A Train With No Mirror

А Train with No Mirror

the second chance

I woke up feeling the tight leather seat beneath me. The rocking movement of the train had lulled me into sleeping longer than I needed. I looked around. It was an old-style train, built for luxurious travel, boasting an art nouveau interior and spacious compartments lined up along a wide corridor. Panels of shiny mahogany covered the walls, sprinkled here and there with colourful tiles in a peculiar pattern, only to be surpassed in elegance by the flowers on the compartment doors. It smelled of polished wood and looked like a first-class car.

Outside, streamers of flashy colours were flowing as fast as lightning. A second later, the usual landscape replaced them: gentle undulating hills embraced the train on both sides. As if somebody had adjusted the picture on a TV screen. This gave me a good feeling, but it did not last long.

How the hell did I get here?

A tingling sensation spread in my stomach. I took a deep breath.

Perhaps it was a dream.

It looked real, though — the conductor was already walking around, asking for tickets. I found nothing in my pockets and could not say when I boarded the train. Had I been drunk? He came closer, and I had to confess I had no ticket.

‘All those with no ticket, go to car number seven, please, right here ahead of us,’ he said, raising his voice as if he were talking to an old person or a child.

So, there are others.

‘When is the next stop?’ I asked.

The conductor raised his eyebrows as if I had asked him to translate the word “elevator” into Chinese.

‘No idea what you are trying to say,’ was his indignant reply. My gut feeling got even worse.

I had walked forward when I noticed the landscape again. To the left of the train, early spring was coming: gentle buds and leaves of light green decorated the trees. To the right, autumn was setting the fields on fire with its golden brush.

I must be dreaming, after all. No sign of the conductor to ask again. I should speak to another passenger when I take a seat.

Car number seven was not crowded, but a few people were still in it. It looked exactly like the other one, so we all travelled first class without a ticket. Service seemed essential here.

I had found my mobile phone in my pocket while looking for a ticket. It was high time to open it and find some answers — I did not even remember my name — one of many grave signs that day.

When I took it out, some of my fellow travellers looked at it with the kind of curiosity that suggested they had never seen anything like it before. Some wore old-fashioned clothes or a strange haircut, while others looked quite normal according to modern standards. The person opposite me was quite a character. He looked like a sales representative in his fifties. There was something cheap about his looks, but he had a disarming smile. I guess this is what you most need as a salesperson.

I touched the screen, ignoring the uneasy thought that I was unsure when and why I had bought this phone. At least I knew what it was for. Remembering plenty of things about reality, I knew nothing about my personal life. Was this information stored in different parts of the brain? I scrolled through the messages. People called me Chris.

Why did I have so few contacts? Did I work too much - or not enough?

At least there was no chat with a wife. You would easily recognize the demanding and matter-of-fact tone between people who had been married for a few years. So, it looked like I was not married. There were chats about appointments, birthday parties and friends, but none helped me discover who I was. Those people knew all they needed to know about me, and none of it was a topic of discussion. Emails were no help either. This was a private device, with no messages from work. And hardly anybody wrote a lot of emails privately these days.

Perhaps I should talk to the sales representative. I would have preferred the beautiful woman in the compartment next to us, but I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of her. Many single women around nowadays... Around thirty, she had a pretty, oval face, the way a Madonna might look, but with an element of fervour, as if she were a religious fanatic or a prophet. What made it lovable was the ingenious look of a child, as if she was still discovering the world around her and needed help. The type of woman who falls in the hands of either a knight or a villain. And who would adore both.

‘Excuse me, Sir. Do you know when the next stop is?’ I asked the salesperson.

‘Not sure what you mean,’ he answered bluntly, still polite.

‘But I can get out of here, can’t I?’ I tried again.

‘Yes, you can. Unless you stay in car number seven forever. Just follow the grey mice.’

The grey mice? I don’t see any mice… maybe he is not as normal as I thought after all.

‘I understand. I should look for the conductor again. See you later,’ I added, to make sure we were still friends.

‘Don’t forget, less is more. The little things can be decisive in a crucial situation,’ he added as a sign of goodwill.

