Subway (short story)

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"Why don't you sit down?" I invited.

"I'd rather stand," he said brusquely, nearly tripping over an old cripple as he entered the train.

The subway doors closed silently, and the train gently pulled away from the station.

"Why don't you sit down, Henry?" I asked, more pointedly.

He turned to look at me, trying to place my face. Staccato flashes from the subway tunnel supplemented the bright interior lighting. The windows were dripping and the carpet was damp at its edges, as if someone had lightly sprayed water across the inside walls of the traincar.

"I'm sorry, I don't recognize you," he said at last. "Are you one of my students?"

"No," I said.

We were all alone in the subway car. Henry's shirt collar was unbuttoned, his tie buried in his briefcase, along with his vest. He carried a suitcoat over one arm, and the other gripped a metal pole for balance.

"Perhaps you've read my newest book," he suggested.

"I know the book," I allowed carefully. "Why don't you sit down?"

"I said, I'd rather stand," he repeated, a little irritably.

"Let me clarify," I said coolly. "Why won't you sit down?"

A smile briefly crossed his face as he reinterpreted my question.

"I usually stand, since the subway's always so crowded this time of day," explained Henry, belying the empty train car. "Besides, you'd know that I prefer standing, if you knew my lectures."

"I know," I said.

With a soft whoosh, the subway rolled effortlessly through the next station, bypassing the empty platform.

"We didn't stop," Henry observed aloud.

"No," I agreed.

"Pardon me," he chuckled. "I didn't need to point that out to you, did I?"

"No," I said.

"I spend all day drilling students with what should be obvious facts," he smiled, "and I've gotten into the habit of pointing out obvious facts to strangers, too."

The subway slid forward, the staccato flashes coming at a marginally faster pace.

"Still..." mused Henry, again aloud. "I wonder why we didn't stop at that station? Maybe because it was empty?"

"How would we test that hypothesis?" I asked.

"Oh, very good, very good," sniffed Henry, his smile quickly gone. "Your sarcasm is perfect."

"How would we test that hypothesis, Henry?" I pushed, also without a smile.

He paused.

"If we stop at this next station," he said carelessly, waving his arm and nearly dropping his suitcoat, "then clearly the exception was limited to the previous station."

"That is hardly the proper formulation of a philosophy professor," I said, disappointed. "Go deeper."

The subway swished smoothly past the next station, as empty as the previous.

"Hypothesis neither proved nor disproved," he observed wryly. "Too open-ended."

"Then craft a new hypothesis," I suggested.

Henry stopped for a moment, staring at me.

"You must be one of my students," he said after several moments.

"No," I said.

The train rolled on quietly, a little faster than before.

"Perhaps I've accidentally stepped into an out-of-service train," Henry considered.

"How would you determine that?" I asked.

"What, do I look like a subway attendant?" he snapped.

"No," I said.

The car slid through the next station, vacant.

"This is ridiculous," muttered Henry, fingers tapping on the vertical pole he gripped for balance. The traincar was rolling noticeably faster than at first. "Empty cars and empty stations and an empty-headed student to harass me."

"Why don't you sit down, Henry?" I asked.

"I said I'd stand," he retorted. "Even if it is next to the air conditioning vent."

"No," I said.

His eyes drifted to the vent, several yards away from where he stood.

"The blasted thing is blasting too hard," he complained, opening his briefcase and removing his sweater-vest. "It's freezing in here."

"Not yet," I said.

The train rolled through the next empty station.

"I've had enough," said Henry, pulling on his vest and clapping his briefcase shut.

"Enough of what, for what?" I asked.

But instead of answering, he pushed the emergency intercom button.

"Conductor, I seem to be on the wrong train," he said into the intercom, reassuming his professorial tone. "Could you please let me off at the next station?"

Silence.

"The intercom must be broken," he said, releasing the button in frustration.

"Is that the only solution?" I asked.

"It's the most likely," said Henry impatiently. "Perhaps I should approach him directly."

