Nostos

I wake with a jolt, the remnants of vertigo still tingling along the veins of my limbs. I'm relieved to find that I am lying down on a plush sofa upon solid ground, and my mind slowly comes to the understanding that it was all just a dream. The seat in front of me is stitched with red velvet; I'm assuming the material pressed against my cheek is of the same kind. My body rocks softly to the rhythms of a gentle swaying. I push myself up, wondering where I am. I look around to see many other people sleeping in rows of similar sofas--their feet poke out from beneath blankets like hooks into the aisle. I turn my gaze to the window and into the quiet void of night, and I realize that I'm in a train car. My ears are filled with the hollow cantillation of rushing wind syncopated by the clap of steel wheels against metal track.

At the far end is the door leading to the gangway connection. Electrical lamps burn dimly on either side of it like foggy stars; they're the only source of light provided in the grey darkness of the train car. I look behind me, and there is no such door. I realize that I am at the tail end of the train.

While I am still looking to my rear, someone places a tender hand on my shoulder. I look up to see a kindly old woman, dressed in the livery of what appears to be a uniform for the train's attendants.

"You're awake," she says with a warm smile. "Welcome aboard. It's almost morning."

"Yeah," I reply without thinking. "Where were we headed to, again?"

"We're headed home, of course," she answers, adjusting her spectacles. "How are you feeling?"

"...A little groggy."

"As expected," she says with a knowing nod. "Come with me. Why don't I make you a nice cup of tea?"

I decide that tea sounds nice. "Sure." I stand to follow her as she leads me to the gangway. The car rocks slowly beneath my feet. I always liked the feeling of walking on a train--the hollow emptiness that you can perceive rushing below, and yet there is a sturdy surface beneath your feet. It is a comforting dichotomy. I look at the faces of the sleeping people: some seem calm, others appear haggard, and still more have faces that are downcast and dismayed. Not a single one of them wakes as we walk past.

The old woman opens the door and peers at me over her spectacles. "When you cross, there's no going back. Will you follow?"

I stare at her confusedly. "I...I guess. I would like that tea."

She smiles again. "Come along then." She beckons me through into the next car.

***

I'm pressed hard against the sliding doors as an unending wave of people flows into the subway, the attestation of rush hour. I have chosen the wrong time for my brief excursion, I realize. I had even forgotten the time of day. I don't think I mind too much though; my destination is the conclusion of the route: the very end of the line, still two hours away. I'm sure a seat will free up by then.

As the subway passes from the dark of tunnels into the bright sun, I gaze into the passing landscapes: green grass at times, river water beneath concrete bridge, city towers everywhere. Electrical lines run alongside the subway as if in accompaniment, then suddenly veer off into paths unknown down different roads, before being replaced by others just like them.

We stop by the largest stations which serve as transfer points, and the car is only half full now. I drop into an open seat and continue to look out the window. I am overwhelmed by the bliss that accompanies the sights outside a moving train. It is like being drawn into a world all its own, a momentary one without too much worry, where cares and concerns are forgotten until the destination is reached. I let my mind wander and flit off into other spaces, seeping through the window and skipping off into the distance to run wild for a time.

I glance at my watch right now so that I don't have to check it again for the remainder of the ride. One hour and fifteen minutes until destination. I set my head against the glass and let my thoughts roam free.

***

I find myself sitting at a round table, just across from the old lady. The tea she has served me is the most pleasant of temperatures: just cool enough so that I can drink without fear of burning, and yet retaining enough of the heat so that my insides are warmed and comforted.

"Can I get your name, if you don't mind?" I ask.

"You can call me Martha," she says, sipping at her own cup.

"Well, Martha," I say. "Will it soon be time to disembark?" I look out the window to my left. The night is starting to recede, pushed back by the oncoming dawn. Fingers of soft light have begun reaching over the horizon, bringing the sky to a blue and purple haze. I assume we will reach our destination by morning. I'm surprised to find that the train travels upon a thin strip of land running through a body of water as vast as the ocean.

"Why do you say that?" Martha asks in a tone that suggests amusement.

"I'm assuming this is an overnight train," I answer. "And since we're close to our destination, I can't return to my sleeping area."

"Perhaps," she says, a twinkle in her eye. "Something along those lines."

A couple and their child are seated across the aisle, diagonally from Martha and myself. They likewise are sipping slowly at their tea, accompanied by an older gentleman who is dressed alike to Martha in similar livery. He is speaking quietly to them, and their faces soften from looks of trepidation into ones of peace. Behind them is another girl, seated all alone. She is picking at a plate of pastry with a fork. She turns her head to gaze out the window--then suddenly, she is gone.

Alarmed, I rub my eyes, and the girl is still not there. The utensils and pastry are on the table, so I know I'm not hallucinating. The family is yet seated across the aisle, conversing with their attendant. I turn to Martha and notice that she's smiling.

"Did you see that?" she asks.

"What just happened? So I wasn't seeing things?"

