The Universe of Discretion: Night Sleeper

I’ve always been a bit envious of people who had their life all figured out. I mean, I didn’t have the slightest idea what I wanted to do with mine.

I had a near-perfect SAT score and my folks could afford to send me to just about any college I wanted. But the problem was, I didn’t feel a spark of interest for anything in particular.

My dad was a proud graduate of Hargrave and now held the position of COO at Helix, a popular music streaming platform. Despite my mom’s penchant for spending money and her slight drinking problem, they had a pretty solid marriage.

My dad was often absent during my childhood due to his demanding job. Maybe that’s why I was so hesitant to choose a career path. I didn’t want to end up like him, consumed by work.

My mom wasn’t thrilled about my plan, but my dad thought it was brilliant. He confessed that he’d wanted to do the same thing after high school, but his parents had been against it.

So, two weeks later, I found myself on a plane to London, ready to embark on a month-long backpacking adventure through Europe.

I had planned a good chunk of my trip before leaving the States, but I also left room for spontaneity. I wanted the freedom to stay longer in places I loved and quickly leave the ones I didn’t.

Amsterdam turned out to be a blast, so I extended my stay by four days. Next on my list was Rome, and I figured the best route would be through Switzerland.

My new Dutch buddy, Sjoerd, suggested I take a train to Hanover in Germany, then catch the night sleeper to Basel, Switzerland. From there, I could decide whether to visit Zurich, Geneva, or skip both and head straight to Italy.

I tried to book a single-bed sleeper, but they were all taken. The next best option was a single reservation in a two-bed sleeper. I’d already made a bunch of new friends on this trip, so I figured, why not one more?

I was perusing the snack menu when he walked in. He was tall, with white-blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He looked to be in his early twenties, but there was a certain maturity about him.

His suit was tailored to perfection and looked pricey. I was particularly taken with his black Vero shoes.

He glanced at me and introduced himself in English. Was I really that obviously American?

“Roland,” he said, extending his hand as if we were at a business meeting.

“Ty,” I responded, shaking his hand. Europe was teeming with good-looking guys, and Roland was definitely one of them.

“Like a Krawatte?” he asked, holding out his deep blue necktie for clarification.

“Short for Tyler,” I explained, laughing a little.

“Nice to meet you, Tyler!” he said, disregarding my preferred nickname.

He organized his belongings, took off his suit jacket, and sat down, phone in hand.

I tried not to stare as he typed away, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

By the time the snack service arrived, I was famished. I ordered a chicken casserole and a beer. Roland either wasn’t hungry or preferred a liquid dinner, much like my mom.

He requested four mini bottles of red wine, which earned him a curious look from the steward. Roland didn’t seem to notice and paid for his drinks with a two hundred Euro bill. I noticed he had a stack of them in his wallet.

Who was this guy, anyway?

I enjoyed my late dinner and listened to music until Roland caught my attention.

I removed one earbud to hear him offer, “Would you like some wine?”

What was that saying again? Beer before wine?

“Sure,” I accepted, taking the bottle from him. He didn’t have an extra glass, so I emptied mine.

“What brings you to Germany?” he asked, probably just making conversation. I’m sure he’d noticed my massive backpack.

“Just doing the classic Euro trip,” I replied, raising my glass in a toast.

“Okay!” he responded, nodding. “Where have you been so far?”

“Only London and Amsterdam,” I answered. “I’m excited to see Rome, but I thought I’d swing by Switzerland first.”

“You missed Berlin?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“No, no, no, I’m planning to visit on my way back,” I assured him, not wanting to offend.

He finished his glass of wine and opened another mini bottle.

“Top-up?” he offered.

I held out my glass, and he poured me a quarter of the bottle.

“So, what do you do?” I asked, attempting to keep the conversation going.

His face was a work of art, all perfect symmetry and flawless skin. His lips were slightly pursed, his eyes scanning mine as if he was on a quest for something hidden.

“I work in finance,” he said, his tone shrouded in mystery.

Before we knew it, Roland’s wine stash was depleted, and I was in stitches over a story he was sharing about his first visit to the States.

“Damn, we’re out! I’ll be back in a jiffy,” he announced, rising to his feet and reaching for his jacket.

“Let me go instead,” I offered, feeling guilty. “I think I drank half of your supply.”

“No worries, I could use a little walk,” he replied, his balance slightly off.

He returned ten minutes later, armed with two more bottles and a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

“Let’s play a game,” he suggested. “Loser buys the next round.”

The next round?! How much more did he think we could drink? It was already past midnight, and I was fighting to keep my eyes open.

But one look at his handsome face, and I knew I couldn’t refuse.

“All right, what’s the game?” I asked, bracing myself for something simple.

“It’s a blast,” he assured me, his German accent more pronounced than before. “I used to play it with my buddies at L’Ecole Hotelier de Sion.”

I waited for him to elaborate as he handed me one of the bottles.

“The game is called ‘Did you know’? The goal is to share a verifiable fact. If the other person hasn’t heard of it, you win the round.”

“But what’s stopping someone from claiming they knew it already, just to win?” I questioned, skeptical about the fairness of the game.

“That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly, now would it?” he retorted, a frown creasing his forehead.

“Okay,” I agreed. “What was Cleopatra’s nationality?”

“That’s easy. She was Egyptian,” he responded dismissively.

He probably assumed I didn’t grasp the rules of his game, but this was a trivia question most people answered incorrectly.

“Actually, Cleopatra was a Ptolemy; born in Egypt but of Macedonian Greek descent. After Alexander the Great conquered most of the known ancient world, he died at thirty-two. His empire was divided among his generals, and Ptolemy became the ruler of Egypt.”

Roland was staring at me, his interest piqued.

“Nearly three centuries later, Cleopatra became the last Ptolemy Pharaoh to rule the Nile Delta. Alongside Marc Anthony, she was defeated by Caesar Augustus, who subsequently made Egypt a vassal state of Rome.”

“History was never my strong suit,” Roland admitted with a nonchalant shrug. “You win the first round!”