Another announcement was followed by another and another. My train, once listed near the bottom of the second column, had now worked its way up to the middle of the first column. Tired, I decided to close my eyes for a few minutes.
“Anyone sitting here?”
I was startled. The voice sounded like Jacob’s. But it couldn’t be. He left for a work. Unless he followed me? I kept my eyes shut as my body tensed, fearing who was next to me. But after hearing the rustling of a paper, I opened my eyes slowly and saw a man reading the New York Post. Relieved it was not Jacob, I closed my eyes again, resting my head against the back cushion of the seat as my mind took me back to this morning.
Jacob and I had not spoken the next night after the attack, though he had made several attempts to engage me in conversation. His apologies ran the gambit from almost sincere to childish. But I kept telling him that I wasn’t ready to talk and I slept in the guest bedroom while I plotted my escape.
Finally, on the third night, to promote a quieter evening, I lied and told him that he was forgiven. I also returned to our bed only to have a miserable night’s sleep.
“It’s cold,” I shouted as the alarm clock sounded. “Please turn on the heat for a little while.”
“When I come out,” Jacob answered as I heard the bathroom door close behind him. And instead of getting out of bed to prepare Jacob’s breakfast as I usually did, I turned on my side facing the closet doors.
“Heat’s on,” I was startled to hear. I must have dozed off for a few more minutes.
As I opened my eyes, I saw Jacob standing naked by my bed side.
“Aren’t you getting up?” he asked.
I quickly turned on my other side. “I don’t feel good. I have cramps. You know. That time. I think I am going to call in sick. Can you get your own breakfast?”
“Sure,” he said as he walked out of our bedroom and into the kitchen.
“I’ll put on some coffee,” he called out.
“Thanks,” I said as I pulled the covers up higher. But moments later, I was awakened again by the feel of Jacob’s hand on my forehead. Pushing it away, I turned again facing the closet.
“I told you. I am not feeling good. Please,” I said, moaning in discomfort.
“I can make you feel better.”
Jacob was now standing with his erection inches away from my mouth and I wanted to start a tirade about how he raped me and how could he possibly believe that my few words of forgiveness now gave him carte blanche to have sex. But I also feared that if I began a verbal attack, there could be a repeat of the other night.
“Please Jacob. I will make it up to you tonight. I promise,” I said in my most sensuous way.
“But what about taking care of this guy right now?”
Jacob held his erection in his hand and moved towards my mouth.
“Please Jacob,” I said turning my head again seeing the fire in his eyes.
“I will warm you up,” he said wearing the most repulsive grin on his face.
As he pulled the sheets off me, I remained turned on my side. But with his left hand, he pushed me over onto my back as he moved his right hand between my legs.
“Wait.” I opened the night stand drawer and reached for a condom.
Jacob took it from my hand. I closed my eyes and prayed that he would put it on. Seconds later, Jacob pull down my panties and moved on top of me, spreading my legs with his hand.
Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalaika,
I hummed.
And with one great thrust, he entered me as I cried silently in pain.
“Please, Jacob. It hurts me. Please go slow.”
Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalaika
Chapter Fifteen
“Ma’am. Ma’am. Are you all right?”
I opened my eyes and saw a young girl with the most beautiful dark brown hair smiling. She was no more 10 years old.
“I must have fallen asleep.”
“You had a nightmare.”
“Oh.”
“You were singing.”
“I was?”
“Tumbala, Tumbala,” the girl repeated as an announcement was made.
“Train # 407, the Starlight Express, is now boarding on track 23. All aboard.”
“That’s my train,” I smiled. “But thank you.”
A line of passengers apparently anticipating the announcement had already formed and extended outside of the boarding area as I took my place.
“Tickets only, no ID required,” the man in a gray uniform announced.
There was another train agent directing passengers on the train platform.
“Sleeper cars are the first five cars only. All others cars are open seating.”
The agent repeated himself over and over and over and I mused what would he do for work if he ever lost his voice?
Stepping aboard, the train car was dimly lit and I took the first window seat I could find. But waiting for the train to move, I started to panic. I imagined that the car doors would any second swing open and Jacob would enter. He would call my name but I would not look up. Then, he would approach me with his shit-eating grin and stand by my seat. He would command me to follow him off the train. But I would not go. And he would start pulling me out of my seat. I tried to control my breathing by taking deep breaths. I then turned my face outside the window and counted the dim lights as we passed through the tunnel. One, two, three. I was barely holding on. Eight, nine, ten. My breathing was still labored. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.
Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalaika
As I repeatedly told myself that I would be all right, something warm flashed across my face. And another flash and another. Finally, there was this constant warm feeling. The sun was shining brightly through the train car window and I kissed the glass. We had crossed through the Hudson tunnel from New York into New Jersey. And I was safe.
“Good morning, tickets please,” I heard.
I smiled and handed the agent my ticket.
“Los Angeles! Visiting family or going to become a star?”
“Huh?”
“You know. Hollywood.”
“Oh no,” I laughed. “I am seeing a friend.”
“Well, you have a long way to go,” he said as he punched my ticket. “Change in Chicago.”
Newark was our first stop. As the rail car slowly pulled out of the station, it made a strange rattling sound. Looking out the window, I thought the train had run over one of the many rusting cars and old appliances that littered the area near the train tracks.
Surprisingly, no one was sitting next to me and I wished that I would have the seat to myself for the whole trip. But no luck. The front door of the train car opened and revealed a very tall, good looking man in his late twenties. He was wearing a blue suit, crisp white shirt and tie. And as he walked down the car aisle, he stopped at my seat.
