Translation:DianaDraper

Irudiarenegilea:JaioneOrtizdeZarateElorriagaAzalarendiseinua:EkaitzGoienetxeaCereceda

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2051BeyondUtopiaotherwordsII||||WordopiasEkaitzGoienetxeaCereceda

Translation:DianaDraperWispycloudsfloatoverhead,makingever-changingpatternsinthebluesky.Blownbygustsofsoutherlywind,theyformcurlypigtailsintheheavens.Thefieryorb,hangingabovethehorizon, paints the sky in different shades. The dawn colours slowly spread over the vastcanvasof the sky.Reddishpurple.Brightorange.A spillof yellowandblue.Changingandgrowinglikewatercolourtendrils,sparkingandgleamingastheydanceacrosstheroofoftheworld.Reflectionsandshadowsdancelightlyoverthemetallicsurfaceofthesea.Thesunmeltsthesnowonthehighpeaks.Theragingtorrentrushesdowntothevalleyinanunstoppableflow.Faraway,acrossthevastlandscape,ablackdot,movingatgreatspeed.Ittracesaline,andthenwipesoutitstraceasitgoes.Itskimsalongthesurface,nottouchingtheground.Overallthebushes.Underalltheclouds.Slitheringacrossthelandscapelikeasnake.Arippleofairfollowsitacrossthegrassyplain.Itmovesoffintothedistance.Itcrossesthefarhorizon.Onthehorizonliesutopia.That'swhattheoldsayingstellusanyhow.Butforeverystepyoutaketowardsit,itmovesonestepaway.It’simpossibletoreach.Themorepersistentlyyouchase it, themore it slipsaway.Sowhat's thepointofutopia then? Just that, say theoldsayings.Itspursyouon.Train2051crossedthehorizonandmovedbeyondutopia.Finisterre.Mesopotamia. Khunjerab. Fromwest to east. From south to north. The wholegeographic continent. Susa. Ethiopia.Obaba.Namesof those places kept alive in the oraltradition; places which no longer appear on any map. Karakorum. Samarkanda. Xian.Distancesandbordersareerased.More thanat anyother time, civilizationhas theworldwithinitsgrasp,underthedominionofmovement.Rather than running on iron tracks like the locomotives of yesteryear, train 2051 runsthroughafurrowthatisvaguelyreminiscentofawaterchannel.It’sasifit’srunningoverafine thread, like a smooth, aerodynamicwind vane.Magnetic levitation.Noobstacles.Nowear.As itpasses, it leavesathin lineontheground,agroovethat is filled inanderasedfromsightby thewindwhich follows in itswake.Behind it, train2051 leaves the seedofbiodiversity.

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Train2051runsonhydrogen.Plasticisavailableinabundanceandhydrogenisobtainedintwo chemical stages from syntheticmarinematerials.Movement is clean. It is ozone andocean-friendly. The Atlantic. The Arctic. The Pacific. In the first stage, the plastics arethermallydegradedbymeansofpyrolysis in tapered reactors andhugeheatmassesuntilthey are completely devoid of oxygen. Then, the gases produced are used in the steam-poweredcatalyticreformerofthesecondstage.1,201cleankilometresperhour.Nocarbondioxideemissions.Troposphere.Stratosphere.Cleanatmosphere.Glisteningoceans.Racing cirrocumulus clouds. Circular creases in the sky. In ever-growing vertical masses.Heralding the coming of rain. Rays of sunlight shine down through the cracks, here andthere, locked in a dance with the restless shadows. The scene is filled with small, quickmovements. The puffing of the steel windmills. The tickling of the glacial pool drills. Thetremblingofthetrees’breathingapparatus.Theslitheringreflectionsofphotovoltaicrivers.Thefluidtrainlinetracingtheeyelidsofthelandscape.Thecloudsgrowfatterandblackeracrossthesky.Therainsarecomingsoon.Train2051slowsdownuntilitcomestoacompletehaltinthemiddleoftheplain.Aprocessof transformation is underway. The carriage-caravans that spread out behind it start tochange.The6x6modulesseemtoconverge;thentheystopandpileup,oneontopoftheother,takingonanewshape.Amalleablemetamorphosis.Columns.Towers.Skyscrapers.An elastic metamorphosis of steel, like the mechanisms developed by certain animals inaccordance with the laws of evolution. Like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. Like atadpolebecomingafrog.LikeGregorSamsawakinguponemorningasagiantinsect.Stationtrain.Nowthemodeoftransport isacity,acitycontained intwogiantcolumns,standingstockstillanduprightagainstthehorizon.Apause.Aflashoflighteningsplitsthesky.Zap.Thepassengers are safe inside the giant city station. Themodules' intermodal connectorshave formed a campsite citadel, and all the city's needs are met within. Market. Hostel.Recreation. People appear in groups on the upper balconies to smoke oxygen cigarettes.Thosewith familiesuse this time togreet their relatives.On the lower floors, they setuplocal food markets and eateries. Those who are hungry for other things take refuge inephemeral sexual encounters in the bedrooms. In both towers and all the floors andcorridors, there are long queues for the Darkrooms and toilets.Within the huge city, itsinhabitantslookliketinyflees.Theheavyshadowoftheclouds'darkness.Piecesofthebrokenskypreparetofall.The station is not a place. The station is a moment, an instant, a fleeting second.Atemporarypauseinthejourneyofanever-movingsociety.Anephemeralpitstopthatisover almost before it starts. It’s like what was known as a Sunday in the old religiouscivilizations.Thegiantstationtowersstretchandstarttodismantlethemselves.Skyscrapers.

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Columns. Foundations. Once everything is in place, the modules rearrange themselves,linkedtogetherneatly ina line;carriagesonceagain.Theamphibiantrain2051speedsofftowardsthesouth-east,swiftasthewind.Thefirstfatdropsofrainbegintofall.Asuddenbreakingofwaterfromtheheavy,expectantclouds.Arumbleofthundercanbeheardonthemountaintops;toolate.Crashandclap.Noonehearsthedownpourroar.Geographical distance annulled. The entire content, here. In the blink of an eye. Thetechnologicalobsolescenceofabygoneerawipedout.Atravellingcitythatneedsnomap.Movementisitsonlygoalandonlypath.Anomadicarchitecturalstructurethatnevergrowsold; an updatable form of town planning that never loses its way and is constantlyreinventingitself.Againandagain.Overandover.Forever.Boundlessperenniality.Infinitesustainability.Intrain2051everythingisfast,runningat1,201cleankilometresperhour.Thewindowsaretransparent, interactive, informative interfaces used to choose the colour of the outsideweather,todownloadthebasicrulesofpeacefulcoexistenceandtovoteonthelogoforthenext station. A lizard. An eagle. A horse. Because a logo communicates faster than athousandlanguages.Intrain2051everythingison-lineandthereare7,111differentlanguagechannelstochoosefrom.Allservicescanbecustomisedandadaptedtosuiteachpassenger'sindividualneedsandwhims.Thedubbedcomputervoicewhispersinyourear.Yourchosenlanguageinyourearphones.In train 2051 everything is at hand without you ever having to leave your seat. Videoconferences, live concerts,holidaydestinations - all streamedonto the screen in frontofyou.Placesofpleasure.Gamesoflife.Friendsforfrolicking.Sit-app.Plazapp.Hi-app.Youcaneven engage in some flirting with a view to establishing intimate relations through thesimultaneousmultiplexvideo-windows.In train 2051 everything is now, at this very instant. Your smart travel ticket makes allinformationreadilyavailabletoyou.Applicationstoaugmentrealtime.Newtrendsindata-trading.Upcomingheadlinesfromtheprophetofthefuture."Theanniversaryofdegrowth,comingsoon".Allcitizensareinterconnected,facingthesamewayandholdinghands.Yeah.Right.It's always warm inside train 2051. The casing of the convoy is made of rain and sunreceptors, in case of a power emergency. Evenwhen the temperature or climate outsidechange,theconditionedairinsidethecarriagesremainsthesame,thankstothegeothermalmagnetisationdevicebuiltintotheirunderbelly.It's always peaceful inside train 2051. It holds all cities inside itself. Those it has recentlydismantled,andthoseitwillconstructinthefuture.Thecitizen-passengersarediverse.

