subrosa: the adventures of bill chase chapter_13

Chapter 13


When the train stopped, I woke up curled in a fetal position on the floor. I must have fallen out of bed in the night. I sat up and looked out the window.

"Jesus," Russ said. "My head."

"Is it morning?" Jack groaned.

"The light is on," I reasoned.

Dan was already up, washed and shaved.

"This is an hour stop. They restock the train here and we get off. Do you want to have a hot breakfast with us in the station before we go?"

"Yes."

"How did you sleep?"

"I do not remember."

"Do you remember any of last night?"

"I am certain I will not forget it."

"Have good memories. Even if you never have sex with another man, it doesn’t mean you can’t have fond memories of us."

Russ and Jack were dressed and I was still sitting on the floor. I got up and went into their tiny bath to wash.

In the station, we had breakfast, talked philosophically for a while and ended up with joke telling. They told me to be a little less serious and not to be afraid to enjoy myself.

Dan paid for the food and gave me his business card. He said if I ever needed help or was passing through to call him. He told me I was a good man and hurry up the train is about to leave.

"Thank you," I said.

"For what?" Dan asked.

"The fun and new experiences."

"I hope you get to see your woman again," Dan said.

They each gave me a hug before I ran back to the train.

The train ride to Toronto would take about three days. The first day had exhausted me so I would have to draw on my will to become strong for continuing my adventure. I decided to spend more time watching the Prairies in contemplation and less time searching for oblivion. I wanted to run in open fields. I felt I did not want to be part of the things that were going on around me. A woman sat down beside me. She was almost twice my age. She was very attractive. I longed to be swallowed up into the safety of her womb.

"You don’t mind if I sit here, do you," she stated more than asked.

"No. Be my guest."

I laughed to myself wondering if I had assumed it was my territory if I was making her my guest. I had staked out my grounds. I had scratched the seats and urinated on the wall. I was there so it was my space. If she was bold enough to enter my domain, she would have to bear my offspring, I reasoned.

"Thank you."

"What?"

"Pardon me."

"If I can."

"Are you okay?"

"Sorry, I just woke up. What city are we in?"

"Regina."

"That is good. We are still on track."

"I hope so."

"Although I do not remember her, I think my mother was beautiful like you."

"Is she dead?"

"I do not know. I do not even know for certain if I had one. I never met her or even saw a picture of her. At least, not that I can remember. But I have forgotten very much."

"I’m sorry to hear it."

"I do not blame you."

She nodded her head not sure what to say in response. She did not seem interested in continuing the conversation. I felt like telling her many things. I wanted her to hold me and tell me everything was going to be all right.

"How far are you going?" I asked.

"Winnipeg."

"I am going to Toronto."

"What’s in Toronto?"

"An incredible number of people."

"Is that where you are from?"

"No. I am from the mountains."

"Why do you want to go to Toronto?"

"I do not know what else to do. I know someone there. She said it would be good for me to live in a big city. It has more variety than a small town. There are many writers in Toronto. I like writing. Do you ever read Canadian writers?"

"Not often. I’ve read one of Atwood’s books though."

"She is a great writer. I get the feeling she actually is a little psychotic the way her characters are so paranoid most of the time. I like that about her. There are many other writers though. I have read a book by her man; it was a bit crazy too. And there is this other fellow who wrote about his trip around the Great Lakes. Two of them only, I think his family left him before he could write the next three. I think you can write about anything if you tell it in a way to bring some enlightenment to the reader. There is a story in almost anything you do. Do you not think so?"

"I guess there could be."

"Do you read much?"

"No. I have little spare time."

"I have a fair amount. I would rather read a book than have a job, although I also like working. I worked on a farm this summer. It was hard work but it made me feel good."

"Working is good."

"That is what Dave says."

"Your boss."

"He was not so much a boss, we worked together. He was very good to me. He paid me even though I would have work for him in repayment for his hospitality. They whole family was good to me."

The conversation died. She did not seem so interested, rather a little uneasy. I felt I would have to contrive a conversation to keep her talking. I liked to look at her pretty face when I told her things but I did not want to make her uncomfortable. Sleep was what I really longed for. I wanted to sleep until the train stopped in Toronto.

I slept most of the day. It was a sleep that left me more exhausted than before I slipped into my sanctuary. When I awoke, a stranger’s shoulder was supporting my head. I relished it for a moment before sitting up.

"Sorry. I must have fallen asleep."

"You slept a long time."

"I did not sleep so long last night. It is my first time on a train."

I turned to stare out the window. Later, when the sun had gone down, I could see my reflection on the window. I thought I let out a scream but there was no response from anybody. Most of the things I did only occurred in my private world.

It was dark early morning when the train left Winnipeg. It would not be long before the train crossed from Manitoba into Ontario. Ontario marked the end of the west.

