Snowbound Express

By Carla Capizzi

It was the beginning of twilight on a cold December afternoon. Snow fell thickly on the station tracks, silently covering the rooftops of Trieste. The sky, leaden and shadowed, was veiled by heavy clouds. Not a single star or moon was visible.

Far away, the whistle of a conductor was heard, running quickly along track 10. His hands numb, his cheeks and nose red, even his eyelashes were frozen from that cold.

The station clock struck 5:30 p.m., and the conductor whistled a second time. The last latecomers hurried to board their assigned carriage. Those waiting for one last cigarette climbed aboard as well. After the third whistle, even the conductor stepped on.

5:31 p.m.

The train doors closed, another whistle was heard, this time no longer belonging to the conductor, and the rails began to move.

Amid creaks and metallic sounds, the train pulled out of Trieste station, ready for the night crossing all the way to Amsterdam. It would go as far as Turin, and then up towards Amsterdam. A long journey, almost fifteen hours. The snow kept on falling.

The darkness still revealed glimpses of the whiteness of the landscape. Snow was settling quickly on the hills and on the ploughed fields, as if it were a blanket. The windows of the compartments too were being lashed by the white flakes, and some were already cracking under the ever-intensifying frost. It was the first great snowfall of the last winter of that decade, and it seemed as though the ’70s wanted to make their final season memorable.

In the dining car, at a table for four not yet set, sat down a tall young man, with a tangle of light brown hair falling unruly across his forehead. His hair fell across two dark, stern eyes, with a gaze attentive to every detail. He must have been about thirty, wore a mouse-gray felt overcoat and a black wool scarf.

The white fields, growing darker with the late-afternoon twilight, rushed past his eyes. It was a relentless sequence, leaving no time to catch one’s breath.

Every now and then, a house appeared between the fields, sometimes small, sometimes larger. Some were lit, while others seemed uninhabited. Yet all were covered by the ever-thickening snow.

Absorbed in the view, he nearly jumped in surprise.

“Hey there!” exclaimed the cheerful voice of another young passenger, also about thirty, also very tall. He was wearing a worn brown coat and a damp cap, wet from the snow –beneath protruded thick dark hair. And thick, too, was the mustache peeking out from under his scarf.

“Sshh!” whispered the other, glancing around cautiously. Yet, the other passengers seemed not to notice the new arrival.

“Don’t exaggerate, Pillo, who do you think could hear us?” continued the newcomer, sitting down opposite the young man named Pillo.

Pillo did not reply. He merely fixed his eyes, dark and irritated, on those of his companion – one brown, the other green.

“Where are the others?” asked the latter, as he took off his cap and shook his straight, tousled hair.

“Who knows?” Pillo shrugged and went back to staring out the window.

“I had a look around. He’s where we thought. He’s got a sleeping carriage, smoking section – our friend treats himself well! – with the twin. In the two next to them are his other… men?”

“And the briefcase?”

“It’s with him! Well, hidden under the bed.”

“That’s going to be a problem.”

The train jolted, and a thick sheet of snow fell against the windowpane, sliding quickly away. The warm, comfortable light of the dining car flickered, and the doors opened to reveal a man like a wardrobe, with a bristly beard covering half his face. He made way for two smaller men. Their almost identical faces were grim, wrinkled, framed by sparse gray hair. The only difference was their coats: one in fur, the other in humbler felt.

The three sat down at the first table by the entrance and began muttering among themselves.

“Psst, Raoul!” whispered Pillo, turning to his friend, who was staring intently at the newcomers.

Raoul gave a slight nod.

The train continued swiftly, and after about an hour, a waiter came by to set the tables.

“I’ll have the chicken, please!” Raoul said cheerfully to the same waiter, after quickly scanning the menu.

“Just a coffee for me,” added Pillo, alert to the waiter’s piercing gaze.

Satisfied, the waiter left, and Pillo returned to staring out the window. Darkness had fully settled, leaving only his reflection visible, occasionally broken by the silent fall of a snowflake drifting into the carriage’s pale light.

Suddenly, a loud thump, followed by a sharp “OOPS!” from the front of the carriage.

Pillo smiled; Raoul chuckled and stretched in his seat, while a breathless girl sat down next to Pillo with a second thump.

