Modes of Transport

I was sick — sick unto death. My body was suffused with pain as I rocked back and forth on the rolling timbers of the ship. The storm outside produced a deafening and sustained roar and the waves pounded against the hull with a maddening rhythm. I felt the urge to retch, but had not even the energy for that.

It was completely dark inside the cabin, and the space was so narrow that I could barely have moved, even if I had bad the strength. I could only rock as the ship responded to the violence of the waters. After a time, I seemed to notice that the noise of the storm was increasing, or perhaps it was the waves which had increased the volume of their crashing. Perhaps we were approaching some kind of obstacle in the sea - a reef against which the fragile vessel would be driven and dashed to pieces. I tried again to move, but my arms and legs lay as motionless as limbs molded from lead.

There was an enormous uproar and everything around me moved. I felt as if the ship had capsized under me and I was falling from a great height. I prepared to drown as liquid rushed over my face. I felt long tendrils inserting themselves violently into my throat. Had I been seized by some sort of tentacular sea creature?

And then I was lying peacefully again, although the rushing of the wind and the endless thrumming of the waves continued. The space in which I found myself was still pitch dark, but I knew somehow that I was no longer aboard a ship. There was a familiar rhythm to the pounding beat. It was impossible, clearly, but I had been transferred to a locomotive. I was now lying on the floor of some kind of train compartment. The rocking was similar to that of the ship, but less violent. I tried to understand how this had come about, but then the sickness overcame me again and I lost consciousness.

When I awoke after a time, I realized that I must have been dreaming. Either I was on a sinking ship and dreaming of a train, or I was aboard a moving train and dreaming of a ship. At the moment I still seemed to be aboard a train. There was more light now, and I could see a window above me. I was still unable to move, but it seemed as if shapes or forms were moving past the window - or, obviously as I thought about it, the train was moving past them. I couldn't tell how far away the shapes were, but we seemed to have attained a fair amount of speed. The pounding increased in rhythm as we accelerated. It was the wheels of the carriage in which I rode passing over the jointed iron rails.

I began to wonder if anyone knew I was here, hidden on the floor of the dark compartment. Surely someone must have placed me here - I was virtually paralyzed and could never have boarded the train under my own power. But perhaps they intended for me to remain concealed for some possibly criminal purpose. I could think of no rational reason for any of this, but the thought remained. I tried again to move my arms and legs and found that I was not bound or otherwise impeded. With an enormous effort of will on my part I could actually force my muscles to respond to my commands. Now the thought came to me that perhaps I was alone on the train, the sole passenger abandoned in an empty compartment on an empty carriage. Surely there must be someone else on board. A conductor? Servers in the dining car? An engineer at least at the controls of the engine? It was an idle fancy to imagine that I was utterly alone. And yet I could not quell the fear that arose within me. Meanwhile, the train kept increasing in speed.

Time passed. The train continued to race along unseen rails toward an unknown destination. I must have lapsed into somnolence again, because I was brutally aroused by a violent shuddering of the floor beneath me. For a moment, I thought that perhaps the train had wrecked, but then I realized that the noise of its passage over the rails was unabated and seemed to suggest that it was moving even faster than before, if that were possible. At this point I decided that I must make a concerted effort to rise up from the floor at least far enough that I could look out the window and get a sense of where in the world my involuntary journey was taking place.

There was a kind of small table attached to the wall under the window and a padded seat attached to the other wall near my head. I made use of these rather sparse furnishings to brace myself so that I could lever up to my knees and then to my feet. I was somewhat unsteady as the train rocked and jolted over the tracks, but I clung to the table to keep from falling and gazed out the window Although it was well past dawn, the sun shone feebly like a jaundiced eye from the sickly pale sky. The terrain below was barren and featureless, stretching for mile after treeless mile in every direction. I could have been back on the ship looking out over the endless surface of the sea, except that here there was no movement aside from that of the train. It was as if an ocean of brown waves had been frozen in mid-motion.

The disheartening view seemed to suck away all of the meager strength I had mustered in order to rise to my feet, I sank exhausted onto the padded seat and stared at the opposite wall instead. Inexplicable weariness crept over me again and I slipped back into a semi-conscious state. When a sudden violent shudder of the carriage brought me back to my senses, it was already afternoon, judging from the angle of the fading sun.

I was actually feeling a little stronger now, and instead of the nausea I had fought against earlier, I realized that I was desperately hungry. Surely there must be a dining car or some other source of edibles and drinkables located somewhere in this sequence of vehicles. I once again strengthened my resolve and rose to my feet. As I made my way to the door, I began to wonder how my supposed captors would respond if they discovered their prisoner wandering the train without an escort. Chances are they would not be pleased, but at that point I was ready to face the consequences. Weren't there international conventions, or whatever, on how prisoners were to be treated? I was sure food and water were part of humane incarceration. As I gripped the door handle a sudden wave of panic swept through me. What if I were locked into this tiny compartment on a high-speed journey to inevitable destruction? I prayed to whatever divinity was listening that the door would open... and it did, unlatching smoothly and swinging our into the corridor. I checked in both directions before daring to set my foot outside. There was no one in sight.

