The Blackberry Walk

Chapter 15 I approached the station, and there stood the conductor, his hands on his hips and his arms wide, posing like a proud father whose son had made his first errand. “Ah, welcome back sir, it is good to see you again,” he spoke with a renewed joie de vivre, a far sight from his previously dulled and deflated self. “How was your journey?” “Not spectacular,” I said with a slight snarl. “There were these vicious signs, next to a river of liquid mercury telling me to off myself in a sulphurous pit to the underworld.” The conductor’s expression darkened – an impressive feat for a shade. “Sir, that wasn’t the route I wrote on the map – and sir, I warned you about the signs – what made you go that way?” “I was interested, and it seemed like a shortcut.” I wasn’t able to make my eyes meet his, they kept darting away, and I kept clicking my knuckles. There was a short pause, the conductor deep in thought, looking for the words. “The places our service visits are no cake walk, sir.” His black flames then rose in passion. “Many of these planets are dangerous, and if I give you an instruction sir, it must be listened to. So far these planets have been sufficiently safe, you must understand: the Moon has little but the lunalings; and Mercury has only a few conscious occupants like Miss Böhme, and many flora and fauna which are passive unless meddled with. Yes sir, apart from those signs, the one threat I told you to avoid, Mercury is peaceful and safe. What will happen when we visit a planet which isn’t peaceful and safe like Mercury, sir? What then? Will you ignore my warnings, sir, and come into more danger?” His eyes burrowed into me like quasars. I looked down to my feet, contrite. I had completed my first errand only to get scolded. “I’m sorry. I thought I knew better, and didn’t understand how a sign could be dangerous. I’ll listen to your instructions more carefully in future.” The conductor’s flames died down and his expression softened. “But I would like to ask,” I continued, “what were those signs?” The conductor’s eyes turned away no longer meeting mine. “You really don’t want to know…” he said trailing off with melancholy. Now I really wanted to know, don’t people realise such comments but stoke the fires of curiosity? “No, I’m curious, please tell me.” The conductor opened his mouth to begin speaking; hesitated; then, looking for the words, began, his Eastern European accent stronger than usual. “Those signs..” He paused. “Those signs- think of them as a kind of fungus, the signs are mushrooms on the surface connected by mycelial roots below.” The conductor sounded choked with each word, stricken and strained in delivering them. “The aim of this fungus is to lead people into that sulphurous pit. I couldn’t possibly say why, sir.” “I see. But there can’t be too many people who come this way?—” “No,” the conductor jumped in, “I’m not sure why either, sir…” He looked pensive, staring off into the distance. “My only guess is that it was the Martians.” There it was again, these Martians. “Miss Böhme mentioned the Martians also, are they really that evil?” The conductor’s wandering eyes darted up back to meet mine. “Sir, you will see in time, once we arrive at Mars. The Martians don’t bear the Creator’s image, sir.” The same line as Miss Böhme. Fascinating. I took one last eye-full of the dazzling Mercurian landscape, the bismuth trees, the metal flora and fauna, and the steel wool bushels, and boarded the train. Handing my sunglasses back to the conductor, I turned to him. “Is dinner ready?” The conductor softened to his usual jolly self. “Ahaha, sir, you never cease to have a sturdy appetite. Yes, make your way through to the dining car.” It had been a long day, and I was in need of some comforting sustenance. So I gorged myself on pork steaks, baby potatoes, and some cooked veg, until I was ready to recline. “What time is it?” The conductor looked slightly puzzled, and reached for his pocket watch from his purple jacket’s pocket. It wasn’t any ordinary pocket watch. It was a hefty thing, large and gold in colour, and, peering at the dial, its design was alien and undecipherable. “852 o’clock, why?” Ah. Now I understand. The conductor looked irritatingly pleased with himself. “In Earth days.” The conductor twisted a few dials on his pocket watch. “3 o’clock in the morning, why?” With his insertion of the second ‘why’ so as to make a point, the conductor now looked doubly pleased with himself, resulting in me being doubly irritated. “I see,” I responded coldly. “Well whatever, I suddenly feel rather sleepy, so I think I should be off to bed.” “Very well, sir.” And the conductor bade me goodnight. Chapter 16 That night I dreamt vividly of trains. Trains which are very short, trains which are very long, trains with massive gaps to the platform, trains which I keep missing, and trains which I can’t board. Then, later in the night, I dreamt of signs, the same signs I had seen by the river. These dreams were far less pleasant, and from one of these dreams I awoke to find myself not lying on the cold, steel ground, signs arched over me looking down upon me as my dream would’ve led me to believe, but in the cramped bed of the sleeper car. To map out the train a little, since I have yet to mention the sleeper car, it wasn’t just the dining car which connected with us at the Moon, but two extra cars also, the sleeper car, and the conductor’s private quarters. What happened at the Moon was that the driving car of the Class 222 Meridian train was separated off, and the dining car, then the sleeper car, then the private quarters were added to the rear of the train, before the driving car was reattached. The sleeper car was nothing luxurious: small single bunks as one would expect from any other budget sleeper car experience. When I awoke, the lights were off, and the car was dark. Dark, that is, save for a little flickering light I could see from the car over from the conductor’s private quarters. I rubbed my bleary eyes, and