The little steam engine was both impatient and afraid to leave. It had never been over the mountains before. Once, when it had moved into the valley, it had gone around the mountains, but it had never gone much farther. Jan couldn’t remember what life beyond the high peaks was like, and so it was eager and scared to leave its home behind even for a little while. Finally, finally, it was time for Jan to go. Jan got to leave last of all the trains because it was the slowest and the station master feared Jan would only have delayed the other trains. He had not told Jan this, because he had not wanted to hurt the little engine’s feelings.
With a great effort — the carriages were really very heavy, much heavier than Jan had anticipated — Jan began to pull out of the station. Everyone cheered and some, noticing that the little steam engine was struggling, called out to it. “You can do it!” they cried again and Jan did not have the strength to tell them that he could not, that the carriages were too heavy. More and more people picked up the cry and Jan felt worse and worse. It wanted to return to the small town a hero, though, so it pulled and it strained and after a while it got going.
Jan was ecstatic and, when it whistled in triumph, the people cheered. Its passengers settled into their benches and did what people on trains anywhere do. Some enjoyed the view. Some enjoyed a book. Some enjoyed a good conversation. Others slept or made puzzles or played games. Whistling every now and again to let out some of its happiness, little Jan puffed along the tracks. Pulling the carriages was easier now that it had got going and it went merrily along the path the bigger trains had cleared. Jan strained up the first hill, fighting the weight that wanted to pull it down. It won. It struggled up the second hill and conquered the weight pulling it back down. But then the little engine came to the third hill, the last and the steepest hill before it would start to huff and puff through the mountains proper.
“I can’t! I can’t!” it sobbed.
“You can! You can!” the passengers said when they heard the little engine.
“It’s too heavy!” it cried.
“You can do it if you have faith in yourself!” the passengers said. “You crossed the first hills!”
“Oh, I can’t!” shouted the little engine.
“Be strong!” the passengers encouraged, but Jan did not know how. “We’ll help you!” And, having said so, the conductor and many of the strongest passengers got off the train and pushed and pushed against the last carriage until the little engine got to the top of the steep hill.
“We told you you could do it!” the people who had helped Jan called out and everyone patted the carriages that Jan was pulling as they filed back inside. They stomped snow all over the floor, but thankfully the little engine didn’t notice. Its conductor was sad to see it, though, for he loved Jan very much.
“I could do it!” the little engine sobbed, though this time it was a joyous sob, and it went along the train tracks as fast as it could and as happy as it had ever been. ‘I can do it!’ the little engine sang, but its steamy heart wasn’t in it for long. Dark clouds were gathering in the sky and it knew that that meant more snow. The conductor worried too for he did not know if Jan could deal with snow. They had not equipped the little engine for that.
Because the tracks had been very well-laid, all that the passengers noticed when they entered the mountain range was the scenery. The little engine was very grateful for that meant it was not having as many problems as it had with the hills, despite the mountains being higher. But the further Jan went, the darker the clouds got until they spilled snow onto the world.
“Oh, no!” the little engine exclaimed.
“What is it?” one of the passengers asked.
“The snow is falling too fast and too thick,” Jan said. “I will never make it. It isn’t possible. I don’t have a snow plough.”
“You have done so much already,” the people responded. “A little snow won’t stop you.” Even the conductor spoke those words for he wished to give his friend courage. The further they went and the more snow there lay, the slower Jan huffed and the slower Jan puffed. The conductor worried that they should have added another tender, but he did not tell Jan. He feared that it would scare the little engine and then they would all be stranded in the mountains until the next day.
Jan could feel the cold seeping into its metal, but it huffed and puffed onward, ever closer to the grand capital that was its destination. It became slower and slower because the snow kept piling higher and higher. The people called out encouragements and they ran out to clear the path as well as they could. It was so cold that they had to move in small groups, to give everyone enough time to warm back up. Jan’s steamy heart despaired.
“I cannot do it!” it cried out. “The snow is too thick. I cannot get through.”
“It is only a little way further,” some of the passengers said. “It is only up one more hill. You can do it.” Jan braked a moment to see where it was and, indeed, it was past the mountains and well through the foothills near the grand capital. One more hill and the land would flatten out, the conductor and the passengers told it. It was almost there, but…
“I am so cold,” Jan said. “The snow is too deep for me. My metal will break if I try to go up that hill. I know it will.”
“It won’t!” the passengers cried. “You’re almost there! You can do it! You can! You can! If only you believe in yourself, Jan. You must be brave and strong a little while longer. You’re almost there.”
And so the little engine soldiered on through the cold and the snow and hoped that it was wrong. At least the snow had stopped falling now. Jan huffed and Jan puffed. Jan strained and Jan groaned. It got to the hill and it was the steepest hill that it had ever seen, but it pulled and pulled. When at last it got to the top, there was a loud sound of cheering from the carriages. People sang and danced in the aisles as best they could and some told Jan that they had not helped it this time, but the little engine crawled forward even more slowly. In the distance, the night lights of the grand capital winked rapidly into existence. Jan was cheered, but the little engine was now moving so slowly it was barely moving at all.
