The Man on the Train
Mavis sat up, opened her eyes and looked directly at the tangled legs and sleeping face of the man directly across from her. She quickly arranged her skirt, checked for her purse and ran her fingers through her short dark hair.
Outside the streaked, sooty window it was just beginning to show signs of dawn. The wheels of the train were squeaking and screeching. The whistle was crying and wailing its approach to a stop.
“Tickets, tickets, “ the conductor shouted, as he made his way through the car. His body swayed back and forth as if dancing and knowing every move his partner made.
Mavis opened her purse, noted her ticket stub and closed it. She glanced at the sleeping man. His breathing was slow and even.
The train had left the station at three-thirty in the morning, one half hour late. She had fallen asleep immediately and hadn’t heard the man take the seat across from her.
“Got your ticket did I miss?” the conductor said. “ You’ re going through to Port Arthur are you?”
“Yes” she answered. “ Will the train be on time?” She only said this as a matter of formality. The train was never on time.
“We’re running a little late but we should get in by noon. We had to wait for a train on the other track around Horsecollar Junction.We’ ll make it all right though. Don’t worry miss.”
Mavis’ s Uncle Tom had once told her that this conductor had worked for the C. N.R for thirty years-the last fifteen as a conductor. He knew every curve and mile between Winnipeg and the Lakehead. “Hell of a good guy,” her uncle had said.
The conductor shook the man’s arm. “ Ticket, fellow, ticket. I got to see your ticket.” The man groaned and opened his eyes. He stared blankly as if not knowing exactly where he was. He grunted, reached into his back pocket muttering, “ Okay, okay, just a minute.”
When he opened his wallet to take out his ticket, Mavis could not help but notice his wallet bulging with bills.
“Got on at Mine Centre did you? Sure you only want a one way ticket. ? Cheaper to buy a return you know,” the conductor offered cheerfully.
“Not going back,” the man said, shoving his wallet back in his pocket.
After the conductor left the coach the man reached into his bag, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, opened it and took a large swallow. He pushed the bottle toward Mavis. “ You want a drink miss? The conductor’s gone now.”
“No thank you,” she said politely. The very thought of a drink of whiskey at any time, let alone at six in the morning made her recoil in horror. Then smiling inside she thought what a scene it would create if she arrived at the nurses’ residence at noon, intoxicated and reeking of whiskey
Mavis watched the man as he was intent on reading a newspaper clipping he had taken from his shirt pocket. He was a little older, she thought, probably thirty or even thirty-five. He was stockily built; his sandy coloured brush cut hair had grown too long and gave him a scraggy look. His galoshes were left unbuckled. His face had the ruddiness of one used to working outdoors; his hands were large and wind chapped.
“Where’d you get on?” the man said looking directly into her face and eyes. His eyes were bright blue and there was a sadness, an uneasiness about them that disturbed her. She remembered his wallet full of bills and her imagination took over. Maybe he had robbed someone or worse still, robbed someone and then murdered him. She tried to shove her thoughts to the back of her mind. She knew her imagination got her in trouble sometime.
“Fort Frances,” she answered glancing at him quickly.”Where are you from?”she asked. “Winnipeg and I’ m glad to be getting away and I’ll be damned if I’m ever going back, too much trouble,” his eyes took on a far away look and he muttered again almost to himself “too much trouble.”
He really doesn’t look like a murderer, but then, in all her eighteen years, to her knowledge she had never met a murderer. Last year she had looked after a man who had been transferred from the jail to the hospital. He had been convicted of attempted robbery and while in jail had developed appendicitis. She had nursed him following surgery and had really gotten to like him. He was friendly, polite and terribly funny.
He also had a tattoo of a dancing girl on his right buttock, right where she injected his pain medication. He told her he had been led astray by some unsavoury friends but that he had learned his lesson. And when his time was up he was thinking of becoming a monk or a man of the cloth. Somehow she knew it would never happen.
The man stood up, staggered a bit as the train lurched suddenly. “We should be getting into Atikokan soon. I’m going to see a man about a horse,” he said.
The train rolled along, twisting and turning past the bush, rocks and lakes that make up the landscape of northern Ontario. Dirty snow still lay in patches; the lakes were beginning to let go of the ice that had kept them captive the last five months. The spring breakup had begun.
