Runaway to Calais

Part 1

Wake up, it's time to wake up and face the day. This was her first conscious thought but something held her for a moment with one foot in a memory. In the kaleidoscopic darkness behind closed lids her eyes darted in all directions of their own accord. The sounds of the outside world began to slowly intrude on the image of him looking back at her, giving an out of place soundtrack to the scene, click-clack click-clack click-clack. Beneath rustling of newspapers and the distant conversations of strangers the click-clack of the rails were always keeping time. In her presently restful state her pulse matched the easy metre of the tracks below and for one moment scarcely longer than a thought, all was right in an imagined world.

“Freyja?” the revery vanished with the intrusion and the real world rushed in to fill every void. “Let’s go to the dining car and eat something before we get to Calais, suggested Des as she stood up stretching from her brown leather chair.

Freyja replied warmly “of course, go on and get us a table and I’ll meet you in just a minute.

“Don’t make me come back for you!” Called Des turning back with an accusatory glance.

Freyja scoffed through a smile, looking down at yesterday’s copy of Le Matin folded on the coffee table with the headline “Troupes Allemandes en Belgique…” disappearing over the crease.

Freyja weaved between the intermittent chairs of the lounge car squinting past beams of sunlight cutting through gaps in the curtains. It was a beautiful Spring day in the picturesque French countryside and she all but forgot about the black columns rising from the East.

"Bonjour mademoiselle" greeted Antoine the matre d' as he entered through the door with a burst of brisk morning air "I will escort you to the dining car" he continued with the oft used phrase in memorized english and a curt bow. The corners of his mouth made a meager attempt to rise but were brought sharply downward by the weight of the world.

"Merci monsieur" She affirmed, taking up the smile he had dropped.

Though she was merely a tourist this country had stolen her heart. The streets of Paris were mysterious to her and each were a call to adventure with endless possibilities. Those left unexplored were best of all, for they remained a path for her mind to wander uninhibited to some dazzling conclusion. Nothing like her last sight of it, a city left in shocked bewilderment before an imminent invasion, and the threat of an entire culture being destroyed.

Fresh air swirled through the opened door and nearly took her cap with it as she crossed the gangway between the cars. She stepped in front of Antoine who kept a hand hovering to either side of her until she was inside. "s'il te plait par ici" gesturing to the opposite end of the car and handing her off to a young waiter who she hadn't yet met. He started excitedly explaining something in very rapid French as he started down the aisle so that only bits and pieces could be made out.

"Are you English?" He asked looking back and recognizing Freyja's expression.

"Yes, well American actually, sorry my French isn't very good I'm afraid" she replied with her characteristic warmth. She had a quality in her eyes even when speaking to strangers that couldn't be faked or produced intentionally, it was the light from a heart too big to be contained and it overflowed onto all who met her gaze.

"Ahh American! Welcome aboard and if you need help during the trip ask for George, I'm the only one who really speaks English on le train bleu today.

He led her through the narrow aisle of the newly minted dining car with high backed benches book ending passengers. The scent of freshly baked bread with assorted jams, fruit and coffee filled the air as she passed the preoccupied diners. Freyja found herself in the odd juxtaposition of being in a place which seemed far removed from the one they departed. A moving purgatory between uncertainties, and for the duration of the trip there was nothing to do but wait. Des was sitting at a table opposite a well dressed couple who were engaged in a serious conversation amongst themselves.

Des looked up from a half-finished letter which she promptly folded "there you are!" she nearly shouted as she replaced the letter with a silver case from a small red bag by her side "I thought you'd gotten lost" she smiled with the vacant side of her mouth while she lit a cigarette in the other.

"Freyja this is Mr. and Mrs. duPont" she gestured to the couple who briefly interrupted their hushed conversation to address the girl standing over them.

"Nice to meet you" said Freyja slightly embarrassed.

"Please" said the man nodding to her seat and not quite visibly annoyed.

“Sorry to interrupt your beauty rest" said Des with a facetious smile as she discarded her freshly lit cigarette in the ashtray. "You must try this apricot jam it’s to die for and I have George on the way with your orange juice. obviously desiring to keep the conversation small and away from the past or future.

