Sanatorium Under the Sign of the Hourglass: Entry Point
"The journey was long. The train, which ran only once a week on that forgotten branch line, carried no more than a few passengers. Never before had I seen such archaic coaches; withdrawn from other lines long before, they were spacious as living rooms, dark, and with many recesses. Corridors crossed the empty compartments at various angles; labyrinthine and cold, they exuded an air of strange and frightening neglect. I move from coach to coach, looking for a comfortable corner. Drafts were everywhere: cold currents of air shooting through the interiors, piercing the whole train from end to end. Here and there people sat on the floor, surrounded by their bundles, not daring to occupy the empty seats. Besides, those high, convex oilcloth-covered seats were as cold as ice and sticky with age. At the deserted stations no passengers boarded the train. Without a whistle, without a groan, the train would slowly start again, as if lost in meditation."
Like the rabbit hole in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, the opening train ride in "Sanatorium" is perceived as unusually long – the trip of seemingly endless duration. The trip begins with a familiar construction – a train going from point A to point B - though the train itself with its interior, passengers, and behavior defies normal expectations. Like Alice, Joseph is able to deal with this cognitive dissonance, even as the journey becomes increasingly surreal. The longer the train ride lasts the more a realism blends into dream.
For a time, I had the company of a man in a ragged railwayman’s uniform – silent, engrossed in his thoughts. He pressed a handkerchief to his swollen, aching face. Later even he disappeared, having slipped out unobserved at some stop. He left behind him the mark of his body in the straw that lay on the floor, and a shabby black suitcase he had forgotten
Wading in straw and rubbish, I walked shakily from coach to coach. The open doors of the compartments were swinging in the drafts. There was not a single passenger left on the train. At last, I met a conductor, in the black uniform of that line. He was wrapping a thick scarf around his neck and collecting his things – a lantern, an official logbook.
“We are nearly there, sir,” he said, looking at me with washed-out eyes.
This rail journey from one place or state of consciousness to another contains a few pronounced characteristics, including abnormal or exaggerated temperatures, anachronistic interiors, grotesqueness or dirtiness, and an increasing and rather uncanny sense of solitude. The combined effect of these characteristics gives the scene a growing emotional or sensatory charge. Details emerge from background to foreground to emphasize Joseph’s acute awareness of the shifting reality. Important here, like Alice’s trip down the rabbit role, is the objective nature of Joseph’s observation of these improbably details. The world of the dream protagonist, Schulz is telling us, is hermetically sealed. Once the train departs, its alternative reality is the only reality that remains. Its bizarre nature can be observed rationally or experienced emotionally, but it cannot be denied.
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