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Avirtualochlocracyempowerseachindividualbyrespectingeveryone'sidiosyncrasies.Wolf.Whale.Penguin.Helpus choose the logo for thenext station.Allopinionsarevaluable. Ifyou agree, blink once. If you disagree, don't blink (even once). Remember to pick yourfavouritelanguagechannelbeforeopeningVoteapp.It'salwaysdiverse inside train2051.TherearepeopleofbothsexesandalldifferentagesfromalloverEurasiaandawholerangeofdifferentculturesandlanguages.Allareone,allare sharing the same journey. Within this rich seedbed of social diversity, thanks to thecustomisabletechnology,thecarriagesareahubofpeacefulcoexistence.Thepropagandapillyouhavetoswallow inexchangeforyourthreecoinsgets longerandlonger.Boundlessbroadbandinatight,narrowsleeve.In train2051, freedom is ineveryone'shands.Citizensonlyhaveto remember threebasicrulesofpeacefulcoexistence.One,no religioussymbols.Two,nonational flags.Three,nopublic weeping. Traditions and pursuits involving local customs, beliefs or sadness, whilepermitted, are considered inappropriate inpublic. To thisend,Darkroomsareprovided inwhich individuals may indulge in their personal customs in private. Blackrooms, folkloricblack places. In order to reduce the risk of addiction, limited use of these Darkrooms isrecommended.Remember.Noreligion.Noflags.Nodepression.Inordertorespectdiversity,publicdisplaysorexpressionsoflocalcustomsarestrictlyprohibited.Intrain2051,respectisineveryone'shands.Ifyouwitnessesaviolationofthebasicrulesofpeacefulcoexistence,pleasepresstheblacksquarebuttonlocatedatthetopofyourmainscreen. An updated version of the rules are available for consultation on your windowinterface in seven thousand, one hundred and eleven languages. If you have any doubts,please raiseyourhandandoneof thehostess-functionaries in yourareawill behappy toshowyouwherethebuttonislocated.Uniformedhostesseswalkupanddowntheaisles,pointingoutthewindow-interfaceswithsustainablesmilesontheirfaces.Fewpassengersturntolookatthewindows,andstillfewerlookoutofthem.Intrain2051,everyonehasavoice.Allyouhavetodotolisteninyourownlanguageistuneyourearphonesintotherightchannel.Tosaysomething,allyouhavetodoisrecordavoicemessageandpressthegreencircletomakeitimmediatelyavailabletoallinhabitantsofthetrain-city.Plazappisfulltoday.Anendlessmosaicoffacesspreadsacrossthescreen.Youcanzoominorendlesslyout,tospyoneverysinglepersonsittingineveryseatineverymoduleineverycarriage.AstrappingyouththoroughlyenjoyingaDJsession,handsclaspedoverhisearphones,headmovingintimetothebeat.Arednosedallergysufferer,sneezingalloverhisscreen.Alivegaming addict hypnotised by flashes of light, an angry frown on his face as he strives toreachthenextlevel.

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Someone scraping a spoon frantically around the bottom of an empty yoghurt pot,determinedtogeteverylastlittlebit.Asleepingnon-beauty,snoringloudly,farawayintheland of dreams, a long line of dribble running down her inflatable travel pillow. A noviceviolinplayer,practisinghisscales.Asilkclothseller,showingoffhiswearswithafrustratedlookonhis face. Indesperationheshovestheclothsasideandoffershisearphonestohisreluctantbuyers.Akaraokefanwho,despiteputtingherheartandsoulintoit,doesn'tseemtorealise thatshe isoutof tunebecause thevolume inherearphones is so loud.Achild,blue in the facewith crying. Journalists consulting their tarot cards in a futile attempt tokeep up with current events. Time brokers, shouting nervously. Virtual profile surgeonstalkingaboutspecialoffers.Awoman inareddresswho looks likecat,mewing inheat.Acrestedcockerel crowingat thewrong timeofday. Someanonymous individuals in sheepmasksbleatingatalostshepherd.Acrowwearingatie,beatingitselfupaboutbeingblack.Aninsatiablecrowdturnedintoartificialwildlifeonatraininwhichtherearenootherliveanimals (unlessyoucount the logo imagespeoplearevoting for).Awhiterabbit.Apandabear. A letter.No time for love songs. TheDJ carries on, not caring a jotwhether or notanyone is listening to the endless scratching that can be heard over the sub-bass beat,completely unaware of the young lad who is totally immersed in the session, his handsclaspedoverhisearphones.Eventhoughtheyaresittingside-by-side.Train2051wishesyouapleasanttrip.Iliveonthattrain.HereIam,nexttothewindowinseatC2ofthethird6x6moduleofthenineteenth of the train’s 2051 steel carriages. The publicity report showing on the mainscreen has just finished. I've been givenmy threemeagre electronic coins. I go into themusicarchives;afterlisteningtothatgratingcomputervoiceIthinkmyearsdeservearest.Somethingsoothing;somethingacoustic;aninstrumentaltrackperhaps:bit.do/2051.Ipressthegreencircle,therecordingcostsmeane-coin.I'mInkoSoare,aqualifiedon-linetranslator.I'moutofworkatthemomentthough,justlikemostofthepeopleontrain2051.There are more opportunities here. That's the promise that got us on board. Newprofessions, new languages, new cultures. The unemployment rate on train 2051 ismorethan61%.Mostofusearnafewcoinsbylisteningtotheofficialpropagandavideo.Weneedthesecoins for food,personalhygieneand leisureactivities.Youget threecoins foreveryviewing.Iknowtheadvertisementforutopiaoffbyheart.Anyone who wants to treat themselves to, say, some local spirits or a packet of oxygencigarettes,ora session inapersonal customsandpursuitsDarkroom,eitherhas towatchmorepropagandasessionsor somehowgeta job thatonlyaprivilegedminorityhaveanyreal hope of landing. New professions, they call them. Data compilers. Power engineers.Profile surgeons.Pharmacydealers. Sustainable smilinghostesses. Shouting salesmenwhoconstantly swap local merchandise but never actually sell anything. Silk. Leather. Cotton.Melons. Aubergines. Aromatic spices.Oh yes, everything is available to the passengers oftrain 2051. Shoes on the floor. Socks hanging up. Empty suitcases. Sugar. Salt. Pepper.Everything,andnothingatall.