Des was a fiercely loyal friend to Freyja and always knew how to pull her from her own head and into the moment, and the small pleasures therein. She came from money and it was evident in her clothes, her speech, and the way she moved, yet maintained a rebelliousness fueled by her distaste for the “insufferably dull” members of her class. They were at first glance an odd pair considering Freyja’s warmth and mild temperament. She was sweet and caring and seemed to have a well of patience from which she could draw from unendingly for anyone who requested it of her. Des on the other hand had patience for no one on earth save for Freyja, they were the very embodiment of the interplay of opposites which keep the earth and heavens turning. Freyja also had a rebellious streak that was scarcely visible to all but the keen eyes of those who shared it. Unlike Des hers was from a powerful desire to experience the world and it's people, to see everything, to do big things and be known by all, to rise above her birthright. She came from scarcity and was afforded her opportunities by the immense sacrifices of her loving parents and family. Everyone who knew her even from an early age guessed she would be a star, for underneath her generosity and humility was pure energy, love and life itself distilled and poured into anyone who received her attention. She was destined for the screen; it was only a matter of getting in front of the right people. The opened door came in the form of a tall and confident blonde who had the resources to pull her out of the mud, but also to unwittingly land her in front of an invasion in Europe.

“Here is your orange juice mademoiselle” entered George from the rear of the dining car and placing a 2nd espresso by Des’ newly lit cigarette “we are on schedule to reach Calais by the afternoon and have made arrangements for a ferry, not to fear. He added with a reassuring smile and continued the announcement to the duPonts in French.

“See nothing to worry about!” Proclaimed Des to herself as much as to Freyja.

The dining car was full of passengers in expensive clothes, albeit hastily thrown on and mismatched, with missing ties and hats worn for disheveled hair rather than weather. No one on board had planned this trip to the coast, who’s normal lives were interrupted mere hours before boarding le bleu. Their homes were behind them and in the past, kettles left whistling into the night and beloved pets wandering empty streets. There was a sense of solidarity in the room though isolated to the islands of families and lovers, no words were necessary and few were given. The stories worn on the face of every passenger said more than any conversation could and the world had suddenly outgrown small talk.

Freyja looked up from her toast and noticed a new sound, though the chorus of the colossal machine was complex, any variation was obvious due to its unerring repetition. It was a kind of buzzing, growing louder and then fading again.

“Do you hear that?” asked Freyja looking around the car.

“Hear what?” Answered Des only half listening.

“That buzzing, see there it is again!”

Just then an explosion tore through the white noise of the train echoed by a collective gasp as everyone rushed to the windows.

“voir! il y a un avion!” “il y en a un autre!” Cried several men peering upward, faces pressed against glass.

Des joined the alarm “Freyja do you think...” CRASH. Darkness flooded the train and filled every void.

Part 2

“What are you thinking about?” John asked brushing her hair with his fingers, revealing her wandering eyes.

“Hmm? Oh nothing I was just daydreaming I guess.

"You’re amazing you know that?” He thought aloud with a smile so disproportionate to the moment Freyja couldn’t help but laugh when she met it.

“Why what did I do?” She inquired playfully.

“You don’t have to do anything it’s just the way you are” he said with a pause looking past her, “it’s still hard for me to look you in the eyes, they're almost too much for me.

The days flashed by on a reel, single images, faces, emotions and words powerful enough to pierce her heart and linger there beyond their time.

“You’re going to fly Freyja” said John holding her by both shoulders “and there might be a time when you fly too close to the sun, when that happens I want you to remember today, and that you are loved.

Wake up… “Freyja please wake up!” Yelled Des. Hers and Mr. duPont’s faces hunched over her.

Screams rang out invisibly behind black fog and the violent roar of wind and heavy machinery rushed overhead. Freyja sat up and wiped her eyes and glimpsing the the war zone that replaced the pristine dining car, no longer separated from the terror of the outside world.

“Des?” Asked Freyja still in a daze.

“I’m here, there was an explosion I think we were bombed! Choked Des “I couldn’t see anything I thought you were dead! She yelled through convulsive coughing, “We need to get out of here and go toward the back of the train!

“You two!” George proclaimed appearing in the smoke “you have to get out of this car. “Here, let me help you!” He yelled as he lifted Freyja from under the table “are you hurt?” Looking to both of them and holding each of them by an arm.

“No, I don’t know, Freyja was unconscious, I think something hit her head” reported Des looking Freyja over from the other side of George.

As Freyja made her way carefully across the open gangway the smoke swirled around her from every direction so that only George’s hands on her shoulders gave her any sense of direction. They stepped back into the lounge-car, the windows were open or broken now which cleared the smoke for the most part. The blue carpet was now black with soot with injured passengers strewn about in every corner of the narrow corridor. Crew members navigated up the aisle yelling back and forth in French and disappeared back into the dining carriage “find somewhere to sit I’m going to the engine” said George as he shut the door behind him.

