Fall and Rise

by Stephen Dixon

  “Much love to Bob from me and a big kiss on the tuchis for Nick.”

  “That a way to go.”

  “Hey, come on there, get this wagon moving—move it along,” man in the subway car says into his newspaper. He stands up, slaps the paper against his leg, opens the window by his seat and sticks his head out of it and says “Hey, come on there, get this—conductor. Hey, conductor there, what’s going on? We’ve been—hey there, you. The one in the blue coat. Yell to the conductor there we’ve been parked in this station for the last two days…With the Parka—that’s right, the blue one, you. Yell to the conductor there I want to see him. That we—damn it. Conductor, hey, conductor. What’s with this train? Get it moving, get it moving. When are we supposed to be here to, next Thanksgiving parade?”

  “Any minute,” a man yells from where this man’s yelling to. “We got a light up ahead to stop and haven’t got one to go.”

  “Then get that light. Call them up and tell them to put on that light because a mistake’s been made and nothing’s in your way. Get that light and go. People like me have to get to work or lose our jobs. Jesus,” and he sits, looks around, realizes he’s sitting on it, pulls his paper out from underneath him and starts reading it.

  “Will you please close your window?” a woman across from him says.

  “What are you worried for? The doors are open and not going to close.”

  “When the train starts the doors will close. Will you please be so kind as to close the window you opened?”

  “It’s only a little fresh air.”

  She gets up, says “I knew you wouldn’t,” makes sure the four shopping bags at her feet are positioned against one another and the seat so they won’t fall, says “Excuse me if it’s no trouble” to the man, he moves over a couple of feet, and squeezes the levers at the top of the window but can’t get the window to move. “Mister,” she yells to Dan sitting at the other end of the car. “You’re my last hope here and not because you’re the only one left. Could you please help me close this window—it’s stuck.”

  “If it’s stuck I don’t see what I could do to close it.”

  “Give it a try. It might be my strength.”

  “A try then.” He goes over to the window, says “Excuse me” to the man, who’s moved back under the window and now moves again to the side, presses the two sets of levers in, window won’t budge. “Seems really stuck.”

  “Now you see what you did?” she says to the man.

  “What I do? Fifty years of this train going down the drain and you’re blaming me? And you got heat—feel it,” and he puts his hand on the seat. “Heat, so you won’t freeze.”

  “I’m an older person. My bones are brittle. I get frozen faster than you.”

  “Then move to another car. There’s actually too much heat coming up, making me want to take off my sweater, so it’s nice mixed with a little fresh air.”

  “But I like this car. It’s cleaner than most and who knows what’s in the other cars. And this one was the perfect temperature for me without the window opened, which is why I walked through the whole train before I came back to sit here. I have a long way to go.”

  “What else can I say? I pulled a window down, now it won’t go up. Point of issue has to be finished, for if he, a big strapping man, can’t close it, there’s nothing more anyone but a train mechanic can do.”

  “Maybe you have a special way with those window clickers.”

  “I don’t. I put my fingers on them like you did and him.”

  “Ask him to try to use his special touch again,” she says to Dan.

  “I’m sure there isn’t any.”

  “There isn’t,” the man says. “But what’s the difference? This train’s never leaving here, so we should all stop crying. It’ll be another one they’ll tell us to get off of and then it’ll roll out to wherever they go, probably to the next uptown station to pick up passengers, who’ll think ‘Hmm, why’s the train so empty?’” He stands, yells out the window “Hey there, we’ve been here fifteen minutes if you want to know the exact figure—either tell us to get off and you get another train here to take us, or get this one moving. Conductor there—I talked to you before about it…oh go to hell with yourselves, you’re all a pack of meat and never gave two craps for the next guy,” and he leaves the train.

  “Maybe you can give it a last good try,” she says to Dan. “Sometimes the first times unloosen it.”

  Dan shrugs, tries the window again, strains and gets it up two inches.

  “That’ll help but not by much. That all it’ll do?”

  “That’s it.” His fingers are black and sticky from some crust on the levers and underneath the top window frame. “Maybe this is the problem,” showing her his fingers. “A grime, like glue. Probably down the sides of it—where the window slides up—too.”

  “I’m going to another car. I know of one almost as warm if no one there opened the windows. Want his paper? It’s Saturday’s.”

  “He might come back for it.”

  “With all he did we don’t deserve his paper?” She crams it into one of the shopping bags, picks up two in each hand and a long umbrella and plastic raincoat that had been behind them and goes into the next car. Odor about her. Lots of junk in the bags. Small pots, rolled-up clothing, wooden hangers, loose toggles, stacks of letters, tied-up twine and string.

