Ezekial's Train, Chapter Nine

Falling back into himself, Daniel holds tightly on to one of the grab bars by the little cabin, clutching the wooden bar tightly as he sways to the rocking of the boat and trying his bed to hold himself together. The vision he's just seen is . . . Too much.

The visions have never taken him forward before and this one felt different. Neither the Angels, if angels they be, the bear Mordechai, or more rarely, the other beings and those visions devoid of any creature, have taken him forward in time and none have ever felt so real while feeling so ephemeral. For a moment he saw the girl kiss him, but not her. “Ester. . .?”

Daniel casts around for the Reverend’s daughter and sees her at the back of the boat. Wasn't she just talking to me? Before the vision started, he thought there was a conversation, but it's getting harder and harder to differentiate between the visions and real life, between the present and the past and maybe even, now, the future. The future with. . .

But there she is, helping Thurgood untie the boat as he looks over his shoulder quizzically at Daniel, the fisherman whispering to Elijah all the while. “He always ac' funny like that, 'Lijah?”

The Reverend Elijah Thompson shakes his head wearily to his cousin's concern and amusement, “That he do, that he do.”

“Is he?” Ester turns as she pulls the last rope and sees Daniel's eyes fixed on her, and she looks away, whispering to her father as well. “Papa, he look like he seen a ghost, and now I know that ain't how he always look when he come out of one of them visions.”

“I know honey, but we getting' close to the point he needs to be, so they ain't no tellin' what he gone do. Le's just be here for 'im, whatever he need. Now, come on.”

Elijah brings the crew back to the front of the boat as it embarks, putting his strong hand on Daniel's shoulder and ignoring the requisite flinch he gives in return. “It's gone be okay, son. It's gone be okay. Now let's go see what the Good Lord got for us today.”

Pulling out into the calm water, the high tide helping them along, Daniel points to a spot far out in the water that looks no different from any other, but he knows it is the right direction. He can see that it will be several hundred yards from shore but he knows they will keep the dock in distant sight. He knows it because he has seen it many times in the last few days.

Thurgood looks again the Dane and the merriment leaves his face as quickly as the sun is leaving the sky. “Son, I don't got no clue what y'all lookin' for out there, just open water 'less you wanna throw the fishin' lines in.”

Daniel sighs and closes his eyes to focus better, as he always has. “No, today we are looking for something other than fish, though I know not what it may be.”

“Sure. . . I'll jus' keep followin' yo pointy arm there, then.”

Daniel is silent as the boat moves ever forward, his eyes closed and his outstretched arm shifting a little this way, a little that as Thurgood steers the boat by eye. Ester is the first to notice the humming noise coming from Daniel and the first to realize that it is not the sound of a man humming, but something like heavy machinery in the distance, droning with a steady buzz. All three are silent as the watch Daniel's back with the skyline in the distance before him.

The yards go by quickly and as they do the humming grows in pitch until finally it drowns out the sound of the motor, giving no doubt that while it comes from inside the man Daniel Christiansen, it originates elsewhere. Daniel's hand begins to come upward in a sign to stop and the boat slows to a gentle rest as he takes a single step forward to the very front of the prow, his foot mere inches from the tip of the boat, his head held high and staring, eyes still shut into the distance.

“Here.”

And he jumps from the end of the boat.

Mend

As Daniel's feet leave the edge of the boat all three passengers jump after him, Ester's hand nearly touch his shoe as it leaves the boat, but as it does, he move upward. He flies from the trawler and into the air, straight up into the sky and begins to glow a sickly orange light as he does.

The light grows brighter as he flies and when he is barely a spec in the sky the ocean is drowned in the light of mid-day, light pouring from the spot where Daniel's body hung like the brightest sunlight of summer in a cloudless sky, all centered on the man Daniel Christiansen as they see his body high above, his arms outstretched and his body spinning slowly.

Ezekial can feel his skin pulsing with a warmth like none he's ever felt and this is no vision. He can see infinitely into every direction and towards the shore he sees the city of Miami, but he sees it as it is now, as it is a hundred years from now, and as it was a hundred before, a thousand before. He sees all time and he sees the ocean full of ships, ephemeral but real, from every era. Two man duggouts compete with futuristic aircraft carriers and all manner in between as he sees pristine beaches overlaid with tall skyscrapers and charred ruins. He sees everything and he feels whole.

But there is work to be done.

As Ester, Elijah, and Thurgood shield their eyes from the bright lights, their mouths agape and sweat forming quickly on their now warm faces, they see him there, like a being of pure light as he slows his spin and darts off towards the shore, gliding a hundred feet in the air. The land is illuminated there as bright as daylight, as is the ocean, and they can see him clearly as he pirouettes and dances on the rail of brightness on which he slides.

Daniel begins to feel the rays of light bend to his will and each glimmering piece of iridescence bend around his fingertips as he begins to weave geometric patterns in the air which coalesce into organic shapes and forms. Reaching the shore he starts there, pulling gossamer webs of light into streams of form which begin to build on each other to form an ornate structure out from the shoreline and into the ocean, building to a crescendo of wires out where the boat still lies, the three passengers staring in wonderment as he glides through the air.

The lines of light begin to build a magnificent portal, long and undulating like a tunnel of light and wind, toward a specific point, far out in the ocean. Through the strands of the structure Ester can see what looks like girders and beams supporting it, holding its structure up as if it were a man made thing, maybe one of the radical art sculptures she's seen in the books of European architecture. Some sort of man made colossus built to mimic the wind as it flows from the shore to the ocean.

But in this instance it is built of light and gossamer wind made of individual photons and electrons and within it Daniel can feel the molecules singing in his blood as he bends the material of the universe in his fingers and as the angels watch on, sagely nodding to the tune of his ministrations.

The humming builds to a deafening level as he spins, feeling the present, the past, and the future moving within him, feeling the angels, the others, the memories and the premonitions all dancing within his mind, Daniel feels at peace as it all comes together and below him his friends see the structure come together for an instant as hard, material pieces suspended above them before. . .

Before it is gone.

And the light is without, and the structure is as dust, and Daniel is as a wisp of fog on the wind.

And there is a splash and he is gone.

Gasping.

Struggling.

Reaching towards the darkness which may be the surface or the deep Daniel is casting about, reaching for anything to save him. Still feeling the faint whispers of greatness as he grasps at the strings of desperation, he reaches out to find nothing but the bubbles swirling around him.

Soon all is lost but for a moment he doesn’t care. For a moment he knows he has done what the angels wanted and he can rest now. For a moment his legs stop moving and his eyes slide shut, knowing that it is over.

But then it is not.

There is more work to be done.

And like lightning the feeling of unfinished business shoots through him and his eyes open.

Through the green, murky water there is a hand above him and it is reaching.

And he grabs it.

* * *

Ezekial's Train, Chapter Eight

The sun is already setting when they reach the dock and the horizon is ablaze with shades orange and red, giving a false sense warmth to the cool breeze rolling in off the sea. Elijah turns to Ester as he parks the car, speaking gently. “Now, baby girl, I really do think it’ll be betta’ if ya stay here in the car. Ya mama’ll like to tan my hide if somethin' were to happen to you out here.”


Ester steps out of the car anyway and makes her way towards the boat without a word. Elijah and Ester had argued long over her joining them on the boat but Ester had seemed to have all the logic on her side, and of course, she claimed if Daniel were to receive another vision, she had already proven to be the only one even slightly adept at seeing to his well being. She had been fishing with Thurgood dozens of times when she was a child, she'd argued, and had never drowned or been herself eaten by a shark. Her mother had heard the arguments and made them quiet down, but she had refused to weigh in her opinion, having decided to “stay out of all of this foolishness.”


Elijah had started to protest at Phyllis’s repeated use of the word “foolishness” for what he considered was as a mission from the Lord, but, having his hands full with Ester, he quickly abandoned the effort.


Daniel had offered his aid to both parties, supporting Elijah’s claim, though  fairly weakly, that the Lord had not called upon Ester to be part of this, as well as Ester’s more rational reasons for her to accompany them. After nearly twenty minutes, it was ultimately Ester’s stubbornness that won out. She simply refused to stay  put.


