The Christmas Train Part 5

"I'm a sales rep for a health-food company," she said as she slathered her roll in b.u.t.ter.

"Happy holidays," said the waitress as she came over and presented them with complimentary gla.s.ses of eggnog, a Cap holiday tradition, they were told.

"Happy holidays," they all replied, and then Sue asked the waitress about the condition of the train.

"Conductor said we'll be up and running in no time. We just ran over something on the track." She wore a Christmas hat, and Tom noted that the windows and tables were strung with holiday lights.

They placed their orders. The menu was very good, and Tom could actually smell the meals being cooked in the downstairs kitchen, which would then be sent up to the dining car via dumbwaiters. He ordered the prime rib and, instead of the salad, asked for a screwdriver as his appetizer. He was just putting it to his lips when he felt himself being propelled to the side of the dining car. He turned and there was Agnes Joe wedging next to him, leaving him about six inches in which to eat his dinner.

"Hi, Agnes Joe," the man and Sue said in unison.

Tom looked bewildered. Did everybody on this train know the woman Did everybody on this train know the woman?

"Hi there, honeypies."

When Tom looked her over he was stunned. Agnes Joe was wearing nice dress slacks - stretched to the fabric's absolute breaking point, no doubt, but still nice slacks - a tasteful sweater, and her hair was done. She had on some makeup, and she didn't look nearly as old as before. It was such a stark transformation that he could only stare.

"Hi," he said dumbly.

"h.e.l.lo, Agnes Joe," said the waitress as she came up. "You want the usual?"

"That'll be fine, with extra onions."

"I take it you ride the train a lot," Tom said as the waitress walked off.

"Oh, I love the train and the people on it. Good folks. I tried flying for a while. I'm a licensed pilot in fact, general aviation, but I prefer the trains."

For Tom the vision of Agnes Joe crammed inside the c.o.c.kpit of a two-seater Cessna, her hammy fingers curled around the yoke, her enormous feet on the rudder pedals, wavered right on hallucinatory.

The man turned to Sue. "You say you're in health care?"

"Health foods foods, as a sales rep. I used to be a legal secretary, but I couldn't take working for lawyers anymore."

Well, Tom had also had his fill of the species america.n.u.s legalis cannibalis america.n.u.s legalis cannibalis during his divorce, and more recently with Gordon Merryweather. He held up his gla.s.s to her in a sign of empathy. during his divorce, and more recently with Gordon Merryweather. He held up his gla.s.s to her in a sign of empathy.

"What do you know about ginseng?" asked the man.

The guy was in his fifties and seemed like a normal business type, yet he had exhibited some fairly strange physical ticks that set him apart from his fellows. For example, his mouth kept opening really wide, at which point he sucked in air like he couldn't get his fair share. Then his eyes would bulge out, causing Tom to think he was going to pitch headfirst into his salad any second. He'd also lick his lips, so furiously you thought his tongue would cramp up or simply fall off. Finally, he had the incredibly annoying habit of looking like he was going to say something, his lips puckering, his fleshy neck quivering, his eyes blinking rapidly, his hands rising to the sky, all building to some t.i.tanic outburst of wisdom or at least scandalous gossip, and then it all would just collapse; he'd simply pick at the olive in his drink. After the fourth time he performed this maddening feat it was all Tom could do to keep from going over the table at the man.

"Ginseng?" Sue said. "You mean the herb?"

"Yes. Let me tell you why I'm asking." He gave each a conspiratorial look and lowered his voice. "I met this woman. An Asian woman, or Oriental, or whatever the PC term is these days, I can never remember. I guess it's not 'slanty-eyes,' is it?" he said, trying for humor and failing badly.

"No, it's not," said Agnes Joe. "And please don't go there. Tolerance and understanding of other cultures make for a peaceful world. On top of that, I have ancestors of j.a.panese descent."

Tom looked at the ma.s.sive woman and wondered if she were actually carrying some of these ancestors on her person. And he noted that her vocabulary and diction had kicked up a notch too. What was that about?

The fellow continued. "Right. Sorry, bad joke. Well, this woman, she seemed, you know, to be attracted to me. And I was definitely attracted to her. We went out for dinner one evening, and she brought up this ginseng thing. To make a long story short, she actually sent me some ginseng. I guess it was from China."

"Actually, ginseng is grown in Wisconsin," said Sue, as she put even more b.u.t.ter on her roll, such that there was no longer any bread actually visible. "The soil is perfect for it."

Tom stared at her. The state of Wisconsin had perfect ginseng soil? This sounded crazy to him, but what did he know about it? Maybe the Green Bay Packers were all ginseng groupies.

"Okay, Wisconsin," the man said, "but the point is, she sent me this stuff, and I'm not sure what to do with it. I mean, do I cook it or drink it or what?"

Tom said, "Just because she gave it to you doesn't mean you have to use it."