I should speak to the woman next; she must surely be smarter than that. When I left my compartment, the landscape to the right changed. Leaves turned red, dried, or fell to the ground. Autumn was advancing in a time-lapse. To the left, the spring landscape had changed, too. Trees were in full bloom, summer flowers replacing the bright tulip carpet I had seen before.

I spoke to the young woman right away when I entered her compartment:

‘Madam, did you see that? It happened very quickly... Oh! I’m sorry, I did not want to overwhelm you; my name is Chris.’

‘Hello, Chris. I am Isabella. No, I didn't see it. But it must be freezing outside; the first snow has fallen,’ she replied softly.

I gasped… this was the last answer I expected. So, I turned to the passenger next to her.

‘Sir, can you see the autumn landscape out there? Isn’t it beautiful?’

‘Beautiful, indeed, a lot of crocuses and snowdrops coming out already,’ the old man said.

I might be losing my mind.

I spoke to the woman again — whose gaze was fixed on one corner, as if she was half there and half sunk in her thoughts. She continued quietly as if talking to herself.

‘This train is the Twilight Zone. Nobody believes me, but I know. The zone between light and darkness, life and death. It never stops, but new passengers keep coming in — and some are not here anymore. You may return to your previous life, jump to the left or right, or be left behind… You have three options.’

‘But you named four?’ I noted. Whatever, none of this made any sense. ‘How long have you been here?’

She looked sad and confused.

‘Not sure. Somehow, I am stuck here. Maybe I am no good for anything… or anyone. Or they can’t decide about me. Perhaps I am too passive. Some say if you are lucky, they may present you with a mirror before you leave — but not everybody gets that (it might be useful, though).

When the mice come, you need to follow them — they show you the way to the compartment you should be in. At first, the mice made me feel creepy. Why couldn't they use ants or something warmer and more industrious to give you the feeling there was a reason for it all?’

I did not dare to ask Isabella who ‘they’ were yet, and she did not look like she would know the answer.

‘Before they show you the way, try to memorize the landscape. Then you’ll know afterwards whether you’ve taken the test.’

‘The test?’ It was not getting any better.

‘Yes, and whether you are moving in the right direction,’ she added.

‘But the train is moving in one direction only?’

And the discussion is certainly in a circle.

I felt the first drops of sweat on my forehead. Isabella continued.

‘If summer comes and you are in cars One to Six, you are doing well. The further you get to the front, the better the chances you’ll leave this train. The further back you go, the worse your prospects are. Again, if someone is not in control of his psyche or rational thinking, he may stay longer in car number seven. That’s why I am here…’

‘Will I ever get out of here?’ I asked.

‘Not sure about you.’

‘Let me try again: does anybody ever get out of here?’

‘Yes, in winter — if they are in car Eleven when the lakes freeze. The last call is when snow falls... after that, there might be no more chance to escape. The car gets disconnected from the rest of the train, which turns to the left, continuing on the endless tracks. Some people call this train Seven Eleven, as it never stops, and the lights are always on. But you should pray not to be in the last car. You’d better leave in summer somewhere at the front. This place here is where, in case of doubt, your character gets appreciated once again.’

I noticed I was sweating but not feeling any thirst. Nor hunger. My body felt just right. As if I had been given fluid through a nurturing machine of some sort… Felt no need to sleep, either.

I thought it would be a long and tedious ride… until the mice came. They looked industrious, moving back and forth or in circles. Then, as if following a command, they formed an arrow and started toward the car ahead of us. Remembering Isabella's advice, I followed them but also looked left and right to memorize the landscape.

The mice ran into one compartment and disappeared into the corners when I reached the door, which stood wide open. Inside, an old lady was sitting at a folding table in front of a set of chess made of marble. Leaning back as if contemplating her next move, she raised her eyes to give me a friendly smile. There was a calm and inviting aura around her, but I could not tell her age. Her white hair surrounded a face hinting at past beauty, kept alive by warm, hazel eyes.

I stepped in, hoping that this would be a better conversation than the ones before.

‘Fancy a game of chess?’ she said. Her voice had a sweet quiver in it. She was fragile and stern at the same time, sitting upright like a gentle old lady from a noble house.

‘Sure, why not?’ I hoped I would be able to concentrate on something as complex as chess with all the question marks swirling around my head. But Isabella had made it clear that my chances of leaving the train depended on my behaviour.

