I just entered a poem in an HHWEN poetry contest - one of the few I've ever penned. It's a collection of word pictures that exists in my memory of my childhood thinking spot and was written a long time ago when my heart broke the day I discovered it had been destroyed for a cul de sac of houses. Made me think about this story that I wrote about the same time so drum roll please this is my first ever web-published piece of fiction!
Beyond the Tracks
A face, prematurely lined stared out of the grimy windows at dingy ramshackle houses, standing in their weeded yards on pure audacity alone. The Canadian winters had peeled their paint, and poverty stripped their inhabitants of dignity. Dirt roads full of potholes stayed unrepaired year after year. There wasn’t a flower in sight. The fields began again, and the apprehensive face withdrew from the window.
The humidity made everyone and everything sticky. She straightened her skirt and thought, what kind of place is this we’ve come to? Will my children forgive me for tearing them away from everything familiar? Will these railroad tracks ever end?
“Next stop, Belleville!” the conductor bellowed. His walk had the same easy rolling gait as the sailors whom they had left what now seemed like days ago, although it had only been hours.
At last, they had arrived. Passengers collected luggage and started calling out to the people waiting for them on the platform of a small white square building. Their words were lost to the Veltkamps whose familiar Deutch was now an ocean away.
The nine children stood together, the three youngest ones holding hands, their large blue eyes taking in the motor cars and wide open spaces of a kind they had never seen before. They waited for a sponsor who never came. Finally, their father took a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and telephoned a man who was said to be friendly to the Dutch.
The man came in his big black car to take them to his home. There wasn’t much room and they had to sit on each others’ laps. The man drove very fast up and down hills that made the children giggle and their mother almost sick. Her beautiful Holland home didn’t have hills like these.
The next day as they lay awake in their benefactor’s beds, birds they had never seen before sang outside their window in the maple tree. The only sound they recognized was that of the great metal beast wailing its morning warning that it was about to cross the trestle bridge. The train let loose a second short blast, and rumbled on its way belching black soot as it went. Many, many years later, that sound once so jarring was now as familiar as a favorite lullaby.
“Grandma, did you really hide Jews from the Germans?” Gerben asked shuffling his feet through the golden red maple leaves.
“Yes. It was an awful time. I remember once three Canadian soldiers came, they were exhausted. They looked like muddy skeletons tied together with rags. I hid them in the barn with four Jews. An hour later a German group of soldiers came asking about the Canadians. I offered them dinner, so I wouldn’t look suspicious, and said I would send word if they came,” she replied with a far away look in her eyes. Her voice came from a space deep inside her where fear still lived.
“I sent your Uncle Johnny to warn our cousin Martin not to send the next group of Jews because of the Germans. No one noticed a small ten year old peddling around on his bicycle,” tears gathered in her blue eyes for her son that survived the war but not his first winter here. Only one fell as she continued with her story.
“ We came here because the Canadians were always so good. We moved to the first farm of our own, more than a dozen years after the war. I went to the market to sell my first batch of tomatoes, and a young man stopped to stare at me. At first it made me very nervous.”
Now the corners of her mouth twitched into a well worn smile.
“Turns out, he was one of the Canadian soldiers and he remembered me. That winter he always made sure we had enough hay for the animals,” she patted her grandson’s shoulder.
“The world is very small Gerben, it doesn’t matter how far you go. But goodness lives, it grows, it is remembered.”
She seemed about to say more but was interrupted by the muffled sound of the train whistle and it brought to her mind the kindness of another stranger and his big black car.
*********************************************
“Well don’t just stand there get off the tracks,” Annie gave her five year old charge a push. She wished he didn’t live right beside the rails with old rusted nails scattered around. The trains were so fast now and the little boy’s legs were so clumsy in the boots that had to be jammed on his feet. Poor kid probably didn’t have any feeling in his toes.
“I’m gonna be a train driver when I grow up. Choo-choo!” The boy ran off, pulling an imaginary whistle and tripped over his sister’s bicycle lying forgotten in the snow covered grass.
Annie picked up a broken beer bottle and tossed it into the trash, desperately hoping the little boy would get that chance to grow. His alcoholic mother did nothing but complain about his imprisoned father. His older brother appeared infrequently but was well known as a local drug pusher. His grandfather lived with the family and loved to tell Annie how he had built the house. She didn’t blame him for his pride. It was a miracle the place was still standing.
“What are you gonna be Annie?” the boy asked.
Annie just shook her head, she had so many dreams and they all seemed so impossible. Taxi driver’s daughters couldn’t afford to go to university, not unless they committed themselves to a lifetime of servitude paying off a student loan. Baby-sitting for twenty bucks a day sure wasn’t the ticket out of town though either but someone had to look after the little guy. She had filled in one day for her friend Lana and then ended up taking over.
“Mommie’s home,” he whispered and dove behind her legs.
Mrs. Sheene wobbled up the driveway with her latest boyfriend Alvin. She worked as a waitress in the sleeziest motel in town. Only 31, she looked more like 41, and her voice sounded like a scratchy record. Alvin’s eyes were only half open and so bloodshot Annie couldn’t even tell what colour they were. He looked her up and down but wasn’t interested in a willowy under-developed body. Mrs. Sheene’s ample hour glass figure almost burst out of black painted on jeans and a T-shirt two sizes too small.
“Hey you, get that brat out of here, I don’t want to see that snot nosed kid for a while. We got some business to do,” he squeezed Mrs. Sheene’s one asset and she laughed. The screen door banged behind them but sprung back open since the latch was broken. Tye stepped out from behind her legs.
“The rest of ‘em will come soon,” he said.
“Who’s them?” Annie asked, thoroughly disgusted as she led Tye away from the house.