Martha shakes her head. "You have been here before, whether you believe it or not." She turns and gestures at the tables to her rear.

There are several others there, accompanied by attendants as I am: a woman with an infant cradled in her arms, a worn, middle-aged man, a boy who might be the same age as my younger sister. There are still more others without attendants, seated at tables, usually alone. As if on cue, one by one, they begin disappearing as the girl before them did--into thin air, without a trace. I cannot believe my eyes.

"What is this place?" I ask, suddenly fearful.

"This is exactly what it appears to be," Martha says. "A place where people come to rest and refresh themselves during their journeys."

I look at her incredulously and with consternation.

Martha smiles. "You were here not two hours ago, sitting at this very table, eating a pastry." When she sees the continued disbelief in my eyes, Martha sighs. "Not many people remember stopping by here. They return at once to their busy lives. But even a momentary rest is better than none for the weary."

I decide to play along. "Then what about the others there who haven't disappeared?"

Martha takes me by the hand. "They are people like you--just people who need a little extra taking care of. Are you finished with your tea? Come along, then. Let's be off to the next car."

I follow her half reluctantly, half curiously. She opens the door to the gangway, beckoning me to follow. When she unlatches the door to the next car, I recoil at the sights before me.

***

I have been dozing for nearly half an hour when the voice sounds on the intercom, notifying the remaining passengers that the subway has reached the end of its route. It is a kind girl in a high school uniform who lightly taps me on the shoulder to wake me.

I push myself to my feet and drag my body through the sliding doors. I trudge through the concrete caverns that are the subway station, and I climb up the treaded stairs of granite into the soft light of the setting sun. There is a soft breeze today. It pulls at my cardigan with chilly fingers, so I wrap it tighter around my person. The sights of the neighborhood are less than familiar to me, but I recognize that this is a cozy place, populated with small shops connected to one another by glowing bulbs of light hanging overhead. The people here are laughing and happy, though there is the occasional person hurriedly picking their way through the press towards the comfort of their home following a weary day of labor.

I walk past them all, my mind foggy and hazy. Thinking is a chore, so I stare blankly ahead, moving each of my limbs like a well-learned robot who knows how to walk unassumingly.

There are weary mothers with their difficult children; there are tired old men sitting on benches and sipping at cans of beer; there are students with glazed eyes, worried about tomorrow.

Soon I reach the many-laned intersection, and the cars hurtle past me towards where they must go. They are like straight-pathed arrows, always flying to an intended destination, metal boxes which work the gears of the city. I feel small, like an unimportant island in the vast asphalt sea, surrounded by a jungle of glass, steel, and apathy. There is something special about a loneliness of the urban kind; the distance felt by detachment bears a very unique kind of unhappiness when surrounded by so many. All the city sounds do nothing to deaden the silence, and so inside it is where I remain.

I cross the street and continue my march towards the bridge that stretches across the river.

***

"Why have you brought me here?" I gasp. I cannot bring myself to enter the car. I try to open the door we have just come through, but it will not open. "Why are all these doors, doors of no return?"

Martha places a light hand on my shoulder. "Come, follow me." With her gentle yet stern urgings, I force myself to step through the doors.

The car is a contradiction of space and time. It yawns before me as a dark cave of some kind. There are jutting rocks protruding from the ground like broken fangs, matched by those which hang overhead. It is cold in here, and I am chilled to the bone.

Inside is a jungle of people, standing somehow lifelessly. Their legs and torsos are upright, and their arms swing at their sides. Their heads loll this way and that in synchrony with the swaying of the train. The occupants are of all ages, from children of two legs to the old of three, as the sphynx would say. There are boys and girls, women and men. Most are unclothed but for a thick mist which drapes itself around them. Vulnerable, blind, alone.

The air here is heavy, weighty as if there is a great burden chained to the bottom of my lungs. I find it difficult to breathe, and I feel a numbing suffocation that I remember all too well.

"I don't want to be here," I tell Martha.

"I know," she says kindly. "Walk through this place with me. One step at a time."

As we walk through the car, I feel a yearning deep inside me to take those I pass by the hand and lead them out of this place. When I reach for one of them, their hand evades my grasp. Try as I might, I cannot touch them, as if there is a hardened barrier of air always there between my hand and theirs.

"You have a good heart," Martha whispers. "But you cannot help them. They cannot see you here."

"Can't you help them then?" I ask. "This is your train."

She shakes her head.

I am saddened as I slog along. But then, I notice that not all are as stranded as they seem. Some of the people are moving, walking as if in a maze, appearing somehow as if they are wandering and yet moving with purpose. Some have joined together, and seem to be together stumbling forwards, slowly but surely. At length I see the faint glow of a door far ahead, at the top of a jutting shoulder of rock. This appears to be the place they all strive to seek, aimless as they might seem. I try one last time to offer aid to a nearby sojourner, but again, the unseen obstruction hinders me. I follow Martha up the steps.

