Cheashing To Dorants

The loud bustle of heavy footsteps clashed with the repeated shrill blasts of steam that spilt out onto the cobblestones in front of the rows of densely packed shabby houses. Homes that would soon see a loss of love from their communities as the future literally arrived to force them out. Pushing away the revered and old to make wake for the new. We huddled crouched together ensuring we would not get lost in the tides of people. My hand securely in the grip of my mother as we swayed amongst the knees and boots of our fellow passengers.

My eyes struggled to refocus as we pushed through the threshold and no longer stood outside in the morning drizzle of this busy hub. The outside world was impatient and rushed, once inside the contrasting calm and luxury boggled my young mind. Now we sat on comfortable and form fitting sleek royal green knit seats amongst a tangled web of designed brass, polished to look gold twinkling in the avenues of the gaps between the seats. The floor was an immaculate mixture of pattern and texture. As I sat on my mother’s lap I felt her hand almost tremble with anticipation.

She was putting on a brave face for me.

The bells rang as the station clocktower struck 11:00am and I knew all through town citizens cheered as the impossibly large metallic beast began to shake, shutter, rock and finally broke free from the station. The world itself untethered began to move and swirl around us all while people donning their Sunday finest sat in their assigned seats shaking hands with each other and celebrating. Some even took pictures, a testament to riding the newest technological marvel.

A long 10 year building project and huge capital investment.

Our countries first modern train network developed an express line between Republica’s two largest cities Cheashing and the capital city of Dorants. On a global scale this was probably 40 years behind the rest of the world, but for our nation this was the next step of ascending out of the dark ages and finally into the rays of enlightenment. Citizens like ourselves, still rode the train simply for the thrill. The spectacle lived on even after it was unveiled for its maiden voyage over 2 weeks ago. My parents and I finally had acquired tickets and with my small and curious eyes I looked at what would be the staple for the future.

A new Era.

Now well underway, I gawked from atop my mother’s knees as my small feet dangled impishly far from the ground. I felt the vertigo was over my mind as the blistering speed of the train made it almost difficult to focus on anything in particular as colours blended into one another. Shapes slowly smoothing out and I was locked looking through the large windows.

My mother crossed her arms around me into an embrace holding on to me tight in case the inertia should pull us apart. Maybe she feared I would get sucked away from her as the carriage moved forward.

After a few minutes once we had all gotten our “sea legs” we settled in for the hour and a half trip that would take us to Dorants. My mother lowered me to sit between her and my father and instantly I had spun around kneeling atop the seats to get a better vantage out of the window. Though she had initially scolded me for putting my shoes onto the seats, I was then sat upon my father’s legs with my mother leaning over my shoulder to help me learn about what I beheld. All throughout the area I could see the grey brick and pipe of the world I knew quickly faded away and now we trekked through the wide open farm lands where wheat sprung tall from the ground a dull yellow that intermingled with the green.

I rested my small soft hands against the cool smooth glass. I felt like I could reach out and touch the land itself, feel the wheat run through my fingers. My mother was speaking to me, but I hadn’t really been listening. She was pointing out over the horizon that I was so drawn to.

She was trying to show me the cows as we passed them by. A new experience and I was unsure what a huge animal was doing simply standing out in the open field. My mother got closer to me and whispered “moooooooo” into my ear as I giggled happily. My mind flooded with questions on what the cow did all day and the detailed intricacies of their lives. My mother in her infinite patience wrapped her arms around me and spoke softly into my ear.

I never could remember her voice, but I always remembered the feeling of her arms tightly around me.

We suddenly entered the woods where the sphere of man’s influence faded and the greens and blues here grew wild, untamed and true. Just like the landscape before me I myself changed as I now occupied the seat alone. I grew taller and my hands were now dexterous and curious. I was now 12 years old and I sat alone on the train. I was briefly distracted by reminiscing her words, but now I remembered the sad truth. My mother had gotten ill last winter and passed away soon after. My father had to travel a lot for work and while he was out of the country I would take the train to stay with my uncle. Though after so many trips the carriage had lost a fair bit of its luster. The Brass showing its slightest tarnish and the poor craftmanship of the painting in the walls was fading from a deep red to a cherry pink. The Jewel green upholstery was losing its immortal strength and took on more coppery tones. No one cheered to ride now or celebrated at its arrival. The train had grown as mundane as eating and I tired of looking out the window. Instead I took an interest in the face of someone who sat opposite me.

