The Motion Demon by Stefan Grabinski, Miroslaw Lipinski

rubbed his hand in satisfaction: the lady simplified most wonderfully his passing over to the ‘information-clarification phase’, which, in the progression of events, now appeared on the evening horizon. He drew out from a side pocket of his coat an impressive bundle of papers and notes, and spreading them out on the table, he turned with a friendly smile to his neighbour.
    ‘Luckily I can be of service to you in the information you seek. Is it possible to know where madam is heading?’
    ‘To Wyznia Retreat.’
    ‘Excellent. In a moment we’ll know more about it. We’ll take a look at the index in back of this station directory…. Wyznia Retreat…. Here it is! Line S-D, page 30. Splendid!... Time of train departures: Passenger train at 4:30 at night, 11:20 before noon, and 10:03 in the evening. Cost of a second-class ticket, about
    10.40. Let’s go to the particulars of the locale. Wyznia Retreat— 210 metres above sea level—a city of third-class size—20,000 inhabitants; under district law; a starosta , an elementary school, a secondary school . . .’
    The lady interrupted his reading with an impatient motion of her hand.
    ‘Hotels, my dear sir, are there any hotels?’
    ‘Just one moment…one moment and we’ll find out…. Yes! Two inns, one eating house under the sign of “The Cap of Invisibility” and the hotel “Imperial”—here near the station to the right, two minutes away—sunny, large rooms starting from three kopeks up—excellent service, heating according to one’s request, electricity, an elevator, steam bath below—a three minute leisurely, quiet walk away—dinner, supper, excellent home cooking. Mein Liebchen, was ….’
    Kluczka bit his tongue, knowing that in the ardour of presenting this information, he had gone too far.
    The lady beamed.
    ‘Thank you, sir, thank you very much. Are you hired by this station as its information person?’ she guessed, taking out a purse from her bag.
    Kluczka became confused.
    ‘Why, no, my dear lady. Please don’t consider me an agent of the information bureau. I only do this as an amateur, from purely idealistic motives.’
    Once again the woman was seized by embarrassment.
    ‘Excuse me, and once again a sincere thanks.’
    She gave him her hand, which he kissed chivalrously.
    ‘Agapit Kluczka, judicial clerk,’ he presented himself, tipping his hat.
    He was in a rosy mood. The information phase today had surpassed all his expectations so that when, around ten, the porter threw out in the hall with a stentorian voice the cry for departure, the perpetual passenger carried out all his symbolic actions with the redoubled energy of a young man in his twenties. And though after his repeated return to the waiting room, the third intermezzo did not seem tempting, his high enthusiasm did not fall, and Kluczka’s spirit was bolstered with the memory of the successful information phase.
    Despite this, today’s ‘journey’ was not fated to end happily. For when two hours later—that is, after midnight—Kluczka tried to force his way with his suitcase through the unprecedented crowds to a third-class compartment, he suddenly felt someone pluck him strongly by the collar and take him down roughly from the steps of the train. Looking around in fury, he saw by the light of a centre-track lantern the irate face of the conductor, and he heard in the tumult of voices the following apostrophe apparently meant for him:
    ‘Get the hell out of here! There’s a crush here so great that one can’t even move a pin, and despite this, this lunatic is pushing through the steps like a madman and shoving people aside, only to jump out later on the other side at the moment of departure. I know you, my bird, and not just from today; I’ve been watching you for a long time! Well, get the hell out of here or I’ll call the military police! There is no time today for indulging the half-witted whims of crazy people!’
    Stupefied, frightened to the bone, Kluczka