The Train - A Short Story by William DeSouza

The Train

A short story by

William A. DeSouza © Copyright 2005

Meera Riddell rolled over in her bed and pressed the snooze button on the clock radio, the volume as it went off was far too loud for her this early in the morning.

“Oh man.” She moaned and let the words drag out as she tried to open her eyes. The white quilted comforter was half tossed on the floor as she turned.

The digital screen on the radio showed the time as fifteen minutes past four in the morning and this was not Meera’s normal hour to wake. As a matter of fact, if it wasn’t for having to catch the train at six fifty, she would still be sleeping.

Once she managed to pry her eyes open about half way, the crusty white flakes of sleep started falling away. She looked out the window, the curtains were drawn about half way and the sliding window was open. It was dark, there wasn’t much light from the quarter moon that was now low in the sky. Nevertheless there was life outside that darkness. The sounds seeping through the window revealed a Toronto wakening up. Busses, street cars, trucks and cars stopped and accelerated past her low rise apartment. The sound of vehicular traffic mixed with the odd pedestrian rushing past was something she heard everyday, but never paid any attention to it. This morning was no exception and after so many years of living and working in the big city, the noises were just a distant background resonance.

This was the dawn of a busy work day for most, but Meera was starting a long deserved three week vacation. She was originally planning to head off to Jamaica with a friend, but those plans changed when a fire swept through the hotel. It would still be some time before the resort she had booked with was ready to accept guests. Timing was against her and she wasn’t able t re-book at another resort this late in the season, and with her friend now off to BC to visit family, a disappointed Meera was stuck in Toronto. This was supposed to be her dream vacation, but instead she would be visiting the Metro Zoo, shopping at the Eaton’s Centre and taking long walks down Yonge Street.

At least that was the case until some friend’s from work invited her to visit a cottage they rented up north. It wasn’t what she really wanted to do. After all, Northern Ontario was a far cry away from the lush tropical beaches of Jamaica. At first she could only envision black flies and fisherman dressed in plaid. It did however give her a chance to get away for a while. Toronto was beginning to shrink in on her and a feeling of claustrophobia was starting to bring her down.

North to Meera was places like Gravenhurst or Huntsville Ontario. Having growing up in Toronto she never really saw much of the outside world. Well, not if you don’t count the evening news and pictures from friends that had cottages in and around Huntsville. In this case, the North was Timmins Ontario and in her wildest dreams she never believed that she would ever be visiting Timmins.

She sat up slowly in bed as the lights from passing vehicles cast long moving shadows on her ceiling.

“Why did I ever agree to this?” She asked herself in a low, mumbling voice.

Reaching around to scratch her lower back, she stood, slipped her feet into her slippers and made her way to the bathroom. When she reached the bathroom and turned on the lights she looked in the mirror and gasped.

“Holly crap!” She announced as she ran her fingers through her knotted hair, “I’m glad I never saw myself at this unholy hour – I look bad enough to be declared a danger to small animals and children.” She started to laugh as she disrobed and entered the shower, pulling the curtain closed.

After showering, getting dressed and ensuring she didn’t forget anything, including her ticket, she left her apartment to catch a taxi, locking the door behind her.

It would be a twenty or thirty minute drive to Union Station at this hour she thought to herself. If there was one constant about living and working in TO, it was the traffic – at any time of day.

She was originally planning to take the GO Train, but she didn’t feel like walking this early. Taking the GO Train would have meant leaving a half hour earlier to catch the bus to the local station five blocks away. In the end she felt that besides the undesirable chore of having to walk it wouldn’t have saved her any time.

She had called for the taxi and as she reached the front door of her building it was just pulling up. She asked for non-smoking and as she neared the yellow taxi she was hoping that’s what they sent. Most of the cabs had converted to non-smoking because of new regulations, but from experience she also knew that some of the drivers didn’t care about that, choosing to puff away.

The driver was an older gentleman, Meera figured him to be between fifty and sixty years old. He stepped out and opened the door for her, popping the trunk at the same time. He took her bag – she liked to pack light – and placed it in the trunk.

“Morning Miss’s, where to?” He asked as he sat down and closed the door. He had an accent but Meera couldn’t place it, central Europe she thought, but it wasn’t important.

“Union Station on Front Street please.” She replied taking a tentative sniff of the air, happy the driver was a non-smoker.

He activated the meter and they were off. The drive from Scarbourgh was quiet enough, the driver only making the odd attempt at conversation. Something about the weather and of course traffic problems he faced each day. Meera was grateful for the lack of banter this early. She was content to watch the morning light grow.