A young girl of a similar age.

She appeared to share my bored expression towards the atmospheric window. She was clearly travelling with her father who was a very large man sitting beside her with his eyes closed. He must have had great practice at this skill because his head leaned in motion with the train’s slow methodical swaying and yet he never awoke. I smiled at the girl because the rattling of the wheels had made it far too difficult to speak to each other, so we just stared. Neither of us having been of adequate age where awkwardness would block our eye contact. I sat very rigid in the seat my hands tightly balled into fists that rested on my knees, I don’t remember when I started this habit.

I was perplexed by her face, pale, smooth and a little refined. Her eyes transfixed me as they appeared to be so green that as the light shone into them they took on a yellow quality, almost with the illusion of glowing. Coupled with her very inquisitive stare, as if she could break me down into my base elements, assessed my worth. Her eyes dipped to my clenched fists, I wanted to relax them, but after my mother... I tried to change my facial expression into an apology, as if I had somehow been rude to her. Then the golden rings of her irises broke our silent conversation and for a split second she looked over my shoulder as the train pulled out of the woods. I almost reflexively wanted to see what had drawn her eye and turned to see a pamphlet that had been taped to the wall of the carriage. It looked old and faded on cheap mass produced paper. Black and white type font displaying a faded visage of the President in military garb leading a silhouetted regime of fellow soldiers.

The caption read Republica Awakens Now!

As I rotated my head back forward I now noticed the girl was gone. In fact the train appeared to be completely different filled to the brim with passengers, to the point that people even stood in the aisle shoulder to shoulder.

All young men.

I was a little lost at what had happened just then. I looked down at my hands, which were still balled into fists, but now they were larger. Strong hands that could both work and study. I was 16 years old and every young man in the country was signing up to fight for Republica as the world descended into chaos. We had all been in class earlier that day when a call to arms came over the radio imploring men to enlist. The boys all walked out at lunch and now we made our way to the recruitment office. As we left Cheashing we were joined by other schools, churches and boys clubs that had vast swaths of men pilling into the now sweltering train car. People were yelling and cheering from inside the cabin, which almost rocked under the weight of so many bodies. I sat next to my best friend Farris, who was currently dealing out cards into an impromptu poker game while others handed out beers and cigars.

The telltale sign of Youth as some boys disrespectfully put their boots on the seats or stood on the cushions, deciding to put lit cigarettes out right onto the brass or carpet.

Leaving their mark on the world. A negative mark.

The cabin was hazy with smoke as the atmosphere of the group became electric with anticipation. Young men drunkenly talked of the hopeful glory of battle and how their family lineages had fought to keep the country safe for generations. They spoke of girls they would one day marry or how they would finally earn the respect of family members once they returned victorious heroes. We laughed and we sang together at the prospects of defeating those bastard westerners and then finally clawing our way onto the world stage. The cart rocked with the ambition of its passengers, grinding its wheels as it skid across the tracks. So much breathing and body heat that the windows dripped with perspiration and somewhere way in the back a young man who I would later learn was named Gustav played masterfully on a fiddle in tune with the drumming heartbeat of the crowd.

I took another swig from the flask that Farris had stolen from his father.

Then another.

Farris had been speaking to the small group of card players and said that he knew a guy at the Royal Corps enlisting station and could get us all passed as 18. I was lost in the alcohol, feeling almost as if my body was tensing up, tightening, holding in my breath. It almost felt like the arms of my mother around me.

“Look, look, look!” Farris pointed out the window standing to show his excitement as some cards fell freely from his lap.

