[1948]
What I was staring at now was emptiness. No, no, I don't mean completely empty. I was still sitting in the train car seat, watching so many fresh-faced young men, who had just joined the ensemble this year. While chatting, they were also practicing their music or singing. However, I wasn't focused on them. I was more focused on daydreaming aimlessly, although afterward I found myself reminiscing more about the past.
"Don't daydream, Borya," someone whispered to me. I glanced at the person directly to my right. Vladimir, my younger brother, had been engrossed in a military romance novel about the commander's daughter. I smiled wryly.
"I wasn't daydreaming, Vova," I retorted.
"Don't lie..."
"I wasn't lying."
"If there's a problem, tell me. I'm a member of your family too." Vladimir closed his book in annoyance and moved closer to me. I exhaled heavily, choosing to lie.
"I'm nervous about the show in Berlin. Usually, I can handle concerts with ease. But why am I nervous now?"
"I don't know... Is it because you're afraid no one will want to see us?"
"Maybe..." Vladimir gently rubbed my shoulder, trying to calm me down. Just like he always did to every nervous family member.
A flash of memory came back to me after a long time of not wanting to remember it. All the memories related to trains. Memories from happy to sad. You could say that most of my memories are inside stations and trains, because they were my only long-distance transportation during my workday. Crossing cities and even countries. It was the one memory that always made me almost regret seeing it for the rest of my life.
///
“Do you remember, Borya? The first time our family took the train home, after your violin performance at the Bolshoi Theater? You and Sasha wouldn't stop pinching each other. I told you both to be quiet, and you and Sasha ended up taking turns playing pranks on me,” Vladimir asked enthusiastically. I realised that Vladimir was trying to cheer me up by recounting our past. However, I was a little annoyed that he was talking about trains. The very past I wanted to avoid.
But I appreciated Vladimir's effort, so I replied, “Ugh. Mom and Dad just laughed. It wasn't until you started crying that Dad reprimanded us. You're such a crybaby, Vova. Hahahaha.”
“Ah, Borya…” Vladimir then pretended to look at me angrily. “Well, our childhood wasn't so bad. In fact, I feel like I'd love to go back to my childhood and play pranks on you until you cry, hahahaha…”
The train slowly slowed down as it entered the station platform. Vladimir and I got off the train first, followed by the other ensemble members. We were immediately greeted by people carrying colorful flowers and cheering us on in German.
Thankfully, the conversation about the train ended there. And thankfully, the Germans were very enthusiastic about us.
///
“By the way, do you remember, Borya? When Dad received a letter from Vozhd, asking him to move to Moscow after the ensemble was formed?”
My eyes blinked when Vladimir suddenly spoke to me in the hotel room. We had just finished chatting with some Germans who were helping organize the concert, and I was checking out the songs that would be performed. Frowning slightly, I replied to him, “Oh my. I thought you wouldn’t talk about the past after getting off the train!”
“The conversation was just postponed, brother. You said you were nervous, right? So I’ll keep trying to calm you down.”
“Eh… but we’re busy now, Vova.” I tried to divert my brother's attention, but it proved even more difficult than changing the ensemble's performance schedule.
"I don't care. Let me ask again, do you still remember?" Vladimir insisted. I lazily replied, "Yes, yes. Of course I do. It was through an official letter with an original signature, which made my father sleepless with excitement. Two days later, we moved there..."
"That's right! When we arrived in Moscow, it turned out that Vozhd's aide was waiting for us to take us to our new residence. I'm truly indebted to Vozhd. Truly!"
"Ah, the train... That was the only good memory I had of the train..." I said with a blank stare, ignoring Vladimir, who seemed still eager to comfort me.
Before Vladimir could say anything further, he glanced at the clock, which had already struck two. "Borya, it's time to rehearsal with the ensemble members again, right? Let's go!"
Thankfully, this man stopped the conversation on his own. I returned to focusing on preparations for the concert, where it turned out there was a slight problem with seating. Unexpectedly, I heard the organizers preparing extra chairs because so many people wanted to attend. Many were waiting for us.
///
Since then, Vladimir never brought it up again. He mostly talked about work, down to the most personal... perhaps asking about each other's families. Honestly, I didn't notice either, due to the increasingly busy concert schedule, composing, and the countless people wanting to join the ensemble. My brother and I remained close, but the childhood conversations were rarely heard anymore.
Meanwhile, one by one, I watched old members retire or pass away over time. There was nothing I could do but say goodbye or offer my condolences with a sad face, as I couldn't control their respective lives. Until one day in 1978, Vladimir suffered a heart attack and was undergoing treatment. I heard the shocking news in the middle of the night via a phone call from his wife and immediately rushed to the hospital where he was being treated. I willingly stayed by his bedside for hours, waiting for him to regain consciousness after being treated by the doctors.
"Borya..." Vladimir said weakly. He finally regained consciousness after going through that horrific experience.
"Vova! Thank God, oh thank God..." I was, of course, feeling moved. I didn't want to say goodbye to my little brother just yet. No... I was afraid he'd end up like—
“You lied when we performed in Germany, didn't you? In 1948?” Vladimir asked suddenly. I was shocked. What had gotten into him?
“What do you mean?”
“I asked you if you wanted to tell me about something that made you seem sad. You said you were nervous about the upcoming concert in Berlin. But I know that's not what you were thinking…”
“Vova, that was so long ago! Thirty years have passed… Why do you still remember it? Why do you want to talk about it so badly?”
“Because I'm always worried about my eldest brother. I know you're very uncomfortable every time you're on a train or train station. Like you desperately wish you could take another form of transportation, waiting for someone at the airport or harbor. But I'm curious, why are you like that? Please tell me, Borya…” Vladimir's last words touched my heart. I couldn't bring myself to lie again. Perhaps I also regretted the lie I'd told in 1948.
“Yes. I don't like seeing stations and trains. Because every time I see them, memories come flooding back. From the joy of receiving flowers and praise after performing on stage with my violin. When my father earned Stalin's trust and we received full facilities, including first-class train access... to the sadness when...” I paused, trying desperately to hold back the grief I wanted to express, “Why... did our ensemble members and Sasha during the Great Patriotic War have to come... in the form of a list of names? Why did our father have to come to the station in the form of... a coffin? I felt bad at that moment. I wish those days had never happened. It would have been better to hear that they died of old age, or a serious illness.”
Vladimir got up from his bed. He sincerely rubbed my shoulder, just as I had lied before. But I sensed that Vladimir was also holding back his sadness. “Why didn't you tell me that earlier? I can help you love stations again, like we used to when we were in school! I'll do anything, even if it's just covering your eyes while walking through the station or on the train!”
"I didn't want my own problems to bother you. And I thought when you stopped bringing it up, you were just joking."
"When I saw your increasingly uncomfortable face, I realised that you really didn't like talking about trains. So I stopped bringing it up. I've been trying to find topics from the past that weren't related to those two things. But... there weren't any. Almost all of our pasts were at the station or on the train."
"It's as if those two places were silent witnesses to our lives..." I muttered. Vladimir nodded slowly.
"I'm sorry, Vova..."
"I'm sorry too, Borya..."
We didn't speak to each other in the room after that. I stared out the window, while my brother lay back down on his bed. Even so, I felt that both Vladimir and I were weaving together every memory we had since childhood....
...Becoming a memory station, where the train was trying to carry away my trauma, of the two silent witnesses that had accompanied us all this time.