Along the way

by Maria Antolin Gisbert (Spain)

I didn't expect to find Italy

We had been reaching out for half an hour and lifting our thumbs up to the sky, quite clear after a week of rain, to each passing car, watching them pass by to reach their destinations. We had been half an hour when Alessia and Piero stopped with their gray Peugeot. The car must have been older than us (maybe than the two of us put together) and the itv expired; but it seemed that the brakes were going well and that they were nice, so we did not hesitate too much to go up. Where were we going? We did not carry any type of sign with the name of our destination because the truth was that we had no finishing line. They were going to Trento, coming home after visiting their son here in Pisa, did we know him? I suppose it is a small city but I don't think so much. They were those kind of older people who looked much younger. It showed that he had worn long hair in another era, I don't know if better or worse. Her hands caught my attention, she moved delicately and agilely to gesticulate every word. At first only we were talking, about our year living in Pisa, if we liked it? Tuscany gives off that movie charm that makes tormented writers move here for inspiration; that we had hitchhiked before but it had been for things like missing buses, or losing ourselves… They listened attentively, interested, and they smiled just before telling us about their adventure, making us feel with the creators of the game we were playing. Shortly after meeting they decided to go to Berlin. They were twenty-six years old and they were beginning to be in love, but not too much money. Their savings, taking into account that they would have to eat and sleep during the trip, gave them to get to Freiburg by train. It was the eighties and in most cities there were established points so that those who requested transportation waited in line, with their cardboard in hand. The cars that stopped rolled down the window and indicated with their fingers the number of passengers they were willing to take. Who picked them up? A German man, Johannes Milch: blond, tall, strong, with slight features and an empty gaze. If they were planning to visit East Germany? They wanted to see everything and not forget any detail, that is why Alessia traveled with a notebook and Piero did not release his camera. Would they do him a huge favor? with pleasure. Tourists could approach the point of the opening wall, reminding the two halves of the city that they were one once, though I don't think anyone would have forgotten. They could cross to de RDA for a day (they had to return at the latest on the last of the trains or they would be arrested), long enough to notice the contrast, appreciate the monotony of the architecture or take a couple of photos with the ‘Trabants’; but jnot time to spare to find Cristoph Milch and give him the letter. It was not difficult because, as Johannes had anticipated, Milch would be waiting for them at 3 pm in a cafeteria near the Fernshturm. Well, he did that every day, waiting in case some hitchhiker his brother had picked up showed up with something to give him. First he chatted for a while with the guests; then he would read the letter with joy, reread it carefully stroking each word with his finger, and on the sheet he had brought he would write his correspondence and deliver it to them, along with some recommendation of a restaurant where to dine Würzfleisch. However, they had run out of hunger. They caught the train that was taking them back to the western area on time and never heard from the Milch brothers again. Neither have we heard from Piero and Alessia again after we said goodbye in Trento. Although our goodbye was knowing that one day we will tell these chained stories to those we pick up along the way.