Daniel smiles to himself as he and Elijah follow Ester to the boat. It's worn little trawler with a tiny wheelhouse and only enough room in the back to accommodate perhaps half a dozen people if the room weren’t needed for all of the fishing gear, of which there is much. Thurgood is already at the helm when they board and he is a hefty, gruff, old man with a beard like a wire brush falling out around his collar. Elijah and Ester greet him warmly and introduce him to Daniel by his name and by Ezekial, respectively. Thurgood glances at each of them as they use different names but fixes his eyes on Daniel's before speaking. “So this here is the son of bitch wants to waste my gas traipsin’ ’round the water, is it?”

“Um,” starts Daniel uncomfortably, “I do not mean to inconvenience you in any way, it is just-”
Thurgood interrupts Daniel by giving him a heavy slap on the back, “I’m just yankin’ yo chain there, white boy. If Elijah says ya alright, then I says ya alright.”

“Thank you very much for your… kindness and generosity,” says Daniel, shaking Thurgood’s hand.
While Elijah and his daughter look on Thurgood spreads out tattered maps atop the fish box and asks Daniel where he'd like to go, curious as he only sees a blank stare in return.

Pausing before diving into the maps, casting them about and hoping that it is not so obvious how adrift he is, he tries his best to give Thurgood a direction and location based on the positioning of the few landmarks he remembers from his vision. All the while though he knows, as do they that there is no clear destination for them and they should probably set off from the dock without much preamble.
Elijah stays uncharacteristically silent as the maps are examined, his face reading a strange mixture of angry determination and anxious excitement and with a start Daniel realizes that perhaps Elijah has more invested in him than Daniel does in himself. All of Elijah’s hope and faith for God to make the world a better for him and his family, for his people, is wrapped up in Daniel and whatever these visions of his are urging him to do, wherever they're urging him to go.

Thurgood finally gives up and puts the maps away and begins to ready the boat to depart, leaving Daniel staring a little forlornly at the cabinet where he tosses the ragged, roughly folded papers.

“So, Daniel,” says Ester in a manner that, looking up, Daniel can tell is meant to break the silence between her father and his guest, “you didn’t finish telling me ’bout that bear soldier y’all had over there during the war.”

Daniel tries to hide his smile as he looks to her, “Yah, the bear-”

Break

“Ezekial,” shouts Mordechai, his voice piercing the howl of the wind around them. Daniel is prone on the ground, the sand cutting into his hands like razors as he pushes himself up. The tall, bear-man looms over him like the shadow of Death, “Ezekial, you must stop this. Turn back now.”

Daniel waves his hand at the bear, casting his arm as if to brush him away. “Stop, leave me in peace!”
“The final chance. Do not do as they ask.” There is static in the creatures voice. It’s cruder, harsher than the times before. “Do not do it. It has end badly. Seven five years from this time-”

Daniel shoves the creature away from him as it approaches, eagerness in its steps, “Stop this now!” Mordechai stumbles back a bit, the box dropping from his hands. Daniel notices it looks different, as if it has been crudely repaired after being broken or damaged. “Leave me alone,” shouts Daniel, “I don’t want this anymore, I don’t want any of this anymore!”

Shatter

“Yes?” asks  a sweet voice, a familiar voice, like he’s known it for years. He knew it when it was younger, rougher, when it spoke with anger and defiance and he’s known it as it's changed, grew older and softer and grown more compassion and gentleness.

Daniel turns around to see the women he knows he’s grown to love. “. . . Ester?”

“Yes honey, it's me,” she says impatiently, but with a smile, “You alright?”

She’s older, maybe in her late forties or early fifties but he still sees the pretty young girl that she was. Her hair is half grayed and her face is lined from years of smiles and laughter, but it's serious as she sees his confusion.

“What,” murmurs Daniel, “what’s happening? Where am I?”

“Where you think you at, old man,” she says playfully, “you ain’t up and losing your mind on me again are you?”

Daniel can see that her smile doesn't extend to her eyes and Daniel looks at his hands, barely recognizing them, “We… we were on the boat.”

Now Ester’s face changes completely and the jovial facade falls away. “Daniel, honey,” she says, quickly walking over grasping him in her arms. She puts her hands on both sides of his face and holds it still, directly in front of hers, “Look at me, okay, this is important. Tell me, who are you?”

“What?” starts Daniel, confused, “I, I am Daniel Christiansen.”

“Not your name, honey. Your name ain’t who you are. Daniel or Ezekial, it don’t make a difference, okay.” Tears run silently down her face as she looks to his eyes, willing him to understand. “Your life belongs to you. Your choice belongs to you, you hear me?”

“I don’t understand. . .”

“Sweetie, you ain't never gone understand, and niether will I, but as long as you know who you are, deep down, your life is still yours and can't nobody take that away from you.” She leans in to give Daniel a kiss. “I love you.”

Break

Ezekial's Train, Chapter Seven

Lying in the spare bedroom, the threadbare but still soft quilt pulled up closely around him, Daniel shakes with chill as sweat beads on his forehead, the plate of chicken untouched on the bed-stand.


“Honey, we need to get that man to a doctor. He is runnin' a fever set to beat the drums.”


The Reverend looks down and rubs his temples with his thumbs, his face more worried than he'd ever let his parishioners see. Them or the man lying there in the spare bed. “Phil, you know this ain't no kinda sickness no doctor can fix. Only the good Lord will see Ezekial out of this fever.”


“I know you say that, 'Lijah but he is burning up!”


Ester slides between the two of them, a basin of cool, clear water straight from the well and a soft cotton wash cloth in her hands. She crouches by the bed and puts her hand to Daniel's head again before pulling it away as if it was hot a burning fire.


Phyllis watches her daughter as she gently wipes the sweat from the white man's forehead and pulls the covers back to check his pulse, sighing as she does. “'Lijah, that there man needs help, and it ain't the kind you an' me can give. Only the Lord'll help him, true, but do we gotta be there to hold his hand?”


“You know I had the visions and you know what this man is. What he gone do and what I'm gone help him do. You know I got to. You know I got to!”

Throwing her hands up she gives Elijah the stare of a long suffering wife. “Honey, I love you more than any but God and that girl there, but you gone be the death 'o me. Bringin' home strange white men with fever visions, what this house done come to?”

“Phyllis--”

“Don't you 'Phyllis' me!” Storming out of the room towards the kitchen she swings the door so hard that the handle bounces off the bare wooden wall. “Least takin' care o' that man'll give Ester somethin' to do!”

* * *

“Daniel, are you alright now? Your fever look like it passed.”

“What?” His eyes fluttering open in the bright light Daniel feels the blankets still tucked tight around him, wrapping him like a mummy in a tomb. It's hard to make sense of it with the heat of August in Florida, but as he pulls them down he still catches a chill. With a start he realizes he's lost his shirt at some point and Elijah's daughter is looking down at him, worried. “What happened?”

“You been under all yesterday and through the night, shivering and sweating by turns. It's been one hell of a feva' you been under.”

“Yah. . . I remember little after coming back to the Reverend's. . . Oh. You have been caring for me?”

Daniel notices the cold plate of food and the water basin near by as he looks around a for a moment and blushes. He pulls the blankets back up to his neck before realizing that it was probably the girl who undressed him in the first place. The concern in her face is real but under the demure and proper facade she put up yesterday he can see a certain depth and hardness there as well. “Somebody had to since papa brought you here. He wouldn't hear no word o' takin' you to a doctor, said only the Lord would help you though it.”

“He may have been right at that, I think. No human may help with this at any rate.”

Wringing water from the washcloth and setting the basin to the floor she gestures to the breakfast she'd brought in maybe an hour before. “Brought you some food but couldn't get you to come to 'til the fever broke. Them grits ain't gone be too good by now but the eggs and fat back will be. Mama picked some o' the best pieces just fo' you.”

“Thank you. Thanks to your mother as well. You people have been too kind to me.”

