Train Man

by Andrew Mulligan

  ‘What happened, Michael? Say it.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with the walk, or why I got off the train.’

  He laughed and wiped his eyes.

  ‘You asked why,’ he said. ‘You asked why I was, you know – or… what the situation was. So I don’t know. It does seem to stem from… or in my mind, like I said… I’ve never quite put it into perspective, because he was a sad, wretched little man, looking back. And being objective, a very lonely one – and he must have been so scared, so… in torment, really. But he made me, or got me, to touch him. Touch him, between the legs. His… penis.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘Many times?’ she said.

  ‘No. Five times, in all. And once… the last time, was the last time because I got very scared. I cried, because…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  He laughed again.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘You don’t.’

  ‘Michael. Look at me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Please look at me.’

  ‘If I do… if I look at you, Maria, I don’t think I’ll be able to talk. Or do anything – I’m so sorry, but… the last time…’

  He closed his eyes, and – inevitably – the tears squeezed from under his eyelids and rolled down his cheeks. He felt his lip trembling, and he was back there even as the rocks seemed to tilt for a moment and slip him all the way through the years. The sun was warm, and the wind nagging as usual, but he was in the classroom, and however many times he got out of it, somehow – like a comedy or a farce – there he was again, for the green door was closed. Its little bolt was drawn so they wouldn’t be disturbed. The blind was down, and the fact that it was lunchtime meant no children were allowed inside the building without special permission – which was what he had. He was allowed to be in room five, on the top corridor of main school, because he had a meeting with Mr Trace. He was there again, behind the teacher’s desk.

  The man had his gown on, and Michael was in a chair too, just opposite. Caesar’s Gallic Wars was open, and his pencil case was right beside it.

  ‘Try kneeling down,’ the man had said – so softly. And the next thing he knew, he was on his knees, and Mr Trace had his hand on his shoulder, and then on the back of his neck. So gentle, so easy and surely so easy to resist – but somehow not. For he was bowing his head, and the head of the penis – just the head – was inside his mouth. And the next moment, and the next moment – a succession of moments, for the hand kneaded his hair, and pushed him lower and lower. Up again, and lower – for how long? For one full minute perhaps, or even two?

  He said to Maria, ‘He made me… suck him. And… that’s what I did. He didn’t make me. I just couldn’t find the words to say no, so that’s what happened.’

  She was listening.

  ‘It was a kind of joke,’ he said.

  ‘A joke?’

  ‘Yes. A joke that… this might happen to you, a bit like the way people say, “Backs to the wall, lads.” If someone has a reputation, or they used to call it “wandering hands” – you’d know that you kept your distance. And, likewise… other boys would say it. “He’ll give you a mouthful.” “Was it hard?” “Did he give you something to drink?” I remember that one. “Did he give you a drink?”’

  ‘Meaning…?’

  ‘Yes. Meaning… did you fellate him? Did you bring him to climax? – but I didn’t really know what any of that meant, then – and they probably didn’t either. You always pretend – you pretend to know more, and I’m still doing it. It’s like a… compulsion not to ever admit you don’t know, or you’re out of your depth. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He was silent for a moment.

  ‘How old was he?’ said Maria. ‘An old man?’

  ‘I don’t know. Forties, so… not really. Younger than me. And people laughed, because everyone found it funny that he did what he did, and if it wasn’t funny, then we had no way of talking about it. You just had to get through it, and – in the end – it was just so seedy.’

  ‘Seedy?’

  ‘Nasty. Depraved. Sad, and… I don’t know why I let it get to me. I don’t know why it matters. The man’s dead. I don’t hate him, and when I think of him now, I… Now I imagine what a wretched, empty life he led, and what he must have thought of himself – and I can’t lay it all on him, anyway. Because it was a school where everyone, or most of us – maybe not all of us… were so very cruel, you know?’

  ‘Michael—’

  ‘Vicious, really – more so than I think boys need to be. The place was charged with sex and porn and hormones, and nobody ever saying anything normal or tender. No love you could admit to – love was a weakness.’

  He sighed, then smiled.

  ‘So you learn to protect yourself, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said.

  ‘Of course. You’re not going to expose your feelings, to be trampled on. And this man… Mr Trace. I actually liked him. He paid me attention, and even at that age – especially at that age – in that kind of school… attention is what you want. Need. So I did it, five times, and on the fifth occasion I… yes, I did what he asked, and… sucked him off, as they say. And it didn’t take long, thank God – and that was the end of it. He didn’t ever ask me back, because he could see I was scared, I think. He… came in my mouth, and I couldn’t believe it. I was just there, on my knees with this hand on my head… both hands, I think he had. And yes, he did. He came in my mouth, all over me – and I… choked. And started crying, and…’

  He was quiet for a moment, remembering.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ he said quietly. ‘How do you make a joke about that? I must have wiped my face. And… I stood up, I suppose, and went about my business.’

  ‘You didn’t tell anyone?’