“Please does anyone speak English!” Cried Des standing over Freyja who found an opening against the wall.

“Yes!” A man of about 40 turned from the window.

“Are they still out there?” Asked Des.

“No, it seems they were attacked by other planes back where we were hit, thank god”.

Freyja watched expressionless across the aisle through a gaping window as green swells rolled beneath puffy clouds “beautiful” she mouthed into the wind.

After some time had passed the initial shock of the attack was replaced with frantic conversations of what might come next. It seemed that no one had been seriously injured though Freyja couldn’t be sure of passengers not present. One fact rose to the top of everyone’s minds, the train was still moving and hadn’t shown any sign of slowing.

“Well it seems we’re still going to make it to Calais" said Des pointing toward the North. The horizon grew with the unmistakable presence of the sea and she was made aware of the change in the air as they drew nearer to it. She lifted herself off the floor to gain a better vantage point “let me help you! For goodness sake Frey you were unconscious only a minute ago”.

“I’m fine really! I feel right as rain, just needed to get my bearings for a minute that’s all" insisted Freyja trying hard not to waver and leaning against a pole “what do you think we’ll find there, in Calais?” she asked gazing toward the sea.

“There’s a ferry waiting with bottles of champagne” Des laughed “and a band will be playing Body and Soul as we sail to Dover”.

Freyja smiled as the image became her own “I love you Des."

“I love you Frey but don’t start in talking like it’s the end or something, just rest a while and we’ll be having dinner in London tonight just you wait!” She stubbornly asserted eyes locked on Freyja.

“Okay okay I just wanted to tell you is all” Freyja teased giving her a reassuring smile and straightening a bit. In truth Freyja sensed otherwise for she couldn’t picture it, as with a dream that is beyond the scope of reality.

“Je voise, y a-t-il un moyen de nous ralentir?“ Freyja overheard Mr. duPont speaking in a horse whisper to George who had just re-emerged “nous essayons” he replied with doubt hidden under a professional smile as he met eyes with Freyja’s.

“Mademoiselles” George approached with hands clasped “after what you’ve been through I feel I should not beat around the bush, as it were, so I’ll just say it” the minuscule pause was an eternity “the conductor and fireman were lost along with the controls, but the engine still burns with the fuel inside” he looked through them both “we cannot stop this train” he concluded apologetically.

“What does that mean!?” Burst from Des as the last word left George’s lips “isn’t there some way you can shut it down?”

“We have been clearing the debris and trying to regain control, but everything but the boiler was destroyed, and it still runs with everything she’s got” he added with a sigh “we cannot even break free of her, the metal is twisted and fused together”.

More crew members entered and made their way through the lounge car and out again toward the rear of the train “excuse me I have to go, I will come back and bring news when I have it” jumping into a rapid conversation with another crewman who was covered in soot and his uniform badly burned.

“I’m sure it will be okay, surely there must be something they can do” Des thought aloud looking out of the windows at the blur of racing grass and shrubs. Both didn’t know how to react to the news, confused by its possible implications. The worst case scenario slowly materialized in their minds as the sea grew ever larger on the horizon.

“Yes that is correct, we are running approximately 90-100kph and are 50 kilometers from the platform” George entered the small room with most of the remaining crew huddled around Mr. Paquet on the phone “again we have no access to the engine and it is still running wide open” Mr. Paquet acknowledged George with a nod “yes the last refuel was made just before the attack, I can’t be certain of the water level but it sounds dry, I don’t know how long she’ll hold”. Mr. Paquet covered the mouthpiece “George you know what this means, get everyone further back but don’t cause a panic” “yes sir” replied George turning back into the carriage.

Part 3

Click-clack—click-clack—click-clack. The rhythm of the rails appeared once more in the darkness of her closed eyes, is it the rails or my heart that’s quickened? Freyja mused with her head on Des’s shoulder. Sounds like a clock ticking down, but it is surely speeding up…

“George is back!” Interrupted Des and shifted to face the rear so Freyja nearly fell into her lap “it looks like he’s telling people to go to the other car” she added “what do you suppose that means? Maybe we’re getting ready to disembark!”

The words fell flat on Freyja’s ears, not making it as far as her heart. There was something in the atmosphere that didn’t seem to support this possibility. Perhaps it was the half destroyed engine or lack of a conductor but no, it was the cadence of the rails beneath her that cast the doubt. They stood up as they awaited their turn to receive their fate.