“That's what mama says too,” The hardness is gone as she chuckles to herself and that smile he remembers so vividly from the day before is back for an instant. “Mama says a lot though, and Lord if she don't like to complain. She say daddy's crazy for bringin' you back. But I ain't so shore, myself.”

Daniel sits up and lets the blankets fall once again, focused suddenly on the food before him, regardless of how tacky the grits might be and how cold the grease of the fat back. In between ravenous gulps of salty pork he speaks as clearly as he can. “Crazy you say? That he might be, to take me in, but no crazier than me I am sure. What do you think. . . Ester?”

She sweeps her hair back in a way shows her long smooth neck and droops her shoulders a little. “Well, I think a lotta things but daddy, he says you been sent by God. Says you got visions like his. That true?”

“What your father believes is his own accord. Visions I do have but from whence they come, I do not know. I have debated over the years and I have looked for guidance but even now I do not know. I suppose I have come to accept the visions as what they are and not question their origin.”

“That so?”

“Yah. I am tired of those visions now though, and your kind father Elijah, who I must say I owe mine gratitude, he has spoken enough of them. I am tired of such words.”

Before either of them has noticed the food is gone and the water as well. Ester stands silently and sends a quick smile in Daniel's direction as she gathers the dishes and leaves the room. Lying in bed alone he tries his best to reassemble the events of the last few days and what they may mean. The ache in his head is remote but the weakness in his arms is acute as the past week washes over his mind, fearful of another vision or memory. They've never come as brutally or as frequently as they have lately and he realizes he's been in a constant state of fear that another will arrive. And these poor people have taken me in. What great burden have they brought on themselves?

* * *

The sun is casting its last faint shadows through the warped glass window panes as Ester walks in and sets another plate down by the bed by a tall glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. “I take it y'all didn't mind the tepid water in the bath? It's hard for us to get it too hot here and all.”

“No, that bath, it was a godsend. It is good to feel clean again like as layers of sweat and fear were washed away by turn. I am afraid your family has done too much to help a man who is afraid.”

“Well, they ain't done too much.” A quick wink lets him know that she's kidding, or at least a little, even while her voice drops to a whisper. “But I done a lot. Mama, truth be told, she don't want nothing to do with you and papa, bless him, he been down at Thurgood's house all day talkin' bout takin' his boat out on the water to get you were you want to be.”

“Your father does that for me, while I lie here and take his charity?”

“Sure he does. That's just him, or don't you know?” She looks at him quizzically for a moment before smiling again, “But I guess you don't. I forget, Daniel, that while you and papa talk like you old friends, you just met. No wonder mama is so scared.”

“Scared? Of me?”

“Well, something like that. Tell me Daniel, these visions you get, whether you think they from the Lord or not, tell me what they are.”

Daniel shakes his head and looks down at the plate of chicken and black eyed peas, his appetite suddenly gone. “They take many forms, the visions. This last one the strangest of all. . . It is like whoever, whatever has been speaking to me is speaking much louder now, or at least they were until today.” He looks up at her and sees that she is rapt, hanging on his every word. “It occurs to me now that they have not touched me today. Strange. . . The last vision though, it was enough to last a while.”

“And that vision? What they tell you?”

“I. . . It is hard to describe in words, though they did to me.” He fumbles around. “My bag, my sketchbook, you could grab it for me, yah? I could show you then.”

Pulling it from under the bed, Ester hands him his largest sketchbook and a pencil, watching as his fingers fly over the paper, barely waiting for it to land in his hands. The images he draws, circles within circles and gears within gears, a type of tunnel of writhing spheres, it reminds her of something.

“That's what your visions are?”

“That is what they were this last time, yes. Though the words escape me, the images remain, as always.”

“This reminds me of something from the engineering books I been reading. Something about bearings and . . . something else.”

“Engineering? You? You have engineering experience? But that is my own--”

She laughs at him in a way that is both telling and light hearted, “Whoah, whoah, whoah, y'all don't think a colored girl in Florida can do no engineerin' do ya? I just read the books, that's all.”

There's a bit of sadness that comes in toward the end and he looks at the girl with new eyes, pausing before he asks, “How old are you, Ester?”

“Twenty two this past May. Why you askin'?”

“Why? Why? Why do you not go to school? You could learn these things at a People's College and much better than I or anyone else, yah?”

The laugh that confronts him is both deep and pained at the same time. “Y'all aint' spent much time south o' the Mason-Dixon, have ya? A colored girl goin' to college. Crazy talk you sayin'.”

He reaches out to her and as his hand touches her shoulder she looks down and he can see the pain in those eyes that he missed before. “Though that crazy talk passes my mind every hour o' every day, crazy talk it is. Ain't no where for me to be but married to a textile factry' worker and raisin' kids. That's just the way life gotta be, far as they say anyway.”

Squeezing her shoulder and lifting her chin with his other hand Daniel looks into eyes that seem to have seen even more than his own. He tries a weak smile. “And how do you know of engineering then, yah?”

She pulls away but with a hesitation and she stands, her shoulders squared and hard, her eyes losing their compassion and gaining a hard resolve. “Spend 'ery day at the library. They's a Carnegie close by for the coloreds and I spend most time there, but the books is mostly 'bout juvenile shit.” She notices his wince at the last word and softens a little, smiling. “Pardon my language and don't tell papa, but that's what it is. His Lord may not have much interest in me and I ain't got a whole lotta interest in him, but that's where we lie. Spend a lot o' my time at the library downtown but they gimme the stink-eye most a' the time since I'm a colored girl. I try to make it better by bringin' them old biddies cookies, but they still don't like it.”

Daniel looks into Ester's eyes with a new kind of respect, the first he's felt in years, and he marvels that he could have found it in such a strange place. “They eat the damn cookies though and most times, well, I cain't say I don't think o' poisonin' them damn cookies so them old bitches, pardon ma words Daniel, but they true, don't choke on the chocolate like I choke on they white bread.” She catches her breath as she realizes she's let herself get carried away and for a moment Daniel sees the passion the Reverend Elijah had the day before coming through her, albeit with a different direction. “But y'all don't care about that.”

“But I do, Ester, I do. Please, there is so much in mine mind and head that is hard to understand. Please tell me of your life; it is a distraction.” He wagers a forced smile and hopes that it is enough to urge her on.

“No. I done said too much. Why don't you tell me about what it's like in Europe? Papa said you been there, before the war I mean, 'fore it all went to shit. Oh, I mean before it all. . . fell apart.”

Daniel smiles in spite of himself and begins to tell stories about Denmark and France before moving to Pennsylvania and New York. Ester is like a an open well to every word he tells, hanging on ever word. For a time Daniel forgets the strain of the last few days and the troubles of the demons in his mind.

* * *

It's Thursday before Daniel sees Elijah again and when he peeks in the doorway Ester is standing by the bedside, rapt in attention at his latest story about a bear soldier in Italy. Daniel can only marvel at the fact he's spent three days without a vision or a flash of memory and for a moment he wonders if it might be the influence of the reverend or his daughter. At any rate, the ordeals have backed off and the time has been pleasantly spent. The visions will return at any rate, he knows.

“Ester, baby girl, y'all gone haveta leave for a moment. 'Ah need to talk to Mistah Ezekial.”

She looks at him for a moment, confused, before the words click into place and she steps away, a quick wink aimed at Daniel as she does. “Yes, papa. I'll be in the kitchen.”

“That girl. . . She done been takin' care o' you?”

“Yah, that she has. She is a good daughter, I should think?”

“That girl there? She got a good soul, she do. Got a good heart straight from the Lord, but my if she ain't a burden on my own heart half the time. I tell Phyllis evry' day she'd do better if she had brothas and sistas to keep her in line. She a headstrong girl, she is.”

“Brothers and sisters, you say? I take she is an only child.”

For the first time since their meeting at the train station Daniel sees a somber cloud fall over Elijah's face as he stares off into the wall. “Lord's will, she is now.”

“What do you. . .?”

Elijah rubs his forehead and the furrows that lie there, pulling his fingers through his course gray hairs as he raises his head in a sigh. “Since her brother passed, she's been a handful, I tell ya. Three years this April.”

