Stranger on a Train (16 page)

‘Hey man, later. We're heading for the bar,' he said to George, a mixture of pride and wonderment on his face. George gave him a warning look, but the trio were gone. He shook his head in amused pity.

‘Did you see?' he said to me, and then turned to Chris.

‘See what?' I said. Chris looked baffled.

George put his hand up to his throat again. ‘He's going to get a shock. Did you catch their Adam's apples?'

I had been too entertained by their self-excited mannerisms and gaudy seduction technique, and Chris was absorbed in his own problems.

‘They were really good, but there's nothing you can do about the Adam's apple. They were guys. Take a look next time they come in.'

And, of course, it would have explained everything. I waited for a while, but they didn't return to the smoking coach.

It was my last full night on the train. I spent a long time lying awake in my bunk, not wanting to miss the stars passing and the rhythm of train rocking me. Bet, Raymond, Chris, Conal, Virginia, Maddy, the TVs and John rolled around in my mind, a handful of human stories, only a tiny sample of the available lives that the train happened to be transporting along with me. As I lay there, all the separate stories, all those minds and hearts took on volume and mass, occupying the empty space in my compartment, squeezing out the very air before spreading to the corridor outside and the entire train. I breathed in the stories, known and unknown, and felt their weight bearing down on me. When I checked on the inky sky outside there was all the empty space of the universe, black and endless, stars and vacancy, on and on in silence for ever, while on the speeding train the crush of human consciousness, of existence, all of it, crammed in, congealed into a sticky writhing narrative, telling itself repeatedly, and saying everything and nothing. I tried to make it feel normal – the longest main street in the USA – but it remained overwhelming, catastrophic. Finally I slept to avoid the panic that was rising.

*   *   *

After breakfast, the smoking coach was almost full with all our regulars deep in urgent conversation and a few newcomers. Bet was already there, she had skipped eating.

‘Jesus, Jenny, you'll never guess…'

I was barely through the door. She was scandalised.

‘That John. He's just been in—'

‘Yeah,' said Conal. ‘Your sweet little innocent kid.'

‘He was tricking us…'

‘You women…' Conal snorted in disgust.

‘He was, you know, touching himself … down there, you know … all the time … while we let him put his head on our—'

‘Masturbating?' I said. ‘Yes, I know. Well, sort of masturbating.'

‘You knew?' the blonde girl said, astonished.

‘You knew, you mean, you knew what he was up to?' Bet said.

‘He wasn't up to anything. He was just getting his pleasure confused, or not confused.'

‘He was being sexually abusive,' Chuck said, with a look of grave anger on his face.

‘Yeah,' Gail bellowed. ‘Getting off on it.'

‘Well, yes. Didn't you know?'

Everyone was horrified, though there was a degree of amazement rather than wrath in the women's outrage. The men were solemn and vengeful. Their worst fears had been confirmed. Poor retarded John had been getting sexual pleasure right there in front of our eyes, and getting away with it. Had he been laughing at them all along?

‘He's a pervert. We ought to tell the conductor to get the police at the next stop.'

‘What kind of parents are they, letting him wander round on his own?'

‘He could be dangerous. What if he molests kids on the train? We've got to report him.'

‘He should be restrained.'

‘He ought to be thrown off the train.'

‘But he's not dangerous,' I said. ‘He's just not sophisticated enough to keep things separate. He makes associations that we don't allow ourselves to make.'

‘He's got no control. There are little kids, Gail's kids, on the train. How do you know he's going to stop at touching himself?'

Of course, I didn't. Bet was intrigued by my lack of alarm, she was half convinced I was right, but it occurred to me now that I might be wrong. Maybe he could spiral out of control. What about kids? What made me so sure John was a harmless innocent? Yet I was sure, and I was more disturbed by the growing anger in the smoking coach which threatened to turn nasty. A mob was in the making.

‘Why don't we ask the conductor to check with his parents or whoever he's with, and see what they say? He's very well cared for, they don't seem to neglect him. They must think he's safe if they let him wander about on his own.'

‘Or they don't know, and don't want to know.'

