Conductor

By Alexander Leach

I get to see you again, after a long time, and I'm not sure what I'll say.

You're not expecting to see me, I know. I fell out of your life quite suddenly. It wasn't really my choice, either; nobody gave me any warning. But I couldn't quite tell you why, due to the circumstances of my departure.

You must have found someone new. A successful man like you couldn't stay alone that long. After all, you wouldn't wait for me, as there was no way I was coming back, and no way you'd ever be coming where I was.

That's actually true.

It's getting lighter outside the train. I can see the trees better as they fly by, branches bare and grey. The air must be frozen outside. I can almost make out the grey dirt on the ground, even as dim as it is. It doesn't move a grain even as we whip by, the iron wheels spinning along the tracks at impossible speeds.

I wanted to say '”the sun must be rising”; but that's not entirely true.

I think it's night where you were now, so it must be the moon that's rising. I look up, and sure enough, the empty black sky and and silver crescent are sliding into their proper places. They look stretched, like they're reflecting along glass. Only I know that it's not the windows of this old train that's doing it.

I couldn't do it, you see. When she pulled me up from the dirt, I stopped her, even as she was leading me away. She left the better part of my heart behind - along with the bullet, for those who desire justice in life – but I still struggled against her inviting, warm grip. It wasn't until she led me onto the platform, made of stone so cold I could feel it through the shoes I still wore, that I settled down.

I'll never forget the first time I saw it coming out of the canyon, along those iron tracks. At first, I thought it was something demonic, breathing fire and adorned by black bone – but that was just my imagination, running wild at my situation. As it approached, the metal locomotive, dull and black even in the dimming light, became more discernible. As it slowed, and pulled past me, steam fountaining into the sky, I could see the writing written in its side. I couldn't read it though, as it was in a language I didn't understand, but soon I was distracted by black cars, lined with deep malachite-green, and etched with the same words over and over. I know what they are now, but I won't bore you with that.

The train opened; having nowhere else to go. The woman was gone. They leave when you decide to step onto the train; they have more to gather. I didn't think much of it, as I had many more questions posed to me.

As I walked through those red-carpeted cars and past those malachite walls, I saw others like me. They moved past me without a word, most listless and dejected. Some cried. Others seemed to be at peace, or even excited. I remember most distinctly a child, who ran through my legs as I approached the train's engine.

The conductor found me there. He startled me, turning and moving as I entered the lounge – I didn't expect he could have heard me over the sounds of the train. His outfit was black, lined with two rows of golden buttons, his long coat trailing to the floor. Now, I realize I could never sese his feet, but at the time I was more focused on his face. I could see nothing beneath his black conductor's hat and behind those gold-rimmed spectacles, nothing but blackness, or maybe grey. It was there that i saw my first actual ghost – I had come to terms with this train of the dead, but it was now that I realized that the people I saw were living, breathing people, not spirits. The only exception was this conductor.

I later learned how he got that way. I'll tell you about it when I see you.

He explained to me where we were going. Outside, the sky was stretching, the sunlight turning orange as it distorted. It was a strange feeling, to see the sky blacken as if the light behind it had died. The conductor told me that it was always like this – the horizon bleeds away, and flows back in when we reach another stop. Every sky is different.

He also told me where I was going. There are many stops along the way for people like us – dead people. They know which stop each passenger is supposed to get off on – they told me what mine was. My first question was to ask if you would be there eventually.

He said that he couldn't tell me.

I realized something. Reaching into my pocket, I felt around. I still had my clothes, but my pockets felt empty – the ring I'd gotten you, that whirled patter with the three diamonds, was gone. They said that was normal, that I'd only have what I was more 'familiar' with. It wouldn't be there when I passed.

And neither would you.

I can't say I took it well. The one man I loved wasn't going to get left behind because of some cosmic train. I may have said some terrible things that I heard my mother say when her sister sold the old house I visited my grandmother in. All the while, that conductor just stood there, face unseen and manner unchanging, until I'd shouted and cried it all out.

When I was finally silent, defeated, he gave me my option.

I now know why he weathered my abuse so well: he got worse, day after day, from other dead who entered that malachite car. Some even came to blows – not that it truly mattered. The dead can still feel pain, even without a body, but the conductor's body is like stone, cold and unmoving save for a few pulls of the strings. I took to it well, though I was a bit more talkative than the owners had expected.

It was the only way I'd know for certain that I'd see you again. I'd spend my time in the locomotive, brass controls gleaming in multi-hued fire as i watched a red sun give way to a violet, and grey dirt give way to white. The engineers aren't the talkative types, having no mouths, only hands and eyes to operate the great train. So I'd spend my time reading the dispatch, watching each name and its destination.

Yesterday, I saw yours. Suicide. Not that that really matters.

I'll have to ask you why when you step off the platform. Boris, the old conductor, ensured that I'd be the one riding when you were taken. A day's notice is normal, and I'm not the first person who loved another man enough to forego the afterlife. Apparently it happened a lot at first.

You should see the ring I got you. It glints wonderfully under the lamps, like blue silver. You'll never seen anything like it again, most likely. There are some places the rails don't go, and travellers who go there always seem a bit less solid, a bit drained. That's not for me. I didn't get off the train, and I never will.

And if you'll say yes, you'll never have to, either.