She had thought the driver would take the 401, the main highway running east west across the top of Toronto. Instead he made his way down Kingston Road. Meera watched the buildings fly by, not really paying attention. The city was getting crowded and in places dirty and messy. It was like parts were left to decay over time, the reason not clear to anyone.

Meera’s parents immigrated from the U.S. to Canada when she was three years old and although she never knew much of her former home, she always wondered why they moved. One day when she was fifteen she had asked the question and their answer was just that Canada was a better place to raise a child.

She never really saw much of difference however, one country the same as the other and Toronto not much different from Boston, where she was born. Her parents were always working and they never really traveled. When they did take a vacation, it was to Florida, Mexico or some place warm. She chuckled to herself as she thought about her current destination. When she told her parents where she was headed they also had the same reaction and a good laugh.

The cab turned onto the Don Valley Parkway and although they were on a highway, the speed remained constant at sixty kilometers. She was astounded sometimes at the amount of traffic on roads and highways in the Toronto area. She recalled the local nick name of the DVP as the Don Valley Parking Lot. Eventually they drove up the on-ramp to the Gardner Express Way and before she knew it, they were pulling off the elevated roadway onto Front Street with Union Station not far away.

Checking the meter, Meera pulled out two twenties from her purse in anticipation, but quickly realized she should also add a tip. She searched her loose change and found five more dollars for the gratuity.

As the cab pulled away, Meera stood in front of the train station. This wasn’t the first time she had been at Union Station, after all she got off here every day when she took the GO Train into work. This time however she didn’t have to rush to work so she took the time to really look around. She began noticing things about the station that she had never seen or really paid attention to before. The grandeur of the station was only now revealing itself to Meera as she stood and surveyed the large gothic columns that adorned the facade of the station. Her eyes followed the columns upward until they met the intricate stone work at the roof line.

It was a beautiful and majestic building in its magnificence. She didn’t know it, but even the Prince of Wales in 1927, on the official opening of the station said, “You build your stations like we build our cathedrals.” Union Station in Toronto has always been one of the grandest train stations in Canada, home to trains and public transit connections.

Meera picked up her roll on bag and opted to carry it rather than use the built in wheels. It wasn’t that heavy after all she thought. She checked the time on her watch – it was almost five forty, plenty of time she reflected as she walked toward the stations entrance.

After opening the large wooden doors and walking into the main concourse, she felt the full extent of the station opening itself up to her and she said to no one, “I have to pay attention more often.”

As if for the first time, she became aware of the size of the main hall, passengers scurrying about like worker ants in a hive darting from the door to the gates that lead to the trains, subway, ticket booths or shops. The cathedral ceilings with grand arches, gothic stone carvings all combined to create a surreal ambiance. Sun light streamed from the large arched window at the far end of the terminus as well as the smaller upper windows that dotted the outer walls. Even at this early hour the light cast shadows among the stone carvings. Flags from each province dotted the wall just above one bank of ticket booths which lined the outer area of the grand space. Each booth was separated by velvet ropes on waist high chrome stands. The floor was made from tiles of marble or granite, Meera wasn’t sure which.

There was a centre kiosk with four large black electronic signs that showed the arrival and departure of the trains and what gate to attend to in order to be faired onto the proper track. In front of her on the other side of the station was a lunch area with fast food and coffee in the offerings. To her right were a series of doors that lead to more waiting area and shops, and of course more food stands.

Keep the masses fed and they won’t complain so much when their train is late, Meera laughed.

Meera checked the time again – six o’clock. Her first order of business was the centre kiosk. She had tickets after all, but was not sure what gate the Northlander was leaving from. As she walked toward it, she shook her head in dismay thinking, how long have I lived in this city? And how many times have I passed through this station and never noticed anything about it? She couldn’t answer the questions of course, but it did make her wonder how much she had missed about the city she lived and worked in.

Checking the departure time on her ticket and confirming it with the display board, she took note that she had just over forty five minutes before the scheduled departure from gate number seven. She knew her way to the departure gates and proceeded down the ramp that would lead her to gate seven.

Meera spent the next forty five minutes watching other passengers coming and going in the station. Folks were rushing to work, children on their way to school and station workers going about their daily talks. She mused that if it wasn’t for this vacation she would be one of the masses milling about in front of her. The forty five minutes went by fast and as the boarding call was announced, Meera went up the escalator to the platform and got onto the train. The silver car was one of two passenger cars and there was a dining car attached to a yellow and blue locomotive. There was another train car located just behind the engine but it didn’t look to Meera that it was meant for passengers. Maybe some sort of mechanical or storage car she thought.

