I was in the kitchen peeling potatoes when I heard the train going by faster than ever before. Then there was a huge bang. There was a giant cloud of smoke. The rescue workers asked me to bring blankets. I brought all the blankets and sheets I own. I saw a man climbing out of the train. His hands were covered with blood. He was calling out a woman’s name. I remember that clearly, because it’s my sister’s name too. Only for a split moment did he resemble her husband. I took a deep breath. It was easy to see who was dead so we set about covering the wounded. There were bodies on the line. One man was lying there naked. They covered him up. People were wandering around with blood all over them. Nobody knew which way to go. You could see the wreckage from my front window. I know one of the ambulance drivers, they call him Beni, but his real name is Constantine, or at least that’s what his girlfriend says, Maria, who I see at Marigold’s on Tuesdays. All day long Beni ferried the injured to hospital, and then once his shift ended he didn’t know what else to do with himself, and so he went back to the scene and sought some kind of higher authority I suppose. I wonder where he should send the bill.
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