A FAST TRAIN CARRIES TWO HAPPY PEOPLE, freed from the everyday. The door to their sorrows is locked, not to be reopened for ten days. Max sits facing Maria, beset by all kinds of concerns. Is her seat comfortable? At least he's wiped out the corner so that she won't be sitting in soot. She's going to avoid the corridor, where there's a stuck-up, military twit, staring in at her through the window.

“Bow wow,” says Maria.

Max responds with a playful insult, and returns to his newspaper. Quickly, though, his cigarette burns a small hole through it, letting him spy on Maria.

Suddenly, with seeming seriousness, he turns and asks, “My dear Miss, do you have your Christmas tree already, too?”

Maria's only response is a spluttering laugh.

Shrugging her shoulders, a rather well-traveled lady asks her heavy-set husband, “How can anybody be so silly these days?”

Completely missing the point, he responds that “Henry Clay is closing his doors. Havana, goodbye.”

“Sic transit Gloria mundi,” tosses in a traveling salesman specializing in laundry detergent — the same detergent whose name is written on the skies on sunny days — and with this, his mind drifts back to the good old days, when he was still actively single.

As Maria and Max wink at each other, Max leans over to pass on a great secret, one of the many that they share. “I smoke herbs from the fields, woods, and meadows.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Maria turns to root around in her bag. It seems that she wasn't convinced that their travel money would stretch, because she pulls out enough cold cuts, boiled eggs, sausage, and ham to feed six people. As an encore: a big packet of cigarettes and several red-cheeked apples.

They eat breakfast, the best Max has ever had, including when Susi decked out the family table in delicacies.

This happy anticipation on the train. Max here. Maria there. Quite serious. The space between them is only for appearances. The two of them are completely one. Without a kiss or anything, still a tight pair.

Hamburg's train station spits them out onto the street. Is one a stranger in a strange city when one isn't alone? No. The train station, houses, streets, even the trees belong to the travelers.