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Glimpses
(written
by Harley
Castleberry)
This has to be fiction -
Night Train
from
DESPAIR
The night was deathly calm as I stood on the platform at the old
railroad station. The only sounds heard, other than those made by
the crickets, were made by the baggage cart’s steel wheels on the brick
pavement. The cart was rounded high with thick canvas bags, and
the baggage handler stood nearby. We were the only two people
present, and separated by maybe seventy-five feet or more. The
station was dark except for the one solitary outside light that hung
above the window marked with a “Tickets” sign. I had what seemed
like a few minutes of fitful sleep, before arriving here. The
issues of life had been hanging around my neck like a weight for quite
sometime.
Off in the distance I heard the shrill tone of the train’s
whistle. Presently, I could catch glimpses of a yellow light as
the train made its way through the pines. After a bit, the warm
yellow glow of the headlight came into full view as the train entered
into the straight stretch of track leading to the station. As the
engine aligned itself with that section of track, the slick surface of
the rails started to shine, and quickly became two bright ribbons of
steel on which the powerful locomotive rolled. Drawing ever
closer, I could detect flickers of flames beneath its boiler. As
the engine moved past me I took note of the drive wheels – taller even
than me. The solemn faced fireman, staring straight ahead, showed
no signs of life as the cab passed me with ever declining speed.
As the train almost rolled to a stop, the engineer applied full
brakes. The abrupt halt caused the slack in the couplers to run
in, and car after car bumped the next one in rapid succession.
Everyone on board got a jolt. Before me sat what appeared to be a
ghost train, for lack of better words. The engine badly needed
paint, and from the baggage car to the caboose, all were so old that
they were constructed of wood. Their paint was blistered and
peeling. Only very faint light from the interior of the coaches
was visible through the grungy windows. The odor of coal smoke
and creosote brought to memory my childhood days when I viewed
everything about the railroad with fascination.
“Sir! This way Sir!” called the conductor as he motioned me
rapidly toward his step stool leading to steps at the open coach
door.
I quickened my pace, and noticed the weathered sign on the side of the
car, “Sleepless Car No. 8”. As I made my way up the steps, the
conductor, impeccably dressed, quickly retrieved his stool and signaled
the engine with his lantern. The steam whistle drowned out all
other sounds as it acknowledged the trainman’s
message.
“Right this way, Sir.” said the conductor as he led me toward a seat in
the strange dim light.
The coach appeared to be near full occupancy. As the engine
started moving, each car lurched forward with a jerk as the slack was
pulled out of the couplings. I grabbed a seat back in order to
regain my balance. There seemed to be a sense of urgency in the
sound the locomotive made as it labored for speed. Again the
yellow glow of the big headlight illuminated the shining ribbons of
steel for a hundred yards ahead.
“I’m afraid that I don’t understand…”
The conductor cut me off, saying “I’ve my rounds to make. When
I’ve completed them, I’ll return to answer your questions.” And
with that, he faded from view in the darkness of the isle.
Curious, I lifted myself a bit in the seat, and peered around me.
An uneasy lot, which surrounded me. None of their faces appeared
clear to me. They seemed to be slightly out of focus, and
everyone, intermittently, was making a groaning or depressing sound of
some nature. After a bit, I could tell that those closest to me
were complaining about something as they tried and tried to attain
restful sleep. I knew that something about this whole thing was
unreal, but everything I touched was real, as was the sensation I felt
when I pinched myself. Curiosity was outweighed by the
uncomfortable feeling I was experiencing.
By now the train seemed to be moving at break-neck speed as the
click-clack of the wheels passing over the rail joints turned into a
rapid tempo of click-click-click. No indication of the actual
speed could be ascertained by looking out the windows. There was
a film of dirt and grime on them that would not wipe off. They
needed to be scrubbed. Actually, they needed to be scraped, and
then scrubbed. As time wore on, the train would make an
occasional stop and the whole process would begin again. About
the time I thought the conductor had forgotten his promise, he appeared
out of the darkness and held out his hand toward me.
“Ticket please.”
“Well, I, I, I’m afraid I have no ticket.”
Smiling, he said, “I think you’ll find it in your shirt pocket, Sir.”
In total unbelief, I humored him and felt in my shirt pocket.
Surprised, I pulled out a narrow, stiff, piece of orange paper.
Obediently, I placed it in his hand, and with a silver punch, he
validated my ticket. As he returned it to me, I noticed the
words, “PASS - Night Train, Round Trip, Origin:
Despair.” This only added to my confusion. The conductor
drew closer, and said that he now had time to talk.
“What is all this? Where did this ticket come from? I
didn’t buy it!”
“Sir, someone has done you a great favor. Just accept it as such.”
“Favor? To ride some dilapidated old train at unsafe speeds?”
“Much of this will make more sense before you reach destination.”
“What are you doing here? Your uniform doesn’t have a wrinkle,
fits like it was tailor made, your cap and badge appear to be new and
everything else on this entire train is in decay. Even the
passengers appear to be deteriorated.”
