“It’s going to rain again,” the worker across from him said sullenly. He nodded his head as thanks for the cigarette Silbermann offered.

“On the contrary,” declared the stout man, addressing Silbermann as his social equal: “In my opinion, and I believe I have a feel for weather like very few people. In my opinion”—to Silbermann’s ears this “in my opinion” sounded pompous—“tomorrow we’re going to have a truly beautiful day, unless I’m very much mistaken.” No, listening to him speak, it would be hard to imagine he could possibly be mistaken.

“No thank you,” he said, declining Silbermann’s offer of a cigarette. “I prefer cigars. They’re easier to digest.”

“Yes, well let’s hope the weather will be good,” said Silbermann flatly.

“Are you in sales, a commercial traveler?” the man was interested to know.

“Merchant,” Silbermann answered, absentmindedly.

“I was a salesman in my youth,” said the man, “then I took over the shop from my sister.”

“I see,” said Silbermann politely.

The man unfolded a newspaper and began reading.

“Do you have a lot of work?” Silbermann asked the older worker.

“Enough,” the other man answered, not keen to share more. He, too, took a newspaper from his bag.

I want a conversation, Silbermann thought. I’d like to keep talking, without stopping. He rested his head against his coat, which was hanging on the hook and closed his eyes. He listened to the rattle of the wheels.

Berlin—Hamburg, he thought.

Hamburg—Berlin.

Berlin—Aachen.

Aachen—Dortmund.

Dortmund—Aachen.

And it may go on that way forever. Now I really am like a traveling salesman, and the route I’ve been assigned has more and more miles.

The fact is that I have already emigrated … to the Deutsche Reichsbahn.

I am no longer in Germany.

I am in trains that run through Germany. That’s a big difference. Once again he listened to the wheels rumbling over the rails, the music of travel.

I am safe, he thought, I am in motion.

And on top of that I feel practically cozy.

Wheels rattle, doors open, it could almost be pleasant, if it weren’t for the fact that I think too much.

Then he smiled. The Reichsbahn used to offer mystery tours, so-called Journeys into the Blue. Now he had been awarded such a journey, but this time it was sponsored by the government. There were periods in history when people had practically suffocated from a sense of ennui, and so they plunged into adventurous affairs, deliberately wobbling the chairs on which they sat so comfortably, simply for their own exhilaration. They turned to the stock exchange to experience some emotion. But these days citizens are more than adequately provided with emotional experiences. As a child I used to dream about trains. How gladly I would have traveled on one, farther and farther away.

Now I am on a train. Now I’m traveling.