We both take one last look at the place.

"You see?" Martha smiles at me. "You made it. One step at a time goes a long way. It is both a gift and a curse that we only realize how far we have come once we have journeyed for a while."

"I did." I smile back. "I did make it through, didn't I?"

"You were here at one time as well," Martha says.

"For how long?" I ask, curious.

"Long enough," Martha answers sadly. "Perhaps you still will be when all of this is over. Follow me. It's time we leave. Not a second longer than need be!"

"What about them?" I ask, pointing.

"They are not alone," Martha assures me. "They will find their way one day."

I follow her into the next car.

My mind cannot comprehend what I have just stepped into. The walls of the car are transparent and solid, as if made of glass; but there is not a trace of its material existence, not a single iota of light reflected, and it is as if I'm walking on air. I feel dizzy and unbalanced, and I am terrified to take another step. The train lurches slightly, and I stagger forwards. A scream tears through my lips as I see the tracks rushing by below me. Martha takes me by the arms and holds me up. I try my best to regain my breath.

It is morning by now. The sky is blue, and there is light, but there is no sun. Blue water stretches as far as I can see from horizon to horizon. All around the train there are wistful shapes, smoky silhouettes of other souls. Some disappear as the train approaches, other evaporate into a ribbon of mist.

I begin to think that it is high time for a satisfactory explanation of where I am.

"What is this place?" I ask Martha, crossing my arms. "I won't budge another step unless you tell me."

Martha chuckles. "This is no place for you to bargain with me. I can just leave you here. Would you like that?"

I realize the truth in her statement, and the warmth of shame simmers through my body.

"Come with me," Martha urges, pulling me towards the door on the opposite side. "Come the next car, you will know, and all will be answered."

***

I walk slowly along the bridge. Cars rush by me on one side, the frigid wind of the river assails me on the other. The occasional jogger passes me by, as do several couples enjoying their evening walks. Children on bikes swing past me, shouting at one another to keep up. I smile wistfully at their carefree happiness.

At last I reach the very center of the bridge. I gaze down into the water. It appears a deep green and purple now, swathed in the black of the oncoming night. Ripples are swept up in the direction of the current and lap at the concrete columns and footings on which the bridge is built. Orange lights are set at intervals throughout the length of the bridge. They are dim, and appear as smoking sentinels guiding one to some other, unseen realm.

I stare out into the dark of night. Evening has dwindled. The stars that should have been in the sky are outshined and replaced by those which are speckled upon the shadows of manmade towers. I suppose there are people inside each of those lights, and some are no different than I am--surrounded by so many, and yet so alone.

I step closer to the rail and look out one last time.

***

I crumple to the ground as I realize what has happened. Before me is a stone maze of many paths. Martha gestures towards them. "Before you are paths not taken, doors which have closed, and new ones that have opened. This is the schema of your life, and the particulars of which are forged by you."

I continue staring into an invisible horizon, wracked by disbelief. "I shouldn't have."

"You saw no other way," Martha says. "And yet, you were never alone."

"No one knew my struggle," I say. "No one understands."

"I know," Martha answers. "And still, there are many whose hearts you had touched. Many who care for you. Who want the best for you, despite what you would believe." She puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder, then takes me in a warm embrace.

My eyes grow hot. Sorrow bites at the fringes of my heart and mind. All I need to do is reclaim a few lost seconds of my life. That is all. I realize then that that is what it is all about. What this journey was all about. A few seconds, and the world of difference they might make. So little, so short, and yet it is as if the universe itself is contained within them. One step at a time, and the journey we may look back upon. The destination never need be determined by the outcome we can see in only that moment.

"Can I return?" I ask with little hope.

"Would you like to?" Martha asks.

I nod. "Please." There is always a light, no matter how dim, and the morning will always come. I must cling onto that belief. It is nearly morning now outside the train. I can feel it.

Martha smiles at me warmly and holds my face close to hers. "Very well." She stands, and offers me her hand. I choose to take it.

"Goodbye," she says, giving me a last squeeze.

And everything fades to darkness.

***

I step back from the railing and collapse onto the ground. A passing couple stops in surprise.

"Are you alright?" one of them asks.

"I think so," I say.

They leave me with a last concerned look before they continue on their way. I hear the bells on the bikes of the passing children. A dog pants heavily as it runs beside a jogger, and it looks up at its owner in glee. The sounds of the city surround me.

I stand and try to regain my balance. My legs are yet shaky from my journey on the train. I always loved the feeling of the rushing ground beneath my feet, a feeling one can only get on the railway. But at this moment, I am thankful for the sturdy ground I stand upon.

I am laughing, or perhaps I am crying. I'm not sure. But I think I will be fine. I turn back to return to the subway, and back to my home. I find that I can bear my burden. One day, maybe, I will look back at the journey from whatever destination I have arrived at. Until that day comes, I suppose I'll take it one step at a time: day by day, moment by moment, second by second.