I floated between sleep and wakefulness, never quite being in either one. I lay in various positions but could never get comfortable. A hot shower is what I wanted.

For the rest of the journey, I could not register any events. I did not talk to anyone. Occasionally, I noticed the landscape rushing by the window. I had run out of the food that the Harrison’s had packed for me and was tempted to buy something on the train, but I had heard that a sandwich went for about a million dollars and was not worth eating. I had grown used to my hunger. I was convinced that it would somehow purify me.

What seemed like years later, the Great Canadian Railroad rattled me into Toronto. It did not feel like home. I wondered why I had come. My mind was muddy. Again, I felt like my past had abandoned me. It did not seem to matter what it was. The only effect it had on me was where it had taken me, what it had made me. I still could chose any direction. I still could be anyone.

What was I to do?

I started by leaving the train station. Outside greeted me with rain. Rain was part of rebirth. I did not move until I was soaked to the skin. I wanted to be cleansed of the train ride.

The street was littered with people rushing to capture cabs. Across the street, people were suited to try to give an old hotel an air of elegance. They opened doors to allow well off guest to enter. It seemed an obvious farce. A game that no longer held meaning. The hotel’s upper class aura was tainted by the stains of pollution on its cladding. Its glory was muted by the new taller buildings surrounding it.

One building had golden glass against a massive shaft of concrete. It seemed odd that there was no great stair case that had to be climbed to reach it like I would have expected a pagan monument to have. I could see the power and wealth the building represented but it was isolated. It was not a monument for the people. Its power did not filter down to the street where a misty fog hung in the air concealing the poor people.

I was closed in. There was barely any sky for all the concrete and glass. The odd pathetic tree was strategically positioned to break the lifeless artificial landscape. Somebody had taken it too far.

What was I to do?

There was the option of calling Suzanne but it was late and I was not sure if I would know her in this city. If I knew where to go it would be useful to have a map. But I felt any decision of action would be as pointless as any other decision, so I just started to walk.

Behind me was a giant phallus that pierced the canopy of cloud. It seemed an odd thing. There was something very primal about man’s quests.

Without deliberation, I started walking down Bay Street under the tracks that had just brought my train. Under a highway I walked. After passing a couple large buildings, I came to a lake. I could not travel in the direction I had chosen.

I listened to the waves licking the concrete wall and the rain falling on the pavement before I walked the length of the boardwalk. At the end of the boardwalk, I chose the direction I assumed was north.

Back under the highway and under the railroad tracks, up Yonge Street, I plodded, allowing the city to suck me in. The farther north I went, the more people I saw. The first person to talk to me asked for a quarter. I was too confused to respond.

The rain let up.

I was a cold fish still wet out of the water.

When I got to the north end of a block long shopping building, I encountered a peculiar event. A street evangelist was screaming at the cloudy sky. I stood in front of the possessed man to study him.

"Let Jesus lead you," he howled then looked at me in a piercing superficial way.

"Where to?"

"Through the troubles of your life, to get to heaven, to live with Him, singing praises to God for all eternity. Jesus is Lord of Toronto!"

"Where is the Lord’s palace? Do you think he would have a spare room for me tonight, even if it was in the horse stable; I would be happy to curl up in a hay bail."

"He lives within our hearts if we let Him. He stands at the door and knocks. Let Him in. He will take away all your sins."

"I do not want to give my sins away. They are part of my identity. I hold them for reference and security."

"Repent of your sins and be saved! Let Jesus be your saviour and your rock on the stormy sea."

"Why are you yelling at me?"

"You will go to hell if you don’t repent. There is little time left. There are many signs that Jesus will soon come."

"There are many signs that say no parking but as for Jesus, he has returned to dust and you can read as many signs as you want, he will not come and save you. You are fucked."

"Sinner, repent. Jesus is Lord of Toronto."

He was not really looking at me. He had his message that he had to give to the people of Toronto.

"Hash, grass, blow?" someone asked as I passed him in the middle of the road.

I did not fully understand what he wanted until I had gone past.

Fun. The sign said ‘Fun’, I thought about Jesus and wondered if this could be one of the signs the preacher had meant. I decided to investigate. Amusement machines lined the walls. I watched the intensity in which the players where involved in their delusions. Their metal saviour. Jesus machines.

I watched someone at one machine until I started to understand what he was doing. When he ran out of quarters and left, I fed the machine quarters in exchange for isolated, meaningless frustration and anger. When I started losing control of my senses, I quit. Soon after quitting, I was back to how I was before I started the communion with the Jesus machine. I was not decided which condition I preferred but I could understand how quickly money disappeared on a Jesus machine. There would be no redemption after the money was gone.