  Conductor rushes through the car holding a flashlight. “Anything wrong, sir?” Dan says.

  “We’ll be moving in a minute,” and goes into the next car. Dan sits, shivers, tries the window, rubs what grime he can off his hands under the knee-part of his pants.

  “Hold the door,” a man shouts, running down the stairs. He runs into the car, “What luck it was still waiting,” pats his chest, “This isn’t good, I shouldn’t be losing my breath like this,” sits.

  “Someone, will someone please help me?” Man in the middle of the platform, turning around in one spot, tapping a white cane on the ground.

  Dan looks at the man in the car. “Not me,” his face says, takes his wallet out of his side pants pocket and puts it into the back, puts his athletic bag against the window and leans his head back on it, curls in his feet, pulls the ends of his coat down over his knees and shuts his eyes. Dan gets up and stands by the door nearest the man on the platform. “Sir, what is it?”

  “Good—someone. Thank you. First I want to make sure of one thing. Are we at the Seventy-second Street station?”

  “Ninety-sixth and Broadway—the uptown platform.”

  “What I thought. Were you here five minutes ago when the uptown express left?”

  “Five minutes ago? If it did, it went completely by me.”

  Feels a watch on his wrist. “Five and a half minutes ago exactly. I was on it and meant to get off at Seventy-second but fell asleep. And a woman, when I woke up between stations, said the last stop was Thirty-fourth when it was Times Square, which is how it happens I’m here. Could you help me get to the downtown side?”

  “Excuse me, but you are blind, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well you see, I’m standing inside the local, waiting for the doors to close. So I’d like to help, but I have to get to someplace which if I’m any more late for—”

  “Thank you. Someone,” he shouts, turning around, “will someone please help me get to the other side of this mess?”

  “Wait—listen. The stairs are over there—stop turning—now, you’re facing them. Maybe fifteen feet in front of you at the most. Walk straight—I’ll stay here and guide you, and if the doors close, guide you from the open window here long as I can—feel for the bottom step with your foot or cane, grab the railing on your right and go upstairs. The stairs to the downtown platform are to your right about thirty feet once you get up there.”

  “I don’t know this station. I’m also very tired, so for that reason also I’m being extra cautious.”

  “I can understand that. But much as I truly want to—and I t
ruly do—”

  “Hey,” the man from before, head sticking out the window of the next car, “get this thing going. You maybe already made me lose my job. My supervisor can’t believe when I say these trains are always breaking down—he uses a car. So move it—stop your stalling.”

  “If the train doesn’t leave before I see a transit cop,” Dan says, “I’ll call one over for you or someone else who seems safe and is waiting here—”

  “Help me out now?”

  “Believe me, you can’t believe how late I am for where I’m going. And I’m freezing here. I lost my sweater and coat tonight. So I just don’t want to lose my train.”

  A man approaches, heading for the stairs. “Sir,” Dan says, “could you take this gentleman here—he can’t see, as might be obvious—up the stairs and deposit him—”

  Man’s past them, never made a sign he saw or heard, hurries upstairs.

  “Thanks a lot. That’s where he was going—And when I mentioned your sight, sir, I only thought—Wait, I’ll do it. This train’s never going. Should’ve done it before and I would’ve been back by now.” Steps out of the car, grabs the man’s arm. Train motor starts up. “I have to get in. Ah, I don’t know what I’m doing.” Doors shut. “Oh well, macht nichts. If this one’s been here so long, another should be close behind it.”

  “Whatever it’s costing you, I’m—”

  “Finally,” the man in the next car says. “Hurray,” and pulls his head in and shuts the window.

  “No problem whatsoever” Dan says. “That’s not so, but let’s try to do it quickly without either of us tripping. I won’t rush you though.” Doors open. Dan walks him a few steps to the staircase, says “Wait a second, maybe I can have both,” walks him to the car, wedges a foot against the part the door slides out of, says “Don’t worry, I’ll get you over there one way or the other without much more delay, but maybe in the next few moments someone will come who can take you. Hello,” he shouts, “but is there anyone here who could take this man whose sight is bad to the downtown platform? I can’t. My uptown local’s leaving—Don’t worry, I will if no one else does,” he says to the man. Two men a few pillars down the platform look at them, then seem to look away. “If one of you gentlemen is waiting for the uptown express—I just thought of something,” to the man. “Come with me to a Hundred and tenth—the stop I’m going to—and once there I’ll take you around to the downtown platform, stand with you till the local comes—I don’t care how long it takes—and then you can take it all the way to Seventy-second without getting off. Four stops. Hundred-third, Ninety-and Eighty-sixth, Seventy-ninth and then-second. Five. It’s a fair compromise. I’m going out of my way doing it that way also, but that’s okay—I don’t mean to sound begrudging or guilt-making. I want to help you, but you also shouldn’t have been out alone this late and on the subway in the first place.”

