Melina was stuck. Her bus arrived at the station 10 minutes too late to make it for the transfer, and there was no possibility to get away from this lost point in the country until tomorrow. At least, her next appointment was only tomorrow, at 2 pm. The person at the “Information” desk mumbled his understanding of her situation and said he was sorry. He recommended her to obtain a room at the only hotel of the town, “The Blue Sky”, and sat back to tidying up his desk.
She went out of the bus station, and looked at the street: cobblestones, no cars, illuminated with old gas lamps. It was travel in time, in a village of a Dickens hero.
She must only walk three minutes, dragging her hand-luggage, and was the next moment standing before the hotel. It did not correspond to its name, not at all. If once the blue was important, now only the entrance had a blue paint. Over the entrance was the name of the premises, where unfortunately the word “Blue”-actually a yellow neon, blinked wild because of a bad contact.
Melina gathered her forces and entered the building. Some steps and she was at the reception desk, with the case besides her. One second after, she was greeted by the manager. He was a contradiction to his hotel. A handsome middle-aged man, with a black suit, a discreet tie, the hair disciplined with brilliantine, shoes of patent leather, and a very light scent of “eau de cologne”.
He began in French: “Madame ?” and continued, “Can I help you?” You seem exhausted. You could use a good night of rest in our establishment. He hid the waste-basket, which was full of not so appetizing lunch remnants.
She explained her situation, but did not give a hint of her feelings. That was in her interest. She visualized herself alone in an old room, without key, who knows if there was warm water – if there was water at all! What about undesired visitors? Come to think of it, himself!
She decided to abandon the idea of sleeping there, even one minute. Refusing the manager’s proposal even to visit a room, she turned to the door, and was immediately on the street. The sky was cloudy and menacing. At night, there were no shops to look at.
Again at the bus station, almost in the dark, she managed to recognize a bus that just arrived. Noting that the motor was not off, she came closer.
The bus driver leaned his head out of the driver’s window nonchalantly. “Looking for something, ma’am?”
“I thought there were no more buses to the city to night”
“That’s true, ma’am. My bus must have an unexpected servicing, and my company sent me exceptionally tonight. Are you going somewhere?”
With a big relief sigh, Melina didn’t wait to answer, “Yes. I would gladly go with you.”
I’m just wondering if your original story was possible written in another language and you had it translated into English?
Hello. Your comment is interesting, as I do speak other languages. Nevertheless, I can tell you that I wrote it directly in English. Can you tell me what made you think of another language ? Regards.
It was just the way you worded some of the sentences. It reminded me of how some things I write to family in Uruguay are translated to Spanish and vice-versa. It doesn’t always translate exactly. Although I am quite fluent in Spanish, there are times I use google translate, and it doesn’t always work out right.