“Ugh,” she huffed.

“You never change!” Pillo huffed, glancing at the newcomer. She must have been around 28, though she looked younger. She was tall but slim and petite, and the old blue coat she wore seemed at least three sizes too big. Her curly hair fell over her shoulders, framing a doll-like face with huge green, feline, eyes.

“About time!” exclaimed Raoul. He glanced at the three figures still seated at the front of the dining car, whom the girl had bumped into.

“I took my time, what’s the rush? …oh, alright, I’ll lower my voice … I settled into the carriage… Then I took a little walk, you know, the emergency exits…”

“CARLA!!” thundered Pillo.

“Oh, what a nuisance you are, lowering my voice,” whispered Carla, leaning an elbow on Pillo’s arm. “Anyway, it seems there are some of these,” she concluded. 

“Did Rick come up with you?” Pillo asked.

Carla shook her head.

“And where is he?!”

“He wants to do things on his own. Just like you, Pietro, right?” replied Carla. She cast a knowing glance with her green eyes at Pillo. He returned it with a smile.

The chicken arrived, the coffee arrived, Carla ordered some soup, and they began chatting. They spoke like old friends taking a pleasure trip together – and indeed they were old friends, but not on a pleasure trip together.

Several hours passed. The snow fell, fell thick, fell incessantly. Everything outside was white. It was white and bluish, like the darkness that had swallowed the fields.

The three men at the front, silent, looked around cautiously. They didn’t read, didn’t speak, didn’t move. Only once did one of the twins leave for about half an hour, looking alarmed. When he came back, they started a poker game.

In Turin, it was finally possible to step onto the platform for half an hour. Then, the train would resume its journey north, straight to Munich, and then Amsterdam.

“With this cold, I’m certainly not getting off!” declared Raoul.

“We won’t miss you,” replied Pillo.

Carla winked at Raoul, whispering to him to “make friends with their three ‘companions,’” then followed Pillo onto the platform.

She found him just outside the train, leaning back against a lamppost. The air was icy; Pillo’s fingers trembled as he nervously tried to light a cigarette, while Carla looked around. A mother with a child in a yellow coat protesting, the train conductor running nervously from one side of the train to the other, a few new passengers boarding. In the background, the silent sound of snow, the soft glow of the evening lampposts, the quiet of a chilly and already sleepy Turin.

“Have you ever been to Turin?” she asked Pillo, turning to look at him.

He remained in the same position, leaning against the lamppost, intent on smoking his cigarette and watching Carla. How beautiful she was, he thought.

He nodded, “a few times.”

“Me, never.”

“If we were traveling for… more pleasant reasons…”

Carla burst out laughing, “I’m having fun! You take things too seriously, Pietro!”

Pillo dropped the cigarette and moved closer to her, until he could clearly make out the gray streaks in her green eyes. 

“We should be cautious. Those guys are dangerous, and we can’t afford mistakes. Others have already made some, and they didn’t end well.”

“Puff… Have you ever been to Paris?”

“Several times.”

“I haven’t even been there… I’d love to go,” said Carla, with an almost dreamy look.

Pillo moved closer to her, until he could no longer distinguish her two green eyes.

***

Later, as the train sped through the mountains, northwards, higher and higher, Raoul had found a way to keep the three mysterious passengers in the dining car. He was engrossed in an animated poker game with the twins. They seemed absorbed, with no desire to leave the game and return to their own car.

“Well, I’m going,” Carla whispered, springing up and banging her leg against the table.

Pillo shook his head to indicate no.

“Sssht, don’t worry. Rick’s around. Let’s get this done quickly,” Carla cut him off, “It’s car six?”

Pillo nodded.

Then, with unsteady, wobbling steps, Carla crossed the dining car, cast a quick glance at Raoul, and stepped into the train corridor.

***

An hour later – it was almost three in the morning – the dining car still had its lights on, and at the same table, Raoul and the twins continued playing. Raoul was literally bleeding from effort, but he was determined to keep them there as long as possible.

In a couple of hours, they would reach Munich.

Pillo was increasingly worried – his eyes darting from the corridor door to the window, like someone watching a tennis match. 