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Iliveonverylittle,movingfromstationtostation.Afullstomach,theoccasionalwashunderthearmpitsandabitofoxygennowandthen.That'sallIneed.Well,thatandalittlebitofsexeveryonceinawhileofcourse.Notthatoften,justonceeverytwostationsorso.Justscratchinganitch,youunderstand.Becausetrain2051isalwayswarm,butlonelinessiscoldandDarkroomsessionsareexpensive.AtthewolflogostationIsharedarentedroomwithapassionatedark-skinnedwoman.Twoe-coinseachforawholenight.AtthewhalestationIspentsometimewithashort-hairedgirlwithprettyeyes.Youdon'tneedwordstosetupaneroticencounter.Justoneblinkandyou're in. They don't always last a whole night. Sometimes it's just a quick, half-bakedorgasmandseeyoulateralligator.Atthepenguinstationitwasablonde.Wegotaroomatahalfpricediscount.Wegotdressed,paidtherentwithourcardsandwentourseparateways,eachofus lightingupanoxygencigaretteaswewent (the lastone in thepacket inmycase).Note:Imustbuyanewpacketatthenextstation.Nonames.Notasingleword.Notevena“seeyouatthenextstation”.It'sbetterlikethat.Becauseafter screwing, after standingnaked in frontof eachother and revealingall yourbodies'secretcodes,thenunlessyouspeakthesamelanguagetherearereallynomysterieslefttobeuncovered.Thefatmanwhohasbeensittingnexttomesincethetraindismantledpenguinstationandstartedonitswayagainwon'tshutup.He'sspeakingtothescreeninfrontofhiminsomekind of oriental language, a dialect from somewhere along the south-east coast I think. Ican't understand a word but the harsh tone of his voice pierces the instrumental musiccomingthroughmyearphonesandtensionseizesupmybodyashisgratingchatterwearsawayatmyalreadythinpatience.ButIdarenotsayaword.Eventhoughhehasavoicelikea shrill whistle, his body and facial expression are grave and serious. And besides, anyattempt, nomatter how small, tomake conversationwith a fellow passenger, nomatterwho they are, is considered the height of bad manners on train 2051. Not to mentionexceedinglystrangebehaviour.Iwanttoconcentrateonmyinstrumentalmusic.Ipressmyearphonesclosertomyears,tryingtoblockoffanyoutsideinterference.Thefatmanbesidemehasthreewindowsopenonhisscreenat thesametime.Threefaces,andhim,alltalking(orgesturingat least)atthesametime.Onemoveshisarmsupanddown,banging around as if trying to point to something outside the frame of the screen. Hisdog-likefaceisbrightred,andIimaginehimbarkinglikeaRottweiler.Anotheroneissmilinga small, sly smile, looking sideways into the camera as if he were whispering whateverinformationhe'scurrentlyimpartingintohisshirtcollar.Thethirdpersonkeepsmovingoutof the camera frame and then jumping back in as if trying to give the personwatching afright,beforedoublingupinlaughter.I'mnotsureexactlywhothefatmansittingbesidemeistalkingto,orindeedifanyofthethreepeopleonthescreenarelisteningtohim,buthedoesnotshutupforevenasecond,noteventodrawbreath.Andthere'sahorrificstenchcomingfromhisarmpits.

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Themusic inmyearphonesstops.They've turnedall themonitorsoff.All I seenow ismyface reflected in theblack screen in frontofme. I look tiredandwashedout;dark circlesundermyeyes, greasyhair and a scraggybeard. I'd better find time to shave at thenextstation.Afterbuyingapacketofoxygen.Ihear the familiarchimes thatprecedepassenger informationmessages inmyearphones."Todayistheanniversaryofdegrowth.Letusshareamomentofsilencetoremember."Theicon for silence appearson the screen, a finger touched to apair of lips.As I removemyearphonesIrealisethatthefatmanbesidemehasstoodupandwalkedoff.Silencereignsinthecarriage.Thecentralnetworkhasshutdownallelectronicdevices.Theonlysoundisthesubtleinertiaofthetrain'smovement.Onthewindow,aghosttownslowlyappearsfromtheright,faroffinthedistance,acrossavastplain.Thebuildingsarethedeepblackofabandonment.Everyoneonthetrainisstaringatthewindows.Weareallawarethatablanketofsilencehasfallenovereverycarriageoftrain2051.Wehaveall,everyoneofus,beenstruckdumb.Wefeelashiver, likeabreathofsurrealaironourskin.Dogs,sheep,crows,cockerels-alllivingcreaturesareholdingtheirbreath.Notonechildiscrying,notevenawhimper.Itisamomentofsilencetoshowrespectforthepastandforitsmemory,sothattheColdWaroftheBuildingRacemayneverhappenagain.75yearshavepassed.Seventy-fiveseconds.Onesecondforeveryyear.One.Two.Seventy-five.Theghosttownmovestotheleft,finallydisappearingfromthewindow.Theblackofabandonmentgoestoo,disappearingwiththebuildings. Thetrain'selectronicdevicescomebackon,along(itseems)withthevoicesandbustleofitspassengers.Thecarriage isonceagain filledwith itsusual collectivemumblingdin: crying,snoring,shouting,out-of-tunekaraokesinging,violinscales,meowing,bleating,cawingandout-of-hourscrowing.Indecipherable.Indistinguishable.Allmixeduptogether.Everyonehasgonebacktowhattheyweredoingbefore.Boththejoblessandthegainfullyemployed. Theworkingminority disappears down the aisle as the data compilers, profilesurgeons, power engineers and sustainable hostesses all rush off to their jobs. Automaticcitizenswhorestonlyat theephemeralstationsandduringthebriefsecondsofsilence inmemoryofthedegrowth.Theycallitaworkinglife,butit'sreallyalifeofwork.Someonenewcomestositbesideme.It'sawoman.She'swearinganapkinlikeamask.Herearsarecoveredbyearphones.IcovermineandtrytotapbackintothetrackIwaslisteningtoearlier,eventhoughIknowit'snolongeravailable.Anothercoingone.Analarmpopsuponthescreens.Itakemyearphonesoffbutthecarriageisjustasitalwaysis,filledwithitschaoticcollectiveracket.Nooneseemstroubledbytheflashinglight.Everyonejustcarriesontalkingtotheirscreens.Thepassengershavedevelopedafilterofindifferencetotheredlight.