My eyes readjusted to see the distant bare countryside grassland with the grey of the day peering into our very lives, it was the way the whole country felt now. The gleaming metal long since rusted, smashed by the very hands that had built it. Everything was sprawled out like a desiccated corpse damply laying in the low sun.

Everything was out there, every hope and every dream.

It was a surplus scrapyard.

MRK III Varass tanks all disassembled, waste concrete and some 40,000 mortar shell casings had been simply dumped for future generations to solve. Farris was gone now, the carriage seemed to have slowed down carrying its own guilt.

It was the return trip.

The return trip after we had lost the war and I was staring at all that remained of our countries pride, which was now just a dumping ground.

I sat in my new plain beige clothing ill-fitting and poorly made. I still couldn’t unclench my hands, if anything it had gotten worse now. After 3 years in the artillery theatre the feeling of a constant oppressive shaking had gripped me. Made it hard to stand sometimes with the constant explosive blasts every few seconds. All hours of day and night, like a sickly arrhythmic heart, it shook and held and then shook again. And my job had simple instruction, make sure it never stops. Only days later to observe the destruction and the fire of soot filled air so thick it choked people just from being in the area. A calling card to our quality of work. Small countries that weren’t even in the war reduced to less than rubble under the shellfire.

Then one day we received a telegram, Republica Surrenders. Full Stop.

That had been about a month ago and though we were being actively released home in droves I could feel it in my soul even without having any public announcements made, that far fewer would be taking the train ride back home. Something had been broken in me during the long three years. My hands were thicker, scarred and covered in calloused burns from removing steaming shell casings in a hurry. Blackened gunpowder literally singed into the skin giving them an off-gray look. My fingers were constantly cold now and somehow they had become menacing to me, as if they knew they had done wrong and maybe they didn’t really care.

It wasn’t just that we were losers. It was the public outlook on the whole of the war. People wanted to forget instantly and move on from what had happened. The day after we began packing to leave the military tore down almost all of the wartime propaganda. Soldiers were being detained for a short while so we could return any evidence of our service. This included their uniforms and weapons, but also personal affects. Army issue socks, sidearms and even medals. The President later that same week would be hung along with half the cabinet and almost all the top brass. The new regime wanted to erase the old one. They were court marshalling anyone who failed to yield all of their military affects. Made it seem like a crime to even be a part of the very country we fought for.

I was stationed close to one of the aide stations located in Brust. We often gave support when nurses were low or unavailable and whenever I had come across a person from my school that I recognized who had been killed in some awful way I kept their Royal Corps beret pin. All throughout my time I had been collecting these trinkets into a simple brown linen bag. The tiny bits of metal acted like a funerary marker, something to be remembered, maybe even prayed to. I now had many friends in my grim collection. I felt like I didn’t want them to just become a statistic, a small blurb on an official report in a filling cabinet. They gave everything for their fellow countrymen making the ultimate sacrifice and now lacked the voice to speak up for themselves. So I currently had all of my comrades hidden in the toe of my shoe.

36 pins, 36 dear friends who would never take the same trip home.

Farris resided among them.

The brass interior and the seats now shared a similar shade of green as if they had been cast of the same material and shared the same purpose. No one on the train spoke. No one dared to. I could see the mountainous region ahead as we approached the tunnel at Gilanata. As we slipped inside we became doused into darkness except for some very dim lights. Obviously the maintenance crew had stopped caring about the lighting inside the carriage and after a few minutes we reappeared on the other side of the void as a flash of light burst into the cabin.

And with the light came a new day.

A brilliant bright day was shining on my typical seat interrupting my shallow sleep. I gave up trying, I had a lot on my mind and really needed the distraction. I looked around the dingy interior of the carriage. It had been so long since the staff actually cleaned the train since the economy was still in dire recovery. I wore a beige suit the same shade as my military hand out. Only slightly enhanced with a bright blue tie that made me look a little too much like the flag. I was 23 now and had been working for C&R Suppliers as a salesman. A good paying job with career opportunities and it allowed me to travel between the larger cities, which were rapidly expanding towards each other. My hands had healed, but still shook. The sallow grey had faded with time. I had to move on in life from the darkest days of the war, but the shaking never really ceased, I just got good at keeping my hands in motion to cover my weakness.

