Where This Mystery Takes Us: Part 5 of 6
As the train nears its destination, Erland falters and Buddy asserts himself.
This is part five of a six-part serialized mystery story. For the first part, see Part 1.
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How far have we traveled, Erland thought, to have lost the stars?
He let out a long groan.
Then something lifted him into the air by the scruff of his neck.
A paw as big as his head flung Erland through the doorway of the baggage car. He slid to a stop against a pallet. The door slammed, cutting off the cacophony of wind and mechanical noises from the locomotive. Erland sensed something looming over him. He rubbed his eyes and blue uniform of the Conductor slowly came into focus.
"You," she said. "Causing commotion on my train."
He nodded, sending pain shooting down his spine. He didn't try to get up. The baggage car was warm and the floor more comfortable than he ever thought a floor could be. He fought the urge to sleep, to sleep even for a minute.
"What's the matter with you?" she said. "Do you want your wife to see you this way? Your kids?"
"I'm simply trying to get Hedda to understand that we're on the wrong train."
The Conductor eased her bulky frame onto a wooden stool as if uncertain it would support her. "Look, Fox, I have three coaches of passengers, one of baggage, a club car, and a Pullman. Almost everyone on this train wants to be here. Almost everyone.” She aimed her huge nose at him. “Except you. I can't figure you out. Foxes. Every time I get Foxes, I get problems. Someone always making a commotion.”
“We don't like taking things at face value, I guess.”
“That's right. You're the clever ones. Fixing things. Asking questions. So let me ask you a question. Other folks want to get to the City. Most have tokens. The ones that don't, they try to stow away in the baggage car. Some try to trick me to get on board. I thought I'd seen everything until tonight. I've never seen anyone determined to get off the train. Don't you understand why all those other folks want to stay on this train?"
"No, I don't. I don't understand anything. It doesn't make any sense to me. Where you're going, this city, it's not supposed to exist. It's a story."
She took a brown cardboard box from a nearby shelf and held it closer to Erland. "Tell me what this is."
"A package."
"What's the address?"
Erland squinted at the label. "City of Light."
She put the box back and took a clipboard from a hook on the opposite wall. "What do all the destinations say on this bill of lading? It's the third column."
"City of Light," Erland said.
"So tell me, Fox, why would this train be carrying cargo for a city that doesn't exist?"
"From my point of view, until a few days ago, the City of Light was a story from a book on a shelf in our apartment. On the other paw, for as long as I remember, Stone City has existed, and that's where we need to go."
"You keep talking about this book. What is it?"
He lay motionless for so long that she nudged him.
"Still with me?" she said.
Erland eased himself up. "You wouldn't know about a book for Foxes, of course. The book says that before the Folk had tools, before fire, all Folk were guided by animal cousins. Each tribe has a different cousin. Some cousins taught farming. Some taught mining. Cousin Fox taught my tribe—"
"To be troublemakers?"
"To be clever. To ask questions." He felt around his mouth and winced at the broken tooth. "The book is the foundation of the Foxes. Our actions, our perceptions, they're all influenced by the stories in that book. The problem is that some of us take it more literally than others."
"Your wife."
"It's not Hedda's fault. Things have changed so much since the book was written. She's not as aware of those changes as I am. We can do things now, y'know, that would be seen as miracles back then. Think about the story of the City of Light. It's popular with kids. You must have heard of that story, at least."
"I've raised four boys. Never heard of it. What's it about?"
"It's the great mystery of the Fox." Erland moved to a seat across from the Conductor. "Here's the short version: There's a blight that strikes the land. Because of the blight, the Foxes are cast out. So there's this mother Fox and her cubs, right? In the story, they lose their home. She loses her job, loses her friends, loses everything she has except her cubs. When things are at their worst, when her cubs are stricken with fever, the mother Fox hears about a City of Light, which is a city of sanctuary. Whatever that means. She decides that's where they're going to make a new home. The rest of the story is how the mother Fox works out clever ways to get on a train to the City."
“I thought you said this was an old book. How are there trains?"
"It is an old book. I know they didn't have trains back then. They had arks or something. Whoever put out this edition updated it for modern readers."
"Gotcha. Does the family make it to the City?"
"Yes."
"And they're happy?"
"I guess so. It's implied," he said. "I'm not really doing it justice. I'm a mechanic, not a priest."
“Is there a Conductor in the story?”
“Yes, but it’s a male Brown Bear.”
The Conductor rubbed her ears in puzzlement. "If you don't mind me being too direct, how long does Pip have?"
"A few months." His voice cracked. "If we can get to Stone City, find a doctor, then maybe a bit longer."
"Your other one, the cute boy, he's got problems, too? That can't make your life easier."
"Buddy's always struggled with words. The school said he's not clever. I don't know. He can be clever sometimes."
"And their mother?"
