ONE
At six in the morning, the station clock began to run backwards. Mara noticed because she had been watching its hands for twenty minutes, waiting for a train that no longer appeared on the board.
The platform was empty except for a gardener carrying a blue watering can. He passed beneath the clock without looking up, stopped beside a row of dry planters, and tipped the can. Nothing came out. He did not seem surprised.
Mara checked the ticket in her coat pocket. The destination was familiar, but the departure time had changed. She could have sworn it had said six fifteen when she left the house. Now it said yesterday.
Somewhere behind the closed ticket window, a telephone rang. It was a soft, old-fashioned sound, almost polite. She waited for somebody to answer. The gardener set down his watering can and turned toward her.
She thought he was about to explain the clock. Instead, he pointed to the bench beside her. A small brown parcel rested on the seat, tied with ordinary string. Her name was written on the paper in a hand she had not seen for years.
The telephone stopped. Beyond the far end of the platform, the rails caught a narrow strip of sunlight. A train was coming, although Mara could not hear it yet. She folded the ticket once and reached for the parcel.
