Passage
Read the following passage and answer the given subquestions. On the bench outside the station I sat and waited. The station had been open when the train arrived but now it was locked. Another woman sat at the end of the bench, holding between her knees a string bag full of parcels wrapped in oiled paper. Meat—raw meat. You could smell it. Across the tracks was the electric train, empty, waiting. No other passengers showed up and after a while the stationmaster stuck his head out and called, "San." At first I thought he was calling a man's name, Sam. And another man wearing some kind of official outfit did come around the end of the building. He crossed the tracks and boarded the electric car. The woman with the parcels stood up and followed him, so I did the same. There was a burst of shouting from across the street and the doors of a dark-shingled flat-roofed building opened, letting loose several men who were jamming caps on their heads and banging lunch buckets against their thighs. By the noise they were making you would think the car was going to run away from them at any minute. But when they settled onboard nothing happened. The car sat while they counted each other and said who was missing and told the driver he couldn't go yet. Then somebody remembered that it was the missing man's day off. The car started, though you couldn't tell if the driver had been listening to any of this, or cared. All the men got off at a sawmill in the bush—it would not have been more than a ten-minute walk—and shortly after that the lake came into view, covered with snow. A long white wooden building in front of it. The woman readjusted her meat packages and stood up and I followed. The driver again called "San," and the doors opened. A couple of women were waiting to get on. They greeted the woman with the meat and she said it was a raw day. All avoided looking at me as I climbed down behind the meat woman. There was no one to wait for at this end, apparently. The doors banged together and the train started back. Then there was silence, the air like ice. Brittle-looking birch trees with black marks on their white bark, and some kind of small untidy evergreens rolled up like sleepy bears. The frozen lake [was] not level but mounded along the shore, as if the waves had turned to ice in the act of falling. And the building beyond with its deliberate rows of windows, and its glassed-in porches at either end. Everything austere and northerly, black-and-white under the high dome of clouds. (From Dear Life by Alice Munro)