Henry marched over to the service door connecting the individual cars, and I raced to intercept him. Ours was the very last in the line.

"Please, allow me to go first," I said, abruptly pushing past him and thrusting open the door.

The grating noise of wheels on railtracks echoed through the tunnel as I opened the door to the next car and entered.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," said Henry, stepping across into the next car, "you don't need to..."

With a violent crack, the final car decoupled from the train, spun off its rails at a sharp angle, and burst into flames.

"What in the name of..." he swore, slamming the door shut.

Our new car, now the last in the line, was as empty as the previous.

"What just happened?" he demanded.

"The subway car decoupled from the train," I said blandly, taking my regular seat. "Why don't you sit down?"

"I could've been killed!" he gasped. This car was colder than the previous, but he still was sweating. "If I hadn't left when I did...a moment too late, and..."

"That assumes that your departure and its decoupling are unconnected events," I said.

The subway train, short a car, hurtled through another empty station.

"You're not making any sense," he sputtered.

"You're not asking the right questions," I replied coolly.

"Are you suggesting that my...that I made the car break off when I...when we crossed into the next car?"

"How would you test that hypothesis?" I asked.

"I'll show you how I'd test it," he said fiercely, marching along the length of the car to the exit door.

"Wait for me, please," I said, standing up and strolling over to him.

As he struggled with the door, I squeezed past him, forced it open, and then opened the door to the next car. The lights from the tunnel flashed furiously as I stood, exposed, between two subway cars.

"Come into the next car," I invited, walking into the next one.

But he paused.

"Why don't you join me in the next car?" I repeated, signaling across the gap.

Shaking his head, Henry stepped into the new car.

With a sudden crash, the last subway car tore itself loose from the subway line, tumbling backwards and erupting with fire.

"Why don't you sit down?" I asked, taking a seat in the usual place.

Henry stared at me, his mind as blurred as the empty station as we whizzed by.

"Hypothesis confirmed," he said slowly.

"Not necessarily," I said. "Your evidence consists of two consecutive incidents, possibly coincidental, unsupported by previous experiments."

"Experiments?" he countered wildly, swinging his briefcase. "I'm trapped in some kind of psychopathic nightmare - and with the most annoying interlocutor possible!"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Am I dead?" he asked bluntly.

"Not yet," I said.

Henry opened his eyes and laughed.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I even asked that," he said, embarrassed. "Or even why I'm talking to you. I was discussing death today in class and...and I'm just locked on a service train and I'm getting crazy ideas because..."

Henry remembered the two decoupled cars.

"But - 'not yet', you say," mused Henry. "That applies to all life at any stage prior to death. I used that very line today in my lecture. What a true and meaningless answer."

"Not meaningless," I said. "It narrows the range of possibility."

Henry put on his suit to ward off the increasing cold, making him incongruously formal without his tie.

"Am I dreaming?" he asked, pushing his embarrassment aside.

"No," I said. "Why don't you sit down?"

"For the last time, I'm standing!" he shouted, smile gone.

The subway rocketed through another empty station.

"This isn't making any sense," rambled Henry. "No sense at all."

"Then ask appropriate questions," I suggested.

Henry paused, collecting his thoughts.

"I take the subway to and from school every day," he considered aloud. "It's familiar imagery, so it's reasonable that my mind would select it. I deal with students every day, so it's reasonable that my mind would invent a student to talk with me. This student's responses correspond to topics from today's lecture."

I offered no expression.

"Among this reasonable imagery are unreasonable elements," he continued, shifting into his lecture style. "Empty stations. Accelerating speed. Decoupling cars. Freezing cold."

Henry released his hold from the metal pole, which had become too cold to grasp.

"So clearly my subconscious is trying to communicate some hidden message to myself," he concluded, blowing into his fists to keep warm. "Is that it?"

"No," I said.

The train roared past the latest empty platform.

