Little did we know we were traveling on the same train to Monterosso, a seaside resort on the Italian Riviera, the same train that was going to break down in the middle of a tunnel and spit out its passengers two stations too soon, at Manarola, until service resumes.
Posted yesterday at 12:00 p.m.
As my family and I sought some shade behind the cactus bushes, she sat in the warmth of the deserted train car, out of sight, waiting for her soon-to-be-started shift. No doubt she was preparing her apologies for being late: il treno si è fermato – the train stopped. The hour of our meeting was approaching.
After a wonderful day spent at the beach, bathing and enjoying the warm sun, tasting seafood and teasing the small fish swimming under our feet, it’s time to go home. It was dark and the station platforms had only a handful of passengers. The train for Riomaggiore – where our holiday apartment was – was only to arrive half an hour later. My daughters were thirsty, I was looking for water. As I headed towards the fountain I had spotted at the other end of the platform, a voice was heard:
— There is no water at night. No water.
It was her, Marina. She had just sat down next to my wife and was trying to strike up a conversation. She explained to him that the village authorities turned off the taps during the night. No drinking water in public places. I don’t know if it was the custom in Italy or if the severe droughts that hit Europe made it necessary to reduce water consumption. Anyway, we were going to have to wait.
In her halting English, Marina asked us where we were from. And as soon as we found out that she was from Ukraine, we felt the need to talk about the war, about her and her country. She was living in Kyiv alone with her 11-year-old daughter when the first bombings hit the city in February. At the beginning, she had hoped like everyone else that a ceasefire would be declared quickly. She spoke of the sound of bombs and fighter planes, the thunder of tanks roaming the streets in all directions as something unreal. Unreal, she would say, rolling her “r’s” nicely. “War, for us, only happened in films and documentaries. No one imagined that could happen now. »
It was strange, because I had the impression that a Ukrainian woman would have expected this war, or at least dreaded it, because of the countless misfortunes that her country had suffered at the hands of the Russians, and the threat that Putin’s regime represented for several years. But no. She did not understand this war. She didn’t believe it. It couldn’t happen.
The bombs, the screams of the soldiers, the sound of the sirens, the terror and the death, it had nothing to do with the world she had known. During the first days of the conflict, he had woken up in the morning having forgotten that his country was at war. And suddenly, turning on the radio or making coffee, the harsh reality hit her, at the same time as a surge of anguish seized her. Why this destructive madness? In this strange war, where half of the Russian bombs dropped did not explode (because they expired), where enemy soldiers raped, looted and lined up at the post office to send their families the hoard they had collected, dishes, clothes, phones1where it was less a question of conquering than of destroying everything, it was the only question that could be asked: why?
For the sake of her daughter, Marina had decided to flee her country to settle in La Spezia, a small industrial town at the entrance to the Cinque Terre where a friend had found her a room. She, who in Ukraine was a biogenetic engineer for a large multinational, now washed dishes nine hours a day in a restaurant in Monterosso. What a waste of talent. She was relieved to be there, alive and safe, but she also felt guilty thinking of friends and family members who had chosen to live under the bombs. “They tell me: ‘If we die, at least it will be in our country.’ »
“In Italy, people go to the beach, sunbathe, drink wine. Everyone seems happy. And yet, Ukraine is not far away. It’s true, Ukraine was close – less than 2000 kilometers away. Looking towards the horizon, I tried to imagine the flashes of lightning and the sound of explosions.
At the time of the farewells, we boarded the train which had just arrived, and each took our place. She sat a few rows away from us, alone among drunken tourists who were talking loudly and laughing. At that time, it was not the war that seemed unreal, but our happiness as vacationers in front of this dignified and worried woman. There was something terribly vulgar about the comfort we enjoyed, when one thought of the misfortune that befell his people. From her seat, she spotted me, holding my youngest’s hand. A slight smile appeared on his round face. I smiled back. Suddenly her lip began to quiver, and I saw her beautiful blue eyes blur and take on the deep hues of the Mediterranean. How not to cry?
There was no water that night, only Marina’s tears.
1. Andre Markowicz, What if Ukraine liberated Russia?Paris, Threshold, 2022