What would you do if an unexpected letter invited you to ride a very special train? I’d take it in a heartbeat. Who knows what may happen to you when you exit the train at your destination? It could be…wonderful…
The invitation appeared in the mail. That alone was unusual. I hardly got mail beyond the usual pizza and burger coupons. I did not hear it arrive through the mail slot, having lost my hearing as the result of childhood measles. I did, however, see it. The envelope was noticeably thick and made of superb quality paper. My name and address were carefully inscribed on the front with what could only be a fountain pen in perfect cursive handwriting. There was no return address. The stamp portrayed the image of three ducks swimming in a pond. I held it in my hand, curious, before turning it over to notice that it was sealed with red wax embossed with the image of three swimming ducks.
Intrigued, I sat down to carefully open the letter trying, without success, not to mutilate the seal. The envelope contained a card of substantial weight and thickness decorated in the detailed style of the Ottoman miniaturists. It included only my name, the image of three swimming ducks and the numbers 1 1 0 1. Unsure if that meant November 1 or, if I considered binary numbering, June 1, May 1, or January 11, depending on the ordering of day and month.
I turned the card over in my hands looking for directions. Finding none, I became irritated. I paced the floor of my small office. I stared at my bookshelves searching for a clue. I searched the internet. Nothing.
Frustrated, I reached for my phone to scan my social media accounts. With the phone in my hand, an idea hit me. I looked closely at the detailed ornamentation on the card in front of me. Could it be?
I turned on the camera on my phone and held it over the card. The phone immediately detected a QR code that linked to a website. Huh, I thought, clever. The website was decorated around the edges with images of ornamental ironwork reminiscent of the Art Nouveau style. The center of the screen showed the image of an ordinary train ticket with a date, a time and platform; November 1, 1:00 a.m., platform ten. I hit print. Nothing happened. I checked the printer, did the usual unplugging and plugging in, and eventually gave up. The following day, the ticket came in the mail.
#
I arrived at the train station ten minutes early and followed the signs to platform ten. I found the platform easily at the bottom of a set of wooden stairs with a wrought iron railing worn smooth by the passage of hands. I checked my watch and looked around. The platform was empty. It was remarkable for its high vaulted ceiling and ornate wrought iron pillars, the rivets of which fused the concept of form and function perfectly. A slight breeze entered from the train tunnel alluding to other destinations and carrying with it a faint hint of diesel. I was so entranced by the stark beauty of the platform that I was startled to feel a tap on my shoulder.
I turned to see a tall, gaunt, white man towering over me. He was dressed in a snapback cap, and a baggy green tracksuit with gold chains, one of which ended in a gold medallion in the shape of a gyroscope. When he smiled, his teeth shone with a diamond-encrusted gold grill. I was surprised that I hadn’t noticed him earlier.
He appeared to be friendly and offered me a set of earbuds that he held out in the palm of his hand, as though offering a carrot to a horse. I shook my head and motioned to my ears, trying to indicate that I wouldn’t need them. He took the earbud from the palm of his hand and gestured to his ear.
I read his lips. “Put it in your ears.”
“I’m deaf.” I mouthed back.
He was remarkably persistent. I acquiesced, picked up the earbud and placed it in my ear.
“Good?” His accent was thick, and it took me a while to register that I could hear him. He looked at me with raised eyebrows and held out the other earbud.
I paused for a moment before taking it and putting it in my left ear. I was startled by the cacophony of sounds in the train station that was almost deafening.
“Can you hear me now?” he asked carefully, enunciating each word while tapping his ear with a finger.
I nodded. “Yes,” I said cautiously, not having spoken clearly in years.
“I can hear you now as well.” He grinned revealing a flash of metal. “You received your invitation.”
I was not sure if it was a question or a statement, so I nodded.
“I am the conductor. May I see your ticket?”
I reached into a pocket and produced the ticket.
“Excellent.” The conductor’s reply was muted by the train arriving, right on time.
#
The conductor helped me to board and indicated that I might sit where I like. The train car, like the platform, was empty. The walls were paneled with dark mahogany and adorned with brass light fixtures that threw a warm, diffuse light. Richly upholstered chairs were arranged as though in a drawing room, replete with a deep green oriental carpet. There was a pleasant aroma of vanilla mixed with cherry reminiscent of pipe tobacco. On the wall hung a painting of three swimming ducks. I chose a richly embroidered loveseat with a table by the window so that I could see where the train was headed. That was my last memory.
#
I woke to the hiss of brakes as the train slowed down and came to a stop. I felt rejuvenated, as though I had slept for a thousand years. I raised my arms and stood up to stretch. The earbuds had fallen out and I crouched down under the table, searching for them in the plush carpet with my hands.