  ‘I forgot about it.’

  He laughed and shook his head.

  ‘I went out, and I went back to the form room… and the other boys came in when the bell went. “Did he give you lunch? Did it fit?” But… everyone got teased, and it was soon forgotten. We were in different sets the next year, and I didn’t have him as a teacher – we never spoke again, I don’t think. And all his life – the rest of his life – he might have been terrified I’d say something, or another boy would. He liked other boys much more than me, so I think I was just a little snack. There were some he couldn’t keep his hands off, and he always had his hands on them – doing your tie up, and fussing at you. And you bury these feelings so deep, you see. You get them under control, and you hide them away. You get on with your life, or most people do – but for some reason, Maria… I don’t know why but they just keep coming back, and won’t let me go. And you did ask – thank you so much for asking. Because somehow I got rewired, or took a wrong path… I don’t know what the right way of putting it is. And lately it’s been like the most terrible, terrible weight, that I just have not been able to keep on carrying. I’m not normal, and I’m so sorry to talk about it, because it’s so… disgusting. But that’s who I am – that’s me. That’s why I had nowhere to go, and why… I was going nowhere.’

  He paused and sighed. A silence fell, and at last he said:

  ‘Shall we change the subject?’

  28

  ‘I don’t think it’s easy to change this subject,’ she replied.

  ‘No. But I think we should.’

  ‘Why?’

  He shook his head, but he couldn’t think of an answer.

  ‘I think you are very upset by it,’ she said. ‘I don’t mean to be so stupid – it is obvious that you are very, very upset by it, Michael.’

  ‘Yes, but everyone has their cross to bear.’

  ‘Yes, they do.’

  ‘I was eleven years old. You’d think I’d have got over it by now. I told one other person, once. I told this boy who’d been in my class at the same time, though we’d never been friends. This was fifteen or twenty years ago. We
met up and the subject came up – good old Mr Trace. What did he do to you? Horrible man, he loved touching your arse under your blazer – any excuse to slap your arse. You dropped a pen, you got a word wrong, or the ending wrong… “Come out here! That has to be paid for…” And everyone laughing. So I… I told him. Not about the sucking, but the holding his… you know what. We’d had a few drinks, and he couldn’t believe it. He thought I was making it up at first – I said, “Loads of us did. Didn’t you?”’

  ‘“No,” he said. “Never.” I said, “You must have. People joked about it.” “Never,” he said. So… maybe it wasn’t as many as I thought – who knows? Then he said I should tell the police. That’s what he said to me.’

  He paused.

  ‘Did you?’ said Maria.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine what good it would do. Mr Trace would have been an old man, if he was even alive. I thought, Do I want revenge? No. Do I want my day in court, so I can talk about it? No, I do not. Am I so scandalised by him, and what he got away with? Am I looking for compensation? Like I said, Maria… I just feel pure, sad pity for the old sod, the old… twisted-up, sad sod who probably spent his own childhood being played around with and… fucked. Sorry.’

  Michael paused.

  ‘You just pass it on, don’t you? But what I really feel is… why can’t I forget about it? That’s what I’d do, if I could – I wouldn’t go to the police. I’d have it burned out of me, like you can have your eyes corrected these days by a laser. I’d get them to just burn that memory out, and… maybe things would adjust. Then, you see – I’m talking too much, aren’t I?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I am. You didn’t come out on this walk to listen to this.’

  He laughed.

  ‘But… the other thing you do… or I do… is wonder if you haven’t just found a really good excuse for having had such a strange and rather wasted life. You think, I’ve found someone to blame! I can blame the filthy old pervert in my school – let’s crucify him. But who can’t find someone to blame? Everyone has a similar tale to tell, don’t they? We get bored listening, because it’s everywhere.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘I think so. Another priest. Another football coach – whatever it is. And the thing is, whatever he did or didn’t do, my life would have been roughly the same – the same mixture of good and bad, and luck and bad luck. I don’t pity myself, or… if I do, I don’t want to. People get played about with! They do. Kids. Boys, girls – girls in particular. Fucked about with, and picked up and handed round. Abused, raped – I wasn’t raped. It’s a modern thing – a Western thing, I’m sure of it – we hunt for excuses and… reasons for why life isn’t as good as it should be. Tough shit, life’s hard. You had a man’s cock in your mouth – just… get over it.’

  He was nodding, and trying to laugh again.

  ‘Get over it.’

  He breathed in and swallowed. He put his hands over his face.

  ‘Why could I never get over it?’

  29

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why you can’t get over it, I mean. Everyone I meet, in the hospice, for example – everyone has different stories.’

  ‘You work in a hospice. And this is meant to be your holiday.’

  ‘Yes—’

  ‘And you’re listening to just another old bore. You must have heard this kind of nonsense all day, every day—’

  ‘Michael, no. That’s not true.’

  ‘Let’s change the subject.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s… not going anywhere. I shouldn’t be using you like this – it’s me that’s the problem.’