Today was different however, I felt like I had lost something of value and never even been given the chance to actually have it in the first place. A little over a year ago when I was in line at the kiosk to purchase my standard passenger fare I came face to face once again with a set of eyes so green they looked like gold rings peering at me through the tinted glass. I was a little starstruck and dumbly didn’t know where I had intended to go.

I read the name on desk nameplate “Thulla,” which I knew meant Honourable.

After the first meeting I volunteered to make more frequent business trips between the cities, which had previously been a laborious task. It impressed my superiors and gave me a few precious seconds with Thulla every week or so. I would wait patiently until I knew for certain there would be no line in front of her just to buy myself some time in her presence. I worked hard to ask her the serious and intimate questions about her life with the few moments we shared.

“How’s the weather?”

“Are your hours difficult?”

“Monday’s am I right?”

She would smile when she saw me perfectly timing my walk up to her. She still observed me like a puzzle, but didn’t appear to object to my strange behavior. I felt like I was actually beginning to break down her walls like rain breaks down bricks. That was until I decided to make a serious move and actually attempt to show that I was interested in her.

I asked Thulla to join me for coffee. Innocently of course.

She seemed to be expecting my question possibly looking forward to it, but then her eyes grew a little sad as the gold began to dull into yellow. She informed me that she had an agreed betrothal arranged by her father. The groom to-be was twice her age and a wealthy store owner in the Capital. Someone who would bring her family financial security and set her up for a good life.

I was frozen as she told me the news, I almost didn’t buy a ticket.

I felt terrible, lost, like she had moved on without me. Though she did have a tarnished look in her eyes. As I began to turn away she informed me the wedding was in a week at St. Glass.

I didn’t turn back.

Now I just sat slumped into my chair letting the train veer constantly, grating me over my shortcomings.

She was to be married! I wanted to punch the seats in front of me.

How could I compete with him? He was obviously the smart choice for her. I was still a nobody in sales vying for strong customers. What did I even have to offer her? It’s not like I could match his dowry to her family. And yet somehow the image she gave me of her bright and cheery smile at me asking her out flicked into my mind. She didn’t seem opposed to me and then her face took on a strong mask when she spoke about the marriage. She choose today to really open up about a lot of personal details right in line while she was working, which was out of character for her.

Did she want me to do something?

Like what? Come storming into the church humiliate her and her husband by screaming over the crowd that I objected to their holy union and marriage. Act like a lunatic and confess that I have been thinking about her every day since I was a child, that her smile brightens my life and that I’m madly in love with her. That I couldn’t fathom the thought of life without her by my side?

I was sitting up straight now in my seat.

I think I just had catharsis.

I almost involuntarily stood up as if my body felt a little lighter somehow.

I peeked my eyes over the edge of the seats Cheashing outskirts would soon be approaching as the tracks entered the new development of suburbs that were popping up everywhere. Factory build homes that were perfect for a young family.

A young family, huh?

The window flicked past the uniform homes, like the shutter of a camera lens.

I was now standing in a much more tightly packed carriage. I struggled, but I finally found them a couple of relatively clean seats. We had all dressed up, almost reminiscing a little from this antiquated train’s heyday. It ran half the time it once did because of the growing popularity of personal vehicles now, but its view was still immaculate something that couldn’t be lost to age. The setting sun on the familiar horizon, we would be departing soon. Thulla was sitting in a yellow checkerboard sundress with her red hair up in a long spiralling braid. She smiled brightly through her painted lips, as immaculate as our wedding day. A caring woman who had returned my love openly, everything I had wanted. She called off the wedding to her betrothal deciding to basically risk everything on someone a little more than a stranger and she never looked back. Her personal strength was infectious and had spread to me at some point. My hands no longer felt the need to shake or form fists, now I held them openly, softly reaching out to her.

