А railway story

If you are expecting me to produce something fresh and original you  will be disappointed.

The story I want to tell you  about is rather commonplace. But though it is, I would like to put forward a slice of my personal philosophy.

This is the way the whole thing happened.

I was young then and not bad looking when I left for a sanatorium to Tskhaltubo in Georgia.

The carriage of the fast train “Moscow- Yerevan” was full of the Armenian people. Strange as it was, there were only men in it and no one woman. Even the conductor was a man.

In my sleeping compartment there were 2 men: one Russian and the other- Armenian, a fat short man with a typical face of representative of a so- called Caucasian nationality.

From the very beginning of our travelling together the men behaved themselves as gentlemen. They offered a lower berth, suggested tea, coffee and seemed to do everything for me not to feel uncomfortable.

But from time to time they left the compartment and returned more and more drunk.

At midnight the Russian got off the train and I stayed with the Armenian.

My traveler suddenly began to worry me with his cinical requests. When I gave him to understand that it was a liberty I didn’t allow, he took out a knife (a Finnish dagger) and put it on the table in front of me.

I remember: at that moment I didn’t get a scare. It was later when I felt frightened. But then… I don’t know, why I said to him I had a weapon against him too.

God blessed me to say these words or I was born under a lucky star, but when he asked me about what kind of weapon I had against him, I said quite unthoughtfully, “My weapon against you is my defencelessness ”

My words struck him. They were something like a thunderstorm or an explosion of a bomb.

He got up immediately and left.

After a while he returned and silently lay down on the opposite lower berth. Soon he fell asleep.

In the morning he was very polite and behaved properly. He offered me a cup of coffee and nothing was said about the midnight's incident.

At the station of Sumtredia where I had to change my train, he got off to say me good-bye.

Despite all my expectations he kissed my hand and thanked me (thanked, not excused) not saying for what.

Then he got on the train and left.

May be this story isn’t worth remembering, but sometimes I think that lucky or unlucky chances which happen to us teach us to be wise. They help us understanding of something very important, which isn’t taught at school.