“I dunno. They drink lots of beer and take their clothes off. Janey says Mommie’s a slut. What’s a slut Annie?” he asked, perfectly unaware of the cruelty. It was the only world he understood.
Annie looked from the house to the railroad tracks to the boy. The zipper on his winter coat was broke and she had to safety-pin it closed. He smelled like cigarettes and constantly wheezed because of asthma.
“Let’s pretend I’m a train. All aboard,” Annie bellowed bending down to give him a piggy back. He grinned and hopped up on her, his arms almost strangling her. “All right where to?”
“Your house! I want to play with Chang. Choo-choo!!” He loved dogs and Chang was his favorite.
Annie chug-a-chugged up the street. She kept chugging around the corner to where the sidewalks started - a long twenty-five minute walk with his weight gaining five pounds with every block but she never put him down. She decided he was going to stay for dinner tonight and after dinner she couldn’t take him home. He didn’t complain through the long hot bubble-bath or through the night time story or even when she tucked him in under her covers.
“We’re going to get out of here you and me. We are going to find out where those railroad tracks go,” Annie promised, kissing his cheek goodnight. He just smiled and closed his eyes. But just as she was about to close the door he rolled over.
“Annie, did you hear it?” he asked sleepily.
“Hear what?”
“The whistle, that’s a VIA. I’m gonna pretend I’m on it,” he mumbled through a yawn.
************************************************
The black car swung into the exit of the parking lot, Frank swore and swung the wheel to avoid an on-coming car.
“Watch it, you maniac. I told you, you should have let me drive,” his sister screeched. He ignored her as he slammed on the brakes, the car jerking to a halt in a parking space.
“Damn they’re already boarding.” He reached behind the seat to grab his bag.
“Bye sis, watch the gears eh, they’re sticking,” he warned her as he jumped out of the car. “Wait! Hey, don’t leave. Shit!”
A dark-haired girl standing in the aisle throwing her luggage into the rack above the seat watched him trip and do a nose dive into the pavement. The conductor was pulling up the step.
“Wait, there’s someone out there who wants on,” she called out. The woman glanced at her and then outside. Frank picked himself up and shook his head.
“Come on then, we’re waiting,” the Conductor yelled at him, grinning over her shoulder at the girl. He jogged over and jumped up into the train. “I would have left you out there but your friend here saved you,” she said with a wink to the girl.
“Thanks, is this seat empty?” Frank asked.
“Yeah, go ahead,” she said pulling her ticket out of her backpack.
“Are you going to school?” he asked.
“For now, it’s my last year. I’m studying immigration history at Queens.”
“My grandparents immigrated after the war. They’ve got all kinds of stories. When they first came here they had to sleep in the barn with the sheep because their sponsor didn’t have any other room for them. They didn’t stay there long though. What got you into studying history?”
“In a way, trains did. History says this railroad tied Canadians together but it’s just wood and iron. I think the people it carried are more important, why they came here, why they stayed, what they brought with them. They’re the ones who built Canada,” she suddenly stopped and looked embarrassed. “Bet you’re wishing you hadn’t asked. Sorry, didn’t mean to sound like a prof wanna be.”
“Not at all, I was just wondering why I’ve never seen you before. Here or at Queens.” Frank loved to talk, particularly to pretty girls with almond shaped dark eyes. She could talk the whole trip if she wanted to. He liked the quiet confidence in her voice.
“You look like a science type guy, we’re probably never in the same buildings,” she suggested.
“Good eye, I’m studying medicine. I’m Frank.” He offered her his hand.
“Annie, it’s nice to meet you,” she shook it firmly. He had nice long fingers. Maybe he painted or played the piano. They had an hour long trip, plenty of time to find out.
The conversation between them flowed easily like the scenery drifting by their window. The maple trees were just starting to bud. When they got to the Kingston station Frank offered to share a cab and pay for the fare in exchange for Annie getting him on the train. They were waiting for a taxi when Annie suddenly swore.
“Damn, I completely forgot to give Tye my new e-mail address,” she mumbled to herself.
“Tye? My cousin’s name is...oh my God you’re Annie, the Annie. That’s why you look familiar, it’s from his pictures.”
For a second Annie was confused and then the light went on. “You’re related to the
Veltkamps?” she asked instantly thrilled.
“Gerben Veltkamp is my uncle. Him and my Aunt became foster parents after listening to all my grandmother’s stories about taking in Jews during the war. They figured it was the least they could do. But you are famous in our family. Sixteen years old and you practically raised Tye on your own for a year and a half. He adores you, talks about you all the time.”
“And he should, after all I put up with from him. But I wasn’t alone, my Dad was there. Mom died when I was ten, but my Dad’s always been the best. He wanted to keep Tye but wasn’t really going to be home enough to look after him when I left for school. And then I met your Aunt and Uncle, it was the perfect solution. I can’t believe this, small world eh?” Annie laughed.
Frank smiled in agreement and the conductor called her last all aboard. She gave Annie a big thumbs-up before she closed the door. Annie wished it was colder so she could blame the weather for her blush. The spring rain though was warm. Annie glanced at Frank but suddenly had to watch raindrops bounce in puddles because she’d never seen anyone besides Tye look at her with that much admiration.
“So you’re going to be a doctor eh? Real life hero.”
“I don’t know. It’s not exactly courageous. Besides who knows how good I’ll be.” He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders modestly.
“Doesn’t really matter, heroes are people who care enough to try to help.” She waved down a cab.
Like you, he thought. He wondered how she’d feel about joining him for coffee, and what his parents would think of this girl from the other side of the tracks. They climbed into the cab and the train whistle blew.
By Sheryl Loucks
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