-----The embankment continued, as far as the eye could see, broken here and there by tongues of mist. The tall man stopped suddenly, and looked about himself, his eyes large and observant, his pupils, night-wide, taking in the scant light. ‘I remember someone saying something about this piece of land,’ he said, ‘how it all fits into place, as it were, something seen before—’ He looked at the small man. ‘You were with me: how easily the description comes to mind.’
-----‘Yes, it does, even with this mist,’ said the smaller man, earnestly.
-----A could hardly tell whether he was joking or not, the night was still dark and surely they were too tired for irony; yet A could not tell this place from any other through which they had travelled. ‘Why is this unique?’ he asked, abruptly.
-----The other two men looked at him as though they did not grasp the question. The smaller man drew breath as though to begin an answer, but he did not speak. They stood in silence, looking at A, A looking at them: had another been watching it might to them have seemed an animosity had risen between them.
-----‘What is unique about this place?’
-----The small man began to speak on the heels of the question, his voice loud and flat. ‘Ask me! Ask me! You get to know when men and women on the road are speaking truthfully and when they’re romancing, it’s not hard, anyone can read the map of thought, things are pointed out to you, some of them you meet have the ability to see ahead, you can see it from a distance, it does not do to doubt the gifts they have, sometimes they look you in the eye, and say, a bad place, a bad place, that, travel through it in the dead of night, when the moon is thin, when the clouds above have no rift between them, the road is straight and easy, you’d walk it in your sleep, you’ll follow it without a deviation on the high embankment — ’
-----‘How do you know that we have come to this place?’
-----‘Look.’ The tall man pointed into the night. ‘Do you not see that leaning signal in the mist? And, beyond, the rusting water tower? This is the place; it answers all that I was told.’
-----‘It might be any railway yard,’ said A, astonished.
-----The tall man looked at him. ‘That’s true enough. It’s a big village; a small town.’
-----‘They will throw stones at you as soon as they see you, and their dogs are vicious: they do not bark; they bite to take your flesh and not to make a point.’ The small man spread out his arms.
-----‘Why are they hostile when you do them no harm?’
-----‘How do we know what has happened in the past? They remember one thing; we another; and I am not sure who I mean by we, apart from him and me. But you won’t know their dialect; if you are seen you have to take what you are given; they’ll make no attempt to understand you, and they are all like that; the more ragged you are the more they think that you do not feel the stones and the harder they are thrown. You have no feeling, they say, on hearing the unresisting sound, it is what you deserve, they might as well say, probably it is what they do say, “it is what is coming to them, it is what they need.”’
-----‘We might as well sleep here, said the tall man, lying down on the instant of his speaking, on his back, his hands behind his head. ‘We can go on tomorrow night.’
-----‘What do you do for shelter when the bad weather sets in?’
-----‘Oh, we shall be where we want to be before the worst of it, you can be sure of that, in a safe place and in front of a fire; as for now, it’s all within a moment, you have to put up with the weather as it arrives, even as you see the swift black clouds on the horizon edge, even as you see the downward columns of the rain, you know that it will soon be over. Coverts, barns not far from the track, huts that once belonged to the railway, some of them still have their stoves and grid-iron fireplaces, never any glass left in the windows, you can cover the metal casements with sacks, or something, keeps out the wind, and then you have a home, what could be better, in the warmth, look up into the roof, was there any other place but this, any better place, listen to the rain, someone heard outside, unknown footsteps, bare feet in the mud, recognisable the sound, he owns no shoes, may I come in, from the rain, the figure at the door, who it is you do not know, someone never seen before, a moment’s search of the face, enough, rain running from the coat, hands red and raw, bare legs, his age unguessable, dry yourself, at the fire, thank you for your fire, he says, a low voice, to himself, not my fire, not my railway, not mine the dispensation of the world, what is to become of us, he says, tomorrow I meet my wife, he says, tomorrow? I say, she travelled on ahead, he says, I had things to attend to, things to finish, I waited, I delayed, you delayed, I say, I delayed, one day, one night, I thought to meet her today, he says, or maybe it was yesterday, no-one have I met all day, have you eaten, say I, or another in the corner, who had not spoken until that moment, yes, I have, he says, one more untruth to save the face, here is some bread and cheese and some small onions, say I, the bread is dirty and a little stale, it had a fall and came down hard, but you won’t mind that, thank you for this, he says, it’s not mine.’ He stopped talking, still looking up at the sky. ‘Do you hear a strange sound? A chain swinging in the wind?’
-----‘There is no wind,’ said the small man, looking round himself, and then upward at the racing and disturbed sky, ‘that’s to come; all that is to come.’
-----The discomfort of the track was mitigated, in the place which A chose to sleep, by the profuse growth of a plant, that next morning turned out to be bedstraw, appropriately enough. He lay on his side using his package for a pillow. He looked along the track. There was no sign of any person. The stars were bright.