Ontario Northland had acquired some older rolling stock from GO Transit in the eighties and to Meera they didn’t look like the most comfortable ride for the thirteen hour trip.

She groaned as she boarded and wondered why she didn’t fly, it would have cost almost the same and was several hours faster. Her friends however had told her that in coming north she should take the train. The trip wasn’t as speedy, but it was worth every minute spent, and that she should relax and really take in the countryside and enjoy the first day of her vacation. She found her seat, placed her bag in the storage area with the help of a Conductor and sat down with resigned indifference.

As she sat down Meera realized why the train only had two passenger cars – only half the seats were occupied. She had a window seat and the one adjacent to her was empty along with the seats to her front and rear. Across the aisle four seats were occupied by one family, a mother, father and two children. The girls may have been ten and twelve. They seemed excited as they peered out the window at other trains in the station and spoke in Japanese to their parents - at least Meera thought is sounded Japanese. The girls were so excited and spoke so fast it was hard for Meera to tell. She began to see that other than three of four people sitting as individuals, the majority of the passengers on this shared voyage were families of various sizes.

On vacation or heading home? She wondered about her fellow travelers as the train pulled out of the station – jerky at first as the locomotive ramped up to speed, then it settled to a smooth rhythmic motion. She was still tired after having gotten up so early, and now she was getting hungry. She rested her head on the back of the seat, closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She didn’t want to eat right away as sleep beat out hunger for her will.

Meera opened her eyes wondering if she slept and if so how long. She raised her wrist and looked at her watch, startled to see it had only been thirty or forty minutes. It felt like an hour had passed and her empty stomach grumbled. She stood and after making sure what direction she had to go for the dining car, turned left. She noticed that the Japanese family was not there. Must have gone for a walk she mused.

She opened the door between cars and entered the dining car, closing the door with a thud behind her. She walked past the narrow bulkhead for the kitchen area to the dining area wondering if she would be able to find a seat.

As it turned out, the only other people in the car were four business people chatting about some deal or another while typing away on their laptops. At another table was the Japanese family. She quickly sized up the table situation and chose the table next to the family. The suits, as she called them, were too loud for her liking this early and she did want to have a quiet trip.

Ordering a bacon and egg sandwich with an orange juice and chocolate milk she paid for it and took a seat. At once the two children, grinning as wide as a child on Christmas day, gestured toward her and spoke quickly to their mother. Meera smiled and wondered what that was all about. The mother looked up and smiled back at Meera.

Taking the initiative, Meera asked the mother, “What did they say?”

The mom replied in broken but clear English, “My daughters ask if you would be so kind as to take picture of us by window?”

Meera was flattered, “I’d be happy to.”

The father took out a digital camera from its case and quickly showed Meera how to use it, asking her to take two pictures while trying to get part of the window in the picture. Meera held the camera carefully and found a stable spot that afforded her a good view of the family and the fast moving scenery outside the dining car window. She took one picture and then another, checking the view screen at the back of the camera after each snap.

The family reviewed the pictures and bowing quickly thanked her for her kindness in taking the pictures. Meera, curious as always, asked if they were on vacation and where they were from.

“We are on vacation – This is our second week in Canada. We are from Kyushu, which is South Japan.”

“How’ve you been enjoying your vacation so far?” Meera asked the children.

“They do not speak English yet.” Replied the mother, then facing the two wide eyed children translated the question. Their response came so quickly and with so much enthusiasm that Meera was able figure out the answer.

The mother replied, “They are very happy to be visiting your great country. Mika said that you must be very proud to be living here and having so much in one beautiful country.” The mother smiled.

The father cut in at this point, “Canada is much different than Japan. In Japan, you do not have this space. If you take the train, you are seeing buildings, homes and factures along the whole trip. Here, you have room to breath, room to play.”

Meera never thought about it like that before. She looked out the window and other than the odd rail shed or building, there was green trees, farms and fields.

The mother spoke next, “Space is very important to us and so is nature. It is where we came from - the land, trees, sky and rivers. In Japan we have little of this left. We have some parks and the mountains but here in Canada, we are able to see it all together and interact with it every where we have gone. You must travel a great deal here.”

That last sentence grabbed her attention as she never traveled in Canada. She never saw a reason to go outside of Toronto, especially Northern Ontario. Green space and nature was something she took for granted. The parks in Toronto and the green space along the Don Valley were all she knew of nature in Canada. One leaf was the same as the other. Now these visitors were giving her something to contemplate.