"Are you supposed to be me?" he asked impatiently.

"No," I said.

Ice began to collect on the edges of the windows.

"Why am I dreaming this?" he demanded.

"I already said, this isn't a dream," I corrected. "Why don't you sit down?"

"Why are you so insistent that I sit?" he shot angrily.

"Why are you so insistent that you not sit?" I returned icily.

Henry clenched his chattering teeth, trying to regain his calm.

"Why should I trust you?" he asked.

"I do not lie," I said.

"Little good that does me," Henry grumbled. "A liar would say the same."

"Your suspicion does not invalidate the truth of my statement," I said.

"Just tell me who you are," he sparked, frustration cracking his voice.

"Ask me a question," I instructed.

"Tell me who you are!" he shouted.

The train hurtled through yet another empty station.

"No longer satisfied with reason, are you now resorting to revelation?" I asked.

Henry opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, remembering.

"Again you quote my lecture," he recalled warily. "There are those who seek to solve problems by use of reason - and those who depend on some authority to tell them what to think."

"Am I to serve as my own authority?" I asked. "Ask me another question."

"Are you...the devil?" asked Henry cautiously.

"No," I said.

"What a relief," he smiled, humor returning. "If you were the devil, I'd have to rewrite all my lectures."

The collecting ice had obscured almost all the windows and was beginning to creep over the interior fixtures, dimming the traincar's lights.

"Maybe God?" he asked flippantly, his breath crystallizing in the air.

"The God?" I clarified.

"The God, any god, whatever," he said, hands in his pockets for warmth.

"A god, yes," I allowed.

"Oh, really," said Henry suspiciously. "I always knew theism was a delusion, so I suppose it's ironic that I would meet a god in my own private delusion."

The train screeched through another vacant station, rattling the sides of the traincar.

"Well, if you're indeed a 'god'," said Henry, again amused, "then let us resort to revelation, as you put it - borrowing my own words. Tell me who you are, really."

"I am your god, Henry," I said simply. "Why don't you sit down?"

"I said, I'm standing!" he barked, amusement gone. "And I have no god!"

"Every man has a god," I explained calmly. "The force you depend on for everything, trust in for everything, appeal to for everything. The answer that solves your problems so you can sleep at night. The power you invoke to direct how you, and others, should act and think."

I gave him a moment to reply, but since he stayed silent, I continued.

"Do you still not recognize me?" I asked. "Without even realizing it, during this entire conversation, you have worshipped me - as you have worshipped me through your entire life."

Henry shook his head, ice beginning to gather on his hair.

"Your worship has not been in vain," I said generously. "Your lifetime devotion and relentless missionary efforts have earned you one final opportunity."

Henry stared at me incredulously.

"Why don't you sit down?" I asked.

Instead, Henry burst into laughter.

"This is the best dream I've had since college," he smiled. "It's like those mystic visions the hermits have - but of course, since I'm an atheist, instead of communing with Buddha or the Ghost of Christmas Future, I get to chat with my own personal god. Charming."

Henry tried to bow mockingly, difficult because his hands were clenched in his pockets for warmth.

"You are not my only worshipper," I said, reluctantly resorting to revelation.

"And I suppose that this cold is because I've kicked off my blankets," he theorized, ignoring me. "Better a nightmare than dead, hmm? So when does this nightmare end?"

"This isn't a dream," I reminded him.

"Oh, of course," said Henry playfully, even as he shivered violently from the cold. "How could I forget?"

"You haven't forgotten," I clarified. "You're in denial."

"Denial? Of what?"

"Of your impending death," I said.

"I thought you said I wasn't dead," he objected.

"I said 'not yet'," I repeated.

The traincar screamed past another empty platform, and with a violent crack, the sonic boom shattered the frozen windowpanes. A harsh wind flooded the traincar, tearing at Henry's exposed skin, even as a hideous scraping noise from the subway tracks echoed across the car.