“What’s wrong, Jan?” the passengers asked.
“It is still so very far,” the little engine said. “And I have so little coal and water left. I don’t think I can make it to the station.”
“You have come so far and done so much,” the passengers said, and even the conductor pointed out how much that Jan had already overcome. The conductor trusted Jan’s judgement, but the little engine was so close. He could not bear to see his friend fail now. He told Jan that he and the passengers would help it. He made the passengers gather all the water they could find. He made them fetch all the loose wood they had on board, and he even told some to forage near the tracks. They loaded all they found in the tender for the little engine to use and Jan was cheered.
“I shall try!” the little engine said when everyone was back inside the carriages.
“You will succeed!” the passengers said, and they were off again.
It wasn’t long before the sound of metal fracturing and breaking was heard in the quiet night and the little engine ground to a halt again. “I cannot do it! You will have to walk,” Jan said. “I cannot take you farther for my chassis broke.”
“It’s only your imagination,” the passengers cried. “You are such a sturdy little steam engine, Jan, and you are so strong. It cannot have broken.”
“It has! It has!”
“It’s not cold enough!” called one of the passengers. “And I should know for I am a steel manufacturer. Your chassis cannot have broken.”
“It has!” Jan sobbed back. “I know it has! Go see!”
“But, Jan,” the steel manufacturer said, “we cannot. There is too much snow. You must trust us on this.”
Jan was miserable. It was cold and it had failed and no one was listening to it, so it did not repeat that its chassis had broken. Instead it tried to pull itself forward. The little engine strained
and strained, but it got no farther. “I cannot do it!” it cried, but the passengers would not hear it.
“You have done so well! You can do a little more, Jan! You can! You can do much. Just try again.”
And so it went and Jan tried and tried and tried until it had used up all its coal and much of its wood. Every time that Jan cried and sobbed that nothing did any good, the passengers cheered it on. Jan explained again that it was broken and its fuel was almost gone. It said that someone had to get help from the grand capital, but the passengers didn’t listen. Jan wasn’t trying hard enough, they said. Jan wasn’t using enough fuel, they said. Jan had used too much fuel, they said. Jan had dealt with hills and mountains, so surely a flat track could not pose such problems. Jan would manage it the next time. All Jan needed was a little push…
On and on the passengers went. The conductor tried to talk to them, but they would not hear what he had to say. He shouted himself hoarse at them, but they would not listen. He would have gone for help himself, but he dared not leave the little engine alone. He stood outside the train and rested his hand on the cold metal of Jan’s side. According to his watch they were very late indeed, so he hoped that the station master of the grand capital would send someone to look for them. He hoped they would be found before Jan ran out of wood and water.
Some of the passengers got very angry and everyone was yelling back and forth at one another, and it might have come to blows if Jan had not whistled as loudly as it could to get everyone’s attention. It could not stand to see the people so upset, and it hated that it was to blame. “I will try one more time,” it told the passengers. “I will give it everything I have one more time. But you have to promise — promise — that, if I cannot do it even then, some of you will walk to the station and get help.” Secretly, it hoped that it had whistled so loudly the sound had been carried all the way into the capital and Big Bertha or one of the other trains would realise that Jan was in a lot of trouble.
Grudgingly, the people agreed and settled back into their seats. Jan strained and strained and pulled and pulled until the very last water and wood had gone from the tender. It did not move as much as an inch. The little engine had struggled and tried until the very last of the fuel in its heart had run out. It had not moved as much as half an inch. Jan whistled once, softly, and it was quiet. The passengers too were quiet for a long time. “Jan? Jan?” the conductor called into the silence, but he got no answer from the brave little steam engine. Then the passengers joined in, but still the little engine did not respond.
The hardiest of passengers decided they would do as little Jan had asked. They borrowed more clothing against the cold and set off through the snow. The people who remained tried to coax the conductor inside the carriages where they were huddling for warmth, but he would not budge from beside the engine. He tried to keep Jan’s steamy heart from cooling, tears freezing to his cheeks.
Meanwhile, the passengers that had left stumbled their way into the station of the grand capital. When they found the station mistress there, they told her their story. Quickly, as quickly as possible, two of the larger trains, still equipped with snow ploughs, were called into action. They raced to the broken little engine with as much speed as they could muster. One of them pulled little Jan into the station as gently as it could while the other carried the passengers. They were very glad to be in the big, warm train, but the conductor still would not leave his friend.
The station mistress had woken several of her best mechanics to be on hand, so they rushed to check on the little engine as soon as the big train had come to a halt. Jan had run completely out of fuel and its chassis had broken under the cold and the strain. The station mistress managed to convince the conductor to leave his friend for he was very cold and needed to see a doctor as soon as possible. He left his friend in the yard and the passengers gathered around the little engine.