Daniel looks about before casting his own sorrow, “Yah, I can sympathize. I was an only child myself. It is hard.”

“Oh?” For a moment the Reverend's eyebrows perk up and he looks at Daniel straight in they eyes, “You lost one too?”

Confused, he can only murmur the truth to his host, “My father died when I was very young. I barely knew him. . . My mother, she wanted many boys, yah? But it was only me she had. My grandpa, Lars, he was. . . a help to her.”

“That's a shame.” That glimmer of hope leaves Elijah's face only to be replaced by the implacable enthusiasm Daniel's seen there since day one. “Musta been a good man to bear a speaker of the angels such as you. A good man.”

“Yah. I guess that was him. I do not know how--”

“My son was a good man too, dammit. Woulda' helped his sister to be a good girl too.” A fire sparks in the Reverend's face and it is hard to extinguish as he looks Daniel square in the eyes, his heart longing for understanding. “A damn good man, taken too young.”

“So Ester was not always an only child then, yah?”

“No, dammit, and don't tell poor Phyllis I done let my tongue wag like this, but I trust you, 'Zekial, I do.” It's only a faint glimmer of a smile Daniel sees before the man goes on in pain. “That boy was so excited to join up in the Navy, go ride hisself a boat, he says he would, 'fore they put him to loadin' crates. Only fit job fo' a nigga, they says. He tol' me that in his letters an' I ain't never gone forget it.”

“I am not sure I am understanding.”

The fire from scant days before burns in the Reverend Elijah's eyes and he screams at Daniel in a way that shakes him to his core. “Course y'all ain't understandin'! Just like a white man y'all don't get it but they tore him up into pieces, they done! We got a sack like it was full o'sugar but it was full o' my boy, sent freight from California with a little piece a' paper say they sorry! Say it was a shame he got blowed up in the damn Chicago Pote' blast. Like it got anything to do with Chicago and nothin' to do with him being a black man.”

Daniel can see the tears welling from the Reverend's eyes as he looks down and grasps the side of the bed, his knee falling to the floor with a thud, much softer than the dripping sound of his tears striking the bedspread. “Poor 'Zeke. Such a good boy, took too soon.”

“He is--” It's only a few words before he's drowned out in the Reverend's yell.

“He's dead, man! Don't y'all get it? Killed by white men what don't care about colored's lives.” The tears are pouring down that strong man's cheeks as he pounds the bed beside Daniel's leg. “This here was his room. This bed his, empty these three years but for ma' own prayers and his mama's. Empty. . .”

“I. . . I see.” Daniel places his hand on the older man's shoulder and for a moment he sees a vision unrelated to his own stark demons. For a moment he sees the pain that humans can endure, regardless of angels or gods. For a moment he understands that pain.

“God damn them people, God damn them all.”

“Reverend? Elijah? Surely you don't--”

“God damn them for taking my Ezekial.”

“Your. . .” Daniel tries his best to make eye contact with Elijah, but it evades him. For a time the angels, the demons, the visions, and the trains are gone and all he can feel is the anguish of this one man, struggling in his own way to make sense of a painful world. “Your boy, your . . . boy. He is gone, but you must live in his stead, yah? You must live for your wife and daughter. Your Ester.”

The Reverend looks up at Daniel and any semblance of cheerfulness or faith is gone, only a steady resolve and determination. “Yeah, I'll live for them. And I'll make this world a better place for 'em too. Now it's 'bout time to go get on that boat 'a Thurgood's to take it out on the low tide.”

“The boat?”

“That's what you wanted, weren't it?” His mouth flat and even, Elijah's gaze shakes Daniel for a moment before he comprehends it all.

“Yes, that is what I must do. Yah.”

“Good.”

* * *

Ezekial's Train, Chapter Six

The Reverend's home is not far from the church and a short enough distance that Daniel remaining quiet would not be thought of as rude but far enough of a distance that Elijah remaining quiet would be.

“Like I’s been tellin’ ya, Brother Ezekial, my sweet Phyllis makes the finest chicken and biscuits ya ever did have.” This is the fifth time Elijah has mentioned his wife's cooking to Daniel on their walk and he wonders if perhaps the Reverend thinks he did not hear him before. Elijah knows that all of these black outs are weighing heavy on Daniel’s shoulders so maybe he trying to bring levity to the situation or perhaps Phyllis’ chicken and biscuits truly are the best Daniel ever did have.

“Phyllis was askin’ after ya before she left the church,” says Elijah, “She done scolded me for not brinin’ you home last night. Said it wasn’t very Christian of me to let a friend go to a hotel without a supper in your belly! She and Ester were excited to know ya had agreed to come on over for some late afternoon lunch!”

“Ester?”

“Papa!” cries a woman's voice from around the corner. Daniel turns and a young black woman stands waving  in front of what must be the Reverend's unassuming little house, painted a pale yellow with white trim about the framework. She leans over the porch banister to get a better look at her father and his companion approaching.

Walking up to his daughter Elijah hugs her tightly before introducing her to Daniel. “Brother Ezekial, I’d like ya to meet my darling daughter, Ester.”

“Pleasuh to meet ya, suh.” Ester wears a simple pink dress and a matching ribbon in her hair which is tied back into a neat bun. Daniel is surprised by how captivating Ester’s smile is and cannot help but be embarrassed to think that he cannot recall the last time he's smiled so unapologetically as this girl Ester.

“Yah. . . No,” stammers Daniel, “The pleasure is mine.” After a moment Daniel nods his head towards the girl and looks away.

As she bursts out of the front door though, Phyllis saves Daniel from having to look anyone in the eye. “What are ya’ll waitin’ out here for?” she says, “I ain’t been cookin’ for two hourahs to be waitin’ out here to be makin’ ya dinner cold!”

The Reverend smirks at his wife. “Ah, but Phyllis ‘Be patient, therefore, brethren, until the coming of the Lord-‘”

“Don’t ya be startin’ with me now,” snaps Phyllis in a tone that only seeps of affection, “Even Christ himself knew at the Last Supper, ya can’t be keepin’ your dinner guests waitin’!”

Elijah has a good hardly laugh and enters in after his wife. Ester keeps the front door open for Daniel but Daniel blushes. “No. Thank you,” he says, “Ladies first.”

Ester smiles and obliges, but takes Daniel’s hat and coat without asking to hang on the coat rack promptly upon entering after her. “Mama’s prepared a special place at the table for ya, mistah Ezekial.”

“Uh, it’s Daniel-please.” Daniel does not want to be rude, so he forces a smile at Ester looks about the entree hall. It’s a narrow room painted white with only a wooden cross hanging on the far wall.
“The dinin’ room is right through there, mistah Ezek-” Ester stumbles over her words. “I mean Daniel.”
“It’s alright, Ester,” says Daniel, “I haven’t quite been able to keep it straight in my own mind.”

Daniel has never experienced such abrupt visions as he has in the past two days. It honestly frightens him but he does not think it in the forefront of his mind. It only remains as a whisper in the far back. Far past his memories of the war. “Might I use your restroom?” he asks.

Ester nods. “To your left, mistah Daniel.”

“Tak- er Thank you.”

Daniel closes the door behind him. He turns to the sink and plugs up the drain with the rubber stopper. He turns the faucet, which is water stained and a bit rusted but still in good condition and the sink basin begins to fill itself with cool water. Daniel stoops over and splashes himself with the water, trying to clean his face before eating. It was something his mother had drilled into his head since he was a small boy.

Daniel stares into his broken reflection in the water still gathering in the basin. None of his features are his own.

Break

Petra Christiansen slaps her hand across her son’s head again. He forehead is red from her previous slap and she feels no remorse for the second whack. Or the third.

“Young boys should not lie to their mothers!”

“But Mother! I telling you the truth!” little Daniel protests, trying to shrink away from his mother’s wrath.

“You cannot see angels, Daniel!” she shouts before whacking him again. “Angels do not speak to little boys who lie to their mothers!”

“But they look like angels, mother! They look like angels and they ask me to do things!”

Whack! “Why would you lie to your mother, you selfish child! The lord’s angels do not speak to lying boys!”

