The train has come to a halt in the huge glass domed station hall somewhere in the middle of Europe in the dark summer of 1945.
After the noises from the scraping metal wheels and the steam locomotive subside, people are stirring in the train cars. All the cars in this train are cargo or cattle cars, all have a layer of straw in them and a layer of people sitting on top of the straw.
Someone opens the heavy sliding doors on the side of the cars that face the platform and people stick their heads out cautiously before stepping down onto the tiles.
In one of the cars, the baby is sleeping on mashed straw in a corner. The mother does not want to wake it.
“Stay here” she says to the other child, “I will find some food and come back soon.”
The child watches her as she leaves the dark train car and then looks down at the sleeping baby.
“What is soon?” the child thinks after waiting a while. “Maybe I should go and find her.”
The child steps to the open rail car door and looks around. The mother is not in sight. There are many people, most of them sitting on bundles or small bags or maybe a suitcase. Some people are lying on the bare platform sleeping or staring into space. Other mothers are holding children, rocking babies, wiping tear-streaked small faces.
“Why do all these people look gray?” the child wonders. The mother has a blue coat, but there is no blue anywhere.
Even the air is gray. There is no way of seeing through it, through all these people, so many, like a whole town stuffed into the cavernous hall of the railroad station.
“I have to go and find mother,” the child thinks and climbs down to the platform, almost losing its balance. But a hand reaches out and catches the child before it can fall down between the wheels.
“Careful now,” an old woman’s voice calls out.
“Where is my mother?” the child asks. But the old woman has hurried on.
The child takes a few steps. Hundreds and hundreds of people in either direction, sitting, waiting, too exhausted to talk. Gray people with gray faces. Even the children look gray.
The child is very hungry now and a little afraid. It walks by a very old man holding a very old woman in his arms, who seems to be sleeping. The child walks on, not noticing or caring where to, just looking for a blue coat.
There is a family sitting on some stone steps. Between the grandfather and the mother stands a tiny camp stove with a pot on it.
“This is food,” the child thinks, and stands still at a respectful, wary distance, watching the pot.
The family is eating something with spoons from small enameled tin bowls. It smells good.
“Are you hungry?” asks the grandfather. The child nods silently, almost embarrassed.
“Come here, you can have some.”
The grandfather spoons something soft and white into a cup-size gray bowl that is speckled with blue, sticks a spoon in it and hands it to the child, who sits down on the dirty platform and looks at the food.
It looks unfamiliar.
“What is it?” asks the child.
The grandfather scrapes the bottom of the pot to fill his own bowl.
“Rice,” he says.
“What is rice?” the child wants to know.
“Food,” is the answer. ”Eat”
The child lifts up a small portion of the pearly substance with the spoon and tastes it. It tastes faintly sweet and fills the mouth in a gently comforting way. It is very good.
“Have you seen my mother?” the child asks. “She is looking for food. She has a blue coat.”
“No,” says the grandfather.
The other family members are silently eating their rice. The child continues to fill itself with the wondrous new nourishment.
Just as it finishes, the mother comes running along the crowded platform, pushing herself through groups of huddled people, calling the child’s name. when she sees it, she breaks out in tears.
“Come,” she says, “come quickly. The train will leave soon. Say, Thank you!”
The child thanks the grandfather, who nods in response, too tired to converse.
The mother gives the child a quick , fierce hug and they run hand in hand until they reach the rail car. “How do you know it’s ours,” the child wants to know. They all look alike.”
“I just know.” The mother is too exhausted for long explanations.
They manage to climb into the car just before someone comes along to close and seal the doors.
The train jerks creakily and starts to move.
The baby is still asleep.