The Last Announcement: a story with four endings

The blank line

The last train left ten minutes ago. Tomorrow, trains will stop at the new station across the river. The old one smells of wet wool and orange: Lida, the ticket clerk, is peeling one over a box of rubber stamps.

You came to help her move. The timetable and ticket-window curtain are down. Only the microphone is still on the desk. A sheet beside it says “Final announcement.” The rest is blank.

“The manager said to think of something,” Lida says. “All my life, I’ve said things someone else thought of. About platform two, for instance.”

She puts half the orange in your palm.

Bags rustle by the entrance. A few neighbours have come to watch the station close. Outside, Miron, the cleaner, stands by the yellow line, his broom against the wall.

Lida pulls the chair away from the microphone.

“What shall we announce?”

• Invite everyone into the waiting room
• Go outside to Miron first

No tickets needed

“Anyone still here, please come into the waiting room,” you say into the microphone.

Your voice returns from the platform sounding hoarse. Raya, the florist, enters, followed by a man in a cycling helmet and a boy with a paper bag. Miron brings his broom. Lida puts her box down.

“What about tickets?” the boy asks.

“No tickets needed today.”

They all sit on one bench, leaving the others empty. The cyclist is Seva. Once, he fell asleep here and missed his bus. Raya sold her first bouquet beside the ticket window. The boy is Tim. He has never been on a train. His bag holds biscuits.

Lida checks the clock.

“I have the new waiting-room keys. Fifteen minutes over the bridge.”

You sort through the blank sheets on the desk. One could hold a list of names. Another would do for the shortest timetable of all.

• Announce everyone by name
• Announce a departure on foot for the new station

Two whistles

It is colder outside. Miron pockets a little tin whistle.

“The train’s gone,” you say.

“It’s not for the train. It’s for Tim.”

He points through the glass. The boy is looking at the benches, his bag pressed to his stomach.

“My grandson’s afraid of losing me at the new station. Two floors, you see. We agreed: I whistle twice, he answers once. We’re rehearsing.”

Miron whistles. A thin note comes from the waiting room. Tim whistles through his teeth.

“Does the whole town know this code?” you ask.

“Just the family so far.”

Miron laughs but stays beneath the canopy. Across the river, the new windows shine on the water. He rubs a dent in his whistle.

“Lida wants a proper farewell. I can’t even decide where to go after work. Too early for home. My wife will see me and find me something to do.”

• Suggest the whistle for the final announcement
• Invite Miron and Tim for tea after work

Ending: present

You write five names. Seva asks you to add his surname: there are three other Sevas in town. Lida corrects your pronunciation of Raya’s surname. Raya corrects Lida.

Then you turn on the microphone.

“The following people are present at the station…”

After each name, someone answers, “Here.” Miron raises his broom, as if at school roll call. Tim speaks too softly and gets another go. This time you could hear him from the platform.

You name Lida last. She looks at the dark ticket window for a long time.

“Here,” she says at last, picking a thread of orange pith from her glasses.

Before leaving, you put the list behind the glass where the timetable was. Seva returns to add the date. Through the window, you watch him press his pen against the glass, forgetting the paper is on the other side.

Lida unlocks the door again.

Ending: the other bank

“A group will depart on foot for the new station in five minutes,” you announce. “Stops on request.”

Tim immediately requests a stop by the water. Raya takes off her heels and gets trainers from her bag.

The microphone goes into the box. Lida locks up. You cross the bridge in single file: Miron carries his broom sideways and is difficult to overtake. Halfway across, Tim shares his biscuits. Crumbs fall into the river, but no fish appear.

At the new station, everyone falls quiet. Identical benches stand behind the glass. Lida searches her keys.

“Where do you keep lost property?” Raya asks.

“We haven’t lost anything yet.”

Seva pats his pockets, then laughs.

“My bike’s at the old station.”

You sit on the first bench by the entrance. Seva promises to be back in ten minutes. Now there is someone to wait for.

Ending: a reply

At first, Miron closes his fist around the whistle.

“It isn’t music.”

“Or a timetable,” you say.

Inside, you explain the agreement between Tim and his grandfather. Miron stands before the microphone as though having his photograph taken: back straight, free hand behind him. Two short whistles fly up to the ceiling.

Tim answers. Raya, the florist, tries too, but produces only air. Seva, a man in a cycling helmet, shows her how to shape her lips. Raya says she knows and tries again.

When it works, she startles herself.

Lida turns off the microphone. On the way out, Miron notices Tim is missing and reaches for his whistle. The boy emerges from behind a bench. He was picking up a dropped biscuit.

“Grandad, I’m here.”

“You are,” Miron says, glancing at Raya and Seva. “But I’ll have to be more specific with that whistle now.”

Ending: after work

“Let’s have tea,” you say. “My treat.”

Miron checks his watch.

“Now there’s a plan.”

You call Tim. He comes outside and checks he has enough biscuits for three. Through the window, you point Lida towards the tea shop opposite. She gives you a thumbs-up.

Her voice comes from the loudspeaker.

“The station is closing. Thank you. And… that’s all, really.”

Across the road, wet cobblestones shine like fish scales. Miron asks for a window table. The three of you wait while Lida locks the building and crosses with her box.

The kettle whistles on one long note. Tim looks up.

“Not ours,” Miron says.

Lida puts her box under the table, tips the remaining orange segments onto a saucer and pulls the empty cup towards her. Nobody announces a thing.