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Thewolf'scomingthewolf'scomingthewolf'scoming.Theyperceivenomoredisquietingmessagethanthiswhentheredlightcomeson.Thesirenthatcomesonwiththealarmlightisalmostimpossibletohearovertheconstantdinofthecarriage. The cause of the alarm appears on the video surveillance screen: an old man has beencaught flashing. He's standing in the middle of the aisle with his overcoat open, armsoutstretched,foamingatthemouthandshoutinghisheadoff(youcan'thearwhatexactlyhe'ssaying).He'sdisplayingaT-shirt,chestpuffedoutinpride,turningthiswayandthatintheaisle.IsitaT-shirtofanationalsportsteam?Idon'tknow.Butjudgingbyhisenthusiasmanddesire toshow itoff, I'dsay itwas fromoneof theoldnations. Iguesshemusthavetakenadvantageofthesecondsofsilencetoproclaimhisallegiancetotheworld.Andthensome. It's a display of nationalism taking place very near here, in carriage numberseventeen.Justtwocarriagesalong,althoughnoonetakesanynoticeatall.The woman beside me is watching the propaganda video, flicking between languagechannelsinherearphonesasshedoesso.In the live feed on the screen, hostesses are ushering the oldman up the aisle. I expectthey'lldiagnosehimwithfolkloric-affectivedisorder."Anyexpressionof localcustomsmaybe used against you." Crying, praying or any proclamation of national pride. The bodysometimeshasurges,andIseenoharminthat; Iunderstandwherehe'scomingfrombutseriouslyman,that'swhatDarkroomsarefor."Noreligion,noflags,nosadness".Getagripmate,it'snotthathard.Ablackstructureofsomekindwhizzespastthewindow.Thereandgoneintheblinkofaneye.Along-gonestationwithoutaname.Inotherwords,oneoftheoldstations.Evenifithadaname, therewouldbeno time to read it.Most likely frombefore the InternationalBuilding Race Disarmament Covenant. We are now in the dessert. "What will the nextstation'slogobe?Voteforyourfavourite!"Wolves.Whales.Penguins.Peoplegenerallytendtochooseextinctanimalsforstationlogos.Eagles.Tortoises.Letters.Thewomanbesidemecontinuestoflickthroughthelanguagechannelsonherearphones.There'ssomethingabouther.Sheisdarkskinnedandhastattoosonherneck,shouldersandarms.Sheiswearingabaggypaint-stainedsuntopandhasasmall,leatherhandbagfullofpins,badgesandpatches.Uncombedcurlyblackhairframesherface:smallnoseandblackeyesadornedwithdarkblueeye-shadow.She'sattractiveand(Iwager)notunawareofthatfact.Ifsheweretoremovehermask,I'msureasmilewouldberevealed.There's somethingabouther.Perhaps it’s thegypsyswarthinessofher skin.Thestrapsofher sun top hang lazily across her shoulders and I swear she's not wearing a thingunderneath.Ihavenotroubleatallimaginingtheskinwhichliesalongthepathtraceddownher chest by the tattoos coveringher neck and shoulders. The suggestionof the freedomlurkingunderherbaggytopfiresmyimagination.Shetakesapuffofoxygenandthenblowsitout,downintohertop.

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Remembertobuyapacketatthenextstation.Ormaybeit'shersmell.Thesmellthewomanhasaboutherissomehowfamiliar,somehowreal.Overthecarriage'spermanentsmellofnewnessthereisanotherthat lingers-broad,longandslow.Shelooksatme.Thenatmynotebook.Wasthataslightwrinkleintheblueedgesofhereyes?Didshesmile?Sheremoveshermaskandyes,thereisasmileplayingaroundhermouth.Sheissmilingandlookingatmynotebook.Noway.

- Thankyou- (...thiscan'tbehappening...)- It’sbeautiful,whatyou'vewrittenaboutme,aboutthewayIsmellandall.Ilikeit.

Hersmilelingers.She'stalkingtome.I'mdumbstruck.

- I'mNora.NoraBlu.Andyou?- (...)- Canyoutalk?Orcanyoujustwriteinyournotebook...?- I...I'mInko...You…youspeakmylanguage?- Yup.Wesharethesamemothertongue,handsome.- Ididn't...S...sorry(shutthenotebook,Inko).- Don'tworry,youdidn'twriteanythingoffensive.So,you'reInko,right?- Yes,Inko.InkoSoare.- Pleasedtomeetyou,Inko.

I'mNoraBlu.Shetoldmeherfullname.Shespokemynamealoud.Ilikethewayshesaysmyname,pronouncingeachsyllableclearly,theinwithasmallchuckle,followedbyawell-roundedko.

- It'sgoodtomeetsomeonewhospeaksthesamelanguage,isn'tit?Itdoesn'thappenoften.

- It’s never happened tome. I've never talked to anyone on the train, not even inanotherlanguage.

- Wellhithen.Welcometothisconversation.Tothisconversation.Totheplacethistrainhasneveryetreached.Hervoiceisunusual.It'sslightlyroughyetwarmatthesametime.It'savoiceyoucanunderstand.Afullvoice,atrueone,wordforword.

- Whydoyouwrite,Inko?- Err...becauseIenjoyitandbecauseIcanwritewhatIlikeinmyownlanguage'cause

noone....understands.Usually.- Anddoyouwriteonlyinyourmothertongueorinotherlanguagestoo?- Justinourlanguagereally.EventhoughI'maqualifiedtranslator.

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- Ourlanguage,yousay.Butthelanguageyouwriteinisyours;yoursandyoursalone,becauseyounevershowittoanyone.Ifyouletmereaditthenperhapsitcouldbemineaswell.Butuntilthen...

Shefoldsherarmsbehindherheadandleansbacksmugly inherseat.Thatdamnsmile isamazing. Like she couldn't care less what's inmy notebook. Her lips are cracked,maybebecauseshelikestosmileormaybejustbecauseshechewsthem.Shewantsmetoletherreadmynotebook.Shewantsmetoshowittoher.There’ssomethingmischievous,slightlydirty,abouther.WellIwon'tshowittoher.

- Whydo Iwrite? I don't know... Putting thoughts to paper gives thembody, somekindofphysicalform.Theybecomereal.

- Butaren'ttheyrealotherwise?- Thoughts? Oh come on, ideas aren't material things, are they? Imagination or

memoryarelikemist.Theycaneasilygetforgottenanddisappear.- Soyouwantthemtolastthen?- Umm.Idon'tknow.MaybeIjustwanttoseemyselfreflectedsomewhere.- Butyournotebookissilent,Inko.Doyouknowwhat'strulyreal?Trulyphysical?- What?- Shouting.Let'sdoit.- Youwantustoshout?Why?Noonewillunderstandus.

Shetakesadeepbreath,herchestandribsfillingoutthebaggysuntop,andstartsshouting.It'sscaryhowloudsheis.Iturnmyheadtowardsthewindow.Ican'tbeartolookather.Ifeelembarrassed.Butshejustcarrieson,andthenshetakesmyhandandholdsitinafirmgrip.She's shoutingwithherhead thrownbackandmouth in theair,as if she is trying toblastaholeintheroof.Noonetellshertobequiet;nooneeventurnstolookather.Eventhe hostesses just walk past with their sustainable smiles clamped onto their faces. Noadmonishment.Nothing. I'mthunderstruck. I canunderstandwhatshe'ssaying.Theotherpassengersjustcarryonlikebefore,eachoneimmersedintheworldwithintheirearphones;eachone conversingwith their own screen. Thenoise level in the carriage is loudernow.Nora's shouts have forced everyone to speak up a little in order to be heard over thebackgroundracket.Plazappisfull,andloud.Noracontinuestoshoutatthetopofhervoice.She'sstillholdingontomyhandandiskeepingtimewithherotherone,hittingtheseat,tap-tap-tap,theintensityofhertappinglendinggreateremphasistoherwords.Andevenifnooneelsedoes,Iunderstandher.Ialonehearher,loudandclear.Myearshaveneverbeensoreceptive.Myhearthasneverfeltsotouched. Ihearherdeepinmyflesh.Overandover.Againandagain.Fourwords.Irepeatthemtimeandtimeagain,withNora.