“But they spoke to man before! Pa Lars told me so! I am not the first-”

Whack! WHACK!

Daniel is knocked back onto the ground. His head is pounding and it aches. He defiantly tries to hold back the tears gathering in his brown eyes but he fails. Petra stoops down to her son’s eye level and stares him directly in the eyes. “Angels do not speak to man anymore, Daniel! Whatever Pa Lars said does not matter! He is dead and you should not be filling your head with these silly day dreams!”
Petra reaches out and grasps her son’s head to bring it closer to hers. “An idol mind is the devil’s playground, Daniel! You might think you are seeing angels but Satan can take on the form of anyone he wants!”

“But-”

“They are not-”

Shatter

Adult Daniel stands before the being with four wings, four arms and four heads. All four heads, the head of the ox, the head of the bird, the head of the lion and the head of the man are staring directly at Daniel.

“Ezekial.”

Daniel almost jumps backwards. “No! Stop!”

The being does not stop. It raises all four of its hands into the air and beings to singing “An experimental geometric design, designed in an attempt at determination of certain possible mathematical interrelationship existing in the pattern arrived at here on the other side.”

As the being sings its bizarre song, a giant mechanism rises up behind it. At first is appears to be clockwork of some kind. Ticking and moving within itself. Its purpose unknown.
The mechanism seems to tick on beat with the being’s song. “May it be observed that certain interconnecting lines intersect at points coincident with intersections of times of the basic square pattern!”

The mechanism begins to turn in mid air. It turns itself ninety degrees to that Daniel may see the workings underneath. Along its metal eyes, giant eyes stare at Daniel but pay no mind to the awesome gears clicking and ticking to keep the mechanism working. Some piano-like keys on the outer rim of the mechanism chime with every clockwise tick. Every other piano key is played by an invisible hand. Strange orbs in the inner rim spin in place as this rim ticks counterclockwise. The inner-most rim is concealed by a colossal semi-circular beam holding the enter mechanism together. In his heart of hearts, Daniel knows he does not want to see the inner-rim and that his mother would only approve of such candor.

The being only sings in words Daniel cannot understand now. Still, it stares at him and so do the eyes of the mechanism. They demand of him one simple task.

Break

Ester shakes Daniel to his senses. He lies sprawled out on the Reverend’s bathroom floor, his shirt soaked through with the tap water now over following from the sink’s basin. Ester’s eyes are terrified and so are Phyllis’, who stands behind her husband. Elijah kneels down and brings Daniel to sit upright. There is nothing really to be said.

“I’ll fetch a towel,” says Ester before she steps out of the small bathroom.

Ezekial's Train, Chapter Five

Under the heat of the Reverend's passion it is hard to not agree with him but the power of his arguments is as painful and shocking to Daniel as the pain of his slap must have been to Elijah. “I think maybe the angels would do better enlisting your help rather than mine. It seems you have the faith and determination that I am lacking.”


The Reverend laughs, the dark storm of anger passing from his face in an instant, leaving little trace of the depth beneath those eyes. Daniel wonders how much practice the man has at hiding his true thoughts and for a moment he beings to understand what it must be like to be black in the southern states. For a moment he understands the passion which the reverend has and the dogged, desperate hope he has for Ezekial and for change.


“Now 'Zekial, that ain't the way I see it. If the Lord chose you, he knows why and it ain't for us to question.” The Reverend gives his shoulder a light squeeze before pulling back and smiling infectiously. “'Sides, I'm happy just to be a lil' ol' part 'a all this.”


“That I do believe. I cannot thank you enough for helping me. I know of the Ezekial of the Bible, but I am not so sure I am like him.” Daniel looks into Elijah's eyes, searching for an understanding there. “I do not preach against wickedness, nor do I profess to know what it is. That is not for me to say. My mother saw it in many things, but I have found it a contrived conceit at best. So many of man's conceits as much.”


Rubbing his hands over his eyes and pulling his rumpled hair back Daniel looks up to see the Reverend still smiling, though it does begin to seem forced. “Brother, I don't know what all y'all talkin' about, but you gotta say what they doin' to my people is wrong. Lord knows it is.”


“Yah. That I do not question as wrong, but in Italy I saw many things that were worse. I fear that when people are speaking of a great new world, that world is most often built on the pain of others.” Again searching the Reverend's eyes for understanding, he finds it for a moment, but then it is gone under a cloud of injustice. “Though I do not deny that this world is flawed, and I know that you must be seeing it more than I, it is to think who's backs your new world should be built upon.”


For a moment Daniel fears another tirade of anger and hope from the reverend, but the moment passes and he stands instead, “Well now, that may be, brotha, that may be, but don't y'all think it might be 'bout time fo' the meek to inherit the earth? But come on, we get some food in that belly o' you, and leave all this high talkin' fo' later while you go figure out where y'all oughta be goin' in the ocean.”


“May I lie down for a bit first? That. . . speaking in tongues took my energy from me.”


“Oh yeah, you lay yo' head down and rest for a bit then we take you back and get y'all some food. Phyllis cooks a big 'ol Sunday meal ever week after church.”


Lying back on the cot, his head still aching from the vision before, Daniel closes his eyes and tries to focus on what he must do. What he must do and, more importantly, what he should do.

Break

The train is no longer moving forward but he ccan still feel the rocking back and forth as it settles on its tracks, the his off the engine's brakes still drifting back to the troop car and the acrid smoke of the locomotive still lingering in the air. The other men in the car are starting to shift and stretch but no one stands and hardly any speak.

Daniel's arm is still sore where the bullet grazed him three weeks ago. The bandage there is must smaller now than the one he applied on the field, but the ache is still there, especially when there is nothing to focus on but the pain and the rocking of the train. Even when wrapping the first strip of cloth to his shoulder he had hoped that the wound would be enough for him to be pulled from the front, but the medics decided it was too minor and the offensive too crucial to pull troops for such minor injuries.

Now the scab under the bandage itches and that is even worse than the pain but he resolves himself to let it lie. He is lucky to have lived this long, though he often wonders if it is luck at all or if he would have been better being taken from this hell. The visions, when they come, are almost a reprieve for once, something to look forward too. Especially lately.

Looking out the open window, trying his best to breath in the semi-fresh air from outside and avoid the stench of unwashed soldiers, he watches groups of soldiers pulling crates from a cargo train two tracks over. He can barely make out the polish on the crates as they are loaded onto beat up trucks and horse drawn carts. They say this push is one of the biggest of the war and troops from all the allied armies are here. They say that they will attack Monte Cassino soon. The rumor is that the planes flying over last night bombed the abbey there, crushing the old stones buildings like a child knocking down a stack of blocks.

Watching the men unload the train he sees a large black bear amble from the open cargo door, climbing gently down off the train, a box of ammunition under one huge hairy arm. One of the soldiers sees the bear and moves towards him. For an instant Daniel is afraid for the animal, but he sees the man is laughing as he claps the bear on its shoulder, saying something that Daniel can neither hear nor understand. The Pole hands the bear another crate which he puts under his other arm and ambles away form the train car, lumbering towards the nearest truck.

“Holy shit man, you see that?” The hard Brooklyn accent of one of the other passengers grates on Daniel's nerves as the man calls out to the others on the train and soon every set of eyes is glued to that side of the train car, everyone jostling to see out of the windows and catch a glimpse of the bear.

Everyone is speaking and the closest man crowding Daniel's seat says, “Hot damn, I done heard a' that bear. They say they found it and made it the compny' mascot but then the damn thing started helpin' 'em out!”

“Yeah, I hear they named him a private and everything. Only damn enlisted bear in all the allied armies, I bet.”

Everyone is still pointing as the train begins to rumble under them again and the wheels start to slowly grind against the tracks. The man with the Brooklyn accent calls out to the soldiers across the way as the train begins to move. “That's how we know the damn Krauts ain't got a chance! We got goddamn bears on our side!”

Break

Opening his eyes on the bunk, Daniel looks up to see Elijah standing over him, the black man's face pensive as he stares down at him. Daniel realizes he's breathing more evenly than he has in quite a while and reaches out to the Reverend's hand as he helps him to stand. “Yah, I am ready now. Thank you.”

