by Rodney J. Smith
The concourse was like a meeting of Ancient Rome with Grand Central Station. Daniel marveled at its size and grandeur: almost the length of a football field, its great marble walls and columns were as high as the floor was long. Beams of light stabbed through the cracked domed ceiling and fell like spotlights on a stage, slicing the gloom of the thick fog pressed against the huge windows.
Wide stairs with golden balustrades led to platform exits at either end. Ticket booths lined the walls stretching between, each with a lengthy queue in the crowded station.
Amidst the chaos of arrivals and departures, beggars entreated passers-by for spare change, crying out from benches or moving up and down the queues. Most travelers refused their requests, more concerned with guarding their place in line as they awaited the next shuffle forward. Those who did reach obligingly into pockets or purses were set upon by all nearby beggars, who swept in like seagulls to bread – only to find their former place denied them when they were pulled out of line by the scavenging destitute.
Daniel joined what looked like the shortest queue, though with the ticket counter a barely discernible shape in the distance, it wasn’t much of a find. He didn’t mind. It was just great to finally be out of bed and moving. The bed sores and beeping machines were rapidly fading memories. No longer did he have to push a button just to go to the toilet, or suffer the indignity of being showered by one of the nurses. He was content to stand awhile, simply because he could.
As he joined the line, a woman approached with the nervous, apologetic smile of someone asking a favor of a stranger. “’Scuse me. I don’t s’pose you got any spare change, mate?”
Daniel ran his fingers through the coins in his pocket. “No, sorry,” he shook his head with feigned regret.
“Anything will do, really. No matter how small.”
“Sorry, got nothing.”
“Not even one coin?” Her eyes flared with accusations her humble smile couldn’t afford to launch. “Please, I’m stranded here.”
Bad luck, Daniel thought. He shook his head again and faced forward. Feeling her linger, he continued the charade of being engrossed in happenings up ahead until she moved on to panhandle elsewhere.
Many more tried to bum a coin or two off him as the queue continued its stuttering creep forward. Some whined. Some argued the point. Others threatened. All, though, got the hint quickly enough when he wouldn’t even look them in the eye.
He was halfway to the booth when a commotion broke out at the front of the line. Everyone stood on their tiptoes for a better view, so he couldn’t see any of the action.
“This is an outrage!” someone roared. “I brought His word to the people! Saved thousands of lives!”
“Get outta the way!” “Tell your story walking!”
There were sounds of a brief struggle before the queue lurched forward again. A disheveled priest came storming back down the line, straightening his clerical collar and smoothing his white hair. His eyes burned with indignation. Daniel didn’t avert his own quick enough to avoid those fiery beads. The priest made a beeline for him.
“Christians give, my son,” he said, forcing his hands into Daniel’s pockets.
“Hey!” Daniel struggled against the fists buried in his jeans.
The priest’s lip curled. “Nothing?” He shoved Daniel and moved on.
Daniel slid his hands into his pockets and was relieved to find his small handful of coins still there. The priest must have missed them.
The queue continued its inch-by-inch crawl until, eventually, the only thing standing between Daniel and service was a young man in a paramedic’s uniform. The ticket booth was a simple square hole in the wall, pitch black behind thin bars with a metal tray at its base. Daniel could hear a low voice crackling in the darkness. The paramedic nodded. He produced heaped handfuls of coins from his pockets and shoved them through the chute.
“Can’t we do it together?” At a neighboring booth, a man argued with whoever sat in shadow behind the bars. “Why can’t I just pay for her, too?” He clutched a woman to his hip as though all around were kidnappers bent on stealing her away.
The paramedic ceased his shoveling and headed for the grand stairs at the end of the hall. Daniel stepped up to the booth and peered into the blackness. A pale face appeared inside, its features draped in shadow. He could just make out a hooked nose and a long, thick mustache framing a protruding chin as it fell into darkness.
“Foul deeds sapped the coin, true deeds replenished it,” the ghostly face said. “You must carry enough to pay for passage.”
Daniel fumbled for currency in every pocket he owned. The grand total covered little more than his palm. Hopefully, that was enough. He dumped the handful onto the tray. One by one, as though pulled by magnets, the coins slid across the metal and disappeared over the edge. There was no sound of their making contact with anything below.