- Listentothis!Please!Listentothis!Please!

Wecontinuetoshoutandyellallthewaytothenextstation.Intrain2051everything isfast. Intrain2051everything isnow.Intrain2051everything iseveryone's. Everyone's opinion is vital and the Tortoise is the logo which received mostblinksforthenextstation.Becausealogocommunicatesfasterthanathousandlanguages.Welcometotortoisestation.IhaveafeelingIwon'tfindtimetoshavethistimeround.

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Assoonasthecarriageshavebecomefloorswemakeourwaystraightdownthecorridorstothehostel.Ibuyapacketofoxygenandwerentaroom.Whitewalls,awidebedandasmallwindowintheceiling. I turnthewindow'selectronic interfaceoffand lightup.Noratakesthecigarettefrommyhand.

- Ifyou'rewriting,youmustbewritingforsomeone.Sheexhalesintomyface.Oxygeninmyfacedoesn'tbothermeintheslightest.

- Idon'tknowwhoI'mwritingfor.Formyselfperhaps?- But what happens when, long after you're gone, someone else picks up the

notebook? Oh! Just imagine it’s found by a translator! Just imagine he or shetranslates it into some other languages, some other words, and then puts it intoothertranslators'handsand....hangon!Justimaginethatcivilizationhaschangedsomuchthatsomeofthewordsinthenotebookhavelongsincefallenoutofuseand...

- Thatoxygenmusthavegonetoyourhead.- Wouldn't youwant yourwork to have offspring? To still be around in some form

three,four...twentygenerationsfromnow?- Mmmm...

Ittookmeawhiletounderstandthetruenatureofherquestion.

- Idon'tthinkso...No. Ineverwroteanythingwiththe ideathat itwouldbearoundforever.

- Wellbecareful,Inko;suchthingshaveanastyhabitoflastingforever.Such things. Those words written in my notebook. Things. She passes me the oxygencigaretteandrummagesaroundinherleatherbag,lookingforsomething.Thenshesquatsdowntorummagefurther.Oneofherstrapsfallsdownherarm.Hertattooleadsdownherskin,allthewaytowherethecurvedswellbeginstorise.Shefinallyfindswhatshe'slookingfor.Aboxofmatches.Shecatchesmewatchingher,butdoesn'tcomment. Ipassher theoxygencigarettetogivemetimetogetmybreathback.

- Doyouliketoplay?- What,withfire?

Shesmiles.Thatdamnedmarvelloussmile.

- Watchclosely.Thenlet'sseewhatyou'remadeof.Shetakesoutamatchandstrikesitagainstthesideofthebox.Phisss...theredphosphorousheadlightsupwithasmallhiss.Theheadbeginstoburn,theflamestartingtoconsumepartofthewhitestickbelow,cracklinganddancing.Webothstareatthematch.Thetinyflamemoves slowly yet relentlessly down the wood towards the other end. Soon it will reachNora's fingertips, butNora doesn't blow it out. Shewets the tips of her other finger andthumbwith spit from hermouth and slowly grabs hold of the burnt head of thematch,whichisnowblackandshrivelled.Shedoesthiswithgreatcaresoasnottobreakthefragilethreadofwoodleftbehindbytheflame.Thenatlastshecantakeherotherhandawayfromthe slow-moving flame, leaving it a clear path to the endof thematch and allowing it toconsumethelastpieceofwhitewoodwithitscracklingheat.

13

Thetinyflamereachestheendofitsjourney,takesonelastbreath,anddies.Thematchisblackandburnt,fromendtoend.Noralooksatme,hereyebrowsraisedinchallenge.

- Nowyou.- Butyouonlyhaveafewmatchesleftinyourbox...

Shelooksdownagainandseemstoshakeherheadslightlyinagestureofdisappointmentatmyinabilitytounderstandanything.

- Howmanypagesdoyouhaveleftinyournotebook,Inko?Shetakesalong,leisurelydrawofoxygenandexhalesevenmoreslowly.

- Idon'tmuchcareforthingsthatareforever.- Whataboutyourtattoos?- I'mnotforever,mylove.

Mylove.She'sangrywithme,butshecalledmeherlove.Suchnuancesdonotevenexistinthemultiple languagechannelsoftheon-boardcomputer.What Iwouldn'tgiveforataperecorder.WhatIwouldn'tgivetorecordthatvoicesoIcouldputit inplaceofthatlifelessdroning thatcanbeheardonall thecomputer's languagechannels.Againandagain,overandover, once and for all. Tormentor, beloved, kindred spirit. Real. True. Physical. In thelanguagethatoffersmeoxygen.

- Lastdrag?- Ok.

Butthenshetakesalongslowpull,suckingthelastoftheoxygenoutofthecigarettebeforepassingittome.

- Butyoujustfinishedit.Sheshakesherheadandthenopenshermouthslightlytoshowmethecloudofoxygeninside;ithoversthere,movingneitherforwardnorback.Noinhale,noexhale.

- Comegetit.

14

Istoleyourbreathsmokyanddamp

yourtoreoutmyspeech

webitourlipstoeateachother'swords

tastybeats

phonicmatterthevoice'sfleshthroats’sound

wearecavemusicnestledonanavel'slapboomingechoesofthe

earth

soundsarerootsmothertongueisastationnakedforceofgravity

gripeinyourbellyacrycanbeheard

atthefootofthemountain

therimoftheskinthemembraneofthefleshthecoursingoftheblood

wearesyntaxgrammar-matesweourourselves

asingleinstanteternitybeyondtheworld

improvisedbyus

letusremainforeverhereattheintersectionbetweensecondsand

centuries

15

I can still smell you in the room. When I woke up, I saw the matchbox throwncarelessly onto the floor. Itwas open, almost empty. Just threematches left inside.Maybeyouwenttothebathroom.That'swhatIthought.Ithoughtyou'dcomeback.Comebacktoshowmethatsmileagain.Comebacktogetyoursmell,oratleastyourboxofmatches.Butyouneverdid.I lefttheroombeforethestationturnedback intoatrain;notimeeventowashmyface.Itookthematchboxwithmeandputitinmypocketwithmynotebook.Itwasallyou leftmewith.Notaword.Notascribble.Notevena“till thenextstation”.Suchthingscouldlastforever.Nothingbutamemory,amemoryofyourname,yoursmellandyourvoice.Andthequestionsweaskedeachother justbeforewe fellasleep ineachother'sarms,andoursweatmingledonourbodies.

- Whatareyouthinkingabout?- Haveyoueverconsideredjustgettingoffthetrainatoneofthestations?- OhInko...

Oh god, the way she said my name, the in with a small chuckle, and then thewell-roundedko.

- ...haveyouanyideahowmanystationsthereareyettoexplore?Thecontinentistoovast,Inko,andlifeistooshort.

- ButwhatiftheplaceIwanttogotohasnostation?- Whatdoyousuggestthen?