Suddenly, the train jolted harder than before and came to a stop. The dining car lights went out for a few seconds, then flickered back on. The chandeliers buzzed; they tried to maintain contact, but the light kept coming and going.

Pillo banged his head, then got up to find Raoul nervously gathering scattered cards and coins.

“I didn’t cheat, what are you saying! See, here are my cards… and the coins… on my word!” Raoul repeated, laughing nervously, while the twins accused him of cheating. 

Pillo rushed to his friend and grabbed him by the arm. “Let’s move,” but they couldn’t get out. Two men blocked the way – they were wearing a railway uniform.

“What’s happening?” asked the hoarse voice of the twin who wore the fur coat when they arrived.

“Have you seen any suspicious movements here?” asked the blond officer.

A low murmur followed. The train made no sign of restarting. Pillo felt sweat on his forehead, a shiver running down his spine.

“No suspicious individuals? There have been disturbances in the sleeping cars. Someone entered a compartment that wasn’t theirs, and then ran off. We’re still looking for them.”

“What car?” asked the other twin, alarmed.

This time, the twins’ hoarse, stern voices mingled in agitated shouts. Car six, compartment 78. Theirs. Someone had entered. Someone had tried to steal their personal belongings. The twins nearly cried, shouting, stamping their feet.

“We have to get out of here,” whispered Pillo to Raoul. There was no time left. The train would certainly resume its journey at any moments. And they had to be ready to leave. But they had to find Carla, and possibly that madman Rick too.

Amid the general commotion, Pillo slipped out of the dining car, while Raoul, his voice booming, shouted, “Are you the ones from compartment 78?!”.

Raoul’s shouts echoed down the corridor past car five. Pillo silently thanked his friend for the distraction, sprinting toward the sleeping-car section and his own car, number 11.

Chaos rippled through the cars. Passengers leaned out of their compartments, some pacing anxiously along the corridors, others whispering in hurried tones. The train remained at a standstill, while transit police moved among them. Confusion hung in the air like smoke, and no one truly knew what had happened – or why.

Pillo quickly passed a group of confused men and reached car 78. There, several guards gathered.

“No way, you can’t stay here!” one of them barked.

“I need to get through… my car is further ahead,” Pillo tried to answer.

A brief exchange followed: why he was wandering around at this hour, which car he belonged to, where he was headed, and whether he was traveling alone.

Finally, he was able to continue his passage.

While he entered car 7, someone yelled, “There they are, stop them!”.

Pillo saw two figures running ahead toward the rear cars of the train. One was a sturdy man in a wool cap, and the other a slender girl with long, curly hair.

“What have they done?!” Pillo thought, quickening his pace, with the guards at his heels.

***

An hour earlier, Carla had left the dining car with her usual carefree air, supposedly heading toward her car, number 11.

The corridors were sparsely populated. It was past midnight, the train ran relentlessly, and most of the passengers, lulled by its steady motion, were asleep. 

Carla slowly, crossed all of car five.

“Here I am,” she said to herself, as she entered the next car.

A little further ahead, leaning against the corridor window in the shadows, was a figure wearing a black coat and a wool cap. He was the only person in the corridor, aside from a large man, pacing up and down.

Carla, quietly, approached.

“Excuse me,” she said to the figure in the cap. He turned out to be a young man with a thin nose, and deep brown eyes. His face looked almost childlike, and if Carla hadn’t known better, she would never have guessed he was thirty.

The boy gave her a fleeting glance, then quickly shifted his gaze to the large man, who had stopped at the sight of Carla.

“Do you have a cigarette?” she continued, loud enough for the big man to hear.

The guy fumbled through his pockets, while the large man, reassured, resumed pacing up and down the corridor. He looked like the pendulum of a clock. Back and forth. Tick-tock.

“He’s on patrol,” the boy whispered.

“Who’s distracting him for us?” Carla replied, then exclaimed a little louder, “thanks, do you also have a lighter?”

“78. Berths already ready. It’s under the right one. I’ll create a diversion. Make it quick,” he murmured. Their faces were illuminated by the flicker of the lighter; Carla’s green eyes took on yellowish streaks, and the pale face of the boy for a moment looked like the last flash of the setting summer sun.

The cigarette lit, the flame went out – the sun set, and the eyes returned to just green.

