. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. First you have to see the solar train. How can you dream of something you've never seen?”
They rose from the bench and walked slowly towards the railway station. Artyom and Irina decided to go home. Tomorrow would be an important day, and today they no longer felt like going anywhere.
© Mikhail Samarsky. English translation prepared for the samarski.com working edition.