adjusted their optical zoom to lock on to the flickering light through the two grimy windows. There I saw a candlelight, flickering. And before it, I could just about make out the outline of the conductor, not by his illumination by candlelight – quite the opposite – but rather by the darkness of the shadow where the candle struggled to illuminate his form. He was there kneeling before the candle, in what seemed like prayer. This conductor, who was he praying to, and what was he praying for? What was he thinking about? Why does he man this train? Who is he, is he tethered to this train? These thoughts swam laps across my mind, as I sank back to sleep. I awoke, and turned on the small lamp which stood beside my bed. Arms out far, I stretched so great a stretch as I could hardly imagine, as if I hugged and gathered in all the energy of the cosmos into my bosom. My fingers tingled ever-so-much. I got out of bed, changed out of the sleep clothes provided for me, and used the small corner basin built into the car to brush my teeth. I saw myself in the mirror. Had I changed? There was an odd look in my eyes; not odd in a bad way by any means, more serious? In my eyes, I saw more of the hunter and less of the gatherer than I see usually, like I was really after something, exploring the unknown in search of something. Stretching once more, I felt again so wonderful and utterly refreshed in a way I can’t remember when I had last been so refreshed. Childhood? Perhaps all the novelty I’ve experienced these past few days has watered my soul’s clay which has been dried and cracked from the un-novelty of daily commutes by train, monotonous work, and the petty gossip of the office. I entered the dining car, and I see the conductor waiting there. “Ahhh, sir, good morning, how did you sleep, sir?” “Incredibly. I must say, I’ve never felt so rested.” The conductor smirked. I noticed and raised an eyebrow. Why the smirk? “I’m not surprised, sir.” “How come?” He smirked again, this time more pronounced. “Because, sir, it has been twenty-six hours since you went to bed.” Aha. Well that would explain my rested-ness. So caught up in my adventures I must’ve been, and so alien the daylight timing, that I must’ve failed to clock my own exhaustion. I’m sorry, my body. After a pause, all I could muster was an affirmatory ‘hm’ so as to downplay my shock and deprive the dear conductor of his satisfaction. I can imagine, all this time I’ve been asleep, he’s been waiting to hit me with this jibe. “What’s for breakfast today?” I asked changing the subject. The conductor’s peppy morning flames dwindled a little. “We have toast, sir, and we have cereal.” A little disappointing of a selection, but I can’t exactly complain: it isn’t as if I’m paying for this service. “Cereal then, please. Do you have Shreddies? “Yes, sir, we do” “Then I’ll have those.” I poured some into my square-shaped bowl, and poured in my milk also. As I ate, seeing as my mouth was occupied and unable to interject, the conductor began to monologue. “Our next stop is Venus, sir. Venus is a beautiful planet, sir, and you’re visiting at one of the most prized times, the late evening. Sir, this is a rare thing in Earth time, since a day on Venus is 243 Earth days – most don’t get to see the Venusian sunset. No errands this time either sir, so just enjoy yourself there a little. But I will forewarn you, sir, you must keep your heart firmly in your chest. Don’t go giving it away to anyone, it is imperative you hold onto it.” What a strange commandment. I finished my mouthful of cereal, and wryly inquired further. “Give my heart away, to what? Are there heart-eating demons on Venus, who will come and suck my heart out of my ears in a kind of Faustian pact? Or are there Aztec tribesmen with the quicksilver tongues of used-car salesmen who’ll convince me my heart is better off outside of my body on an altar?” I put my spoon down and awaited a response. The fishing rod now cast, would the conductor bite the bait? The conductor smacked his forehead in frustration – inaudibly, of course, since he isn’t made of flesh and blood – and commenced his tirade. “Sir, you people of Earth nowadays always take things too literally. First you think the planets of the Solar System are just balls of rock, then you think giving your heart away means your literal, physical heart, the one pumping blood around your body. Do you know what Earth is known across the Solar System? Earth is the planet of poetry, you won’t find poetry anywhere else, and you can’t even understand this?-” I interrupted, withheld my giggles, and began to reel in the line. “But you were telling me just yesterday how dangerous the Solar System is, and how the journeys ahead would be so much more dangerous than the last. I couldn’t have conceived of the last two planets, so why couldn’t this one have heart-sucking demons?” The conductor looked at me somewhat sternly now, and I could tell he’d now detected my disingenuousness and seen through my jape. The fish had thrown the hook. “Sir, you don’t seem to be taking my warnings very seriously. Romance is a dangerous thing. Was it not a famed bard of your nations who sang, ‘'Cause I've been in love before /And I found that love was more / Than just holding hands.’ The conductor performed these lines sung, but his voice wasn’t stellar. “What, John Lennon?” “Yes, John Lennon, the Beatles are known throughout the Solar System, sir.” I nodded along. How am I to reply to such a statement. “But sir, you really must appreciate the dangers of the heart and the vulnerability of giving it up to another. If you give someone your heart, it is no longer yours alone, you know.” “Yes, yes, I’m twenty-six now, you know, love doesn’t hit me in the same way it did when I was a teenager. I find more meaning and pleasure in a kind of agapic love of others, a love which doesn’t want anything from another.” The conductor looked at me with deep, sad eyes. “That’s very high minded of you sir.” And I returned to eating my now soggy Shreddies.