Maybe they were right. Who knew what people were capable of? Who knew how much people chose not to know? Anyway, John had been expelled from the smoking coach. Chuck had sent him out and told him not to come back, that he was too young to be there (his blond charges notwithstanding) and that he had to stay with his folks. John had taken fright, according to Bet, who wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not. No one mentioned him to the conductor as he scowled in on us during his regular inspection. He walked through the coach and examined the contents of the garbage bin on the end wall, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the butt ends but not letting that stop him checking for empty beer cans. I looked around at the irate passengers, but no one seemed inclined to say anything to the conductor about John.

Later that morning the train came to a halt in the middle of nowhere, between San Antonio and Del Rio. Nothing happened for half an hour and then a message came over the tannoy that we were held up on the single track by a goods train that had broken down in front of us. It had been decided that we would shunt the train ahead to the nearest branch line. It would be quicker, we were told, than waiting for it to be repaired. This way only another hour or so would be added to the three we had already lost. Groans of disbelief went up in the smoking coach, and doubtless throughout the train. Mostly we were laughing and wondering what else this journey would have to offer.

The moment of connection between our engine and the goods train turned out to be more than the slight bump we were warned of over the tannoy. We lurched hard as we made contact with the train in front. People were thrown back, in some cases off their chairs. Raymond, in a drunken haze all morning, slid almost gracefully to the floor and seemed comfortable enough where he landed. But Bet, being tiny and tense, was thrown hard against the wall. She yelled in pain, and when we had got straight again, she held her shoulder and winced.

‘I think I've dislocated my goddammed shoulder. Jesus, what else is going to happen? How bad can a journey get? It's not enough why I had to take this trip at all, but we ran over three people and now we're shunting trains. I can't take any more of this.'

After a moment's silence, there was a message on the tannoy again.

‘Is there a doctor on the train? Would anyone with any medical training please see the conductor.'

‘Jesus. Jesus Christ,' Bet moaned.

Eventually we got going again, at a snail's pace, and pushed the train in front for about an hour before a somewhat gentler lurch indicated that we had disconnected from it and could get back on course. By this time, the drinks were flowing and a party was in full swing. We were quite fearless about the conductor now. Just let him try to chuck us off this sorry apology for a train journey. There was a mood of reckless abandon, of lost souls trapped on a drifting ship, of simply waiting for the next disaster to occur. I went down to the bar to get Bet and me a couple of cans of Manhattans (yes, really,
cans
). Chris was sitting at one of the tables with his wife and kids having Cokes. Without thinking about it much, I fished in my bag and went up to their table, saying hello to his wife and the little ones. Then I squatted down beside Chris. I hadn't rehearsed anything.

‘Hi. Will you do me a favour?'

Chris looked alarmed, glanced at his wife, but didn't look at me. ‘What?'

‘For dinner this evening,' I said, sliding the scrunched up fifty-dollar bill I'd taken out of my bag across the table and under his hand. I've rarely felt so inept. It wasn't a big deal. I had intended not to make it a big deal, but I hadn't the faintest idea how to give someone money. He hadn't asked for any, I had enough not to make it painful. I just wanted to shift some of my surplus to Chris, who could use it. I didn't want to offend him. I didn't see it as a handout, more as a redistribution, and not particularly princely at that. But I had been so awkward.
Will you do me a favour?
Apologetic, surreptitious and alarming. I had somehow embarrassed all of us. Chris's wife signalled him to take the money. He looked at me coldly.

‘OK,' he said. ‘And?'

I didn't understand. ‘Nothing.'

He continued to look at me as if waiting for something.

‘Sorry…' I tailed off, and fled back to the smoking coach, minus the Manhattans. It didn't matter. Conal had arrived and was freely distributing his bourbon. It had got quite rowdy. People were telling tales of their worst train journeys and great historical Amtrak disasters. Even Maddy and her DJ dragged themselves apart from each other to contribute.

‘There was that train wreck a few years back on this route. Back South. You remember reading about it? This paddle-boat had hit the rail bridge but they didn't report it. The bridge must have been weakened or something, because part of it collapsed when the train crossed. All the coaches went down into the swamp. But it was a pretty low bridge – I guess that's why the paddleboat went into it. Amazingly, not many people were hurt. They got out of the coaches and were swimming in the water. Some people drowned, I guess, but most were OK. But it was an alligator swamp. The train wreck didn't kill them, the alligators did. Came from every direction, and you know they can't chew. They get hold of a bit of you and just twist themselves round and round until the victim's drowned. Anyway, most of them survived the train wreck but were killed by alligators.'