"The worse Pip gets, the worse Hedda gets."
"I guess I understand why you're acting a little crazy. In this story, what did the father do?"
Erland raised a paw reverently. "There's no father in that story."
The Conductor sat for a few minutes, lost in reflection. Then, she reached out carefully, so as not to alarm him, and smoothed the hair between his ears. The gesture reminded him of his mother.
"I'm sorry I can't help you, Fox." She stood up and checked her watch. "The regulations are pretty clear. If you don't have a token, I have to let you off at the first opportunity." She gave him a handkerchief. "You're not planning on making any more commotions on my train, are you? I'll leave you in here if I have to."
"No." Erland rubbed his forehead, smearing blood on the handkerchief.
“Finish wiping off that face and let's get you back to your family.”
The Conductor walked Erland back to the coach where Hedda, Buddy and Pip waited. When Hedda saw Erland, she sat up in alarm.
Erland gingerly pulled himself into the opposite seat. The Conductor gave him a mug of tea. He mumbled, "May a thousand lights shine down on your family."
"And also upon yours," she replied.
She went to check on the other passengers. Erland regarded her with curiosity as she walked away. How would a Bear know a Fox blessing? he thought.
He said to Hedda, "I saw the other cars. I made it to the locomotive. I saw the engineer."
"What's an engineer?" Buddy said.
"He steers the train."
"Like in the book?" Buddy said.
"Sort of. It's not that impressive."
Buddy scrunched up his face, confused.
"For one thing, he's a squirrel."
"That's not in the story," Buddy said, rubbing his paw.
"I'll explain later."
Hedda cut in. "What did you say to the engineer?"
"It wasn't really a long conversation. The door to the locomotive's cab was locked."
"Is that how you got hurt?"
"I got a little carried away when I tried to open the door to the cab." Erland sucked his broken tooth. "The story in the book is missing some details, y'know. For example, the locomotive for this train weighs about 127 tonnes. It's powered by a 12-cylinder diesel generator."
Hedda held up her paws. "This train is real, like you said. I don't deny that. But real trains go to real places. This train is going to the City of Light, so, the story has to be more than a story. This train proves it."
"So this, getting on this train... You were never going to Stone City?"
"Yes. And I'm sorry. I never intended to go there. I only agreed to get on the bus so we could get to the station in time for this train."
"For the sake of all Foxes, why?"
"I thought that somehow we would make it work, and that the closer we got to the City of Light, the more you would see things my way."
Erland chuckled. "I knew when we left this morning that we'd run out of money before we got to Stone City. I didn't have the heart to tell you." He looked around him, at the other passengers, most of them asleep, their lips and noses twitching in unsettled dreams. "I could tell you weren't fully sold on the plan to go to Stone City. I hoped you'd see things my way, too."
"We can get to the City of Light, Erland."
"Not all of us. Not with one token. I'm out of cash. Out of tricks." He ran his paw along the chrome window trim, feeling the mass of swaying, thrumming metal surrounding them. "Only one of us can go all the way."
Pip coughed.
"One of us adults, I mean," Erland said.
Buddy slipped from his seat and stood between them. He looked back at Hedda. "I don't want you to die."
"I'm not going to die, honey."
"I don't want you to go to the City of Light."
"I have to, Buddy. I have to take Pip there."
"What about me?"
"You can come, too."
"I want,” he stammered, “to be with Papa."
Hedda hid her reaction from Buddy. She didn't think he'd want to leave her.
"I want Mama and Pip to come with me and Papa." Buddy thought about how he'd helped his parents swaddle Pip in one of his old blankets. He struggled to translate his thoughts to words. "I don't want you to die."
"We're not going to die," Hedda said, and wiped her tears with her sweater sleeve. Pip sneezed, and she rocked her. "Remember the story. Does anyone die in the story?"
Buddy licked his paw nervously, trying to remember.
Hedda looked at Erland. "I thought I might lose you." She shook her head. "That didn't come out right. I mean… I didn't expect to lose Buddy. I don't want you to have to take care of him all by yourself."
"I can manage. We'll be OK. Right, Buddy?"
"Dangit," Buddy said.
Erland scolded him.
"I hate Mama."
"Stop that."
"I want Mama to read the book to me."
"You know we gave it away."
"Go back and get it!"
"Stop that, Buddy."
Buddy glared at his father, daring him for another scolding.
After a long silence, Erland said, "This could've worked out, Hedda. In a different world, this could've worked out."
"If we had a bit more time and a bit more money," Hedda said.
"If I'd been a bit more clever." He studied their reflections in the window. "Or if we hadn't been Foxes."
"In a different world."
"I'm sorry, hon." Erland sagged against the armrest, his coat draped around him like a discarded battle flag. "What do we do now?"
Hedda put her paw on Erland's paw. "Now we see where this mystery takes us."
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