A voice boomed over top of me. Startled, I hit my head on the table as I tried to stand.
“Mmm mmm, you won’t need those, honey.”
The voice had a vaguely familiar drawl. It was bizarre that I could hear him and understand what he was saying without reading his lips. I slowly extricated myself from under the table to see a large black man, wearing the same snapback cap and green baggy track suit as the white guy.
“Are you the conductor?” My voice sounded strange to me.
“You got it, honey.” He smiled, flashing the familiar metal grill, and pointed his finger at me like a gun.
I looked around disorientated. “Where are we?”
“We have arrived. You may exit the train.”
“But where?” I asked his back as it retreated towards the exit door.
I followed him out of the car and stepped down onto a platform that looked the same as the one I had left. I checked the clock on the wall which read 12:59 a.m. As it flicked over to 1:00 a.m., the overhead system blared a single long shrill tone. The sound pierced my eardrums like an icepick. I instinctively covered my ears with my hands and shut my eyes tight. I walked slowly up the stairs and headed home.
#
My hearing was exquisite. It overwhelmed my other senses, left me feeling blind and disoriented, causing me to lose my bearings. I took several wrong turns in my desperation to get home.
My heart was pounding, and I was drenched in sweat when I finally arrived at my apartment. I pulled myself up the narrow staircase of the old Victorian house to the top floor. Once inside, I immediately stuffed my ears with cotton balls and had a good look around. Everything appeared exactly as I had left it. I took out the invitation from my pocket and as I set it on my desk, noticed that the three ducks that had been swimming were now taking off into flight. I held my phone over it and a QR code took me to the now familiar website with a train ticket for platform ten at 1:00 a.m. on January 11. Duck Duck Duck.
#
I had often dreamt about getting my hearing back. I only had vague memories of what it had been like to hear. I was accustomed to my life of solitude and silence. I took solace in the world of computer programing, a world where my gender, race, and age didn’t matter, where I could be anything I could create, influenced by my love of history, art, and science. But still not a world where I could hear.
Since the train, I was unable to sleep. The radiators popped and cracked like bombs in a war zone. Every creak in the house made me jump. The tree outside my window that had given me tremendous joy and comfort was now a source of aggravation, its branches scratching back and forth across the windowpane. My head filled with a constant racket that robbed me of any peace. I longed for silence and I wanted my old life back.
#
On January 11, I made sure to arrive at the train station early. I descended the staircase to platform ten and was immediately greeted by the conductor who was dressed exactly as he was when I last saw him.
“Honey, you’re back!”
“Yes.” My voice came out with a tinge of manic excitement that I had not intended. “I want to go back.”
“Nuh huh, honey, the train only goes forward,” he said in a drawl.
“What does that even mean?” My whole body was vibrating, and I shuffled my weight back and forth from one leg to the other.
“The train,” he held his hands out parallel to each other as though directing a plane to land, “it only goes forward, honey.”
“Ok…can I go forward to go back?” I looked at him, intently waiting for an answer.
“Well, lemme see.” The conductor rubbed his chin and looked up at the ceiling. “Hmmm …lemme see the invitation.” He held out a large hand studded with gold rings.
I reached into my pocket and dug out the invitation in its envelope. The conductor took it and looked at me with eyebrows raised. “May I?”
I nodded my head and wrung my hands as I watched the conductor take the invitation out of the envelope.
He examined it carefully, muttering to himself, “um hum um hum, ya I see…” He took off a ring which turned out to be a jeweler’s loupe. He held the loupe to his eye and examined the card closely, cleared his throat and looked up. “Honey,” he said in a slow drawl, “did the card change?”
I nodded dumbly.
“Uh hum uh hum,” he muttered to himself again examining the card before looking up and staring directly into my eyes. “Honey, why did you get on the train the first time?”
The directness of the question took me off guard. I suddenly stopped shuffling and stood perfectly still. I didn’t have an answer. I stared at him wide-eyed, silent. Why had I answered a mysterious card and gotten onto a train that had no destination? Where was I expecting to go?
“Curiosity,” I said.
The conductor handed me back the invitation. “Uh hum uh hum uh hum,” he muttered again. “And when you got on the train, was there something you desired?”
Desired? To hear. To know what the world sounded like. To know what I had been missing out on. I had never spoken of this dream to anyone in my life.
As the train pulled into the station, he handed me a pair of earbuds. I put them in my ears to the sound of silence, pure and sweet, a relief. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in and then exhaled slowly counting to three. I took them out of my ears and put them in my pocket, glanced at the conductor who gave me a conspiratorial wink, and I boarded the train again.