* * *

Ezekial's Train, Chapter Four

“Sit down, now, sit down,” Elijah said, guiding Daniel to the bed. He gratefully sat down; grateful for having some place quiet to sit, and grateful for staying firmly where he was despite Elijah’s hand at his shoulder. For whatever reason, his visions were more frequent and more vivid whenever Elijah was at hand. Perhaps the reverend was, truly, a man of God?

That question, however, would have to wait until Daniel’s head stopped spinning. He rest his arms against his bent knees and lowered his head, staring intently at the wooden floorboards and breathing deeply in an attempt to calm his heaving stomach and focus his blurry vision. Beneath him, he heard the thudding of several people walking to and fro. Hushed, muttering voices floated up through the floor. Churchgoers, he thought, either concerned for his well-being or curious to find out whether the supposed messenger was a devil in disguise. To be honest, he himself wasn’t sure what the truth was anymore.

“Don’t worry about them downstairs,” Elijah said. “My wife’ll see them out right quick. You don’t need to be worrying about seeing or talking to anyone you don’t want to.”

Daniel nodded to show he heard. He was in no shape to talk to strangers, that was true. More importantly, it might prevent him from fulfilling his mission. For the first time since he was first contacted by the angels, they had given him a purpose along with the vision. A mission, even. This was something he must do.

He took one last deep, bracing breath and looked at Elijah, who was looking back at him with concern.

“I must go to the ocean,” he said. He gripped the bedpost closest to him and attempted to push himself up, but the room spun the moment he found himself on his feet.

“Careful, now!” Elijah rushed forward, grabbing Daniel’s arms, steadying him. “Don’t you be getting up, Brother. God’s been speaking through you and it ain’t no surprise you’re not feeling yourself after being contacted by the Lord. You need rest, and then we’ll see about getting you where you need to go.”

“I need to be there now!” A fury unlike anything Daniel had ever experienced consumed him, and before he could think he lashed out at Elijah, striking him across the face. A stunned silence stretched between them.

Elijah let go of Daniel’s arms, leaving him once again unsteady on his feet. “I apologize, Mistah Ezekiel,” Elijah said. He backed away, his hands upheld in a sign of peace. “I suppose I forgot my place.”

The fury vanished as quickly as it came, leaving Daniel feeling emptier and more exhausted than he was before. “No, no,” he said as he sat heavily on the bed. He dropped his face into his hands. What had come over him? “I’m the one who’s sorry. You have been extremely kind to me. Don’t think twice about ‘you place’ or any of that nonsense.” He looked up, a pleading look on his face. “This is something I need to do. And I believe I may need your help.”

Elijah’s eyes narrowed, wary, but it lasted only a moment. “I accept your apology,” he said, his shoulders squared and his head held high. He walked over to the desk on the other side of the room, which was, like all of Elijah’s furniture, simple and made of wood. He dragged over a simple wooden chair, set it front of Daniel, and sat down.

“I’m going to tell you something,” Elijah began, his face bereft of its usual humor or easy-going nature. “I’ve been sent here by God himself to help you, and I’ll see that everything is done to get you to where you need to go. But between you being weaker than a newborn babe and arrangin’ proper transportation, it’s gonna take a while. Now first, where do you need to go?”

Daniel felt calmed by Elijah’s staunch confidence.

“The ocean.”

“I’m afraid we’ve got quite a bit of that here in Miami. Do you know where?”

Daniel shook his head. The picture was so clear in his head. The city skyline was far behind him, and all that remained of them were indistinct, gray silhouettes fading in and out of the ocean mist. He knew where he was by the position of the sun as it struggled to be seen through heavy gray clouds, by the way the wind blew salt and water through his hair, and by the way the boat rocked on top of dark, murky waves. “I’m afraid the angels weren’t that specific.”

Elijah nodded knowingly. “Not surprised. The ways of the Lord and his messengers are mysterious to us lowly men.”

Daniel suppressed a mirthless laugh. At least there was something in this world he could agree with completely.

“Don’t worry, now, Mistah Ezekiel. We’ll make do.”

“Elijah,” Daniel started suddenly. “Why do you keep calling me ‘Ezekiel’? Who told you that name?” He had asked before, but Elijah’s answer then had told him nothing.

“Why, it’s the name the Lord gave you. And my, ain’t it a fittin’ one!”

“Why do you say that?”

“Haven’t you ever picked up a Bible?”

Daniel hesitated, and that was answer enough. Elijah brought his hands to his heart in mock pain.
“Ezekiel was one of God’s prophets. He preached against the wickedness of the Israelites, and he told ‘em they would be destroyed if they didn’t change their evil ways. They didn’t listen, and so God smote them from the Earth.”

An uneasy feeling began to knot in the pit of his stomach.

“What does that have to do with me?” he asked.

“Brother Ezekiel, you aren’t from this country. You haven’t seen the suffering here. My people work and work, sun up to sun down, every day of the week, just to see their just earnings snatched away from them by greedy men. Their only reward has been beatings, and whippings, and then hangings.” Elijah’s eyes began to glisten as anger and excitement threaten to overcome him. “And are they ever punished? It’s all we can do to hope that the Almighty sends their guilty souls straight to the pit.” Elijah was on his feet now, pacing. “We thought our time had come when the War came and they were all but put to the torch, but I guess the message still wasn’t clear enough. So now the Lord’s sent a prophet to lay them to waste and a new world can take its place.”

Elijah stopped pacing and looked at him. Daniel swallowed once, twice, trying to wet his dry throat before he could get out the words. “And…God…showed you this?”

“He sure did. Sent one of his mighty messengers to tell me you were coming, like I told you at the station. He told me that if I helped you become a great man and complete your mission, everything would change.”

Elijah smiled. He bent down and placed a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “There’s a great new world awaiting us, and God choose you to show us the way.”

Ezekial's Train, Chapter Three

“Mistah Ezekial, y'all alright?”


Daniel shakes his head again, clearing the cobwebs of remembrance and confusion form his mind to focus on the man standing before him, patiently looking up into his eyes and awaiting a response. “Yah. Ok.”


“Alrighty then suh, that's right good.” The Reverend claps his hands together once more and bounces a little on his feet, the loud smack of his palms bringing Daniel's focus on him a little more. “Now I know y'all done just got in here, and I don't mean to put ya out, suh, but the Lord told me I had ta be here to see ya when ya got off o' the train. Real specific 'bout that he was, let me tell ya. That angel, suh, let me tell you, he done couldn't stop talkin' about that there train. Crazy words too--”


“Excuse me, Reverend Thompson was it? Would you be so kind as to tell me that of which you require from me? I have just arrived in a strange place and am in need of rest.” I have to get away from this man. Even if I am here to see him, I have to think first.

“Oh, now look at me suh, puttin' you out when y'all tired from travelin'.” Thompson takes a step forward and clasps Danie's shoulder affectionately, “We'll done get you some where to rest. I tell ya ma' wife makes some good fried chicken and biscuits, if y'all got a mind, suh. Sho' do.”

And as the Reverend's hand clasps his shoulder, his fingers gently pressing on the soft cloth of his overcoat, Daniel is lost again.

Break

He is staring once more into the fiery red eyes of the tall bear who calls himself Mordechai, the wind howling over them both on the barren, rocky beach where Mordechai always appears. The sand is like broken glass and he feels it grinding beneath his feet as if he's just landed on it after falling. “Ezekial, you have to listen to me.”

The bear's words are like gravel being ground under foot and each syllable is mutilated as if being spoken through a malfunctioning radio. The bear speaks in Danish, but it is a very simplistic, formulaic way of speaking and it seems to not come from the bear himself but from the box he carries with him every time he appears, a small rounded thing with flashing lights like tiny light bulbs.

“Why am I here? What do you want from me this time? To tell me again to--”

“No! Not much time. They catch me soon and all is lost. You must not. . .” And a loud, piercing screech comes from the box the bear carries, drowning out even the wind as it cries out.