  “I work downtown—baking, my living. I’ve never had trouble or missed my stop. Just take me—”

  “Here, feel my arm,” and puts the man’s free hand on his arm. “Just one long-sleeved shirt. A thick cotton but not sufficient and no undershirt underneath.” Motor starts up again. Doors close except for the half-door his foot’s holding open. Man inside the car says “Make your move, in or out, but let the door close.”

  “In a second. I’m trying to get someone to take this man to the downtown platform here.”

  “I’ll get someone myself,” the blind man says and takes his arm away from Dan.

  “Come with me, really. Two quick stops—Hundred-third and -tenth, and the downtown train you’d eventually get here will probably be the same one you’ll get at a Hundred-tenth. If one leaves as we get there, I’ll stay with you till the next one comes. You ask me, that’s more than a fair compromise.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  Conductor comes into the car.

  “Have to go,” Dan says. “How about it?” Man steps farther back.

  “Hey,” conductor says. Yelling man from before’s right behind him.

  “Watch yourself and take good—ah, said all I can say,” and steps into the car. Door shuts. Conductor and yelling man from before turn around. Dan goes to the open window as the train starts moving and shouts “Will someone please help this man get to the downtown platform? Someone—you,” to a man running downstairs. “You missed it so help that guy with the cane there get to the downtown side. He’s blind, could use help. I tried—” but train enters the tunnel.