#
The interior of the train was exactly as I remembered it. The same dark mahogany walls with brass fixtures and the richly upholstered chairs. The aroma of vanilla mixed with cherry felt comforting and familiar. As I sank into a plush couch, a down feather floated out of the cushion. I noticed the painting on the wall now showed the three ducks flying in formation. The train started with a soft clank and clatter that I found pleasing instead of jarring. I took the ear buds out of my pocket, looked at them, and then decided to listen to the sound of the train. I was determined to stay awake, but months of sleepless nights coupled with the sway of the train and the warm, soft couch lulled me into a deep and welcoming sleep.
#
I woke to the hiss of the brakes and the feeling of the train slowing down. I had slept so well that I didn’t want to wake up, but I was also curious to see what this life would be like. I stood up. The trained lurched, and I grabbed onto the arm of the couch. Finding my balance on the swaying train, I stretched my arms up above my head and yawned. I felt amazing, energized.
I wondered what, if anything, would be different this time. I snapped my fingers by my ear. I could still hear but now the sound was pleasant, sharp, crisp. I cleared my throat and said my name out loud.
“My name is Lucy. I am on a train.”
The words rolled around like marbles in my mouth. It felt weird to speak. I had not spoken much since regaining my hearing. I looked at my hands, my feet, my arms. Everything looked the same. I walked up and down unsteadily on the rocking train. It slowly pulled into the station and I looked out the window. The station looked the same, but now it was so clear, it almost shimmered.
“We have arrived.” It was the conductor.
“Where did you come from? Where are we?” I felt as though I had more questions and fewer answers than the last time.
The conductor was dressed in the same clothes as before, but this time, the gyroscope on the chain around his neck sparkled and spun. Had it done that before? His clothes shimmered green and gold. His movements blurred with the world around him. He smiled and the diamond encrusted grill shone so brightly that it would have blinded me had it not been for the low lighting.
“We are exactly where you want to be.”
“What does that mean?”
“You may exit the train.” The conductor gestured towards the exit, turned, and headed down the car.
#
I exited the train and looked around. The platform was, as always, empty. The clock read 12:59 a.m. and a tone played over the speakers as the clock clicked over to 1:00 a.m. This time, the sound was not overwhelming and was almost pleasant. Without thinking, I tried to match the tone with a hum.
I looked around. The station was beautiful. I had noticed the vaulted ceilings before, but now I noticed that the point at which the metal columns tapered into the arches of the ceiling were decorated with tiny ornamentations of time and space; an hourglass, planets, a sundial, and other elements that I could not readily identify and yet felt oddly familiar. I had the sense of déjà vu.
I walked home slowly, deep in thought. Despite the darkness, I felt as though I could see clearly. The hearing that I had gained on the first trip had become finely tuned, and I could make out the faint call and response of dogs barking in the distance.
#
Once at home, I checked my invitation again. The decoration was exquisite. The ducks were now flying with their wings rendered in minute detail. I held my phone over the invitation and was taken to the same website. There was an ordinary ticket for May 1.
This time, I pondered what I could learn to do with my new heightened hearing. I began the process of slowly identifying the sounds in my home. The soft plink, plink of the kitchen tap, the intermittent hum of the refrigerator, the scratching of the tree branches on my kitchen window.
The outside world was more challenging. The sounds came from everywhere and all at once, but with time, I was able to fully appreciate the symphony of the world around me. I learned different languages, studied music from the east to the west, understood the songs of birds, and the sounds people make when they think they are being quiet.
The world of sound was fascinating, and it was enhanced by the improvement in my vision. My eyesight had always been sharp, but now I saw the world with a clarity that I could not describe. I started drawing and painting to try and recreate what I was seeing, but it was like rendering something ethereal, dreamlike, and I grew frustrated with my efforts. I had been accustomed to my life of silence and what I had always thought to be excellent vision, but now I wondered what other senses I might have been missing.
#
On May 1, I headed to the train station with a sense of purpose. Whatever there was to learn, I wanted to discover it. What the conductor had said was true. Life, like the train, only moves forward. Once you discover a world beyond the one you have known your whole life, there is no going back.
I descended the stairs to an empty platform. I looked for the conductor but did not see him and was again surprised when I heard his familiar voice behind me.
“Lucy,” he said, “I knew you’d be back.” It was the conductor, flashing his sparkling grill, the gyroscope on the chain around his neck spinning.
“You said my name.”
“Where to this time?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Always honey, always.”
“Forward, I want to go forward.”
The conductor held out a pair of sunglasses in his hands.
Without hesitation, I reached out and put them on. The world became something altogether larger than I could describe and when the train pulled in, I knew I wasn’t coming back.
END