"What if this were real, Henry?" I shouted, barely above the roar of the tunnel. "Would that better fit the data?"

Henry, stunned by the sudden blast and the frigid temperatures, did not respond. Instead, leaving his briefcase behind, hands in his pockets, he staggered his way against the wind towards the door leading to the next car.

"Wait for me, Henry," I said, catching up to him.

"I'm leaving...leaving now," he chattered, tongue numbed by the cold. "Go...away."

But his chilled hands could hardly turn the metal handle.

"Please, allow me," I volunteered, opening the door and stepping through into the next car.

The monstrous roar from the subway racketing along the tracks intensified.

"Follow me, if you insist," I said, opening the door to the next car and stepping inside.

"No!" he protested.

I watched him silently.

"You said...said I had a...final opportunity," he shouted, trying to be heard above the subway noise. He stood at the edge of his car, as I stood at the end of mine. "You said my death was...was impending. Is that...my opportunity - a chance to live?"

"No," I said.

With a whoosh, the subway flew through another empty station, searing Henry with a frigid wind.

"It's just a dream!" he insisted, barely able to keep his balance. "Just a crazy dream and I've...I've kicked off the blankets."

"No," I said.

The open doors were allowing freezing air to flow into both subway cars, and ice was creeping across the next car's windows, blocking out the tunnel lights. By now the subway was moving so quickly that the individual lights appeared as one thin beam.

"Think rationally, Henry," I urged. "What if this weren't a dream? What then?"

Henry swayed a little from the cold, as if he might fall backward.

"You said my worship was not in vain," stammered Henry, lips harshly dried from the ice and wind. "You said I had an opportunity."

"I did," I agreed.

"An opportunity - for what?"

"To ask each other questions," I said blandly. "As you sought in your life, so you win in your death."

Henry stared at me, dumbfounded.

"Now, should we return to your car," I motioned, "or would you like to join mine?"

Henry lurched forward, his body frigid and stiff.

As he entered the next car, the last car wrenched free of the subway line, flung itself backwards, and roared into flame.

"Another...coincidence..." he observed.

"No," I said, taking my usual seat. "Why don't you sit down?"

Teeth chattering, Henry leaned against the wall, shaking uncontrollably, knees locked straight. In this car, the windows were still intact, but the temperature was even colder than before.

"Why don't you sit down?" I invited.

Henry shook, his hair glistening with frost.

"Then ask me a question," I said.

The train slashed past another platform.

"Ask me a question," I repeated.

Henry avoided eye contact.

"Henry!" I flared furiously, leaping to my feet. "ASK ME A QUESTION!"

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

"I...I..." he stuttered.

And all at once, he felt the barren, aching void of means without end, reason without wisdom, truth without understanding - black, hollow, gluttonous for endless answers to endless questions - a blind guide trapped in a darkness not of its own making.

"I do know you!" he blurted out. "You're..."

With a sudden screech, the subway decelerated, slowed, and stopped. Henry, knocked off balance by the sharp brake, fell to the ground.

"This is your stop," I said curtly, returning to my seat as the subway exit doors opened wide. "I'm sorry we weren't able to chat longer."

The empty station radiated heat, and Henry felt himself drawn forward, away from the icy subway car.

"Aren't you...coming?" he asked, as he crawled out.

"Not yet," I said. The subway was rapidly filling with warmth from the station, melting the ice and returning it to a comfortable temperature. "I still don't know the answer to my main question."

As Henry exited, an elderly woman entered the subway car, almost tripping over him.

"Why don't you sit down?" I invited, as the subway doors closed.

 

Your short stories are always such a tease. I hate it when I don't know what happens. I'll probalble stay up all night trying to figure out what the hell this means. The meaning of life, death and everything in between, eh?

PS: It would be interesting from the perspective of Henry.

 

Another wow!

Do keep 'em coming. While I like novels to wrap up in a nice neat package, I think the one of the purposes of the short story format is to keep the reader guessing and pondering long after it's over.