A language. A framework for understanding one another. A relationship, in otherwords.Inthewarmthofyourvoice.Inthemomentyousmiledatmeforthefirsttime,with the feelings that hearing your voice and being able to understand yourwordsstirred in me. Nothing but an empty memory now. Living only in my imagination.Amemorythatcandisappearaseasilyastheclouds.JustlikethemomentIstoletheoxygenfromyourcrackedlips.WhatIwouldn'tgivetotattoothosememoriesontomymind'seye;whatIwouldn'tgiveforthemtobeetchedsopermanentlyintomybrain.

- Icanspeakfivelanguages,oursandfourothers.Andyou?- Theyareallavailabletous,right?Youjusthavetochoosetherightchannelon

yourearphones.- Ohplease!Youcanhardlycall that language!Thatautomaticcomputervoice

isn'treal;ithasnointonationandallowsfornonuances.Whenyouchooseourlanguage channel, for instance, apart from the fact that there's ofteninterference,what you do hear isn't real. It's tasteless; bland. That's notmylanguage.

Languageiswhatunitedus,evenwhenwedisagreed.

- Doyouonlywriteinyourmothertongue?- Yeah.That'sjustwhatcomesnaturally.- Fromdeepinside?Fromthatpartofyouthatwasjoinedtoyourmother...

16

- Maybe. I once read that that's the first sound we hear, the sea that is theamnioticfluidinsideourmother'swomb.

- Howdoyousaygoodnightintheotherlanguagesyouspeak?Lahko noč, добра ноќ, Gou nåcht, Oíche mhaith agus codladh sámh. I hadn'tpronouncedthosewordsinyears,exceptintoascreenmike.IthadbeenagessinceI'dspokentheminfrontofa living,breathing,fellowhumanbeing.Goodnight.Thenwelaystillforawhile,listeningtothesilence.Iloveyou,shesaidsuddenly.Youlovedme.But what you really meant to say at that moment was Goodbye; it just came outdifferently.Iloveyou.Mylove.Sleepwell.Thingslikethat.Thelastwordsofawomanwhoknewshewasgoingtoleavethenextday,withoutleavingaword.Asynonymofgoodbye.Goodbye,Inko.Ihadtowaitawhileforthemodulestoturnbackintocarriagesandfortrain2051toresumeitsjourney.Itfeltlikeforever.Ihadleftawholeworldbackinthatbedroom,along with a temple of language. In the old religious traditions, such a place wasknownashome.Astationworthstoppingat.Atrainpassingthroughabody.Therimoftheskin.Themembraneoftheflesh.Thecoursingoftheblood.Iwentintoabathroomtowashmyfaceandheardawholecitytherewithin, inthatfesteringhole.A liquidwindorchestraIhadsimplynevernoticedbefore,contrastingsharply with the memory of your voice. Loathsome. brrt, pfft, plonk and braaah.Soundsfromdifferentbowels,fromthroatswithnovocalchords.Alllanguageslinkedtogetherinthesewagechannel,nomatterthespeaker,nomatterthelistener.Fromdeepwithin.Iclaspedmyhandstomyears.

- Ilikeyourscraggybeard,yoursmalleyes,yourcurlyhair.Iwantedtohearthatvoiceagain.Thatwasmylanguage.Iwantedtostayinthatlanguage.Youfoundme,Nora.Whenthecarriageshadonceagainarrangedthemselvesintoaline,itwastimetofinda seat. I started walking, moving through the train. Frommodule tomodule. Fromcarriagetocarriage.Traintwoohfiveone.Nora,IrepeatedtomyselfasIlookedatthefacesofthepassengersstaringattheirscreens.NoraIrepeatedtomyselfasIsearchedfor theone face thatwould lookup from the screenand smile atme, thatdamnedlovelysmile,thatwouldsayI'mpleasedtoseeyou.Ortoputitanotherway:language-mate.Orsimplyhello.Welcometothisconversation.As I moved down the aisle, I'd occasionally think I'd spotted you, Nora Blu, in thedistance.I'dcatchaglimpseofyourmessydarkhairoverthebackofaseatahead,aseatthatwashidingyourdark,blue-liddedeyes,yourgypsyskin,yoursuntopandthattattooonthenapeofyourneck.Butitwasalwayssomeoneelse,neveryou.Notattoo.Noblueeyelids.Nosmile.

17

Nooneliftedtheirgaze.Everyfacewasgluedtothescreenonthebackoftheseatinfront, talking towhatever imagewasprojectedthere.All together. Indistinguishable.Indecipherable.Sneezerjockeydiskallergy-riddengameyogurtlivepotemptyscrapingsub-basssnoringsleeperuglyfrustratedenthusiastkaraokesalesmansilkout-of-tunecrying cloth journalist child future newspaper library time broker surgeon nervousprofile cat cockerel sheep high sales out-of-hours shepherd crowing black lost bleatcrowitself.Everyonewaspouringouttheirdiatribeceaselesslytotheshininglightscomingfromthescreensinfrontofthem.Noonegaveanyoneelseachancetobeheard.Rumblerumblerumble.Seventhousandandelevenlanguagechannelsineveryearphone,butdeaftothepersonsittingnexttothem.Intrain2051everythingwasjustnoise.Intrain2051everythingwasvirtual.Intrain2051thepassengershadbeenrenderedilliteratebyanoverdoseofmultilingualism.Istaggeredalong.Therewereshoesonthefloor.Sockshangingup.Emptysuitcases.WitheverycarriageIpassedthrough,thequeuesfortheDarkroomsgrewlongerandlonger. Suffering from folkloric-affective disorder didn't seem so senseless thatmorning.Icouldseemyselfjoiningthatqueuebeforetoolong.Hungryfornationalistporn. Or perhaps an orgiastic ceremony or event. Oral poetry booming out of theloudspeakers,thousandsoffansinthestands,allalert.Alerttothemelody,therhyme,themessage. All in one language, all together. Thunderous applause and collectiverejoicing.Demands,emotions,weeping...Thelonglinesofdowntrodden,desperatenationalistpornaddictsqueuedupoutsidetheDarkrooms, no longer able to control the unease generatedby the train-societythat outlawedall individual cultural expressions in thenameof respect for peacefulcoexistenceanddiversity.I passed through hundreds of carriages without anyone raising their eyes to meetmine.EventhehostessesIpassedonmytrekjustcarriedonpointingtothewindowswiththeirsustainablesmilesetchedontotheirfaces,invitingpassengerstodownloadtheupdatedversionofthenewtrain2051rules.Noonelookedatthewindowsbesidethem.Yetaloneoutofthematwhatwasbeyond.Here,noonespokeour language.Here,noonespokeatall,unlessitwastoascreen.Here,noonesaidaword.Wherewereyou?Inwhatcarriage?Mywarm-voicedNora.Mybelovedlanguage-mate.You,whosaidthat lifewastooshortandthecontinenttoovasttoleavethetrainatanyonestation.Butthetrainwouldbecomeastationandthestationatrainwithoutanyoneever setting footoutside.Theyall staredat their screens,andnoneof themlookedateachother.Theyhadearphonesovertheirears,andnoonelistenedtotheonebesidethem.Everythingwasfast,everythingwasnow,everythingwashere,andyetnothingwasanywhere,nothingwasanytimeandnoonewasanyoneatall.Thecontinent'svirtualvastnesswaswhatmadelifetooshort.