Daniel crouches and covers his ears, the sand grinding underneath his heels and the wind tearing at his skin. Looking up at the one called Mordechai again, he realizes how much the creature is not a bear, but something else. Something unlike anything on earth, he is tall and lanky but thick around the middle, like a bear which was stretched out right after storing fat for the winter. Its face, so much like a bear's but for the eyes, is belied by the smallish mouth and the lack of large incisors. Also for the first time he sees that the bear, shaking the box in his hands and smacking it violently, has no claws.

“You must not!” The screeching has stopped and the box is making a strange noise, but he can hear Mordechai once more. “They will ask you to, but you must not. If you do it will all be over in seven five of your years from time you are in now. You must not--”

Break

Heaving, Daniel Christiansen realizes he is leaning heavily against the Reverend Elijah Thompson, gently supported by the man's strong shoulders. He nearly whispers as he speaks to him, “Suh, I think you need some rest, suh. That was a hell of a, mind my manners, that was a big ol' shock y'all just took.”

Thompson guides him to a nearby bench, but as the move there Daniel regains his strength and stands on his own, gently brushing the Reverend's hands off of him. “Yah, quite the shock. I wonder that you only knew.”

“That, suh, I believe 'ah do not.” He looks at him with oddly narrowed eyes, the enthusiasm and friendliness gone from his face, “Why don't y'all come back to ma' place, suh, and rest?”

“No. I must not take advantage of you, though your kindness is appreciated. I will find a hotel.” He grasps Thompson's hand and shakes it firmly. “You have been kind to me, sir, and I shall not be forgetting.”

“Well now, suh,” Smiling once again but with an apprehension behind those sensitive brown eyes, the Reverend speaks more slowly to him, “You will be missin' out on some mighty fine eatin', but that's alright. Y'all will come to my fine congregation's sermon tomorra', though, won't ya? Let me write down the address so you can't miss it.”

“Yes, yes,” Anything to make him go away. “Give me the address, and I will be there in the moring.”

“Bright and early sir, we'll be there.” Scribbling quickly on a piece of stationary, the he hands Daniel a paper with a very carefully written address and time. “Couldn't be no co-incidence y'all comin' here on a Saturdey evenin'. Must be y'all's meant to come.”

“Yes, of course. Now if you'll excuse me?”

“Oh, yes, suh. Can't wait to see y'all in the mornin', suh.”

***

Walking gingerly from the communal shower at the end of the hall, his head pounding, Daniel ponders the events of the day, reassembling them bit by bit and arranging them as pieces of a puzzle. So many flashbacks, sideways movements in time, and visitations in one day. Far more than he's seen in years and all of it building as the train got closer and closer to Miami.

Maybe it is the motion of the train beneath him which reminds him so much of that other train which conjured up the flashbacks, which increased his sensitivity to the signals from the angels. Maybe not.

Reaching his private room he pulls one of his larger sketch pads from his luggage, spreading it across the bed and pulling one of his Eversharp pencils from his satchel, knowing even in his exhaustion that drawing out the events of the day will help him make sense of them. He lets his hand move freely, drawing across the paper of its own accord, softly marking strange designs which coalesce into the image of the train. At first it is the train he rode today, had ridden all the way from New York, it's smooth streamlined curves forming on the paper, its one giant headlight staring proudly from the front and its large connected wheels rumbling underneath.

But then, he grabs an eraser form his satchel as well and before he knows what's happened the train is transforming. Scratching away with the pencil at a feverish pace and erasing as he goes, the train becomes that other train. Its wheels are gone, replaced by whirring turbines and large banks of unimaginably strong magnets, hovering over a single, sinuous rail. The streamlined locomotive is transformed from a one eyed giant to a long, agile and luxuriant mechanical beast, it's large narrowed eyes staring out from the face of a predatory cat, its body forming the length of the metal monstrosity. Its teeth a slightly bared and a paw rests atop the intake for each turbine, the whirring blades spinning underneath.

Daniel blows gently on the drawing and shakes it out beside the bed, eraser shaving cascading down onto the carpet. The drawing has become yet another illustration, intricate and lifelike, of the train from his visions. The smooth beast of a vessel with the face of a cat that has haunted his dreams for years, it stares out at him and he shuts the pad violently, tossing it to the floor in anger. That is enough for one night.

***

Sunlight streams through the warbled glass of the hotel window and falls on Daniel's face as he awakes in a startle. Still with a towel draped over his nude form from the shower last night, he's fallen asleep atop the comforter again, exhausted from the day before. Standing, he pulls on his clothing and rinses his face in the basin, slicking back his hair and readying for the day.

Moving back toward the bed though, he sees that his pad is back out and on the nightstand, open to a page that was blank the evening before but now shows a detailed pencil sketch. Picking it up and looking closer he sees that it is a pier jutting far out into the ocean from a strange city of tall towers and complexes. Something like New York but with shorter, broader buildings and a strangeness to it. A strangeness which pales next to the structure which is like a pier.

Obviously not natural, the building can be nothing but a pier, projecting so forcefully out onto the water as it does, but no pier designed for any purpose Daniel can bring to mind. It is like long, sinuous tunnel of metal and some other materials. It is like a snake of aluminum large enough to walk through, its curves and flanks like waves in a tumultuous sea. It is utterly alien, but even in the drawing he can tell that it is constructed of man made materials and methods. Like some avant-garde sculpture it snakes into the ocean from the shore and gives no reason for its being. Daniel closes the pad and begins to pack his belongings, knowing that he has no where to go but to the sermon of the Reverend Elijah Marshall Thompson.

***

When he gives the address to the taxi driver, the man looks back at him over the seat incredulously, “Y'all shore you wanna go there? You know that's a colored, church right?”

“Yah, I suppose it is. The Reverend there is black, yes.”

“And y'all going to church there? To a colored church?”

The look on the man's face is of confusion and anger, his eyes wide and brow furrowed, there is no friendliness or hospitality in his gaze. “If you would like not to bring me to the address, I will move to another cab, yes?”

“No, ah'll drive y'all there, but it ain't my fault you don't make it back.”

“So then, if you will, perhaps you should, and in silence, yah?”

“Yeah.” The car moves into gear and as it moves away from the train station the driver pauses often to turn or stop erratically, as if he is not familiar with the streets. As they slowly progress the streets do become much more worn and most are dirt. Some even have wooden sidewalks and it's hard to imagine that this part of the city could be in the same time period as the rest Daniel's seen. For the briefest of moments he fears that he has become unhinged from time once again, but the presence of the worn pre-war taxi assuages him.

At one point, passing a particularly derelict house abutted by a well kept but simple little barber shop, the driver pulls to the side for most of a minute, looking one way and the other, scratching the balk spot on the back of his graying head.

“Are you not familiar with these streets, eh? Is this profession new to you?”

Slamming the transmission back into first the car roars away from the curb, crunching over a manhole cover and squealing his tires as it does, the driver practically shouting back over the front seat, “No, dammit, I know Miami. I just ain't familiar with the nigger part a' town, damn it.”

When the car finally pulls to a sudden stop in front of the right address, Daniel takes a distinct pleasure in paying the fare to the very penny, and no extra, grateful he had a pocket full of change this morning. Looking up at the church though, he sees that it is a modest clapboard building, obviously very old and not entirely well built at the outset, but sturdy and well kept. The white paint on the walls and the shingles on the steeple are all fresh and new. Up the carefully trimmed lawn from the street he sees a large sign proudly proclaiming the name “New Zion Baptist Church,” in carefully painted letters that match the address the Reverend gave him exactly.

And I wonder what mother might've thought of me entering a Baptist church. Daniel chuckles idly to himself, Much less what she'd think of what brought me here.

Opening one side of the double doors at the top of the steps he finds a large single room filled with sound and passion, every pew full of warm, sweaty people singing at the top of their amazingly talented lungs. The sound of the congregation singing is like a wave washing over him and Daniel nearly feels that he should fall down from the force.

Unfamiliar as he is with the hymns here, the words lack meaning aside from the liberal use of words such as “save,” “lord,” “Jesus,” and “love,” but the feeling behind them is hard to ignore. Standing there at the pulpit he does see the Reverend, in a suit much finer than that he wore yesterday, his head thrown back and his mouth open wide, leading both the choir behind him and the crowd before him.