The boy spun around and reached the large man. He bumped into him. The big man grumbled something. The boy bumped him again.

“What’s your problem?!” the big man shouted.

Carla saw the boy pull something from under his coat – a briefcase.

The large man flinched. From two compartments, three figures peeked out. They looked untrustworthy, and the boy burst into nervous laughter.

Then, showing the briefcase a second time, he ran off. The large man and the three thugs followed. The corridor door to car seven opened, and they all disappeared in a rush.

“It’s always that Rick,” Carla sighed, before running quickly where the large man had been patrolling. She opened the door, stepped into compartment 78, and closed it behind her. It was almost pitch dark; only the faint glow of the night through the window eased the oppressive darkness. In the shadows, Carla pulled a flashlight from a pocket of her coat.

“Right bed. Bottom,” she repeated, crouching on the floor in search of the briefcase. The real one – not the decoy pulled out by Rick, like a magician producing a rabbit from a hat.

“Oh no… two briefcases!” Carla bit her lip. “Now what?!”

They were all the same, weighed the same, and each had a code. But Carla didn’t have the code. Pillo did, maybe.

“What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?” the girl muttered.

Some footsteps grew louder and louder, until they stopped. Then came a different sound, and the door opened. She heard the door close behind her and Rick’s voice shouting, “What are you waiting for!? Damn it!!”

“They have two briefcases, all the same!”

“Take them all then! They’re coming!”

Carla handed the first briefcase to Rick, she took the other, and within seconds they were out of the compartment.

Behind them, the dull sound of hurried footsteps.

“Quick, this way!” Rick hissed, opening the compartment 74 and slipping inside; he pushed Carla into the left alcove under the seats pulled out as a bed. He lay down on the right empty bed. On the left, someone was sleeping –miraculously, it seemed they hadn’t noticed a thing.

The footsteps continued down the corridor of car six, then turned back. Someone opened the compartment door next to theirs. A slight commotion. Click, light on; click, light off.

Silence.

Compartment 74 was flooded with light. Under the bed, Carla noticed two pairs of muddy boots passing by, stopping, circling around. She held her breath.

It all lasted only a few seconds, but to her, it felt like hours. Click, light off, again.

Darkness.

The footsteps receded, and the door of compartment 75 opened. Carla began to breathe again.

A few minutes later, when the big man and the three thugs reached 78, panic broke out. 

“Thief! Someone broke in!” – Someone had entered their sleeper; someone had stolen the briefcases! 

Passengers emerged from their compartments, more footsteps, a large crowd pressing in front of compartment 78.

“How do we get out now?” thought Carla.

“Psst!” Someone dragged her out. “Let’s go,” hissed Rick in the darkness, trying not to wake the person sleeping in the berth.

In the dim light, Carla saw Rick’s silhouette opening the door. The passengers’ chatter grew louder, and the light flooded the cabin for a few seconds. Both stepped out.

Noise.

***

“Did you see anything?”

“There were two guys talking!”

“Was it them?”

“Could you recognize them?”

“Where are the passengers from compartment 78?”

***

The guards’ questions came in quick succession. Everyone murmured, paying little attention to the two new passengers who had emerged from compartment 74.

Rick made his way through the crowd, toward car 5. When the crowd thinned, also Carla managed to run to the entrance of the car, where Rick was working with a lever on the ceiling.

Quickly, he handed her the briefcase. Then, he pulled the lever on the ceiling and pushed a small hatch.

A blast of icy air hit them. In a leap, Rick was on the roof, leaning down. 

“Pass me the briefcases,” he commanded.

Carla handed him them, then took his hand and found herself outside as well, on the roof of the train.

It was freezing. The train was stuck in the middle of nowhere, amid a snowfall. All around, in the black of night, the mountains loomed, darker than the sky.

The wind, icy, lashed Carla’s face with roaring blasts. She pulled up her hood, thinking of Pillo – where was he?

“Let’s go while the train is still stopped!” Rick ordered. He rose carefully to avoid slipping, began walking back the way they had come.

“The briefcases?!”

“I’ve got them!”

Step by step, at last they reached car 7, where another safety hatch awaited them.