‘Chess is such a wonderful way to let time pass, isn’t it — especially when you have a lot of it?’

‘Well, I'm not sure I have a lot of time, but there's no way to tell since I don't remember how I came here — and when.’

‘Oh, you have plenty of time for sure, my dear,’ she smiled, ‘the question is where you want to spend it and how.’

‘Good.’ I had enough of meaningful talk for today. ‘Let us start the game. Do you have a clock?’

‘No, we don't need a clock, dear; it destroys the pleasure. This is no competition. Or would you like a clock beside you when you make love? I play chess for the pauses in between to enjoy the landscape and the conversation if it’s interesting. You haven’t told me your name yet.’

‘I'm sorry, so many unfamiliar people here. My name is Chris.’

‘Hello, Chris. I am Frida. Let us begin.’

She was an excellent player but needed her breaks repeatedly. She liked to talk.

‘Life is like a game of chess, don't you think? Each move changes the context and the possibilities. Everybody seems to know that, but only a few adapt their decisions to the scenario. Most of us are like a tennis player who goes to the court, wants to play, and win, but has no strategy even for the next two or three strokes — unlike the professionals,’ Frida gave a complacent smile, like a child, as if she knew better.

‘Don’t want to be rude… but are you trying to say we should think in detail about each move we ever make? How could we have a viable forecast of all the parameters in this complex world? What if I want a position in the physics department, but another applicant is better than me? Or if I break my leg at a Grand Slam final?’

‘All I want to say is that you should know WHY you do something, whether it is your passion or your way of earning a living, whether you like a woman for her looks or her brains or her taste, or whether you just want to have a family and take the first best who says Yes.’

‘I tell you what I think. Life is like a piece of cloth with an oversized zipper in the middle, separating the left from the right. With each decision you make, you pull the zip upwards, and past possibilities close for you. You cannot turn back time and go to the right if you previously decided for the left. Until one day, you only have a few choices left — and the land you ploughed, including the harvest if you did it right. If you are lucky, it is full of passion. If not, you are like a tree which sheds its last leaves and dries away without a trace. No child, no poem, and no song left behind.’

‘Didn’t know you were a poet, Chris. But I guess we mean the same thing.’

‘You don’t happen to know where this train is going?’ I asked casually.

Frida looked at me with big, helpless eyes, as if she did not understand the question.

‘Perhaps you should ask the conductor. If you see him—I have not seen him for ages. But I have my guests, so I am fine.’

I left Frida and moved to the front. Another door opened. This compartment was empty, and I took a seat.

I made it to car number six, but this was easy. Wondering whether the next steps will be more difficult.

Next, a young man asked me to repair his mobile, and I moved to car Five. Then, an old man needed me to read from his book since he had lost his glasses — it was an exciting book, and helping him was fun.

‘This was not difficult either,’ I thought when I took a seat in car number four, ‘if I progress at this rate, I will soon be in the first car. But why are there so many passengers still on board?’

When the time came to go to car number three, I was confident I would stay there. I had heard I could advance two cars at once if I did something extraordinary. None of my deeds could count as heroic yet, so I was happy with the progress so far.

The new compartment was empty. Looking out of the window, I felt like dangling my feet, as if I were a child waiting for a concert to begin. Suddenly, a breeze of fresh air came from underneath. The bottom of the compartment opened, and I saw an enormous lake before me, dazzling with its azure brightness. Sitting on a rock beside it, I threw little flat stones into the water, counting how many times they would jump before disappearing.

A call for help cut the silence through, and I spotted a boy swimming way ahead of me. Why do boys always have to test their strength to prove that they are as brave as a 'real' man, whatever that might mean? But then, where would mankind be today if nobody ever took a risk? Isn't this the reason for youth being out there despite all the wisdom swept away each day? Does death have a reason, after all?

Whatever. Life was precious, so I jumped into the water to rescue this young guy who did not know what he was doing. Soon, I had him on the shore, panting for breath. His straw hair was glittering, mixed with sand and reflecting the sunshine. He opened his eyes, looked at me, and gave me a funny, mischievous smile. Not even a “thank you” but an expression of pure, innocent joy, having survived an adventure.