I wandered until it started raining in torrents. At the next bus shelter, I stepped inside to collect my thoughts, but they were too scattered over thousands of kilometres of western Canada. It was necessary to figure out where I was and if I could understand that, I could try to make a plan of what next to do. Maybe I would have to find out what other people did. The safest thing would be to do as the others were doing. With enough information, I could work out a norm and use that as a guide for my life.

I struggled out of my trance when I noticed a pair of feet enter my line of vision. Looking up from the feet, along the length of the legs, over the hips, around the waist and up over the breast that was little concealed in a thin wet shirt with no bra and finally to a beautiful face with dripping wet hair falling past her cheeks, I understood that a woman was standing before me. She was watching me looking at her. I was not certain how long I had taken to observe her every detail before looking into her eyes. I did not know how to react. She scared me. She was certainly a creature from my dreams coming to haunt me; women were built this way to have control over me. I waited, expecting her to lash out like a monster.

"Have you ever seen a wet woman before?"

"Not one like you."

"Did you just fall in from another world?"

"Yes. But on the train."

"Are you stoned?"

"You are so beautiful."

"I work at it."

She looked closely into my eyes.

"You’re not stoned. You are in your normal state. You aren’t from here. What
are you doing here?"

"I am sorry. I do not want to bother you."

I sat down trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. I hoped she was not offended.

"Too late."

"Pardon me."

"You have already bothered me. Now I have to decide what to do with you."

I thought maybe she would want to torture or kill me. It seemed odd to have been standing alone, unbothered only a few moments before and now my life course had taken a new direction. I wondered if my desperate need of a direction had called her from the pit of hell to drag my week soul away. I could try to get by her and go my way up the street. I could try to fight against her. I could not decide.

She sat beside me.

"What were you planning to do here?"

"I do not know."

"Did you want to sleep here tonight?"

"I do not think so."

"I don’t want to insult your manliness, but I see you as a baby bird that has just been evicted from its nest by a bigger hungry sibling."

I looked at her trying to picture her analogy. I could see she did not step on baby birds. She was not how I had first pictured her. She was much more gentle then her strength first indicated.

"I like you. I’ll take you home and feed you until you are strong enough to fly."

She stood up and held out her hand to help me up.

"I don’t usually take men home from the bus shelter, but you might perish if I leave you out here. You come home with me."

"You are so kind."

The bus was approaching so we left the shelter to stand by the road in time to catch a wave of dirty water. My new friend handed me a token which, following her lead, I placed in the money jaw. The bus driver smiled at my friend’s breast.

We walked to the back of the bus and sat down.

"You might as well tell me where you’re from and how you got here."

"My parents abandoned me in the woods of British Columbia. They thought I was an insane child and did not want to raise me. I survived by building a shelter and gathering nuts and berries. I dug up roots to eat and made traps to catch fish. I would still be there now, living quietly, but I inherited some trouble. A man, who had been shot, stumbled into my dwelling and died in a bloody mess on my floor. I thought they, those them that I knew where out there and would like to find me, would frame me for the killing of the stranger if they found him dead in my dwelling. With the sounds of hounds in the distance, I took his money before grabbing the first moose to the train station. I randomly chose Toronto because of all the o’s. And after a three day ride which felt like forever, I rolled into this place."

"That’s quite an adventure," she said and slapped my leg gently. "This is our stop."

We got off the bus and walked a short distance to her apartment building. It was my first ride in an elevator.

When we entered her apartment, she was already taking her clothes off and heading for her bedroom. She reappeared in a short housecoat. She threw me a housecoat and ordered me to take off my wet clothes.

"Take a shower if you want."

"I would love to."

I went to the bathroom, dropped my wet clothes in the tub, turned the shower on and relished the luxuriousness of it for a few minutes. When I got back to the living room, I found my host bent over looking for a record. She looked up and smiled at me.

"Sit down, I’ll make you a drink."

She came back and sat down cross-legged beside me.

"This will warm you."

She handed me a small drink in a special kind of fat bottomed glass. I swirled the liquid around for a while and tried to imagine what it was that terrified me. Was it my host with her friendly smile and her near naked body so close beside me? Was I afraid that I had fallen asleep on the train and would soon arrive in Toronto and not meet her? I likely feared to be thrown out. I might have feared that she really was a monster and would attempt very shortly to make me defenceless for her mad ritual of the sacrificing of an outsider.

I wanted to hold on to something. Preferably a very large and heavy rock.

"You have to tell me more about yourself before I decide if you sleep with me or on the couch."

"What makes you think I want to jump into bed with you?"

She smiled and laid her head on my lap.

"You have a nice face," she said.

I told her what I could remember form the time I woke up in the river, through the adventure on the road and my summer at the farm. I mentioned what I thought about a few things. I was pleased that she listened so intently to me. Telling her stories out of my life seemed to anchor them in a realm of concrete reality.

She placed my hand under her housecoat on to her breast.

"I think you are going to like me," she said.



by Joanne B. Washington

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