I had no idea which way to go to find food and drink so I began walking in the direction the train was traveling, toward the engine. "Walking" may be too vague a description for the lurching progress I made, tossed back and forth by the unsteady floor beneath my feet. The compartment next to mine was obscured by window shades, as was the next one. The third was unshaded and obviously empty of passengers. As I approached the fourth, which was shaded, the train made another great wobble, and I was thrown against the door. I discretely tested the handle and found that it was locked. I mumbled an apology to what was probably another empty chamber and then continued on my way.

I was now at the front of my car and crossed to the next one forward via a glassed-in gangway. There was no chance of falling out accidentally or attempting an escape. At the speed we seemed to be traveling, I would never have considered the latter unless I had resolved to cheat my captors by committing suicide.

The car in front of mine seemed equally empty, as was the next and the next after that. I kept inching. my way forward. I lost track of how many cars I had passed through. It seemed to me that surely I had missed the dining car and should be almost to the engine at the front of the train when I came through the gangway into a wide open layout with no claustrophobic corridor. There were tables and seats mounted under the windows at each side and what appeared to be a kind of deli counter at the opposite end. My stomach growled and my heart rejoiced. There was certain to be food close by.

My hopes and those of my internal organs were dashed when I discovered that the glass case under the counter was completely empty. I noticed that there were rows of stainless steel cabinets in the wall behind the counter.They could be refrigerated, I surmised, but since there was no obvious entrance to the space behind the glass case, I was unable to immediately test my hypothesis. Out of desperation, I finally resorted to crawling up on top of the counter and rolling over to the other side.

Once on my feet, I rapidly searched the cabinets, discovering that they were indeed refrigerated. The first cabinet contained canned soft drinks and bottles of water. I quickly helped my self to some of the latter and could not resist opening one and draining it without delay. The second cabinet was stocked with boxed wines, but I decided I could not risk any alcoholic beverages, for fear that I would return too early to slumberland. My next discovery was a tray full of apples, bananas and oranges. Unfortunately the fruit was far from fresh. The apples were wrinkled, the bananas over-ripened to a dark brown, and the oranges faded and discolored. I moved on to the next cabinet and discovered another tray stocked with cellophane-wrapped sandwiches, each neatly labeled: “cheese and pickles,” “ham and Swiss,” “bologna and mustard.” Unfortunately, many were tinged with touches of mold, but none were totally discolored, so I took comfort and made a few careful selections.

My larcenous operation complete, I returned to the other side of the counter by the same route I had used before. Scooping up my ill-gotten edible loot, I retreated to a table near the center of the car. I suppose in the back of my mind, I gravitated toward a center table because it would provide the best chance of escape if attackers entered the car from one door or the other. Its they came from both at once, it was a lost cause anyway.

As I pinched off the spots of mold and bit into a stale sandwich, I noticed that there was a shelf of books built into the wall a few tables down. A lending library on a train? I yielded to my curiosity and made my way over to investigate. The available titles seemed to be mostly well-worn paperback mysteries and spy novels, but one volume stood out due to its extra thickness. It was identified as "A Skeptic's Guide to Dream Analysis." I decided that I was certainly a qualified reader, so I slipped the book from its place on the shelf and returned continue my feast.

As I took another bite of sandwich, I flipped past the introduction and found that the bulk of the book consisted of an alphabetized list of images and symbols one might encounter in a dream, accompanied by their supposed interpretations. The entry for "apple," for example, assured me that it indicated "prosperity, wealth, perfection and beauty, fulfilled goals and desires." I thought of Eve's apple and the apple that Paris presented to Athena in order to gain Helen before the Trojan War - wasn't it the harbinger of a pointless ten-year siege? I noticed that, according to the dream book, a withered apple like the one I had just discovered in the cabinet was associated with “disappointment and loss.” Fair enough, I decided. Not a bad fit in this particular case.

Just for fun, I paged through the book to the entry for "ship." "Pleasant surprises," announced the book. "A period of productivity and prosperity." A "shipwreck," however, had to do with "unexpected change of direction" or perhaps "an unresolved inner conflict" or "emotional stagnation." Well "change of direction" certainly fit my current situation, assuming that the ship was a dream and the train was real. I gazed out the window above my dining table and noticed that the landscape outside had changed. There seemed to be a mountain range ahead, and we were approaching it rapidly. At last, something different was ahead!

I had heard from someone once that a way to tell if you are dreaming is to try to read something. If the text is garbled or illegible, it is a clear diagnostic that you are not in a normal state of consciousness. Since I had no problem browsing through the dream book, I was not currently in a dream, according to that test. I couldn't swear, however, that I had ever been able to verify this hypothesis to my satisfaction in my own experience. What if the ship had been real and the train was a dream? There was no harm in checking it out. I went back to the book.