Mavis took a deep breath and tried to relax in the absence of the man. She looked down and noticed the clipping he had been reading had fallen from his pocket. She opened it .It was from the Winnipeg Times dated Jan 10 1957. The headlines read LOCAL WOMAN’S DEATH UNDER INVESTIGATION. She read on. Police are investigating the mysterious death of Christine Abbot, 23 years of age of Brent St. Abbot was found dead in her apartment by Agnes Jones who entered the apartment to do her weekly cleaning. Police are looking for Mrs. Abbot’s estranged husband, Robert Abbot who has not been seen since her body has been found . . . Investigation continues.
She carefully folded the clipping and placed it on the seat. When the man returned, she said, “you dropped something from your pocket,” pointing to the clipping. He snatched it up and quickly shoved it in his pocket. When he opened his suit jacket, she read the initials on his belt buckle-R.A. Oh my God, she thought . . . Robert Abbot.
“Did you read it?”he asked. “No,” she replied. He looked intently into her face again. She wondered if he knew she was lying .Somehow she sensed he did.
What should she do? She could pretend to go to the washroom and notify the conductor of her suspicions? Perhaps she should change seats. No- that would indicate to him that she knew something. Any way there didn’t seem to be any empty seats. Perhaps the best thing to do would just to wait until she got off the train and then notify the proper authorities. “Oh why do these things always happen to me?” she thought.
The air inside the car smelled of body odours, damp, woollen socks, cigarette smoke and an odd medicinal smell which was probably from the soap which was used to clean the car. All these smells made her feel a little queasy and she thought maybe one of the sandwiches her mother had packed would be a good idea. It might settle her stomach. She had been brought up to believe that food was always a comfort in times of distress.
“Would you like a sandwich?” she asked the man. I guess it won’t hurt to offer. He took it and ate it so quickly she realized he must have been very hungry. After he finished the sandwich he took several swallows from his whiskey bottle, sprawled on the seat and fell into a deep sleep.
Mavis eased into a fitful sleep and jolted upright as the conductor came into the car shouting “Fort William, next stop, Fort William.” .
Mavis started to gather her things together. Port Arthur and Fort William were sister cities and the train stations were close.
“I guess you’ll be getting off soon, will you miss”, the man had wakened and was sitting upright in his seat. “Thanks for the sandwich. Sorry for any trouble I’ve caused you. By the way my name is Bob-Bob Abbot. I’ve had a little bad luck lately. My wife died in Winnipeg- well actually, she wasn’t my wife anymore. We hadn’t been together for the past six months but her family didn’t know that. They’re living in Halifax- her family that is. I met her in Winnipeg .She was there going to school and I was just there for a few days visiting a friend. She was younger than me but we hit it off pretty good and we decided to get married. More of a spur of a minute deal. She was different and I should have known we wouldn’t make a good match. I worked in the bush. I made good money but I was away most or the time and she wanted to finish her schooling. We rented a nice apartment in Winnipeg. When I would come home, she would have her university friends there and I knew I didn’t fit in. I sent her money to keep the apartment but I didn’t go back anymore. When they found her dead they thought maybe there was some bad business going on-.thought maybe she’d been smothered. It took awhile for them to find me. I had to sign for permission for an autopsy. They found it was something with her heart-something she’d been born with. I felt pretty bad about it all. So now I’m moving on. I got my pay from my last job-they payed me in cash. I’m heading for Sudbury. I hear they need some men there at the mine.”
By now the train was stopped at the Port Arthur station and people were moving out.
“I’m really sorry about your wife and all your trouble. Here take the rest of my lunch.” Mavis said. That was a rather silly thing to say -about the lunch, but she didn’t quite know what else to say.
“ Thanks, “ he said and extended his hand. She took it and he squeezed it ever so gently.”You didn’t tell me your name.”
“Oh it’s Mavis -Mavis Jensen .I’m at the General Nurses Residence I hope everything works out for you. Bye I have to go now.”.
As Mavis stepped down from the train, she smiled and thought to herself.’ He really is quite a nice man. I have a feeling that’s not the last time I”ll be seeing him.”
the-man-on-the-train.rtf
Aria AND fISH