I was confident I would move to car number one right away. But it was only the second car. The conductor appeared out of the blue as if he could sense my resentment. This was the first time I saw him since I arrived here, so I said:

‘Good morning, Sir. You must be in a hurry, but I still have a question. Why didn’t I advance more today and move to another car? After all, I saved a man’s life.’

‘It’s always the same,’ he replied. ‘Everybody loves to be a hero. It’s way more difficult to do the things that nobody admires you for. And even more so, the ones for which nobody is grateful. Some people do that every day — but have you ever thanked a nursery teacher or a caregiver for being better than the rest and doing all those extra little things for half your salary? Or the firefighter for being brave?’

I didn’t answer. I guessed car Two was better than Seven or Eight or even Eleven, where it gets hazardous, as they say.

A day later, I saw the salesperson coming into the same car. I couldn’t believe he made it up there as well. I felt a sort of moral superiority to a salesperson. Even if it could be a nice person, too. He spoke to me in a cheerful but subdued voice.

‘Still in car Two, aren’t you? Shall I tell you a secret? I know how to advance here faster, and I also know how to avoid being taken to the back of the train - because that’s what will happen to you next. They only make you believe it is easy at the beginning so that you can contribute to the energy level, but then comes the hard part. Like the sweets kids get on the first day of school, not knowing what to expect in five years.’

‘I don’t quite understand what you’re saying. I am doing everything right; that’s why I am here.’

‘Doing it right soon won't be enough; you need an insurance,’ he said with a meaningful look on his face.

‘You are not out of the habit yet. Is that what you were selling in your previous life?’ I couldn’t help smiling. Although the word ‘previous’ gave me a shiver.

‘No! That is, I don’t know. I only know what you need here. You need seeds.’

‘Seeds?’ I raised my brows.

‘Seeds to tempt the mice in the right direction.’

‘But there must be another power directing the mice, right? I thought they had been trained or had a built-in chip or so.’

‘Even if there is, they love the seeds. You only need to throw them in the opposite direction if they are heading to the back of the train — they will turn around and lead you to the car in front. But there is a price.’

‘And that is?’ I knew this was coming.

‘You shouldn’t behave well in the next compartment you are in. As a result, you will earn three portions of seed, equal to three times moving ahead. So, you lose the current round but get three chances instead,’ he repeated the math.

‘That makes two,’ I said, still sceptical, ‘but it sounds like a dodgy deal. Where do you get the seeds from?’

‘I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. I simply don't know. One day, they were in my lap, and I felt the need to use them and spread them around.’

‘OK, perhaps it’s worth trying. There is no guarantee that if I get to the first car, I will get out of here, but if I have problems, then it might help.’

The next round, they put me in a compartment with a crying baby lying on a table between the seats. It had been calling for a while; its eyes were red and sticky. I had no prior experience with childcare, so I was sure I would screw it up no matter what I did. The smell indicated that the baby badly needed clean diapers, and some were lying on the floor. It was probably the right thing to do, but I was reluctant to try. Feeling the seeds in my pocket, I decided it couldn’t be that bad if I backed up this one time. So, I turned around and left the compartment. Even if the tiny, helpless voice was haunting me for a while. It could not be overheard, though; somebody else would surely come soon. The baby seemed real, and so was my feeling that I had done my best.

The conductor was coming from the end of the corridor in my direction, frowning. Wrinkles of sorrow were streaming on his forehead like shallow creeks.

‘You need to move to car number eight right away. That’s the right place for you. Try to do better next time. Find your soul and your heart again; you’ll need it.’

‘This is not fair. Nobody told me the punishment would be higher than the reward. It was just this one time.’

‘Your worst mistakes have a higher impact on your life than everything you have done right. It is no coincidence that some regret them until their last day. But there is always a way out.’

‘When do I get another chance?’

‘Whenever you are ready,’ he mumbled.

So now I had to move forward seven more times and do the right thing. Isabella had mentioned that once you were pushed back, the challenges became harder, as if you had to make up for previous failings. It would be more difficult to advance to the front again. I thought of using the seeds next time, but something told me it would not be a good idea. I better keep them as insurance if I really screwed it up.