“Mademoiselles” greeted George between breaths “we need you to make your way to the next car down”.

“Are we getting into Calais now?” Interrupted Des nervously.

“We are getting ready that is all” his expression imploring them to release him from further interrogation.

“Come on” said Freyja sensing this “thanks George we’ll go” she agreed with a polite smile.

She knew what was coming. Freyja was not one to claim to know things she didn’t and her quiet and humble disposition allowed others to assume she was just a pretty flower to be seen and not heard, a projection even Des was at times apt to place on her friend. The truth however was that Freyja always seemed to know things before they happened, her keen eyes always taking in the gestalt and to Freyja the outcome was all but obvious, though she couldn’t describe her rationale.

“Come on Des let’s see if we can get started early on that Champagne” she said with a wink and Des couldn’t help but play along.

Perhaps the added time to process her fate, thanks to early intuition, meant she was already in the acceptance phase. Suddenly the roles shifted and Freyja was now the one to carry the torch and be Des’ light.

George looked back one last time to catch the two girls making their way across the gangway and the door swinging shut behind them. They were both lovely in very different ways, he remarked to himself, and like so many others before him he longed to be a reflection on Freyja’s eyes. It wasn’t merely attraction, it was something far deeper, as if he had been seen fully as he was for the first time. He pulled himself together with some effort and returned to the mission at hand, for all of their sakes. He, being the most willing and able bodied aboard, volunteered to face the stampeding machine. Images of le bleu in smokey rubble flashed before him as glimpsed the mangled engine. Stepping carefully onto the moving gangway he banished the unhelpful premonitions with a deep lungful of the coal tinged ocean air, pausing a moment to gaze at the scintillating North Sea playing on the horizon. He reached out to a piece of twisted metal that formed an arch over the gangway and began his climb against the wall of wind. The jagged metal vibrated and rocked beneath him and he questioned whether he’d even make it onto the doomed engine at all. The blurred tracks raced below him as he inched forward on hand and knees. He got close enough to see solid ground ahead and he dove into the wind landing on a crumpled but solid floor. The engine had a crew again.

“Where do you suppose George went?” Wondered Freyja aloud glancing back toward the lounge car.

“I’m sure he’s coming, or maybe he’s helping bring the train into Calais” added Des seemingly forgetting the state of the engine after the explosion.

Freyja suddenly felt as though that may have been goodbye in the lounge car and her face flushed. It wasn’t just for George though, the thought brought with it a goodbye to Des, and to life itself. Suddenly Freyja was thrown against the wall toward another explosion.

The lights lowered in the theater…

I did it Dad! Oh my god I got it!

I know Mom I can’t I believe it!

Yes I’m coming back for a month or two then we start shooting.

I missed you John, I’m excited too I still can’t believe it.

I just know you’re going to be great, one day I’ll see your name in lights and know you did it.

Don’t look at me like that John, I won’t be able to leave!

Goodbye…

Ladies and gentlemen, introducing Freyja Fowler!

“Freyja Fowler?” appeared a uniformed stranger at her feet.

“Hmm? Oh yes that’s me” Freyja replied blinking from her revery.

“We have a Desdemona Astor…” “Frey!” Des burst in from behind the uniformed man.

She threw herself on Freyja's cot so it slid on the wood floor “I was so afraid, but you’re okay!” She laughed, smearing away lines of soot running down her cheeks.

“What happened? Where are we?” Freyja looked around in the small room half expecting to hear the rails beneath her.

“We’re in the station” Des replied through a relieved sigh.

“We need to get you on the ferry right away, they can’t wait” the man insisted sternly.

Another man entered and quickly came to the back of the cot and they both lifted her away through the door. “Easy does it, watch your step” they called to each other as she was lifted up the gangplank. She looked to her left and saw the blue cars some way down the track pulled by a black mass of twisted steel still smoking.

“Where’s George? Is he okay?”

“I don’t know Frey” answered Des walking beside her and looking down “it was chaos after the engine blew..” choking on the last syllable “I’m sure he got out, everyone scattered once the train stopped and a crowd from the platform rushed in” “I couldn’t see him even if he were right beside me” she added with a conciliatory shake of her head.

They set her down in a free space on the main deck amidst a crowd with a horn blast overhead. The ocean air and mist from the swells breaching on the bow brought her back to life. Freyja pulled herself onto her elbows and turned. There were columns of smoke far inland rising over green hills and Le Bleu, at last joining the rest of France, badly beaten but intact.