Uncomfortable with edging his way into a pew, Daniel stands against the back wall, feeling suddenly more grounded and focused than he has in days, looking from one determined, exuberant face to the next. If only the passions of all religions could be this full of spirit and hope. He thinks, remembering the stern hand of his mother's faith and the gospels of hell, damnation, and revelations that she ascribed to. He finds it hard to imagine that these people could be left behind in a rapture, at any rate.

But the hymns end quickly and the Reverend Thompson moves on to his sermon, one that Daniel has a bit of a hard time following. Something about following the path that God shows us, though we may not understand it. “And then, y'all gotsa know, God will tell you what he's got in mind for y'all, he will tell you, though you won't know it when he do, he is tellin' you right now! Just like he tellin' me right now!”

Daniel realizes that he's been watching the Reverend's every movement and nuance at the same moment that Elijah notices him in the back of the room. “Jus' like the good Lord tol' me to bring this man here to y'all today!”

Pointing towards the back of the church, the pews go silent and every set of eyes is trained on Daniel Christiansen, a tall white man standing in a sea of black faces. “Come on up here, brother, and tell the good news. Lord done told me that was what you here to do today, and I ain't 'bout to argue wit' him!”

Nervous, he starts to walk down the center aisle towards the pulpit, one slow step at a time as the Reverend begins clapping his hands. The rest of the congregation starts clapping in unison and shouting words of encouragement and praise, “Lord, speak through that man there!” shouts one woman, waving her arms in the air while another croons, “Speak the word, brotha, speak the good word. We done waited too long ta' hear it!”

The stairs to the front stage creak wearily as he climbs them, though none can hear them over the cacophony, but as he comes to stand beside him, the Reverend Elijah stops clapping and throws his hands up in the air much like he did before, quieting the room and throwing his arm around Daniel's shoulders. Already shaking, Daniel jerks in the fear that he might be cast again into a vision at Elijah's touch, but nothing happens as he looks out at the smiling, warm faces.

“Now this here is brother Ezekial, y'all, and he done come a long way to tell us the word, Good Lord done tol' me so. This man is a man a' God, brothers and sista's, a man a' God!” The congregation shouts words of praise and encouragement as a hole and the shaking in Daniel's shoulders does nothing but increase. “Now what you got to say to us, good Brother Ezekial?”

Break

The grass here is purple, as it always is, and it is lush. Once when he was left here for what felt like hours before the angels arrived he examined the grass and found that it was not like grass at all but more like string. Each little blade was like a woven piece of yarn tipped with a little ball of soft purple jelly. Much like the rocks he saw that day were not rocks at all but some sort of skittering creatures that moved away from him when he tried to approach.

Today though, the grass is purple and there is not much more to see than the grass. No rocks, no strange trees that are not like trees and none of the strange beasts that he's seen so many times. No floating spheres or saucers. Today there is only the one angel and nothing else.

The one angel staring intently at him with his human face, his eyes ablaze and his mouth open, the head pulled farther back into it's strange shell than normal, it wastes no time speaking to him and only shouts in a voice that is not like language and seems to lack meaning but in an instant of pain, Ezekial understands.

Break

In Mount Zion Baptist Church Daniel throws back his shoulders and screams, his breath rushing out from him in a hissing, hellish screech that hurts his own ears. He looks out on the congregation as he heaves forward, his shoulders slumping and his breath coming heavily as the Reverend catches him, and sees shocked faces. As he gasps for breath he sees that every eye is wide and he hears nothing but his own heavy breathing as the Reverend pulls him to his feet.

Elijah whispers into his ear gently, much as the day before. “Brother, I don't know what that vision done to you, but I ain't never heard no speakin' in tongue like that.”

Looking out at the crowd, his eyes dilated and crazed, Daniel grabs Elijah by the cuff and pulls himself up, choking on the words as they come, “There is a place here. I have to go there. You have to help me.”

“What are you sayin', brother?”

Daniel can see the concern on the Reverend's face and he can see the thoughts behind it that are questioning the vision he had himself and questioning whether bringing the crazy foreigner into his church was truly the will of God, but he can't help but go on. “It is in the ocean. I have to go there.”

Ezekial's Train, Chapter Two

Dropping the paper cup into a bin, Daniel Christiansen looks around. The ceilings of the room are tall, held up with a complex set of beams, rods, and struts and surrounded by a multitude of windows that give way to dust ridden beams of light that fall heavy onto the throngs of people. Stirring about, greeting friends and family or waiting to, they're eating, talking, and shuffling with cases and bags. He feels that he's in the rumbling belly of a colossus of brick, steel, and glass and it made him uncomfortable.

“Pardon me, suh,” A rather handsome black man stands not a meter from him Perhaps in his thirties or forties he wears a dark three piece suit a size too large for his frame and obviously old but well-kept. He smiles but he stands tall, exuding an air of both humility and importance all at once. “Are you a Mistah Ezekial?”

“Yah. How do you-”

“Oh, my apologies, suh. I beg ya pardon,” the man says quickly, “Now, I didn’t mean to startle ya.”

“Do you know me?” says Daniel, his voice shaking.

“Well, no suh, not in the flesh, suh. But, ya see, I know ya just as well.” The man notices the emotions playing out on Daniel’s face and shakes both his hands in the air in an odd, but seemingly friendly gesture, clasping them together in front of himself, “I beg ya pardon, suh. My name is Reverend Elijah Marshall Thompson and I reside here in Miami, suh. I preach at a little church in town, New Zion Baptist Church, not too far from here, and we got ourselves a mighty fine congregation and they’s hungry for the word of God, yes Lord. Ya see, my father was a Reverend and his mother was mighty God fearin’ woman so, you see, the word of God’s been in me ever since I was a little baby, suh.”

Daniel blinks and nods as the man prattles on. He speaks passionately but quickly and his words do more to confuse Daniel further than make clear the reason for the man approaching him. The Reverend Thompson seems to realize this as well, after a while. “Well, suh, ya see, I says all that to tell ya I’s a man of God. So, when I says I know ya, I mean to say that I dun seen ya before, in a vision, suh.”

It takes Daniel a second to latch onto the man’s statement, blinking and shaking his head all the while, “A vision?”

“Well, yes suh. A vision, suh. Ya see, the Lord sends me visions in the night. He sends ‘em to me in dreams while I’m sleepin, suh. Now he don’t send me too many, ya see, but he dun sent me a vision of you and I tell ya it was as clear as you stand right here in front ‘uh me.”
 
“You say that you had a vision . . . of me?”

“Why, yes suh, you can bet  I did, suh. And I saw ya clear as day and the Lord says to me, ‘Elijah, I’m sendin’ a man to ya. This man is mine, ya hear me. He’s a very important man and I needs ya to help him. Ya help him become the great man I made  him to be ‘cos that’s what I made ya to do, Elijah.’ And uh’ course I says, ‘Well, yes Lord. Anything ya says, Lord. I am yo good and faithful servant, Lord, and yo will be done.’”

Obviously this Rev. Thompson is an insane, foolish, religious nut. I'm sure he does this all the time, approaching young white men arriving to town alone, swaying them with words about God and convincing them they are special or important in his kind and commanding way. This is what Daniel thinks, and even more so, this is what he wants to believe. But Daniel has seen far too many things in his life to write off Rev. Thompson’s vision as mere absurdity or some underhanded plot.
Daniel has seen angels and alien landscapes and beasts with nearly a dozen heads and horns and wings and teeth of iron and eyes like fiery pits. He has been to heaven and hell and planets beyond the reaches of which men will ever achieve. He has been spoken to by beings beyond this earthly realm in languages the human tongue cannot even begin to replicate.

He's never been certain whether these occurrences occurred solely within his own mind or if they were in fact what they appeared to be, so it is hard to not be frightened and wary of Rev. Thompson’s claims, but he knows that there is likely something strange and true to Rev. Thompson’s words because the one thing that remained constant throughout all of Daniel’s strange encounters with other worldly beings is that they all called him by the same name. Ezekial.