"Well," said the man, eyeing the ladies a little nervously, "I a.s.sume she gave it to me, you know, because it's supposed to possess certain performance-enhancing attributes. At least that's what she intimated. I should add that she's much younger than me."

Tom began to realize where this was going when Agnes Joe said, "You mean so you can romp like a young stud in the sack with a woman half your age and not let her feel she's cheating herself with some old bag of bones."

There was a long period of silence before the man finally said, "That's sort of my point, yes." And then he went back to ma.s.sively sucking wind and picking at his pitted olives with renewed vigor.

"I'd mash it up," continued Agnes Joe as her gaze bored into the man, "and shoot it right into your veins with a hypodermic needle. Do it right before you get into bed, and then fly out of the bathroom, screaming and pounding your chest like Tarzan, and just jump her. I hear Asian women like that."

The man looked at Tom with wounded eyes, obviously seeking some gender support. Yet all Tom could offer was, "I heard that too... honeypie," and then he swallowed his screwdriver in a mighty gulp.

He ordered a gla.s.s of merlot as a chaser, then ate his meal, which was wonderful. He looked around the car and observed that at one table two Muslims and a man of Native American descent were engaged in animated conversation, a verbal sparring match. Each was smiling, so it seemed civil at least. At another table, a middle-aged and attractive African American woman was very obviously having the moves put on her by a young, handsome Korean man. She was deflecting his advances with good-natured banter, but Tom could tell that the woman was flattered. At yet another table, some businesspeople were supping with the Tarot card lady. She was examining their hands and even had her cards spread out in front of the remains of her Shenandoah Valley baked chicken. As she methodically forked the award-winning train cheesecake into her mouth, the corporate suits, their cell phones put away for now, were listening intently.

Tom could only shake his head. Ginseng, flying Agnes Joes, pa.s.sengers of every race and religion, the easy coupling of formal commercial power and whimsical Tarot cards intermingled over a hearty feast: Maybe there really was something about a train. As he finished his merlot, he marveled at how incredibly quietly and smoothly the Cap rode the rails at zero miles per hour.

chapter eleven.

As soon as dinner was over, Tom fled to the lounge car, which, as he soon discovered, was known under a different name by all seasoned train travelers: the bar bar car. Years before, there'd actually been a manned bar in the upper-level lounge, but that had been lost in budget cutbacks. Tom went downstairs, where Tyrone fixed him up libation-wise, then he went and sat in the lounge car's upper level. The train still wasn't moving yet. He checked his watch. The Cap should have been well on its way to Connellsville, Pennsylvania, and they hadn't even made it to c.u.mberland, Maryland. At least he'd stopped smelling smoke. car. Years before, there'd actually been a manned bar in the upper-level lounge, but that had been lost in budget cutbacks. Tom went downstairs, where Tyrone fixed him up libation-wise, then he went and sat in the lounge car's upper level. The train still wasn't moving yet. He checked his watch. The Cap should have been well on its way to Connellsville, Pennsylvania, and they hadn't even made it to c.u.mberland, Maryland. At least he'd stopped smelling smoke.

The TV was on in the lounge car and showing the movie The Grinch Who Stole Christmas The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, the one with Jim Carrey playing the Grinch. A gaggle of kids, young and old, and their parents were gathered round watching it. In other corners of the car there were little groups of people chatting and drinking, and a few solitary types who just stared out the darkened windows at their own reflections. The lounge car too had been decorated for the holidays with wreaths, strung tinsel, and other Christmas ornamentation. Tom sipped his gin and chewed his peanuts and pretzels and focused on the group of adults sitting nearby. One was reading, one was knitting, another was listening to music through headphones. Tom kept glancing at the door to the lounge car to see if Max and Eleanor might still pop in, but so far nothing.

"Are you all heading somewhere for Christmas?" Tom asked with what he hoped was a friendly and interested expression. He found that gin always made one appear relaxed and happy, if a bit fuzzy in the head.

The knitting lady looked up and smiled. "South Bend, Indiana. My grandson is a soph.o.m.ore at Notre Dame. I'm spending the holidays with him. I'll probably end up cooking and cleaning and doing his laundry for him, but that's okay. That's grandma stuff. And it's Christmas. Who wants to be alone?"

"You got my vote there," Tom said as he introduced himself.

She reached out and shook his hand. "Pauline Beacon."

"You live in the D.C. area?"

"Yes, Springfield, Virginia. You?"

"Right in D.C."

"I don't know how you take the traffic." This came from the guy who'd been reading a book. He was midforties, balding and soft in the middle. "I'm heading back to Toledo. I was in Was.h.i.+ngton on business and had to rent a car and drive around that Beltway thing you folks have. I don't know how you people do it. It's like the Wild, Wild West on wheels. Crazy." He shook his head. "I'm Rick," he said and smiled. "Just call me Toledo Rick."

"So I take it you folks like trains," Tom said.