They slept until the morning sun awoke them. The sun was high, above the rusting water-tower which had the old station-name painted on its side. The chain of the discharge valve swung in the morning wind, rattling from time to time against the water-tower’s legs. What was the station’s name? That he could not remember, nor even whether enough of the lettering remained to be deciphered.
-----They came to the town at ten o’clock, the sound came out of the clock-tower as they approached, a midmorning hazy in the heat. The town was no distance below them but it might have belonged to another world. They walked quickly, making a good pace along the track which wound over the gently curving course of the railway between the trees and bushes.
-----‘How still it is,’ said A.
-----‘If you can’t get past at night, then midmorning’s the best time, that’s a known fact,’ said the tall man.
-----‘Many people have said that; it’s become something of a saying,’ said the little man.
-----‘It’s quiet and there’s no feeling of hostility,’ said A.
-----They walked along in silence for a while. ‘It was an open admonition,’ said the little man, I recall it well, one night – it seems hard to talk of it in daylight, it seems unreasonable, but imagine that the heat and light were gone and that a heavy rain pattered in the leaves – he was an old man, beneath a tree, I could smell the wet proofed canvas of his coat, long about him, I know you by your name, he said, astonishing me, I didn’t disbelieve him, never thought of disbelief, stood looking at him, astonished by his presence, all I could do, I had never seen him before, what is my name, then, I asked him, never mind that, I know it, he said, it is not for you to test me, for you it is enough to hear me, the preamble is over, in seven days you’ll be at such-and-such a place, be careful there, trust nothing other than your senses and your feelings, perhaps not even them, listen to no arguments, close your ears to the sense of others, I know no more, I can say no more, could elaborate on what I have said, but for clarity’s sake I’ll speak no more to you. That’s all I have to say. How shall I know this place, I asked, you’ll know it by its name, people mention it, it will be written there, that’s all I can say, believe me or not, it’s all one to me, I see pasts and futures as though they were the present, unhappy faculty, I could embroider this, but do not want to cloud your insight, when the place is reached, keep on, he said, no discourtesy of farewell, that coat keeps out the rain, I said, to keep him there for a moment longer, to lose the sight of him would have been more than I could have borne, that moment, he looked thoughtfully at me, from his great age, it is a coat to walk through winter in, he said, have you got it right? he said, don’t be drawn in arguments, keep on, he said. I have not seen your face, I said, will not know you when next we meet, swiftly he must have gone, I did not know that he had gone for some long time. The rain came down, oh, only as it does, heavy, undriven, a purpose to it, as much as any other thing.’
-----The little man had been walking behind A, the path narrow, and A could hear his words and imagine his expression. The tall man said, ‘There’s a strong feeling against those on the railway amongst some who live here; that’s what I have heard; and there’s a provincial magistrate; he’s said to be hot, you are hardly human, he is said to think, whether he says it or not I do not know, but he acts upon it, that’s what I have heard, look down there, that might well be his house—’ He pointed down from the embankment to a tall town house, built of stone, four storeys high; from the ground its roof would be hidden by a parapet. ‘—that’s probably his house, narrow, tall, examines everything; I can see no-one at the windows. That’s where he lives.’ ‘Yes,’ said the little man, ‘I’m certain of it.’
-----‘Why should this be? You have done no harm to anyone.’
-----‘I wish that were true,’ said the little man.
---- ‘We’ve done nothing of importance, a few small things, from ignorance, largely,’ said the tall man, ‘I speak for both of us, but you get a name, you take on the identity of everyone who passes through, in their eyes, whom you have never known, whom you have never seen; one small thing happened years ago, don’t ask me what it was, or perhaps the small thing never happened, they think it will happen in the time to come, in the near future, perhaps, they’ll look at you, and say, he’s about to do something which we don’t like, look at the way he goes to it, changes his name with every days that comes, juggles the stance of his past with every hour, and they forget that they are like that, too, we know our past, that’s what they say, you have no past that we acknowledge, you offend by your presence, the magistrate will say, what a waste of time the trial, what a waste, imprisonment at the public expense.’
-----What strange superstitions, said A to himself.
-----‘Do you think that they are superstitions? Is that what you think? Do you think we make them up upon the road, sheltering from the rain beneath an arch? Do you think we measure time in days of travel? Have you seen a road more straight than the road of days? If these are superstitions, then all knowledge partakes of superstition. Perhaps that is not far from the truth. You think we shift our stance from day to day, and you are right; but beneath the adaptation to the day we do not change. That which you know you have always seen before. What lies on the skyline’s point perspective you will become. We have seen these things for ourselves. But you’re free, now, you don’t have to believe us.’
updated 16th October 2004