“You cannot pay. You may not board.” The face withdrew into the dark.
“Wait! That’s it?” Daniel panicked. “I wasn’t a criminal or anything! I can’t be short by much!”
Nothing stirred in the silent booth.
“How much do I need?” He grabbed hold of the bars. “Tell me how to get more, at least!”
The queue behind him was all apologetic shrugs and impatient stares. Someone further down the line cleared their throat pointedly. The next person in line stepped forward, giving Daniel a less-than-subtle nudge to suggest his appeal was over.
Daniel spied the paramedic’s reflective top amongst the mass of passengers moving up the stairs. That guy had plenty to share! He rushed to catch up to him. He’d lost sight of the young man by the time he’d reached and scaled the stairs, but what he did find filled him with new hope.
The long corridor at the top wasn’t guarded – no one was even checking for tickets! The platform was right there at the other end. Framed by an engraved archway, it was filled with relieved faces, welcoming handshakes and embraces. Daniel moved briskly toward them, his hope rising with each step.
As he stepped through the arch, bursts of white light erupted around him like flash photography. An invisible force crashed into his chest, lifting him off his feet and flinging him away. Spread-eagled on his back, he saw now that the ornately engraved archway was filled with the faces of cherubs. They frowned at him with silent disapproval, while other passengers passed unmolested beneath their gaze.
A chorus of horns sounded. Lights appeared in the fog. An excited buzz rippled through the crowd. They surged to the edge of the platform. Several trains emerged silently from the haze, long, silver carriages that gleamed despite the gray conditions. Thick white mist coiled along their undersides, as though they traveled on clouds. They came to a stop in perfect unison and hovered beside the platforms. The passengers poured into them.
Daniel rolled to his feet and made another play for the platform. The cherubs’ eyes flashed with the intense light again and he was denied with the same thunderous force. The trains sounded their horns once more and glided silently back into the fog.
Daniel dragged his feet as he headed back. The sound of another poor soul being denied passage behind him bounced off the great walls. Down in the main hall, he scanned for a sympathetic face within the waves of filthy looks and sideways glances. He found one in a kindly old woman.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m really sorry, but I was wondering if you had any spare change? I didn’t have enough and now I can’t get on and I really don’t want to be left behind.”
“Yes, dear, yes,” she soothed. “Of course. I’ve plenty in my purse.”
The instant she opened her bag, they were swarmed by every other beggar in sight. Daniel threw elbows and punches, but was unable to hold his position as they swooped in. The old lady was knocked to the floor as they wrestled over the bag. Cries and curses sounded at its apparent emptiness.
Daniel left her to the pack and jogged away, scanning for an area less crowded. He found one such spot, plus a promising mark: a child, standing quietly at the end of a queue. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to a nearby bench. “Give me your coins.”
She just stared, with her bottom lip trembling. He interrogated her jacket himself. It was empty. He patted her up and down. Nothing.
“Where are you hiding them?” He shook her. “Give them to me!”
“Back off, pal.” A bearded, heavyset man towered above Daniel like a telephone pole.
Daniel released the girl, retreating from the giant’s glare to the far end of the bench.
The man scooped the child up in solid arms. “Did anybody arrive with you, darlin’?” he asked as he carried her away. “Mommy or Daddy, perhaps?”
Daniel hung his head. How could a toddler be out of coins already? That was impossible. Why couldn’t he find them? The pieces of the puzzle dropped into place before him like the simple solution to a trick question. The priest, the empty handbag: the coins couldn’t be given – or taken.
There had to be another way onto the platforms. He walked the entire length of the hall, several times. It was just a never-ending lap of ticket booths and platform exits.
He curled up on a bench, hugging his knees to his chest, and cast a weary look over the station: the sad and dejected watching from benches and the floor, like the anonymous of city street corners; the scavengers pursuing the futile act of begging, ever hopeful their next attempt would yield some of the elusive coin; and the scores of travelers heading up the stairs, disappearing down the long corridors on their way to the trains.
As horns sounded another departure, Daniel wondered what in hell he was going to do.
© 2010 Rodney J. Smith
Original fiction debuting at Residential Aliens.
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