18

Adisjointedcivilizationthatmovedlikeamaniacfromephemeralstationtoephemeralstation,hardlygivingyoutimetosmokeanoxygencigaretteinbetween.I was exhausted. I was ravenous andmy legs could hardly holdme up after havingtraipsedthroughcountlesscarriagessearchingforyou.Isatdownintheaisleseatofrow B1,module two, carriage one thousand seven hundred and thirty-four of train2051.Nexttomewasathinmanwithafacelikealizard.Ineededarest.Icaughtaglimpseofmyreflectionintheblankscreeninfrontofme.

- Ilikeyourscraggybeard,yoursmalleyes,yourcurlyhair.I'llkeeptheminmymemoryforreal-lifefantasies.

I knew that, obliquely, you were warning me of the ephemeral nature of ourrelationship.Youhadtattoos,butyouyourselfweren'tforever.Weknewthat.Imadeyounopromises,noraskedforanyinreturn.Afterthecountlesssexualencountersofpaststations,ephemeralitywasafamiliarfriend.Butunlikeinthosepaststations,thistimeyouspoketome.Yougavemeyourname,thesoundofyourvoice,thesmellofmutualunderstanding,thefleshofourmothertongue.Youcarvedanabsenceinmysoul,andasyousorightlypointedout,suchthingshaveanastyhabitoflastingforever.I turnedonthescreen.Hi-app.Sit-app.Maybe Icould findyouthroughyourscreen.Nora Blu. No luck. Plazapp was full, but you were nowhere to be seen. No virtualprofilesmatchingyournameorface.Maybeyougavemeafalsename.Ordidyouaska surgeon to change your virtual profile? Were you perhaps one of those rarecreatures(likethestationlogos,longextinct)thatdidn'tusevirtualapps?Perhapsyouwerenothingmorethanagustofwindinmyimagination,theproductofdigression,somethingwhichdisappearsasthememoryofyoufades?NoraBlu.Iuploadedavoicemessageandwaited,hopingyou'danswer.List-en-to-this,please.Itookoutthematchbox.Ilitoneofthethreeremainingmatches.Thelizard-facedmansittingnexttomedidn'tevennoticethesmell;forhim,theworldoutsidetheframeofhisscreensimplydidn'texist.Itriedtoburnthematchfromoneendtotheother,likeyou had shown me, carefully taking the burnt head between two spit-soakedfingertips, without breaking the thin thread of black. Perhaps I thought that if Isucceeded, it would somehow cause an answer to my message to appear on thescreen.Itwasalmostlikeaninvocation.Iwantedtobelieveitwaspossible,thatevenifIcouldn'tfindyou,youwouldfindme.Ontheinterface.Lookingoutthewindow.Onthelanguagechannels.Somewhere.Helpuschoosethelogoforthenextstation.Ifyouagree,blinkonce.Otherwise,don'tblinkatall,notevenonce,untilthescreenlightburnsyourretinasandyoucanstanditno longer. Because a logo communicated faster than a thousand languages.

19

Remember to pick your favourite language channel. Forget you can strike up aconversationwiththepersonsittingnexttoyou.List-en-to-this,please.Theflamecontinuedalongitspath.Connections.Links.Digitallabyrinths.The semiotics of train 2051's logos was not designed to ensure everyone couldunderstand;itwasdesignedtomakeyouforgetthatthepersonbesideyouhadtheirownlanguage.Beneaththe incomprehensiblemurmurofthetrain'scollectivefauna,andabovethebubblecreatedbyeachindividual'searphones.Wewereallilliterate.Inthenameofvirtualpeacefulcoexistence.Whatlanguagewouldthelizard-facedmannexttomespeak?Isucceededinburningthewholematch.Butnothinghappened.Myhopesofgettingareplyfromyoudisappearedwiththelasttendrilsofsmoke.Plazappwasfull,andmydesperate call to you was gradually getting buried beneath a thousand othermessages,allunopenedandunread.NoraBlu,didyouhear?Didyouperhapssendareplythatinturnwaslostamongthethousandsofmislaidmissives?Gettinglostwasthe only road. The train continued on its journey. 1,200 noisy, deaf and illiteratekilometresperhour,overandover,never-ending,infinitelyunbearable.Iwaswritingforyou.IfIcouldn'tfindyou,thenperhapstherewasapossibilitythatyoumay,atleast,findthisnotebook.Iwantedtobelieveyoucouldbeontheothersideofthepage;Iwasdesperatetohangontotheideathatyouwouldreadthesewords,desperatetoknowthatyouwouldunderstand,hearandfeelthelanguageofthesesentences.TobesurethatwhatIwasdoingwasreal.Ineededyou,Nora.Ineededyoutowriteto,totalkto.Eventhough Ihadthefeelingthat IwasmovingonestepawayfromyouwitheverypageIwrote.Whatwasthepointofutopiaotherwise?Andwhat ifmynotebookwereto fall intosomeoneelse'shands insomefardistantfuture? Iwouldn'tbearound forevereither,but such thingsaswrittenwordsmightwellbe;suchthingshadanastyhabitoflastingforever.Butthen,whowouldYoube?Ifyouweresomeoneelse,insteadofNoraBlu,whensomeothereyesreadthis,thenwhowasIwritingfor?Notetoyou:Iapologiseforallthemistakesandcrossingsout.I'msorryIdescribedNora'sfacetoyou,ohhopefulhypotheticalreaderofthefuture.I'msorryIdepictedherduskyskinandthetattoothatcreptdownintoherbaggysuntop.I'msorryIdweltuponthesmellofhermessycurlyhairandherdarkblue-liddedeyes.

20

Iwonderwhat language you speak?AsNoraonce said: just imagine. Just imagineatranslator finds this notebook, and just imagine that civilization had by that timechangedsomuchthatsomeofthewordsIamwritingwerenolongerinuse.Note to the translator: I apologise fornot explaining themeaningof those long-lostwords.Pleasefeelfreetoinventyourownwordstoreplacethem.Writefromthatplacedeepwithinyou.PleaseknowthatIwaswritingforyou(too)asIwasuninhibitedlyvomitingeverythingIhadtosayabouttheunbearablefaunaofthisdamnedtrainupthroughthesewers.Ineededayou,beitNora,atranslator,areader.Anexcusetouselanguage.Butthetruthis,Iwastalkingonlytomyself.Awholecitywastravellinginthattrain.Plazappwasfull.Buttherewerenoyous.Ishouted.List-en-to-this,please!Once.List-en-to-this,please!Twice.Morethanwithconviction, with desperation. List-en-to-this, please! Three times. No one looked atme.ThefourthtimeIdidn'tevengetthroughthewholething.List.En.Didthelizardmannexttometurnhisheadtowardsme?Impossible.Noway.AndifIdaredtospeaktohim,justlikeyoudidtome?Thankyou,yousaid,thankyouforwhatIhadwritteninmynotebookaboutyou.Ishouldhavebeenthankingyou,forgivingmethecouragetospeak.Whatwouldlizardmansaytome?WhatwouldIsaytohim?Didheevenspeakourlanguage?Itmaybethathelookedbecausehesensedasoundmissing once I stopped shouting. That's all. Butmaybe he understoodmy language,andwas justpretendingnottobecausehedidn'twanttospeaktome.Before Imetyou I too preferred to listen to music through my earphones; no words, justinstrumentalmusic, isolated fromthebackground roarof thecarriage.Andanyhow,askingafellowpassengertotakehisorherearphonesoffwasconsideredtheheightofbadmanners.Not tomentionexceedingly strangebehaviour.Hadwe really sunk tothelevelofneverspeakingfacetoface?Itdidn'tmatter.Idecidedtoriskit.Inmymothertongueorinsomeotherlanguage.Justlikeyoudid,withasmile.TherewereseveralotherlanguagesIcouldtrytoo,ifthoseIspokewelldidn'twork:someIcouldgetbyin,havinglearnedtheminmytranslatingtutorials,othersIcouldvaguelyunderstandfrommylanguagechannelhoppingonthecomputer.Afterall,itcouldn'tbe that hard to communicate with the person sitting next to me. Of the seventhousand,onehundredandeleven languages spokenon the train, I hada choiceofeleven.