“I used to work the major runs on the best trains.” confided the
friendly conductor. That is, until the Superintendent said that
he had the perfect job for me. Said I was cut out for it.
He said that he was promoting me, based on my merit, to the Night
Train.”
“Personally, I don’t think he did you any favor.”
“Neither did I at the time. The reality of it all came as a
terrible blow. But, he was an insightful, honest man, and I’ll
have to admit I had earned the promotion.”
“Promotion? What promotion?” I quizzed him.
“For a long time, I couldn’t admit the facts, but with telling this
story repeatedly, over many years, it has become much easier. You
see, before my promotion, I complained about everything. Nothing
made me happy. What I did, or what others did, never satisfied
me. I was incapable of showing appreciation, for anything.
Why, I never once thanked God for life, health, family, friends, His
great gift, or anything else for that matter. I had turned into a
champion fault-finder, and at that time, the Superintendent recognized
my full capabilities.”
“I’m more confused than ever. Don’t you see that he brain-washed
you? This was not a promotion. You have been condemned to a
fate worse than death.”
“On the contrary, Sir. I have been placed in a position of high
authority, and given the unbelievable gift of helping people like I
once was. There is no way I would return to the other train
services.”
“I mean no offense, but you, my friend, are delusional. Look
around you! Do you think you have helped these people?”
“No. I’ll have to admit that I have not.”
“Well, why do you think you are helping people? In view of all
this, how can you have a good attitude, and a cheerful spirit?”
About that time the sound of the wheels on the rails made a dramatic
change!
“We’re crossing the bridge over Lost Opportunity Gorge.”
“At this speed? Crossing a gorge?”
“It is O.K.” assured the conductor. Every night, this is where
the baggage handler opens the sliding door, and throws out the bags of
old complaints. They are the verbal complaints spoken that
day. Sensible people don’t want them around. If we did not
throw them out, they would build up and be a bad influence on other
people. Soon we would have more people complaining about the
perceived entanglements in their lives, and my train wouldn’t be able
to carry all of them. It’s best that the complaints go in the
gorge.”
As the sound of the train returned to the fast paced click, click,
click, I breathed easier, and returned to the question of why the
conductor thought he had such a good job, and was helping people.
With a smile returning to his face, he replied, “These passengers have
been on this train most of their lives. Most will ride this train
until they die. They won’t, or can’t change their way of
thinking. “Constantly complaining is a sin. Sin leaves its
mark.” That’s why this train is so dirty and dingy.
With detectable pride in his voice he continued, “The people that I’ve
been able to help don’t ride this train.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Usually after receiving a ‘Round Trip PASS’ on the Night Train, I
never see my passengers again.”
The train was slowing down. “Sir, this is your stop.” the
conductor said. He helped me from my seat, and hurriedly escorted
me toward the door. We had to brace ourselves as the train came
to another jolting stop. As he placed his step stool on the
platform for me, he said, “Quickly, Sir! Quickly, Sir!”
Before I could turn around, after stepping to the platform, the
conductor had already signal with his lantern, the engineer blew the
whistle, and the engine started to move. I wanted to wave, but
the conductor was closing the door. I stood in awe as the slack
ran out, with couplers rattling, and the yellow headlight pressing
toward the darkness. The morning sky was showing signs of the
approaching sun while the locomotive struggled to catch the receding
edge of darkness. With much effort, and an enormous cloud of
dense black smoke billowing from the smokestack, the entire train was
finally swallowed up in the trailing edge of night. I listened
until I could no longer hear any of its sounds. Then there was an
annoying familiar sound!
Startled, my body jerked as I opened my eyes. I was in my own
bed, and the sound I hearing was my alarm. “What a night!” I
thought to myself. My pajamas were damp with sweat. “What a
Dream.” As I shaved, I replayed parts of my dream that were still
recallable. All of a sudden, I understood! He, if he really
existed, or even if he didn’t exist, helped me. I had turned into
a complainer, and was unaware of it. The train pass was beginning
to make sense. I now had an inkling of why my life was the way it
was. I was muddying up my opportunities with a pessimistic
attitude. It’s a wonder I have any friends. What an ironic
experience! I now knew that I had to change my outlook; that in
reality I had much to be thankful for, and there are things in life
that we cannot change. I need to work on the ones that I have
control over; and forget the others. Maybe there is something to
those sayings: “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” And “Don’t take
yourself so seriously.”
A new and different day lay before me as I got dressed for work.
As I picked up my pocket change, keys, and wallet from the dresser,
something caught my eye. Protruding from my wallet was the edge
of something that I hadn’t noticed before. I slowly pulled it
out, and it turned out to be a small strip of stiff orange paper.
Printed on it were the words: ““PASS - Night
Train, Round Trip, Origin:Despair.” There was a curious
mark near the bottom, and upon closer examination it turned out to be a
little hole, punched in the shape of a cross, the validation
mark.
I had ridden the Night Train – once! Thankfully it was a Round
Trip ride!
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