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.”