Finally, the girl saw her friend first standing at the start of a car, then disappearing inside it. She wanted to hurry, but a gust of wind nearly pushed her off the train.

When she arrived, she leapt back inside the train. Light flooded her face, and a comforting warmth enveloped her. 

“There they are! Stop them!!” she heard shouted behind her. She didn’t turn.

“Go, GO!!” Rick yelled.

She followed him into car 8, then quickly to the end of yet another corridor.

Someone was chasing them. She didn’t dare look back, hearing the footsteps behind her grew closer. Any moment now, they would catch her.

***

Bam!!

Something grabbed her, and she hit the ground, sprawling.

“Ouch!” she whimpered, while, the same thing that had grabbed her lifted her off the ground and turned her around. She closed her eyes, fearing they had come to take her away.

“What have you done?! You’ve got the entire police on your tail, what the hell are you thinking?!?” exclaimed an angry, familiar voice.

Carla began to breathe again, and, opening her eyes, looked into the dark, severe ones of Pillo.

“OH, YOU’RE HERE!” she started, but could not continue.

At that moment, she noticed the guards, the big man and the three thugs entering the car.

Pillo grabbed her hand and ran off, heading toward car 11.

Rick was safe. He hadn’t fallen, hadn’t lost those precious seconds; he was far ahead, perhaps already at car 11.

The two ran fast, passing through the corridor between cars 8 and 9. But by now, they were doomed.

Their pursuers were there, just a few steps away. They would catch them.

***

Bam!!!

Again.

This time, however, no one fell.

Just before the big man grabbed Carla, someone opened the door of a compartment. The big man tumbled to the ground, and from the compartment emerged an elegant gentleman, around sixty, with an olive-toned face and gray hair. 

“What’s happening?” he said, his smoker’s hoarse voice, blocking the path for the entire crowd of pursuers.

“Move aside!”

“Quick, sir, move, please!”

“What? Move? What’s going on? I don’t understand…”

A few minutes later, a guard got the man to move.

But Carla and Pillo were already far away.

***

The train arrived in Munich at 7 a.m. The air was still icy, the sky the color of ice, the sun hidden behind clouds, but it was no longer snowing. 

The whistles of the other trains mixed with the smell of smoke from the station, and an indistinct chatter filled the air.

The events of the night had caused the train to be about two hours late, and its passengers poured onto the platform, whether they were disembarking for good or continuing to Amsterdam.

More railway police questioned the two twins.

Where were they headed? What had they lost? How much?

“Always these questions!! And meanwhile, we’ve lost money and… and other things!” protested the twins, still grim. 

From the dining car descended a tall young man, in his thirties, with eyes of different colors and sporting a thick little mustache. Cheerful, he swung his long arms as he walked, casually observing the crowd of officers around him.

He gave a nod to the twins, then joined an elegant gentleman dressed in a jacket and tie with a brand-new felt coat. His hair, almost silver, sharply contrasted with his olive-toned, sun-kissed face.

“All good?” exclaimed Raoul to the gentleman.

The man gave him a fleeting glance with his gray, feline eyes.

“Not thanks to you. Or to those friends of yours,” he muttered in his hoarse voice. He rummaged through his pockets and took out a cigarette. Click. The lighter’s flame flared, and for an instant, his eyes caught a yellowish streak.

“Including your niece,” muttered Raoul irritably, before passing him.

At that moment, the gentleman was bumped by another boy wearing a black wool cap, carrying a briefcase.

The boy muttered something in turn but didn’t stop. He continued his way toward the station exit, now without the briefcase.

The elegant man finished his cigarette and, with a briefcase in his left hand, returned to his car, number 9.

Rick quickly passed Raoul and disappeared outside the station; Raoul followed, giving a nod to two young people, arm-in-arm. They were standing in front of the train schedule board.

“Shall we take a vacation?” exclaimed Carla, clinging to Pillo’s arm and wearing the blue hood of her coat.

“Turin?” Pillo looked into her feline green eyes, which he found so beautiful.

“Or Paris?”.

 Carla is an independent researcher affiliated with the University of Padua, where she earned my PhD summa cum laude in Ancient Greek Law. She has published several peer-reviewed articles and has extensive experience in academic writing. Alongside her research, she pursues creative writing, exploring both fiction and literary criticism.