"I don't like to fly," said Pauline. "And trains are a connection to my childhood. How about you?"

Tom said, "I fly a lot, but it got to be a little old. I thought I'd try a more civilized way of getting around."

"Well," said Rick, "we're not getting around anywhere at the moment. I normally fly too, but I got this great deal on a train ticket." He looked outside and frowned. "Only right now it doesn't seem like such a great deal. At least I'll be home for Christmas."

"You have a family?"

"A wife and six children. Four of my kids are teenagers, three of those girls. I don't even come close to understanding anything about them."

"Girls are are different," said Pauline. different," said Pauline.

The guy with the headphones was now listening to the conversation. He introduced himself as Ted from Milwaukee. "Boys are a tough nut too," he said. "I've got four of 'em, all grown now. I had a full head of hair when I had my first, and none when I had my last."

At that moment Agnes Joe came in with a beer and settled down with them. Tom pushed his bowl of snacks her way. The woman cleaned it out with one swipe. She didn't introduce herself. Like in the dining car, everyone seemed to know her already.

"How about you, Tom?" asked Rick. "Where you heading? Family?"

Tom shook his head. "I don't really have any."

"Well, everyone has family somewhere," said Pauline.

"Not everybody," said Agnes Joe. "I'm a loner too."

"I didn't say I was a loner. I'm a reporter. Been all over the world. Probably have friends in sixty or seventy different countries."

"Friends are friends, but family is family," stated Pauline, and maybe she was right.

"Divorced or never married?" asked Agnes Joe, as she casually munched her almonds. She glanced at his naked ring finger in response to his surprised look.

"Divorced. Although my marriage was so brief I never really felt married."

"Well, you obviously didn't marry the right woman," said Pauline.

"How can you know for sure?" asked Toledo Rick.

"Lots of ways," ventured Agnes Joe. "Mostly it just feels right. Like you don't care if you eat, drink, sleep, or even breathe so long as you're with that person." She glanced at Tom. "You ever feel that way about anybody?"

They all looked at Tom awaiting his answer.

"Hey, that's getting a bit personal," he said.

"Well, there's just something about a train," quipped Pauline with a smile as she effortlessly knitted one and pearled two.

Tom sat back, stared out the window for a moment.

"What was her name?" asked Agnes Joe quietly.

"Eleanor," he finally said.

"Been a long time since you've seen her?"

"Actually, not that long ago." He snapped out of his musings. "But what's past is past. I'm going out to LA. To see my girlfriend, Lelia, spend Christmas with her."

"Is she an actress?" Pauline asked excitedly.

"In a way, yes."

"Would I know any of her work?"

Tom hesitated, then said, "You ever catch Cuppy the Magic Beaver on Sat.u.r.day morning TV?"

Pauline just stared at him blankly and actually dropped a st.i.tch or two of her knitting. After several unsuccessful attempts at further explanation, Tom decided to drop the whole line of conversation.

They all watched as one of the attendants, dressed as Santa Claus, came into the lounge car. In a flash all the kids, even the older ones, deserted Jim Carrey and the Grinch and gathered around the man in red. Such was the timeless and universal appeal of old Saint Nick.

"That's nice," Tom said, as Santa handed out goodies to everyone.

"They do it every year," said Agnes Joe. "Even when the train's not broken."

Tom looked at her, suddenly interested. It had just occurred to him that Regina had said Agnes Joe rode the trains a lot, to visit her family, she thought. Yet Agnes Joe had just confessed she was a loner. So where was she going on all these trains?

"I guess you've been on these Christmas trains before?" he asked.

"Oh yes, lots of times."

"Are you going all the way to Chicago?"

"That's right."

"Spending the holidays there?" Tom asked.

"No. I'm heading on to LA. Like you."

"By train?"

"The Southwest Chief." She shot him a glance. "And you?"

Agnes Joe for about two days on the Chief. He wondered what would happen if he jumped off the train right now while it wasn't moving. Right as he was about to reply, the wonderful old Capitol Limited gave a lurch and started on its way again. A cheer went up around the lounge car. Tom just couldn't bring himself to join in.

A voice came on over the PA. "Sorry for the delay, folks, but we've got everything patched up. We have a technical team standing by at the next station stop. We'll be there a little while to make sure everything's okay, and then we'll push on. We hope to make up some of the time en route. We've called ahead and n.o.body will miss train connections. Thank you for understanding and thank you for choosing Amtrak. Happy holidays."

Santa came over and handed out small packages to all. Tom received a miniature of the Santa Fe's famed Super Chief locomotive. Ted went back to his headphones, while Toledo Rick and Pauline excused themselves and left.

Agnes Joe leaned close and took a gander at Tom's impressive model. "The Southern Pacific's Super Chief was the precursor to the Southwest Chief, the one I'm going to be on to LA. It's a great train with wonderful views of the mountains and the plains. Goes through eight states on its way to the coast."