There was a wide-eyed silence for a moment. Then Bet wailed.

‘Oh Jesus…'

‘Yeah,' DJ said. ‘And they don't just eat them there and then. Alligators don't like fresh meat, I heard. They keep them until they're well—'

‘Shut up,' Maddy squealed. And the coach collapsed into gales of ghoulish, whooping laughter. Even Raymond had peeked out of his semi-coma and grinned hugely at being part of the fun.

Chris came into the smoking coach and sat down next to me. ‘I'm sorry about earlier.'

‘Why?'

‘I'm sorry I was suspicious. When you said do me a favour, I thought you were giving me money … to do something. I thought there was something you wanted.'

‘Oh Christ. I'm sorry, that was my fault. It was a stupid thing to say.'

‘No, it was me. I didn't believe people did that kind of thing without wanting something.'

‘It isn't anything. It wasn't much. I had it. When you've got a spare fifty, you can give it back to someone who needs it. I just didn't want it to be anything special.'

Chris nodded. ‘Yeah, I've given stuff to people. But no one's given me anything until now. Thanks.'

It was all out of hand. A very small donation. I had handled it so badly. Why is it so difficult? Only my embarrassment had made it difficult and allowed a misunderstanding. The whole episode made me ashamed. Chris and I shrugged a smile at each other and he went back to his family.

By now the party slipped easily into community singing (Johnny Ray, Sonny and Cher, Tammy Wynette and Patsy Kline were deemed suitable) until, about eight-thirty, over four hours late, we arrived for a twenty-minute stop at El Paso. This was the end of the line for Bet, who had been free with her covered Coke bottle, and was quite jolly in spite of evidently having a bad pain in her shoulder. There were fond farewells from her fellow travellers, who were losing one of the old-timers. She invited me on to the platform to meet her hero. He was there, a middling-height, stocky man with a broad moustache, cowboy boots, jeans and jeans jacket. He ducked his head in acknowledgement of me as Bet started to introduce us, but he was busy. He had a small child in one arm and a large suitcase in the other. A massively pregnant young woman was walking just ahead of him.

‘Hi, hon, be with you in just a moment.'

‘It's this coach,' the pregnant woman called back at him, and she and the hero disappeared on to the train. Bet and I stood watching him.

‘Ain't he wonderful? Always helping people.'

I had a moment of alarm, but Hero returned.

‘Hero, this is my new friend Jenny. Jenny, my hero.'

We shook hands. I said I was happy to meet him, that any hero of Bet's was a hero of mine. He grinned modestly.

‘Ready, hon?'

‘Sure thing. Jenny's gonna come and visit with us real soon.'

‘Great.'

We hugged goodbye, and Bet winced as I crushed her sore shoulder. As they headed off for the hero's four by four I could hear Bet's rasping voice.

‘How's Mikey been? Jesus, you won't believe what kind of a journey I've had…'

By the Time I Got to Phoenix

Suburban Phoenix is a perfect place to take refuge from an excess of commerce with the world. I sat in the shade of a banana tree by the swimming pool fringed with towering date palms: a garden oasis, the silence of the late morning heat buzzing, nothing moving under the blazing sun except an occasional butterfly lurching between shrubs, the cat raising its head from time to time to see if anything had changed and dropping back into its torpor. Now and then I slipped into the water to cool off before returning to my chair and a recuperating torpor of my own. I felt as if I had been ill. With that sense of consciously getting yourself back, of relearning the normal you after the body has been haywire, I was hyper-alert to my own processes: aware of every movement I made, of the precise physical requirements for each activity, of microscopic muscular changes as my eyes followed the passing butterfly, as my chest raised and lowered to breathe, as I reached for my glass of orange juice or stretched out my leg to stroke the cat with my foot. I didn't even blink without knowing I was doing it. The heat (it was around 108 degrees) had something to do with making every slight effort noticeable, but it was also a mental state of watchfulness that came with the sudden release from the company of others, a stark focusing on who that person had been who had watched, listened, talked, and interacted and been seen by others. The impression of my fellow travellers remained with me, I felt, almost physically, like the pale marks left on the flesh after it has been squeezed.