  She goes to—beer? no, stops, then what? Doesn’t know—to bed, that’s it, for the last time, do what you said. Turns around, bedroom, bed, clothes off, here, there, heck with it, on the floor, chair, tomorrow she’ll pick up, clean up, whole place, her weekly mess, also one of these weekend days, clean the stove, but before that defrost the fridge—covers back, light off, radio on? No, enough, plenty, too much, sleep now, that’s what she needs. Lies back, sighs deep, feels good, covers up, pillow’s not right, leave it. No, leave it and she’ll never sleep tight. Light on, both pillows still up for reading not sleeping, down, plumps them, once, twice, light off, lies back, deep sigh, covers up, burrows in, pillowcase smells, tomorrow, also the laundry, or Sunday at the latest. So? So what? Go to sleep. Shuts her eyes. Thoughts pass—what a day, some day, night, whole day, part, party, parties, Dot and Sven, seeing Peter again, Arturo wasn’t his name but what it should be, though what’s that mean? “I don’t know, I don’t know.” Sounds so odd, voice in the dark. But she should, this Arturo business, be allowed to—it’s night and very late so she can make as many meaningless observations and statements as she wants till she falls asleep. Make another. Can’t think of any. “Hello, hello?” Still sounds odd. “Mama I’m cold.” Maybe always will sound weird while the light’s out. Alone’s probably why, while with another person, dark or light, he’d say “What’s that you said?” and she could say “I don’t know, just testing, testing, one, two, now back to head, so pretty please pay no mind,” and neither would think much of it. Pleasure of company, safety in numbers. Thinks that’s right, doesn’t care if it isn’t. But make another meaninglessism. Abracadabrafagabrahachoo! “I love you.” Very odd, maybe the mostest. Talk shortly and marry a Swiss miss—at this age, his age, versus Ms. Rage—now she’s making no sense. So what and what if she is or isn’t? For good, more meaninglesspish, quicker to sweep she’ll get. And this other guy. Coming by. You bet. But don’t forget if he rings—no way, late sir. Goodnight or good morning but a newer knowner day. Enough, pointy, too much—stop that, in fact. What? Any thought goes, quicker to deep. But something Diana said—hole back the tide. Means Marietta, means hold, means pellucid, means lucid, about chillen, she in relation to them—as daughter? mother?—but forgets. That she should breastfeed? At least on one breast? Which one—right? left? Sure, tanks, but getting much too much late. Not to conceive but to keep from sleep. What’s Bugs Bunny doing in her predreams? Scat. Where’s Tom or Jerry the cat to chase him away? Never liked Bugs or that cat: too mean, tiger-toothed and wool of wiles. Opens her eyes. That usually does it and did. For when she closes them right after, people or things she doesn’t want in her predreams disappear. How-do mom and dad. Stepping out of the front seat of a car, circa 1960, both doors going bang. Why? Neither can even drive. Who knows how these rings bed in here. Some conglomerate conjectural connection. What? Eléctrica, that’s all. Electrolux—the best—puff puff. Sheep sleep. Folks gone. For no one or thing stays for long. Friend Cecily from golden tooth days comes on stage. Make cents? Haven’t thought or seen of her in these predreams or from what I can member from regular deeper dreamers for years. Hi Cec me friend—Cecily, hi. She waves. Long brout cigarillo in her mout when she never cigaretted before. Then all of a sodden’s in a big, kid’s balloon skying flyward till she’s gone. “Bye.” Smoke burnts to dust. Dog runs on chased by many mangy dogs. Tease the real country. Wobbly dirt road with wheel pebbles in it, tall green fluffy trees round wed apples on them on either wide of the ride, blue shy, white shouds,
green operas on the trees also and yellow forwards in the hills, clear day, all day, all the dogs’ tails raving, then nice sleek chased one barks. At me. Hark hark. I smile. A god, had one as a girl, but a different breed, ran away, posted rhymes up on every lamppost every day, visited all the city pounds, cried for nights, didn’t want Granada, Rolph! Rolph! by now gods and countryside have disappeared. Sailing ship in empathy dark seas. Coffee brewing, moo cows, nightleak rain, and ship sinks. Now sunshiny and tree talking pigs painting a two-story mouse. Pigs with overalls on, from come comicbook or cattoon, housepainter’s hats. Fuss me getting slippy. Nice we slice wheat thins the. Feels it humming on. When the cattoons come and all that sleep speak, it’s only minutians away. Slap slap. Up and at. Don’t go yet. Want to have some fun. Force someone on. Who you want to see? Could also force lovemaking if I hunted two and have done so in these seams with sexsex seferal times. Grandpa, that’s who. Opposite of thef. Grandpa, come on Grandpa, come on looking just as he looked when she last looked him a week before he dired. Reddy face, thin freame, straight postique, thick spectators and that wonder bread smile. Daying Hiya darling, meyer darlink, my riddle sweetheart—how ya truly doing? “I’m fine, Grandpa, sleepy but mine, and you?” Knew. Disappears. Forgot what I wasn’t supposed to tak long aloud in my pregleam dreams. Grandpa, bag on stage, wall in, say huddough to me again peas. Does, same suit, hat on now though. Quarter times she saw him he bore a half. Hi Grandpa—Grandpa, if knew you would do it anyruddy could, and hi. Hell me mo beautiful grandchild. Miss you, Grandpa. Me too to you, my child squeet. Miss you so much, Grandpa. Me me to too, my toot sweet. Miss you that much and am more glad I not falls into deep before I liss how much I say you, Grandpa. Me ma, ah-goo, sweet child. Wiss I had you round to isk about lots of doorbell rings. He’s gone. Eyes open. Grundpepere’s gone. Downstairs bother’s binging. Downstairs bell’s ringing. Don’t answer it a night song. Only could be key. Won’t let Kin in. City. Minsky. Who’s he? She’s too lazy. He was too late in coming. She doesn’t want to see anyone now. Too sleepy, not lazy, go away awhile and maybe. Again. Downstairs buzzer’s buzzing, no downstairs ring or bell. Just take the money and understand? Plenty. Or let him in or speak. Show him the courtesy, give him the couch and a wishrag and trowel and go back to sheep. Kidding? Buzzer’s rebothering. Gets up, turns on the light, hasn’t been in bed long, runs to the kitchen, pushes Talk on the intercom and says “Who is it, Dan Krin?” and he says “Yes, hi, and I know it’s much later than I said but could you ring me in?—this lobby’s cold.” “Listen, it’s—you see, well, I’m distressingly—painfully—just plainly sleepy, so I don’t think I can.” She still has her finger on the Listen button. Presses Talk and says “Hello?” and presses Listen and he says “Still here, but can you let me in?” Talk: “Did you find the money?” Listen: “Money, money—forgot all about it. Yah, it’s here. I didn’t need it but thanks. Is anything wrong?” Talk: “Take it anyway to get wherever you have to, but I really—I’m very sleepy—so if you wouldn’t mind, okay?” Listen: “I promise no problem. On my hands and knees, and it’s not just this lobby. I’ve only a shirt now, no sweater, so just to get warm. What I’m saying is—just as you’ve been too generous as it is—but don’t leave me stranded down here. Really, it’s too cold and I haven’t the right clothes—so a few hours sleep anywhere in your apartment. Even, as I said on the phone—and I’m not joking—I wasn’t and I’m naren’t, aren’t, am not now—on the rug.” Talk: “You through?” Listen: “Yes.” Taik: “All right, since I suppose I can’t go back on what I promised. And no rug. Just come up. Ninth floor, first door to your left when you get off the elevator, which is directly ahead of you past the lobby door, but don’t whatever you do get detained along the way,” and buzzes him in.