Over the next few days, I stayed focused. Helped some children of complex backgrounds with their homework, took elderly people to the doctor, helped a 30-year-old junkie get clean during the most brutal sessions at night, and even put out a fire in a house full of families early in the morning.

While I was moving through the cars one by one, on the left side, late spring flushed the valleys and hills with its vibrant colours and sweet scents. Countless flowers unveiled their fragile petals to the world. The earth was blooming, and life felt like a breeze of saturated green. On the right, the autumn landscape stayed the same. No signs of winter, so I was safe.

I asked Isabella whether she had ever been at the rear end of the train.

‘No, luckily not. Car Eleven stays on the same tracks when the train gets disconnected and turns left at the last junction, to fall into an abyss soon after. What is in there, nobody knows; nobody has ever returned. Some say it is filled with fire from hell. Others think an alien civilization takes your brain apart as a source of energy. Others believe you are meant to be recycled since, as an evil person, you need a fresh start. They split your soul into parts to survive in a piece of grass, a bee, a fish, or a bird.’

As time passed, Isabella and I tried to leave this place together, helping each other whenever possible. I saw she struggled to do the right thing, so she received few chances. I talked to her and prepared her mentally for the subsequent trial. What she needed was confidence and self-esteem. Even if the appropriate mode of action was obvious, she was used to being reproached for everything she did before. Hence, she often thought something else was expected of her and kept doing the wrong thing, always trying to adapt and please.

One day, I joined her in a new compartment and helped her to accomplish her task. We found out there were no consequences — as if we had a team score or a seminar work at college for which everyone got the same grade. Finally, we both reached car number one. There was nowhere else to go. The train ended ahead of us. Nobody had ever seen the locomotive; it was a different type of energy pulling the train.

‘So now what?’ Isabella said quietly, her body trembling in my arms.

‘At least now we won’t be left behind while we are here, I guess.’

‘But we can’t stay in this car forever. If nobody ever left, it would eventually get full.’ I had to admit there was a certain logic to that.

Then it happened. We hardly noticed the beginning since there was no noise or particular sound to announce this. The left and the right windows at the front turned each into a flat-screen mirror. We looked at each other and watched first hers, then mine.

Isabella's screen showed the last days of her life before she came here, and it revived all other memories in her head. As it happened, she murdered her husband in self-defence after he had been violent for quite a while. Isabella had lost her unborn child on one of those occasions and was not eloquent enough to make the jury understand it. Crying most of the time, feeling pity for him and remorse, she could not tell a coherent story and had no money to hire a lawyer either. Isabella was given a deadly injection and was now hanging between life and death, her body and soul struggling to survive. She would receive an amnesty if she returned to life after this; this was the law in the state where she lived.

I still did not know why I was on this train when I looked in the mirror before me. Having worked for a big asset manager in the city, I passed by people lying on the street each morning. I could not help all of them, but I wondered why nobody could. More people did well than those on the street, so it didn’t fit. There must be enough resources to solve that, I thought. We even send people to the moon. So, since I knew the back-end processes in the financial institute I was working for, including their weaknesses and failing controls, I took one cent per day from each big account and transferred it to a third party abroad. From there, I would distribute it to institutions that help the homeless and clinics that accept the ones needing therapy.

Of course, this was theft, and I knew it. But my motives were good. Still, did they excuse what I did? So much happens in the world in the name of a good cause; who could draw the line…

Isabella looked at me. Her eyes were wide open, and their blue was getting deeper, filled with appreciation and love — now I knew again how to tell the difference. The love that sprouted during our time together was thirsty for recognition and hope. I did not know whether I deserved to be sure of myself, but I wanted to give her all the warmth she had missed for years. So, we both had something to offer. And we had earned a second chance. I asked:

‘What if you are in the first car and you don’t get to see a mirror?’

‘Nobody knows. Some speak of eternal light seen through the door slit. You probably don't need a mirror since memories are irrelevant where you go. You would carry positive energy but no baggage and live on a different level, a shiny star, an ocean of light infusing the self. An eternal bliss. Or something better, a state we cannot imagine.’

Yet this was not the moment for us to see this. I put my arms around Isabella and said, ‘Let’s leave the train. Our second chance is waiting.’