Meera spent the next hour speaking with the parents and two young children in the dining car before she finished her sandwich and headed back to her seat.

She had brought a book she wanted to read, Death’s Door by William DeSouza. A co-worker had told her about the sci-fi novel and while not normally into the whole science fiction scene, she wanted to see if she would enjoy reading it. It’s not like she didn’t have plenty of time of this trip. She had to admit to herself that although the prospect of taking the train for thirteen hours was at first depressing, it hadn’t started out all that bad.

She was beginning to learn new things about herself and her lifestyle. The rushed and hurried pace never allowed her to focus and notice life around her and she was only slowly beginning to see this.

As she got back to her seat, the Conductor opened the door at the opposite end of the car and began to announce the first stop on the route. “Washago – Next stop is Washago.” He announced in a deep baritone.

Washago? She thought. She’d never even heard of a town called Washago. She stopped the Conductor as he passed and asked about the stop.

“It’s not a normal stop but we have to pick up some supplies for a New Liskeard area company. Its just north of Orillia on the north end of Lake Couchiching.” The Conductor paused when the name of the lake created a puzzled look on Meera’s face. The look was akin to having eaten a donut full of worms and he almost laughed out loud at the site of it.

Continuing, he went on to try and clear up the confusion he saw in Meera, “In its hay day it was an old railway centre, a kind of hub. It’s mostly used for freight these days – not enough folks taking the train out this way. At least not stopping on their way to North Bay.”

She thanked him and he went on toward the dining car continuing to announce the stop. She chided herself for not knowing more about the country she lived in. Although in consolation, she figured that not too many people would have known about Washago.

The stop came and went quickly and soon they arrived at the regularly scheduled stop of Gravenhurst. Now that town she had heard of – mind you, it was from the television and not first hand. The train slowed as a freight train passed, headed in the opposite direction. There were several tracks with a variety of passenger and freight cars sitting idle and she could even see an old steam engine at what looked like a period station painted white with a red trim. That must be a fun ride she thought absentmindedly.

When the train stopped, she saw no one getting off, but three people getting on. At least she could only see three people as they mounted the steps to her own car. She mused that others could have boarded the other car ahead of hers.

In just a few minutes the train bells started, signaling that it was about to move. She could hear the big diesel engines rev up and felt the car jerk as it slowly accelerated forward.

The Japanese family had not returned to their seat as yet. She looked around and located the three people that boarded her car at Gravenhurst. They were a young couple with a small child, a boy that looked to be around seven or eight. After sorting out their bags, they sat in the seats in front of Meera. The Conductor assisted them in rotating the back rest on one set of seats to create a four seat section, where the two seats faced two others.

The young boy was very excited, almost bouncing as he jumped from the big picture window to the seat, quizzing his parents about one thing and then the next.

Meera wasn’t paying much attention at this point as she was beginning to get into the book’s prolog. After about an hour or so, she didn’t know how much time had passed, the train slowed and then stopped. The Conductor came back announcing that they had to wait for a priority freight train and that it wouldn’t be a long delay. She continued to read to pass the time and only barely noticed when the locomotive began again.

After a while however she had to stop reading as the rhythmic click clack of the iron wheels on the track and the swaying of the car, mixed with reading the story began to put her to sleep. Her head started to bob and her eyelids started to close, slowly at first. Meera didn’t want to sleep right now however, so she put down the book and stretched her arms above her head. She stood and took a few steps in either direction of her seat.

The young mother, maybe in her late twenties or early thirties, looked up at Meera and smiling, said “guten tag – good afternoon.”

“Hello, what a lovely child you have.” Meera thought the boy was the cutest she had seen.

He had short crop dirty blond hair and big blue green eyes and a wide grin that was welcoming and charming. Meera bent over and stretched out her hand in greeting. The little boy announced himself as Manfred and promptly shook Meera’s hand.

“Hello, I’m very pleased to meet you.” She said, thrilled to see such a polite little boy. The two Japanese girls were equally as charming, but in a young boy at this age – now that was rare she thought.

She started a conversation with the mother and father and soon found out that they too were on vacation. They were from Baden Baden in Germany. She learned that the father had worked on the Canadian Forces base that was located in Baden Baden until it closed in the early nineties. The family came to Canada to see the country for themselves. They had learned all about Canada from some friends he met on the base and subsequently stayed in touch with, one of which they were visiting with in Gravenhurst.

