Martha had never taken an overnight train trip and wasn’t sure she’d like it. She imagined being cooped up in a hot, stuffy railroad car, like a sausage in its casing, as the train rolled past empty countryside. But Stan loved trains; so, she reluctantly agreed when he proposed taking the train to California for Angela’s wedding instead of flying. Even though with the new jet planes, it took only four hours to San Francisco. Even though the train would take three days.
They boarded the California Zephyr in Chicago. The first day they saw nothing but endless cornfields and prairies. The train stopped in places she’d never heard of – Galesburg, Ottumwa, Red Oak – but never long enough to get off and stretch her legs. That night she fell asleep as they were pulling into Omaha.
The next morning, they made a long stop in Denver to change engines. Martha and Stan got off the train before breakfast and walked the platform together. She drank in the fresh air. Stan picked up a newspaper.
Pulling out of Denver, the California Zephyr began its climb into the Rockies. The train slowed as it labored up steep grades and squealed around tight curves.
After breakfast Martha returned to the room while Stan headed for the lounge car to read his newspaper. Seated by the window, Martha absorbed the dramatic scenery. How different from yesterday, she thought, A moment later something caught in her peripheral vision. She looked down at the ground beside the tracks and saw the body. It lay maybe 20 feet from the train – a man, dressed in a red shirt and blue jeans, his face all bloodied.
As they passed, Martha saw his arm lift like he was trying to wave. She pressed her face against the window until she could no longer see the man.
****
She found her husband at the rear of the observation car, his face hidden behind his newspaper, “Stanley!” He lowered the paper. “Stanley, I just saw a man lying beside the tracks with his face all bloody. At first, I thought he was dead, but then he lifted his arm. Like he was trying to wave.”
Her husband looked confused, “What? What are you talking about? Are you Okay?”
She tugged at his sleeve, “Com’on. This guy needs help. We’ve got to find the conductor.”
“How do you know he needs help?” Stan asked as they started forward; “Maybe he was just taking a break or waking up.”
“Taking a break?” exclaimed Martha as she slid open the door to the next car; “Stanley, he was hurting! His face was all bloody and he didn’t move except to raise his arm a bit.”
They found the conductor three cars ahead checking someone’s ticket. Blue uniform, brass buttons, conductor’s cap. His name badge said Hoagland. Martha motioned him back into the vestibule so passengers wouldn’t hear.
“We just passed a man lying by the tracks who needs help,” she began; “I was looking out the window when I saw him on the ground. His face was all bloody. At first, he didn’t move, but then he raised his arm a little, like he was trying to wave. He needs help.”
Conductor Hoagland remained expressionless during her story. Now he asked, “About how far from the train was he, Ma’am?”
Martha thought a moment, “He was pretty close … 20 feet maybe; no more than 25 or 30.”
His next questioned annoyed her, “You’re sure it was a person, Ma’am? On the train it can sometimes get confusing because we’re moving so fast.”
She looked him in the eye, “No, I’m sure. I know what I saw.”
“And you think it was blood on his face? You could see that from 20 or 30 feet away?”
Martha fumed. He was treating her like a schoolgirl, like he didn’t believe her, “Yes, it was red all over his face. What else could it be?
“Well, maybe he had a rough night. Did you see anyone else around?”
“No.” Martha was fed up with Conductor Hoagland, who took a notepad out of his pocket and scribbled something.
“Okay, Ma’am,” he said, “We’ll report this to the railroad police and they’ll look into it.”
“Thank you. Please let me know,” said Martha. The conductor was already on his way back up the aisle.
****
Heading back to the room, Stanley said, “That’s something we didn’t plan on – a mystery on the train. It’s good that you told them; they’ll take care of it now.”
Martha was thinking of the man lying in the dirt, falling farther and farther behind. At lunch they spotted the conductor coming through the dining car. He was about to pass by when Martha caught his attention, “Have you heard anything yet about the man by the tracks?”
“We notified the police, and they’re checking it now, Ma’am,” said the conductor. She didn’t appreciate his condescending tone. And she wished he’d stop ma’am-ing her.
****
“I don’t think he cares a whit about this,” Martha told her husband when they got back to their room.
“What makes you say that?”
“His whole attitude. He doesn’t believe me; can’t you see that? I’ve messed up his day, given him more work to do. That’s all he cares about. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t even called the police.”
“But he said he did; he’s waiting to hear.”
Martha eyed her husband, “And you believe him?”
Stanley paused, “Look hon, I think we’ve done everything we can do; the man is miles back now. So, let’s go up to the dome car and watch the mountains go by.”
His wife’s voice rose, “Sure, there’s a body beside the tracks; maybe he’s still alive; maybe not. And like everyone else on this goddamn train, you don’t care.”
Stanley threw his hands up, “Geezuz, Hon … What do you want me to do?”
****
The knock on the door came just before 4 pm. The conductor stepped into their room with a smile on his face. Martha detected smugness, “I just heard from dispatch. An eastbound freight went through that area about a half hour ago. They saw nothing amiss; no bodies in sight. So, I think we’re all clear.”
Martha wanted to scream. All clear? What is this guy thinking? God help us if there was a real crisis, like the train jumping the tracks. She glared at Conductor Hoagland, “What about the police? Have they reported back?”
“Haven’t heard yet. But I wanted to give you this news ASAP, so you wouldn’t have to worry.”
Yeah, you smug bastard; sorry I ruined your day.
Later that evening, Martha shut the door and locked herself in the room; Stan could sleep in a coach tonight. Serves him right.
Stephen Brayton is a former journalist and marketing communications executive. He resides in the Boston area.
