the job in Breslau but he looked much the same - unruly hair, crumpled clothes and apologetic air. The sole children of neighbouring farms, they had known each other since infancy without ever being close friends. Their two fathers had arranged for Torsten to ensure that no harm befell her between trains.
He insisted on taking her suitcase. 'Your train's in an hour,' he said. 'Platform 4, but we can go outside and get some lunch and talk.'
'I need the ladies' room,' she told him.
'Ah.' He led her down steps and along the tunnel to the glass-canopied concourse. 'Over there,' he said, pointing. 'I'll look after your suitcase.'
A woman at one of the wash-basins gave her a strange look, but said nothing. Outside again, she noticed a nice-looking cafe and decided to spend some of her money on buying Torsten coffee and cake.
'No, we must go outside,' he said, looking more than usually embarrassed. It was then that she noticed the 'Jews not welcome' sign by the door. Had there been one by the ladies' room, she wondered.
They walked back down the tunnel and out into the sunshine. Several stalls by the entrance were selling snacks and drinks, and across the road, in front of a large and very impressive stone building, there was an open space with trees and seats. As Torsten bought them sandwiches and drinks she watched a couple of automobiles go by, marvelling at the expressions of ease on the drivers' faces.
'It's better outside,' she said, once they'd chosen a seat in the shade. The large stone building had Reichsbahn Direktion engraved in its stone facade. High above the colonnaded entrance a line of six statues stared out across the city. How had they gotten them up there, she wondered.
'Is it all right?' Torsten asked, meaning the sandwich.
'Lovely.' She turned towards him. 'How are you? How's your new job?'
He told her about the store he worked in, his boss, the long hours, his prospects. 'Of course, if there's a war everything will have to wait. If I survive, that is.'
'There won't be a war, will there?'
'Maybe not. My floor boss thinks there will. But that may be wishful thinking - he comes from Kattowitz, and he's hoping we can get it back from the Poles. I don't know.' He smiled at her. 'But you'll be safe in Berlin, I should think. How long will you be there for?'
She shrugged. 'I don't know.' She considered telling him about the incident with the boys, but decided she didn't want to.
'Could I write to you?' he asked.
'If you want to,' she said, somewhat surprised.
'You'll have to send me your address.'
'I'll need yours then.'
'Oh. I don't have a pencil. Just send it to the farm. They can send it on.'
'All right,' she said. He was a sweet boy, really. It was a pity he wasn't Jewish.
'It's nearly time,' he said. 'Have you got food for the journey? It's seven hours, you know.'
'Bread and cheese. I won't starve. And my father said I could get something to drink in the restaurant car.'
'I'll get you another lemonade,' he said. 'Just in case there's nothing on the train.'
They reached the platform just as the empty train pulled in. 'I'll get you a seat,' Torsten shouted over his shoulder as he joined the scrum by the end doors. She followed him aboard, and found he'd secured her a window seat in a no smoking compartment. Other passengers already occupied the other three corner-seats. 'I'd better get off,' he said, and a sudden pang of fear assaulted her. This was it. Now she really was heading into the unknown.
He took her hand briefly in his, uncertain whether to shake or simply hold it. 'Your uncle is meeting you?' he asked, catching her moment of doubt.
'Oh yes.'
'Then you'll be fine.' He grinned. 'Maybe I'll see you in Berlin sometime.'
The thought of the two of them together in the big city made her laugh. 'Maybe,' she said.
'I'd better get off,' he said again.
'Yes. Thanks for meeting me.' She watched him disappear down the corridor, reappear on the platform. The train began to move. She stretched her neck for a last look and wave, then sat back to watch Breslau go by. The rope of tracks unwound until only theirs was left, and the buildings abruptly gave way to open fields. Farms dotted the plain, so many of them, so big a world. A few minutes later the iron lattice of a girder bridge suddenly filled the window, making her jump, and the train rumbled across the biggest river she had ever seen. A line of soldiers were trotting two-by-two along the far bank, packs on their backs.
Cinders were drifting in through the toplight, and the man opposite reached up to close it, cutting off the breeze. She felt like protesting but didn't dare. The compartment seemed to grow more stifling by the minute, and she found her eyes were closing with tiredness - anxiety and excitement had kept her awake for most of the previous night.
She woke with a start as the train eased out of Liegnitz Station, and checked the time on her father's fob watch. It was still only three o'clock. She'd tried to refuse the loan of the watch, but he had insisted that the sun and the parlour clock were all he really needed. And she could always send the watch back when she'd bought herself one of those smart new ones that people wore on their wrists.
Fields and farms still filled the windows. Two of her fellow passengers were asleep, one with his mouth wide open. He suddenly snorted himself awake, eyes opening with annoyance, then closing again.
Feeling thirsty, she reached for the bottle Torsten had bought her. She felt stiff after her sleep, and the sight of a man walking past the compartment encouraged her. She would look for the restaurant car, and buy herself a cup of tea.
A young soldier standing in the corridor told her the restaurant car was three carriages ahead. The train seemed to be going faster now, and as she walked along the swaying corridors she felt a wonderful sense of exhilaration.
The restaurant car had seats either side of a central gangway, booths for two on the right, booths for four on the left. She took the first empty two-seater and examined the menu. Tea was thirty pfennigs, which seemed expensive, but a cup of coffee was fifty.
'A cup of tea, please,' she told the young man who came to take her order.
'No cake, then?' he asked with a grin.
'No thank you,' she said, smiling back.
As he walked away she noticed a woman in one of the four-seaters staring at her. She said something to the man facing her, and he turned to stare at Miriam. The woman said something else and the man got up and walked off in the direction her waiter had taken. A minute or so later he returned with a different waiter, a much older man with a bald head and bristling moustaches. The set of his mouth suggested an unwelcome task.
He came over to Miriam's table and lowered his head to talk to her. 'Excuse me, miss,' he said, 'but I need to see your identity papers.'
'Of course,' she said. She pulled them out of her shoulder bag and handed them over.
He scanned them and sighed. 'I'm sorry, miss, but we're not allowed to serve Jewish people. A law was passed last year. I'm sorry,' he said again, his voice dropping still further. 'Normally, I wouldn't give a damn, but the gentleman back there has complained, so I have no choice.' He shrugged. 'So there it is.'
'It's all right,' she said, getting up. 'I understand,' she added, as if it was him that needed reassurance.
'Thank you,' he said.
As he turned away, the woman's face came into view, a picture of grim satisfaction. Why? Miriam wanted to ask. What possible difference could it make to you?
Another passenger looked up as she left the car, an older woman with neatly-braided grey hair. Was that helplessness in her eyes?
Miriam walked back down the train, grasping the corridor rail for balance. Was this what life in Berlin would be like? She couldn't believe it - Uncle Benjamin would have moved somewhere else. In Berlin Jews would live with other Jews, have their own world, their own places to drink tea.
Back in her seat, the glances of her fellow-passengers seemed almost sinister. She took a sip from her bottle, conscious that now she would have to ration her consumption. Torsten had known, she thought, or at least