It was nearly one in the afternoon but Meera did not feel very hungry, so she continued to chat with her newest traveling companions. The parents spoke of the openness of the countryside and of not seeing a town for so long.

They spoke of what it’s like in Germany were the roads and rail take you from one town and village to another but as soon as you leave the outskirts of a town you enter another with very little if any countryside – at least nothing like in Canada. They talked about how everyone they met so far was friendly and helpful. They also spoke of the cleanliness of every place they went.

Meera listened and was amazed yet again that she never saw these things. If she did she took them for granted and that disturbed her. She wasn’t sure why it should upset her so much, it’s not like she went anywhere. Eventually the conversation ended and she went back to her seat. The Japanese family had returned to their chairs so she gave a friendly nod to them as she sat down.

She thought about what both of the families she’d met had to say about her country. She used to think that this wasn’t so much her country but her adoptive country, and her real home was the United States since that’s where she was born. But on this trip she was beginning to see, hear and learn more about Canada than she had ever known.

In time she thought, that’s it! She had an epiphany.

It wasn’t that she was just finding out about Canada after so many years that bothered her. It was that she was finding out more about her home from visitors to her home. From people that didn’t even live here but only passing through. She was embarrassed in a way about that fact and at the same time grateful to them.

She was getting hungry now as she looked at her watch. She stood and made her way back to the dining car. The train had already stopped at Bracebridge and Huntsville, each time letting off one or two people and taking on several more.

In the dining car there were more travelers sitting at the tables than on her previous visit and she had to look for a free chair. She spotted one in the middle, ordered a club sandwich, small garden salad and a diet cola and made her way over to the empty chair, asking the woman occupying the other seat if anyone was sitting there.

The woman, in her mid forties looked up and said smiling, “No, it’s empty – help yourself.”

Right away Meera recognized the accent as a Bostonian, someone from the City of Boston where she was born. The woman was friendly enough introducing herself as Shelly and the two of them struck up a conversation. Meera told her about being born in Boston but not having been back since she was a young child. The woman took the opportunity to bring Meera up to speed on the state of the city, telling her about the ‘Big Dig’. A massive underground tunnel that will put a large chunk of Boston traffic underground creating park land and friendlier pedestrian space. Meera was fascinated about the project and all the other updates to her knowledge of Boston.

But what was even more interesting was the questions that the woman had for Meera. Questions about Toronto and Ontario and the countryside they were passing through. Again Meera was at a loss for words, choosing instead to do most of the asking and less of the answering. Her lack of knowledge of Canada was an embarrassment to her and she once again felt inadequate but amazed at how much a visitor to Canada knew about her home.

The woman was contemplating moving to Canada in the coming year and that’s why she was taking this trip. She was disillusioned with the state of politics in the US as well as the state of the economy south of the border right now. She felt that the climate in Canada was more conducive to raising a family and starting her own business. Meera soon learned that the woman’s husband, who was a doctor, also wanted to make the move. He had gotten into medicine to help people, no matter what their economic status, but found that more of the hospitals and health services in the US did not meet his expectations of health care for all.

This was something that Meera had not heard before, even from the six o’clock news. They would report the opposite - that many Canadians wanted to move to the US. Not the other way around. This was really something new to her as she never considered that someone would move to Canada for the same reasons people wanted to leave.

Then she thought about her own parents who moved to Canada for the same reasons Shelly just brought up. Again she found that she took too many things for granted, that Canada was more than what you saw every day as you rushed from place to place.

The rest of the trip was spent looking out the window seeing the land for the first time. The lakes and forests in North Bay and Temagami, the old mine shafts in Cobalt, the abundant farms in New Liskeard and the rich historical buildings that remained as railway stations.

She spoke with other passengers, those that lived and worked in the area and visitors like the ones that she had already met. She learned that the pace of life outside of Toronto was much slower. People did not take the land for granted, choosing instead to play as much as they worked in the wide open space that was Canada. Meera also talked with the Conductor each time he came by to announce a stop, and he seemed eager to share his thirty plus years of history on the rails with her at every opportunity.

She learned about the ‘Great Fire’ that raged in the twenties, destroying much of the homes, villages and towns from Cobalt to as far north as Kirkland Lake. She discovered the richness that was Northern Ontario and Canada - the resource based industries like mining and logging. She even leaned about the diamond mining that was taking place even today. She never even knew that Canada was a major producer of diamonds in the world.

Meera soon grasped why her friends pushed her to take the train and not to fly. She would have missed all of this and she would have never forgiven herself if that happened. The train was indeed the way to travel – to see the country she called home.