The Station

Then he saw the village on the other side of the line – the lights now turned on – and it seemed to him that, just by seeing it pass, the train had taken him to another village. Perhaps it was because of this that he was in the habit of going down to the station everyday, even after the workers had been machine-gunned down and the banana plantations had come to an end and with them the one hundred and forty train cars, and only that yellow and dusty train that did not bring anyone or take anyone away remained.

One Day after Saturday