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"Okay,vamanos," the butcher said, waving at the door. He'd saved them from the pack of rabid Spaniards roaming the streets, but he was clearly done with them.
"Gracias," Molly and Kate said at the same time. They walked back out onto the street hesitantly, looking both ways: the men were gone.
That was the only time she'd felt real danger in Spain, but Molly was more aware of her surroundings after that. She always knew who was around her, held her purse or bag close to her body, and tried to map out her destination before setting out, if possible. By and large, the people she encountered were friendly, the towns and cities felt welcoming, and the food was incredible as she made her way through Spain. She and Kate exchanged phone numbers and addresses back home, and when they parted ways in Barcelona on Halloween, it was with hugs, kisses on both cheeks, and disbelieving laughter about the night they almost got attacked on the streets and had to abandon their gelatos.
Molly spent November working her way through France: she wound her way across the east coast of the country, stopping in Tolouse, Montpellier, Marseille, and Monaco. She made a little extra money by asking around at the hostels she stayed in, and finding under-the-table work on small farms, in shops, and as a nanny for the wealthy families in the cities. Pushing prams through parks and watching kids color and eat snacks gave Molly plenty of time to think about her next steps, and she knew that once she got through France, she wanted to quickly find her way to Berlin, which had been a place that she and Rodney had wanted to go.
It was nearly December when she boarded a train in Paris, flush with cash again and with plenty of memories of France that she'd tucked away in her heart. She settled in for the thirteen hour ride, finding a window seat and putting her rucksack overhead.
"May I sit here?" a man with a crisp German accent pointed at the seat next to hers and Molly looked up from her book, which she'd just cracked open.
"Of course. Yes," she said, tucking her hair behind one ear. She watched as he put his own bag overhead, pulled out a hardcover book, and sat down. The man crossed his long, thin legs and readjusted the wire-rimmed glasses that perched on his narrow nose.
"Thank you," he said, nodding at her but not quite making eye contact. He had to be close to sixty, and with his gray pants and gray sweater with elbow patches, he had a distinctly professorial air.
"No problem." Molly smiled at him. She'd grown accustomed to people starting with English as a jumping off point, and she assumed that there must be something either very American about her, or a giveaway of some sort that she was not European. Maybe a lack of elegance? A certainje ne sais quoisthat she was missing?
"You are American?" the man asked pleasantly. He opened his book to a page that he'd marked and still he did not look at her directly.
"I am." Molly closed her own book and held it in her lap. "Are you...German?"
Finally, he looked right at her with a small smile. "Yes. From Berlin."
"I'm going to Berlin!" she said excitedly, pointing at herself. "I've always wanted to see the Berlin Wall."
He tipped his head from side to side as if considering this, and as he did, he twisted one end of his graying mustache. "Wellll..." the man drawled out. "If you want to see it, then I suppose you must." He looked unconvinced. "It's not much but a sign of a country and a city divided, and it has a painful history, my dear."
Molly nodded. "I know," she said. "but my late husband and I had a list of places we wanted to see together, and that was on it. He died last year, and I'm making this trip on my own," she admitted. Molly closed her mouth quickly, realizing that she was talking this poor man's head off. Was she that starved for companionship after spending the month traveling alone through France? She hadn't thought that she was. Perhaps something about being on a train and seated next to a stranger that she'd never see again had loosened her tongue and given her permission to speak freely and openly. She had no idea, but she did know that Germans were not known for their emotional displays, and this man was no exception.
He nodded once, firmly. "I see," he said, looking straight ahead as the train rolled out of the station. "Is it possible that one of you was separated from family by a great divide? And that it means something to you to see a giant landmark that is essentially nothingbuta great divide?"
Molly paused. He was definitely onto something there. "Yes, actually," she admitted, feeling dumb for not having realized that before. "My husband's family was--still is--divided by distance and by a disagreement. He never got to meet his grandparents before he died."
"Ah," the man said simply. "Yes."
Molly bit down on her bottom lip as she looked out the window. "So maybe it's not that important to see it," she mused. "Maybe the whole point of it in the first place was for Rodney to see that other people's families had been split apart--to know that he wasn't alone."
The man nodded, tapping his bony knee with one long finger as he did. "Yes. That could be," he agreed.
Molly sighed and said nothing for so long that the man finally opened his book and began to read. She let her head rest against the window and promptly fell asleep.
As they entered Belgium, Molly woke with a start. The man closed his book.
"We are only an hour from Brussels," he said to her, smiling in a way that felt as if he were her grandfather. She felt fairly certain from his kindly (if somewhat curt and German) demeanor that he was actuallysomeone'sgrandfather.
Molly sat up straighter and ran her fingers through her hair. "I think I have to change trains in Brussels."
"Yes," he said. "We would switch to the same train--I am also traveling to Berlin." He watched Molly as she reoriented herself. "But I don't think you should go there. I have given it more thought."
Molly nearly laughed; a stranger had sat next to her while she slept, planning her next move for her?
"Oh?" she asked, amused.
The man held up his forefinger, tapping it against his lips as he frowned. "I think you should ask yourself what your husband would have truly wanted, and if it was for you to go to Berlin--cold, gray Berlin in November--then you should do that. However, if you think he would simply want you to find adventure and a spark of joy, then I feel you should change trains in Brussels and go on to Amsterdam. Travel through the Netherlands for the holidays."
Molly was more alert now. She sat up straighter. "The Netherlands..." She pondered this. There was no reason why she shouldn't go north; Berlin was just as devoid of familiar faces or concrete plans as any other city or country. "Okay," she said, nodding slowly. "That's an idea."
The man went on. "My daughter, Lina, lives in Groningen, and she has friends scattered throughout Sweden and Finland and Norway. I can point you to Lina, and she'll give you a place to stay for a few days. From there, she can introduce you to others who will welcome you for a visit."
