Ivan Klima - My Golden Trades

I said I was, not to make his role too easy, and he gave me a form with questions printed on it.

'You've passed,' he said, when he'd scanned my answers. He took my almost brand-new driver's licence from the file, grasped it» and held it up as though it were something distasteful, then opened it up, closed it again, opened it, looked at the photograph and then at me, and put it back in the file.

He said he couldn't possibly give my licence back to me in that state. Why the photograph didn't even look like me. I would have to apply for another one.

I asked him if, considering that the only thing at issue now was a new photograph, he could issue me with a temporary licence. But he was obviously so upset that he couldn't concentrate, and he didn't even appear to register my question. He stood up to indicate that our conversation was over.

When I got home, I found Martin the engine driver waiting for me. He had heard about my difficulties, and it

occurred to him that the time had come for me to try driving a train. It couldn't be put off; at the end of the spring he was leaving the railway. They were offering him a place on a farm where he was to raise mink.

I told him that they were still hanging on to my driver's licence. He laughed. Wasn't that why he was here? I didn't need a licence to drive a train.

We left together, and got off the train in a small town in the foothills of the Ore Mountains.

We also long to drive so we can escape from Her. We step up to the driver's seat as though it were a royal (or presidential or secretarial) throne. It seems that we have dominion over the living and the dead. Dumbfounded by our own power, we succumb to the delusion that we have dominion over Her as well, since She could not possibly creep up to us and take us into Her embrace without our consent.

Once, far in the past, people believed those who ruled to be gods; later, it became clear that even they were controlled by a superior force; the same force that controlled everyone. It was also believed that the force, whatever it was called, had the power of judgement and the knowledge of good and evil. Those who ruled must have known that they could only do so imperfectly; that they were stand-ins and that everything they judged would be judged in a higher court. But of course this didn't stop many from giving themselves over to the self-delusion and the intoxication that goes with power. But this is nothing compared to the self-delusion and intoxication of those who rule oblivious of the power above them.

We talked for a long time, and it wasn't until midnight that I finally got to bed, in a bunk that was lined on three

sides with books. I knew that we would be getting up at four and that then I would be entrusted with driving an engine I had never seen. I couldn't sleep. I listened intently to see if I couldn't hear, from somewhere, the whistle of the trains of my childhood, but there was only the silence of a house in the country.

Next morning the darkness was so deep that it was still black when we got on to a commuter train that would take us to the station where our engine was waiting for us. The passenger car was crammed with sleepy men and women driven from their beds by duty. We had to stand in the aisle. Did I understand the signals, at least a little, my host asked.

The language of lights, semaphors, grade indicators, detectors, markers, fishtails, order boards, wig-wags and targets was something I had learned as a child. I trusted that an institution as conservative as the railways had not changed its language.

Very well) but he would test me all the same.

At the station we walked over to an engine that, now the possibility of actually driving it loomed, overwhelmed me with its size. My friend had to go to the office for his working orders. He said it would be best if I kept out of sight. He would let me in from the other side.

The station seemed deserted. The train we'd arrived on had gone, and the passengers had dispersed. A lone old man in a blue uniform with an oil can walked along, oiling the wheels of the freight train. The tracks gave off an oily sheen in the light of the station lamps. The diesel engine smelled of kerosene. I walked around the train. Beyond the last set of tracks there was a steep embankment overgrown with shrubs. I sat down on an overturned stone bollard and waited. I was neither excited nor impatient; I had, after all,

advanced well beyond the age when a man wishes to experience everything that excites him, just as he wants to make love to every woman he finds attractive.

Why, then, had I come here?

At that moment, the window of the engine lit up, then the headlights went on. A door high up opened. 'Come up, quick. We leave soon.'

I clambered up the steep steps and entered the cabin.

'Do you want to change your clothes?' he said, and opened up a small locker. On the inside of the door I caught sight of some pornographic pictures accompanied by the dry commentary: 'Stop! Warning signal! Then all clear, all clear!'

I said that I didn't think I would get changed; I'd rather he showed me what everything was for.

On the outside of the locker door, a blonde smiled on the shore of some lake, and next to her was a picture of Kronborg, Hamlet's castle:

The time is out of joint: o cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right!

There isn't much to show you, he said. It's easier to drive than a bicycle. But he showed me how to start the engine, and warned me that the half-wheel in the middle of the control panel wasn't a steering wheel, but an accelerator. It had eight positions and I would be controlling the speed with it. This was the emergency brake. The button next to the accelerator was called an 'alert button' and it would be my responsibility to push it once every ten seconds. It would probably bother me until I got used to it. Here was the speedometer. I would have to keep an eye on it all the time because the speed was recorded on a tape and the

tape was handed in after the trip. If we had gone over the limit anywhere, we'd be fined.

He also told me that initially we'd only be hauling 320 tonnes, and would be picking up another eighty on the way. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough for those hills, especially if we had to get underway on a slope. Starting was the only thing that needed a little practice, so that the couplings wouldn't pull loose, or the wheels begin to spin. The first time, he would start himself. I would also have to realize that I was not sitting in a car, that 400 tonnes was a substantial weight and when I was going downhill I should be careful not to go too quickly and fly off the rails. And when going uphill I had to make sure I didn't lose speed. If I did, I would find myself standing still before I knew it.

At that moment, I noticed the signal ahead had turned from red to green. Despite myself I felt a twinge of excitement. 'Keep your head down for now,' Martin said, and leaning but of the side window he waved his hand to the dispatcher, turned the half-wheel slightly and, while I obediently crouched in a corner, we pulled out of the station.

The awakening countryside began to flow past us, but I paid little attention; I was looking at the speed signs: the speed limit here was low, and the whistle signals came one after another.

'You can take over now,' he said, turning to me and making room on the seat. 'Don't forget the alert button. If you want, I'll push it for you, for now.'

I said that I would try to press it myself. I sat down in front of the control panel, but the machine was not aware of this change. It was going by itself, as it was meant to do. The little light above the alert button came on at regular

intervals, but I always managed to deactivate it in time, so that the machine didn't honk at me. The track began to rise gently and, mindful of my mentor's advice, I turned the accelerator a little. Thus we went through several stations, at least twenty level crossings, some with gates, some without, the engine rumbling regularly and the needle on the speedometer steady. The speed limit varied from thirty to fifty kilometres an hour, and on the whole, I managed to accelerate or decelerate that enormous mass of metal smoothly. It was only after a while that I saw what an unusual view I had of the track unwinding in front of me, and heard the regular sound of the wheels clacking over the joints in the rails.