21

Iwould simply look at him and start talking. Even ifwe couldn't speak eachother'slanguage,wecouldalwaysusegesturesuntilwefoundsomewayofmakingourselvesunderstood. Until we stumbled on a linguistic station. Hello. I'm Inko. That's how Iwouldstart.I'dplaceonehandonmychestandsay:Inko.In-ko.I'dtapmyownchestwithonehandandholdtheotheroneouttowardshim,eyebrowsraised,asiftosay:andyou?I'mIn-ko.Andyou?Namesfirst.Establishingwhoweare.Andthenpossiblelanguages.TryingtofindoutwhetherhespokealanguageIspoke,orifhewasatleastcapableofunderstandingoneofthem.Namesandthenlanguage.No,hangon:asmilefirstwouldbebestIthink.Restahandonhisshoulder,inafriendlymanner,togethisattention, but without frightening or irritating him either. And then smile. Like thehostesses,asustainablesmile.Yes.Andthennamesandafterthatlanguages.Asmile,namesandthenlanguage.Whatdidwehavetolosebytrying?Analarmwentoff.Intrain2051everythingwashere.Intrain2051everythingwasnow.Intrain2051everythingwasfast.Plazappwasfull.Imagesofthearrestquicklyspreadaroundalltheinterfaces.Itwasaclean,respectful,professionalandexemplaryoperationbythehostesses,theperfectwaytoillustratethenewfourthbasicruleofthetrain.Noreligion,noflags,nocryingand, the latest one, no touching. The video of the arrest constituted the perfecteducational-informativematerialfor illustratingwhatthelawofpeacefulcoexistencedictated should happen to those who broke any of the updated rules. Easilyunderstoodbyalloftrain2051'scultures,languagesandraces.Nowordsrequired.It clearly showed one passenger touching another on the shoulder, over and overagain.Thevictimoftheshoulder-touchingabusepressedthealarmicononhisscreenandtriedtomoveawayfromhisabuser-toucher,squashinghisbodybackagainstthewindowasfarasitwouldgo.Fromthemomenttheredalarmlightcameonuntilthearrivalofthehostesses,thevictimstayedinthatposition,illustratingtheseriousnessoftheattack.Heattemptednoothermove,madenoattempttotouchback,noteveninself-defence,sincethatwouldbeasdangerousasviolatingthenewfourthbasicrulealloveragain.The tension in the images was palpable. The shoulder-toucher continued his attackanddisgustand terrorwereclearlyvisibleon thevictim's face.The feelingswere sointensethattheywerealmostakintosadnessandwereevidentlyputtingthevictimatriskofbreaking the third rule.Thevictimwas ina tight spot indeed,buthepressedhimselffirmlyagainstthewindowandmanagedsomehowtoholdbackthetearsthatwerethreateningtowellupinhiseyes.Hewasdoingwell.Thehostesseswouldarrivesoon and get everything back under control. Ten arrived in total, just as the newprotocol established to handle cases of peaceful coexistence rule-breaking dictated:fivehostessesfromeitherendoftheaisle.

22

Theypolitelyofferedtheoffenderamaskandinvitedhimtotakeadeepbreathofthelaughinggascontainedinside,a laughinggasrecommendedbynineoutofeverytenvirtualpharmacistsasthebestwaytorelievetensionanddiffusepotentiallytroublingsituations.Without touching theoffender, thehostessesdeferentially invitedhim tomovedowntheaisle,theirsustainablesmilesneverwavering,notevenforamoment.Then they locked him in one of train 2051's waste recycling modules. A clean,memorablearrest,withnotouching,nocrying,noreligionandnoflags.And everything recorded inminute detail. Plazappwas full that day. It was a goodmoment to air it publicly. The images were replayed again and again, as the traincontinueditsjourney.Sothatsuchacaseofrulebreakingwouldneverhappenagain.Itwasalwayspeacefulinsidetrain2051.Itwouldcontinuetocarryallcitiesinsideit.Thenewonesitwouldtakeapart,andtheoldonesthathad,atsomepoint,beenthefuture.Itwasalwaysdiverseinsidetrain2051.Therewerepeopleofbothsexesandalldifferent ages from all over Eurasia and a whole range of different cultures andlanguages. Itwasalwayswarminsidetrain2051.Whenthetemperatureandclimateoutsidechanged,inside,asecond-to-lastmatchcouldcarefullyburnitselfupentirely,headtotoe,likethesecond-to-lastflameofhope.Justbeforetrain2051passedbyutopiaonceagain,oneofitscarriagescaughtfire.The trainsimplyshed itsouter skin, likeagiant snake.Thebiodegradableblackenedremainswere left in itswake.The train spedaway, faraway, tracinga lineover thelandscape, and wiping out its trace as it went. Aman-like being lay on the groundalongwiththeblackenedremains,hislimbsoutstretched.Another trainpassedby thebody, very close, and thenanother.Whizzz.New trainscameandwent,likewind-blownclouds.Fromtheeastandtotheeast.Fromthewestandoverthecenturies.Fromthenorthandfromthesouth.Fromnowheretonoplacein particular. With more or fewer carriages they built their city-stations, infinitelysustainable.Distances and borders have been erased. Obaba. Ethiopia. Susa. Without an oraltradition, names disappeared. Xian. Samarkanda. Karakorum. The whole geographiccontinent.Khunjerab.Mesopotamia.Finisterre.Underthedominionofmovement.Wispycloudsfloatedoverhead,makingever-changingpatternsinthebluesky.Blownbygustsofnortherlywind, they formedcurlypigtails in the low-hangingclouds.Theslanting silvery moon, hung high above the horizon against a dull, dark greybackground.Thecoloursofthestarsslowlydisappeared,tinyinthesky.Noreflectionsdancedonthemetallicsurfaceofthephotovoltaicsea.Thesilverymoonshoneitsfadinggleamacrossthecoldblacksky.Themountainpeakswere being covered once againwith snow. The seasons changed ever faster on theplanetnooneevervisited.

23

Ablackdotstandingontwolegs.Aman-likemammalstandingant-likeandtinyattheedgeoftheimmensityofthatorographicaccident.Hestaredforalongtimeintothedistance,until,suddenly,hetookastepforwards.Andthenanother.Andthenanother.Towardsthehorizon.Translation:DianaDraper