The entry for "train" suggested that it was a symbol of "forward progress," but might also indicate "excessive conformity" and the "oppressive burden of one's responsibilities." Well I was certainly burdened by my ignorance of where the "forward progress" was heading. While a dream about walking on a moving train suggested "procrastination" and "poor time management," riding on a "runaway train" was paradoxically identified as a "very positive dream symbol." If this train journey was the dream, I was due for a "fortuitous period" of "head-spinning success." Not the least bit reassuring in my current situation, I had to admit. A dream about a train engine, on the other hand, was a sign of "passionate intensity" and required "taking a deep breath and facing up to a challenge." I put the book down.

The train suddenly jolted and shuddered horribly. I looked out the window and saw that we had already begin our ascent into the mountains. The view was blocked by steep rugged cliffs just a few feet away. Now the train jerked and lurched steeply to one side. The book and my lunch leftovers slid off the table and scattered across the floor, I only avoided landing amongst the debris by gripping onto the chair and table with all my strength.

Slowly the car righted itself, but as I tried to get out of my chair to collect the book and the scattered bottles and scraps of cellophane, everything lurched again in the other direction and I was thrown against the window. A horrible screeching sound ensued, as of metal on metal, and even as the car righted itself again, the screeching continued. Our speed, which had not seemed to be affected by the mountain grade, was somewhat reduced, but we were still moving at a pace far in excess of safety for the turning and twisting trackway we were negotiating. I was afraid that one or more cars had become derailed. If they overturned in the middle of a mountain pass, the entire train could be dragged down a cliffside.

If this were all a dream, of course, there was no real danger. In the light of the recent results of the "reading test," I was not willing to rely on that assumption. If the train was real, something was seriously wrong. The only way to do anything about it was to get up to the engine and find out what the engineer was up to. There wasn't much time for debate. As the dream book had recommended, I needed to "take a deep breath and face up to the challenge."

As it turned out, the dining car was only three back from the engine. With all of the erratic jerking and jolting, however, it took much longer than my previous stroll from the back of the train. Sometimes I had to crawl forward on my hands and knees. It was all "procrastination" according to the dream book, but I finally arrived at a gangway which led to a narrow set of steps. I inched up hand over hand so as not to lose my balance and finally arrived in the engineer's cab on the second level.

There was a wide glass windshield at the very front of the engine. Below that was a shelf full of buttons and levers and switches. Two padded chairs were bolted to the floor below the shelf. One was empty and one was occupied. I slid into the empty seat to keep from falling. The figure in the other chair was suspiciously lacking in motion. Aside from shifting along with the movement of the train, he sat perfectly still, not even breathing. I shouted out and received no response. When I reached over to shake him awake I noticed that one side of his face was a bloody ruin, a gaping hole where the eye should have been. The undamaged half was strangely familiar. I recognized it as half of the face which stared back at me every morning from the bathroom mirror.

The nausea returned to my belly as if I had swallowed a cannonball and I slumped down in my seat. I thought about the gallons of boxed wine back in the dining car and wished with all my heart that I had found a straw and emptied a carton or two, damn the consequences. At some point through the haze of confusion and horror I looked out the windshield and noticed that the mountainside in front of us had collapsed, completely blocking the tracks ahead. There was no way the train was going to make it through. Panic surged through me like an electric jolt. I pushed my dead doppelgänger out of the way and moved to the other seat. I scanned the control panel but could extract no sense from the sequences of letters labelling the various mechanisms. None of them were obviously marked "brake." I began pushing buttons and switches and randomly pulling on levers, which produced no effect whatsoever. The landslide was now just a few feet away, and we were still running at full speed. I closed my eyes and braced in the seat.

...

There was a blinding bright light in my eyes and I could not seem to close them in order to avoid it. Finally, the light dimmed and I could see normally again. There was a man dressed in white standing over me. He turned and said something to the woman next to him. She was dressed in nursing scrubs and seemed to be making rapid notes on a clipboard. Instead of lying on the deck of a ship or the floor of a train car, I seemed somehow to be tucked into a bed.

My sight was still blurry. I blinked a few times and looked up to see that the woman was still there. When I spoke, it was as if my voice belonged to someone else.

"Am I in a hospital?"

She looked down from the clipboard with an expression of utter shock.

"You shouldn't be conscious!" she murmured. Then she spoke with excessively careful articulation. "Just relax, please. Don't try to move. You are badly injured."

"Was it the train?" I asked.

She looked confused.

"Train? No, there was no train. You were on a bus. It went off the road and turned over. You are lucky to be alive."

Now I was confused.

"How...?" I began but couldn't continue.

"The driver lost control," she informed me. "A lot of people were hurt. He is actually here in the same room. We were short on beds, so you two ended up together. The police are investigating. They will probably want to talk to you at some point, but we will keep them away until you are both doing a little better."

The hospital paging system made an unintelligible announcement, and she quickly turned away and stashed the clipboard at the bottom of my bed. I heard her footsteps retreat into the hallway. Now that she no longer blocked my view of the other bed, I strained and pushed against the pillow. My body felt like a giant rubber doll, but I finally managed to adjust my position so that I could catch a glimpse of my roommate.

He lay on his bed perfectly still, not even breathing. One side of his face was covered by bandages, but I was not at all surprised to find that the other half was strangely familiar. I recognized it as half of the face which stared back at me every morning from the bathroom mirror.