In Thulla’s arms she was holding a small boy by the name of Shulte. Our son.

Shulte shared my jet black hair and dozed peacefully even though the train rocked so aggressively now from the wear on its tracks. We always joked that it was because the train meant so much to us that he slept so well when he was on it.

Thulla was looking up at me her eyes a fiery orange in the sun’s low waning light. We gently woke Shulte, letting the light of the window envelop him as I picked him up. I was older now my past far behind me. Now I held Shulte by the hands so he could stand on the seat and look out over the horizon.

Look at what was possible.

Observing the rows upon rows of houses that were being built, all in a manner of chaotic rapid assembly. In fact we had just signed the paperwork to purchase one and decided to make a daytrip out of seeing the area together.

We closed our arms around each other and looked over the approaching city. The three of us peacefully smiling without really saying anything. Then I saw the Cheashing 1Km sign run passed the train.

And now the orange of the day waived, dipped and finally had set.

I felt the warmth of red fade to yellow and finally to grey. A dark and dreary morning as clouds obscured the sun from my view.

I was sitting down comfortably.

I don’t remember when, but it had become hard to stand for long periods of time now. My hands rested flat on my knees. Thin vein ridden hands that looked like the vines of overgrown bushes in my garden.

The flesh was pale and shiny. I was now the ripe age of 62.

I looked through my spectacles to my sudden surprise surroundings, no one near me looked very familiar. The other passengers had dark sunken faces that to me looked almost featureless or ghostly. The train was in serious disrepair now and was to be decommissioned in a couple weeks having lived years over its expected lifecycle. All because the city was just too cheap to pay for a new one. The glass was almost redundant because it had become so opaque that now the outside world was some type of shadow realm that movement was only partially visible, but was always obscured.

The brass was lost in the mud coloured tarnish that ate away until it was so soft a toddler could bend it without any effort. The lights were burnt out and the seats that had already been replaced with cheap knockoffs had rotted out in a third of the time of the originals.

What was I doing on the train?

I strained my mind, but it felt distant. I was going to Cheashing wasn’t I?

I stood up.

Maybe I could ask one of the phantoms if they knew where I had been heading, but as I stood I felt a small tug at my right arm cuff. I turned to see a young pale face who was sitting in the chair next to me. They looked as confused to me as I did to them.

“Pardon.” I said politely to the stranger.

“Grandpa?” Was all the ghost said.

I adjusted my glasses and really studied her face. With the off brown/red hair and her bright golden eyes. Then it hit me and I remembered I was looking at the face of my wife, but something was different. She was so young, probably only 13 or so. I raised my hand gently to rest on the side of her chin with my thumb overtop of her ear. I was looking intensely into her eyes they struck me as important, but the reason why was lost on me. They looked almost pained as they studied my confused expression looking for something.

“Thulla?” I said almost apologetically to her.

The golden edges of the eyes seemed to glisten a little. “Grandpa. It’s me Sheil?”

I held her chin still.

Then I felt the shake in my hand return as a little tremble, the beating of the drum, the blast of the shells, the uncertainty of losing my mother. The heartbeat of the past was ringing in my ear, I closed my eyes almost wincing at fragments of details. My breath felt short, almost halted as the train began to slow for arrival in the background. We were making our final stop, we had arrived at Dorants.

I don’t know this person. Where’s is Thulla, Where is my wife? Where is everyone?

Take me home, I want to go home now.

The shaking in my hand got worse, but right before I let myself become consumed I felt the gleaming sensation of a little bit of warmth. I could hear other passengers departing the carriage now. I slowly opened my eyes and I saw in the frosted windows a little light peek through the clouds. It illuminated us both and I felt my pulse slow I became aware again as if I could ever have not known.

“Sheil,” I said confidently nodding,

The little face smiled back at me.

We descended the step out of the cart, our arms linked.

“So are you ready for the Carnival today, grandpa?” Sheil asked as we slowly walked through the bustling crowds.

“Of course,” I laughed.

The carnival, I had almost forgotten.