“The steam is hot?”
“Well no, it isn’t hot exactly but it’s not very pleasant. It’s just especially horrible when you’ve just had your hair done, even if you’re sitting well back in the cars like Milly.”
“I see.”
She shifted about to face him. “But it’s all right at night if there’s interesting guests and we all get inside and Grant puts the roofs on the coaches. Then one can have air conditioning in summer or electric heaters in winter. Then it’s very cozy. Very especially if it’s a boy-girl party. There’s lots more track that runs through those woods yonder. Then it can be better than a sleigh or hayride. Then it’s just like the tunnel of love.”
The train came by without slowing and an enhanced Messenger stood up in the coach, his hands braced on top of the glass. “The horror, the horror, hey Mills?” He was laughing.
“If you want a ride you have to flag the train,” Mary said.
“That’s all right,” Mills said.
“There’s a toilet inside the station if you have to go. There’s a potbelly stove.”
“I know,” Mills said. “There’s a map of the line behind glass. There’s travel posters and old waiting room benches.”
Mary looked at him curiously. “Did Grandfather tell you?”
“No.”
“My mom?”
“Is Grant nice?”
“Very nice. He’s worked for the family years. We’re all very polite to Grant.”
“Is Grant his first name or his last name?”
“You’d have to ask Milly.”
“Where’s the flag?”
“Over there,” she said, “but you can use your handkerchief or raise your hand as if you were hailing a cab.”
“You do it,” Mills said.
“No,” she said, “it’s stupid.”
“Does Grant ever get to go for a ride?”
“He’s riding now.”
“I mean in the cars. I mean in the coaches.”
Messenger, grinning, helped Louise down from the train when it pulled in. It’s her big day, Mills thought.
“Can my husband have a ride?” Louise asked.
“I’m all right,” George said.
“Just once or twice around,” she said. “You can’t tell from here but there’s a tiny model city where the train makes its first turn. It’s very unique.”
“I’ve got to talk to you,” Cornell Messenger whispered.
“Miss Claunch said that maybe we could bring Daddy’s Meals-on-Wheels friends out for a ride someday,” Louise said. “It’s really amazing. You ought to try it, George.”
“There’s not much water in the boiler,” Grant said. “I’d have to fill it and fire it up again.”
“Oh yeah?” George said. “You’d have to go to all that trouble? For me? Oh yeah?”
And suddenly — Mills didn’t know how — the two of them were bristling about each other, hackled as rivals dithered and suspicious over pawed ground, cautious, their glands giving off signal, tooth-and-claw stuff.
Mills asked if Grant were Grant’s first name or last.
Grant wondered if George was the same George who’d taken Mrs. Glazer to Mexico to die.
“That’s right,” Mills said. “She asked for me.”
“Specifically asked for you?”
“Specifically. That’s right.”
“She was very ill.”
“Bereft,” Mills shot back. “Bereft of folks to count on.”
“Hey,” Messenger said. “Hey, come on.”
“Leave me alone,” George said.
Milly was crying. Mary, sedate on the bench, looked from her sister to the others. Louise announced that if they were driving back to the city she had better stop in at the station first. Grant walked to his tender and started to climb aboard. Mills followed him.
“It’s hot,” he said. “Those cars are air-conditioned. You didn’t turn it on for my wife.”
“I’d have had to put the roofs up.”
“You should have! She just had her hair done. Now it’s all unkempt from the steam.”
“It was unkempt when she got on board.”
“Don’t you talk about my wife that way.” But Grant had already started the train up. George backed away from the steam shooting out from the pistons. “I’m talking to you. Where are you going? Someone is talking to you!”
Grant turned around and smiled. “Who?”
“I’ve got to talk to you,” Messenger said behind him.
“What? What do you want?”
“Let’s go down a ways. I don’t want anyone to overhear.”
“I’ve got to get back to the city.”
“Hey fellow, come on, will you? I lit up again in the station. I’m so stoned you could make a citizen’s arrest. Why do I do this? Do I do this for fun? It’s the griefs, Mills. I owe it to my problems. It’s medicine for the griefs.”
“I don’t care about your problems.”
“Sure, if you did you’d get stoned too.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got my own troubles,” George said, turning away.
“What, a saved, tucked-in guy like you? All snuggy snug and living the lap robe, deck chair life?”
“Louise told you that on the train.”
“Who? Oh. Lulu? Nah. The mischief maker told me.”
“Mrs. Glazer?”
“Long distance. She was dying. She reached out and touched someone. Cancerous bitch.”
“Come if you’re coming. I’m going back.”
“Wait,” Cornell said, and his voice was unenhanced. “Does Mahesvaram mean anything to you?”
When George turned back to look at him Cornell was standing on the tracks, all the fingers of his left hand stuffed into his mouth. “It’s that word she gave you,” he said quietly, “it was her mantra.”
Messenger seemed as if he were going to collapse, and Mills rushed to support him.
“Watch out!” Grant shouted. “You’re standing on the third rail!”
The two men leaped away from each other, tripping over the outside track. Grant roared. “Geez, that’s the oldest one in the book,” the engineer wheezed. “I used to get Judith with that one. Same as I got her kids. A third rail on a steam engine?”
“What else?” Cornell hissed, recovering, grasping the sleeve of Mills’s suit coat. “Did she tell you about my kid?”
“Not now,” George said, and pulled away. “You go on. I have to talk to that guy.” He turned toward the engineer, already addressing him while he was still several yards away. “What’s your problem, Grant?”
“Oh, my problem.”
“This morning I was your dead mistress’s pallbearer. The family knows the use I’ve been to them. I mean the girls, I mean the sisters-in-law, I mean the aunt. I mean Mr. Glazer and the Claunches, Jr. and Sr. both. If I were to mention your rudeness to me, or the people in my party…”
Grant was laughing, applauding his speech. “Hear hear,” he said. “Har har.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Do you play cards?” Grant asked suddenly.
“What?”
“Cards. Card games. Do you know how to play card games?”
“Yes,” Mills said, “sure.”
“How many games?”
“What are you talking about?”
“How many card games do you know how to play? Gin? Do you know gin?”
“I play gin.”
“Call rummy? Michigan rummy?”
“Michigan rummy.”
“Pinochle? Bridge?”
“I never learned bridge.”
“You never learned.”
“So?”
“You never learned. You don’t know call rummy. Or a dozen games I could mention you’ve never heard of. The poker variations. Sure, you play cards. You never learned. You know who taught me bridge? Judith. Judith did. I was her bridge partner.”