About the book: 1961 / An old steam locomotive lazily pulled two cars across a twenty-kilometer mountain pass from Richfield Station to Lake Rappahoe. Perhaps for some people traveling on a train from a bygone era would be a pleasure, but for me it turned out to be real torture. Coal dust was everywhere: it stood in the air, squeaked on the teeth like sand, and got into the wool upholstery of the seats. It was November; A cold Canadian wind blew from the mountains and valleys. In addition, the carriage was not heated. Under normal conditions, I would not have had anything against the cool breeze, but now my whole body ached from the chills, and it hurt especially under the bandage. I cursed myself for listening to the doctor and going “to have a good rest.” I could have quietly sat out in New York, but instead I dutifully agreed to “get some fresh air” on the lake.