The very first thing the mechanics did was light up Jan’s heart with new fuel. That’s a very important thing if you wish to keep a steam engine alive, for without fuel it cannot live, and if you are not quick enough to light its heart anew the train will die. It may still run along the tracks, but it will never be able to do so on its own like before. Nor will it ever speak again or whistle the start of the day for you.
The second thing the mechanics did was hope and wait, though some of the religious ones prayed instead. The other trains and the little engine’s passengers had slowly gathered around the yard to see what would happen and they too waited, silently. They waited and who knows what they were all thinking.
After a while, they heard a faint whistle and the mechanics fed the little engine more wood, and then some more until the fire in Jan’s heart was burning hot and bright. “Where am I?” said Jan and the whole train station burst into cheers for the little engine that couldn’t had spoken. The station mistress bade everyone be quiet and to give the little engine some peace, but the cheers only died down slowly. Then the mechanics explained to the little engine what had happened, how its chassis had broken and how its friend the conductor might lose some toes and fingers to the cold.
Many people in the crowd slunk off during the explanation, darting through the shadows to their homes and hotels with shame in their hearts, but some of the people stayed and patted Jan’s side. “We’re sorry,” they said. “We should have listened to you.”
Jan was silent, but the mechanics said that yes, yes they should have listened to the little engine for who knows their body better than the person it belongs to. They were very angry with the passengers and so they almost had a fight, but Jan whistled and hushed both groups. It said, “I wish you’d listened to me better, but it is done now and cannot be undone.” Jan hoped that that would soothe matters for it did not wish anyone else to be hurt.
Before the people could think of something to say, Big Bertha spoke up. “We will take you home when the snow clears, Jan.” The mechanics said that Jan could not leave before its chassis was fixed and they wanted to look Jan over at more leisure to make sure the little engine could make the journey home. Jan was very pleased to be confined to the grand capital because it did not want to leave without the conductor, but it was also sad because it wanted to go home. By now only a few of its passengers were still in the yard and they promised the little engine that they would clean the carriages that Jan had pulled for they were very sorry to have caused it so much grief and wished to make amends.
Then the station mistress and her people escorted everyone out of the station because it was very late and there were no more trains coming in. Jan sat in the yard and watched the sky. It would never be a strong, fast train. And when it got home it would never leave the yard again for it could not do anything. That much was clear.
“We’ll talk to the station master,” Florenzo said as it rode up the track beside Jan’s. The big train stopped beside the little one. “Maybe you can’t pull big and heavy things so far through the mountains, but you can do other things much better than we.”
Jan wondered what it could possibly do better than the big, strong and fast trains, but it said nothing.
For a while, Florenzo did not say anything either, but when the little engine that couldn’t did not respond, the big train said “Like showing people the valley or making children smile.”
“We are too fast, too big and too busy to do such things,” Big Bertha added as it came to a halt on Jan’s other side. “I think you’d like it, Jan.”
The little engine did not respond for a long time, but it knew they were right. It loved its valley and the children at the station. It whistled softly at the big engines beside it. “I think I would like it too.”
The Little Engine That Couldn’t was written out of sheer annoyance. A lot of people give blanket encouragement without listening to what the other person is saying or looking at the situation that person is in. That’s something that can be extremely dangerous.
This was a pretty tricky piece to write as a result since it’
s incredibly easy to slip into the suggestion that all encouragement is bad.
It also sparked a few additional pieces and is now in a collection of its own. One day, I want to redo it with illustrations and get a print version of it!
Roger didn’t know where to look. It wasn’t that there was too much to look at, but rather that there was too little. In fact, there didn’t seem to be anything to look at at all. There wasn’t even anything to see.
Or so it seemed.
So this is what it’s like to be dead, Roger thought. Or thought he thought. He thought he might have spoken it instead. He wasn’t even sure he was dead. Maybe, he thought he thought, he was just having a weird dream and he’d wake up to his wife and kids. Maybe he wouldn’t.
I like ambiguity in stories. It’s why Jo Walton’s Among Others worked so well for me and what caught my eye in Marcia Douglas’ Madam Fate. (Both highly recommended reads!) I tried to create an ambiguous little drabble of my own in Maybe.
When we could no longer afford our bread,
Mother tried to send us to faraway relatives.
I took Gretel by the hand; we fled that evening –
Gretel thought it an adventure, no more.
Lost, it was down we chased, there in the wood.
It was Gretel found the witch’s cottage,
I who tasted raisins sweet as honeydew,
I who unravelled our lives by trusting her,
like we trusted Mother, though Frida never macerated us
with her Lebkuchen, cream and butterscotch.
We had to shove her in. Her kindness was too much.
Breadcrumbs is a retelling of Hansel and Gretel, as told from Hansel’s point of view. It’s a dark and scary fairy tale and that’s taking into consideration that they’re already pretty toned down from the original pieces. (The Grimm brothers actually removed a few pieces between editions because they turned out too gruesome to be included.)
Feather by Feather and Other Stories Page 5