Chapter 3 chapter 2

Sitting close to the window, Pilar wondered how the English smelled like this... This was the most deeply felt England had given her so far—it smelled completely different from Spain.There's no garlic, no earth and hardly any spice here.All there was in this compartment was a suffocating cold smell--the sulfur smell of the train--the smell of soap and another very unpleasant smell--which she thought came from the man sitting next to her. The fat woman's fur collar is on top.Pilar sniffed sensitively, inhaling reluctantly the foul smell of mothballs.She thought to herself: It's ridiculous to choose such a fragrance for herself.

The whistle blared, and the train jolted slowly out of the station.They set off... Her heart beat a little faster.Will it all work out? Will she be able to accomplish what she wants to do? It will, it will.She's thought it all out very carefully...prepared for every possibility.Oh yes, she will make it - she must make it... The curve of Pilar's red lips curved upwards, and the mouth suddenly became hard.Cold and greedy - like a child's or a cat's mouth - a mouth that knows only its own desires and no pity. She looked around with the undisguised curiosity of a child.All these people, seven of them, how funny they are! These Englishmen! They all look so rich, so rich--look at their clothes--their boots--yes, no doubt like her As I have always heard, England is really a rich place.But they were not happy at all, yes, obviously not.

In the aisle stood a handsome man... Pilar thought he was handsome.She liked his bronzed face and high nose and broad shoulders. Pilar, far more clever than any English girl, could already see that the man admired her.Although she didn't look at him directly, she knew very well that he had been looking at her frequently.She noticed the fact quietly, not too much interested.In her country, men look at women for granted and never hide it too much.She wondered if he was English, and concluded that he could not be. He was too lively and alive for an Englishman.Pilar thought so, but he was blond and fair, so he might be an American.

She thought he was like the leading man in one of those gritty Western movies. A conductor came along the aisle: "First lunch, first lunch, please go to dinner." The seven passengers in Pilar's compartment all had tickets for the first lunch.They got up and left together, and the carriage suddenly became deserted and peaceful. Pilar quickly pulled Zouhu up, which the gray-haired lady sitting in the opposite corner had just put down.Then she sprawled comfortably in her seat and watched the north London suburbs from her window.She didn't turn her head away from the sound of the automatic sliding door.She knew that it was the man in the aisle, and he must have come in to talk to her.

She was still looking out of the window, looking pensive. Stephen Farr said: "Do you want to take all the windows down?" Pilar replied with mock dignity: "On the contrary, I just closed it." She speaks good English with a slight accent. In the silence that followed, Stephen thought: What a beautiful voice, with sunlight in it... It sounds as warm as a summer night... Pilar thought: I like his voice, loud and powerful.He's attractive -- yes, he's attractive. "This train is crowded," Stephen said. "Oh, indeed. People are leaving London. I think it's because it's so dull."

Pilar was brought up not to consider it a sin to talk to strange men on a train.She can take care of herself like everyone else, but she doesn't want to stick to those so-called rules and regulations. If Stephen had been brought up in England, he might have been embarrassed talking to a young girl.But Stephen was an easygoing fellow, and he felt he could talk to whomever he liked. He laughed involuntarily. "London is a pretty scary place, isn't it?" "Oh, yes, I don't like it at all." "me too." "You're not British, are you?" Pilar asked.

"I am, but I'm from South Africa." "Oh, I see, that's right." "Did you just come from abroad?" Pilar nodded. "I'm from Spain." Stephen was intrigued: "Are you really from Spain? So you are Spanish?" "Half yes, my mum is British. That's why I speak English so well." "How's the fighting going on there?" Stephen asked. "Terrible, very unfortunate. Destroyed everywhere, many places—yes." "Which side do you support?" Pilar's politics seem rather ambiguous.In her village, she explained, no one cared much about the war.

"It's not very close to us, you understand. The mayor, being a government official, of course supports the government, and the priest supports General Franco - but most people are too busy tending their vineyards and land to have time Take care of these things." "Then there's not much fighting around you?" Pilar said it used to be like this, "but then one time I was in a car," she explained, "and there was debris all over the place, and I saw a bomb fall and blow up a car—and another A house." It was so exciting, Stephen Farr showed an imperceptible twisted smile.

"Is that how it feels to you?" "It was a nuisance, too," Pilar said, "because I wanted to go on, but the driver of our car was killed." Stephen looked at her and said, "Isn't that bothering you at all?" Pilar's dark eyes opened very wide. "Everybody's going to die, that's the way it is, isn't it? If it's just falling from the sky so fast - bang - like that, what's the difference from any other way of dying? A man lives for a while - yes, and then You're going to die, that's the way things are in this world."

Stephen Farr smiled. "I don't think you're a pacifist." "What do you think I am not?" Pilar was clearly puzzled by this word that was not in her vocabulary before. "Will you forgive your enemies, miss?" Pilar shook his head. "I have no enemies, but if I had" "How about it?" He watched her, fascinated once again by her curved, lovely and ruthless mouth. Pilar said gravely: "If I had an enemy—if someone hated me and I hated him—then I would cut his throat like this..." She made a lively gesture. The gesture was so swift and rude that Stephen Farr was startled."You're a bloodthirsty girl," he said.

Pilar asked indifferently: "Then how will you treat your enemy?" He stared at her at first, then laughed. "I don't know," he said, "I don't know!" Pilar said dissatisfied, "But of course you know." He stopped laughing, took a breath, and replied in a low voice: "Yes, I know..." Then he immediately changed his attitude and asked: "What are you doing in England?" Pilar replied with a dignified air: "I have come to live here with my relatives—my English relatives." "I see." He leaned back in his chair and looked at her carefully - wondering what those English relatives she spoke of were like, what they would do to this Spanish stranger ... trying to imagine her spending Christmas among a group of serious English people scenario. Pilar asked him: "South Africa is nice, isn't it?" He started telling her about South Africa.She listened with delight like a child listening to a story.He liked her innocent yet shrewd questions, and was happy to invent rather exaggerated fairy-tale stories for her. The passengers in the carriages were all back, and the entertainment had to stop here. He stood up, looked at her with a smile, and walked into the aisle again. He stood for a moment at the door, allowing an elderly lady to come in first, when his eyes fell on the luggage tag of Pilar's obviously foreign straw box.He murmured her name with great interest—Miss Pilar Estelvados—but his eyes widened when he saw the address—it read: GOSE Dayton House, Lawndale, Adersfield. He half turned and stared at the girl with a complex expression on his face - bewilderment, resentment, suspicion... He walked out into the aisle and stood there lighting a cigarette, frowning.