  They sat in silence.

  ‘I don’t know the answer,’ said Maria at last. ‘I don’t know why we carry this pain, or why some people do. And you’re wrong about the people, in the hospice, I mean. There are happy people and sad people—’

  ‘And the war. The First World War.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The war.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘That was trauma. That was real trauma, on an industrial scale.’

  She smiled at him.

  ‘You’ve lost me this time, Michael. What has the First World War got to do with what happened to you?’

  He shook his head and frowned.

  ‘It was clear a minute ago. Now it isn’t.’

  ‘I think you are a very clever man.’

  ‘Not true.’

  ‘You are a very sensitive man.’

  ‘No. I’m just selfish, and selfish people talk about themselves… and fail to look up. We just look down all the time. Can I tell you where I was going, before I followed you?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Up to the Highlands. Scotland. I was looking for a railway track… a station, actually. It was going to be Crewe, but I changed my plan.’

  He licked his lips.

  ‘Go on,’ said Maria.

  ‘I went to the Highlands, years ago. Have you ever had a malt whisky?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you drink?’

  ‘Of course. What do you mean?’

  ‘Look at this. Wait.’

  He had slipped the juice carton into his bag at the last moment. He hadn’t imagined drinking liquor in the course of the walk, but the hotel manager had said they were in for changeable weather. He’d thought it might be wise to have something warming, and as he retrieved it Percy’s grandparents came to his mind. For a moment he expected to see them, but the idea of those two elderly people hauling themselves along the ridge in their expensive clothes was so ludicrous it made him smile. He was safe from them here, and from all the others. As for the cup he and Maria had used for tea, it was now empty, so he poured a small measure and let her smell it.

  ‘Brandy,’ she said.

  ‘Malt whisky.’

  ‘You drink this?’

  ‘Sometimes. And it might keep the cold out. It might give us a boost.’

  ‘My husband likes whisky. He drinks too much.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What?’

  She laughed.

  ‘Michael, of course I do! What kind of question is that? He is… better than me, so that makes me angry sometimes.’

  ‘How is he better?’

  ‘In every way.’

  ‘I can’t believe that.’

  ‘You must meet him, then. He’s so patient.’

  ‘Is he an angel?’

  She looked at him.

  ‘I ask the same question,’ she said. ‘Sometimes. And I think the answer is yes. He drinks, like I say – but all that means is maybe angels need to drink from time to time. You believe in God?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, please… you must do. How can you not?’

  ‘I can’t, and… Maria. I can’t imagine anything nicer than this. Drinking this with you, in this place – so let’s not talk about God. We’ll only fight.’

  ‘He’s looking after you now.’

  ‘He’s not.’

  ‘He’s watching you.’

  ‘I wish he was. I wish he existed, and I… I’m glad you think he does. I would never dream of trying to take him away from you.’

  ‘Okay. We’ll drink to my God and get drunk.’

  ‘You get drunk. I’ll carry you back.’

  ‘I don’t get drunk. Except – that’s not true…’

  She thought about it.

  ‘I got drunk six days ago. And I have told… nobody.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ll feel better.’

  She smiled at him.

  ‘I’ll feel ashamed, Michael – will that make me feel better? I am ashamed, because I made myself sick on the carpet – so I am not going to tell you anything. I will have one sip, to keep out the wind.’

  He passed her the cup and watched
her lips. He took it back and she watched his. The whisky rolled over his gums, as it had the previous day, and he tasted the oak and the spring water. The caverns of despair were still visible, as were cloud formations he could not name, and Vicky the Tomatin tour guide appeared briefly, with all the interesting facts he’d now forgotten. He saw Amy’s face again, and felt only shame. She turned into Monica, and Elizabeth – and suddenly it was his mother. He looked at his hands and saw they were still doing their job, holding the little cup steady – they were still able to pick things up and put them down. There was more chocolate and more whisky. There was a bag of unopened crisps and two small bottles of mineral water.

  ‘What were you going to do in the Highlands?’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re asking.’

  Maria smiled.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ she said. ‘You told me you were looking for a railway track. First Crewe, and then the Highlands, so that’s what I’m asking. What were you going to do, when you found this track?’

  ‘I was…’

  ‘You were going to kill yourself, Michael. Weren’t you?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I thought it was… probably for the best. It did seem like the best option, all things considered.’

  They sat in silence for a long time, watching the weather.

  ‘You want to meet my family?’ she said.

  ‘That would be nice. One day.’

  ‘You want to meet them now?’

  He looked at her.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Be truthful, please. Do you want to meet my family?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Michael. ‘Very much.’

  30

  Maria delved in her bag and pulled out something flat, in a plastic case. She opened it to reveal her tablet.

  ‘I think you’re lying to me now,’ she said softly.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You’re being polite. You’re saying what you have to say, but—’

  ‘I want to meet them very much,’ said Michael. ‘Or see them, at least. You’ve got photographs?’

  ‘Oh, yes – and I get revenge now.’