“Is this seat open?” he inquired.
“Ah, yes.”
The man was holding an attache case and the NY Times. After we exchanged smiles I returned to my window view of what now looked like a graveyard of rusting cars and appliances.
“You would probably be more comfortable if you put your suitcase up on top,” he said pointing to the suitcase I was clutching.
“Oh, well.”
“Would you like some help?” he asked with a very sweet, kind smile.
“Thank you.”
“My name is Cliff,” he offered.
“Hello.”
“And yours?”
“Mine?” I stared at him.
“You do have a name?”
“I am sorry. Danielle. My name is Danielle,” I replied, flustered.
“Beautiful day.”
“Yes it is.”
“So where are you going? Washington?”
“Ah, no a little further.”
“Well this is the Chicago train.”
“Keep going,” I laughed.
“Well, I don’t know.”
“Los Angeles,” I
said.
“Wow, long ride. Haven’t you heard of airplanes?”
I did not respond.
“I am sorry. That was presumptuous on my part.”
“That’s ok. And you?” I asked.
“I work in Washington. I was just in New York on business and my parents live in New Jersey so I saw them last night before returning today,” he said.
“What kind of work do you do?”
“I am a researcher at the Holocaust Museum in Washington.”
As he spoke, the light shining in from outside the train made his soft, brown eyes sparkle. And he had such straight teeth, square jaw, a beautiful nose, and long tapered fingers. Even his fingernails were nicely trimmed.
“That must be interesting work,” I observed.
“It is. Very rewarding.”
“How did you get into that?”
Curiously, I showed no interest the first time Jacob recited his résumé, I thought.
“Well, I graduated college as a history major and of course there were no jobs. I thought about going on for my Masters. But why put off the inevitable? And I liked doing research. So I answered a job opening that was posted at my school, and well, here I am.”
“That is great.”
“And what is your story? Are you still in school? “
“You are very flattering,” I said as I touched my ring finger which was now bare, since I had left my ring on the kitchen table when I left the apartment.
“I am an attorney. I work in the DA’s office in Queens.”
As we continued getting to know each other, I felt a sense of comfort; here was someone who actually listened to what I said.
“Would you like a cup of coffee? I need my morning fix. I am going to go back to the snack car. Can I bring you a cup?” he offered.
“I know what you mean. I would love that,” I said as I reached for my wallet.
“Please, my pleasure.”
Cliff was back in a few minutes holding what looked like the bottom of a shirt box. Inside were two cups of coffee, two muffins, and a few packages of cream and sugar.
“What’s this?”
“I didn’t have time to get breakfast this morning. Are you hungry?”
“I am always hungry,” I laughed.
“Well, I hope you like muffins. They’re blueberry and blueberry.”
“Wow. Well I think I will have a blueberry.”
“Good choice. So what are you going to do in Los Angeles? Are you starring in some movie?”
I laughed. “The conductor asked me the same question. So is everyone who is going to Los Angeles wanting to be star?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, it’s kind of a vacation. I am staying with a girlfriend from law school,” I explained.
Not wanting to give any more details, I changed the subject.
“My grandmother is a Holocaust survivor.”
“Oh, what camp?”
“She was in Austria. Ah, I can’t pronounce the name.”
“Mauthausen,” he said with assurance.
“Yes, that’s right. But she never talks about it.”
“Most of them don’t. Did anyone else in her family survive?”
“No, all we ever heard was that, when they arrived at the camp, she and her sister and mother were separated from her father. I never got the story straight, but somehow she survived. She never talked much about it except that there was this very nice person in the camp.”
“From time to time, I come out to LA. My office works together with the Simon Weisenthal Center.”
I must have had a blank stare on my face.
“You know, the Nazi hunter. They built an amazing memorial and research center in LA. And Steven Spielberg established the Shoah project.”
Again, I gave Cliff the same look.
“You don’t get out much. Spielberg. E.T. Schindler’s List.”
“Of course.”
Cliff and I chatted for the next few hours without running out of things to say. And as we talked and talked, it felt as if I had known Cliff forever.
“Next stop, Union Station, next stop,” The announcement blasted through the speakers.
“Well this is where I get off. Sure you wouldn’t reconsider and spend some time in Washington? I know the Smithsonian museums really well. And we could continue our conversation,” Cliff said.
“Sounds nice. Perhaps another time,” I replied.
“Well, here is my card. It also has my e-mail address on it. If you ever want to ask something about your grandmother or, well.”
I read the card. “Clifford Warner. That’s a nice sounding name.”
“My parents thought so. Goodbye, Danielle.”
Cliff smiled and walked toward the front of the car. But before he exited, he turned around to wave, flashing that very sweet smile.
Over the next three days, like a time elapsed photo, my seat partners changed. And it was like watching a play though I was also in it. There was an older man who sneezed a lot, the Rabbi with a crutch who told too many stories. And a grandmother who was traveling with her granddaughter. She was taking her home to care for her because the girl’s mother was ill. Approaching Phoenix, we even celebrated the girl’s fourth birthday.
And though the scenery was ever changing, the images from my immediate past remained. But for now, contacting my work, terminating my marriage to Jacob, and explaining my flight to freedom to my father was the furthest from my mind. Instead I chose “lost in time” as my state of consciousness.
Chapter Sixteen
My feet felt a little wobbly as I rode the escalator up out of the train station in Los Angeles. But that sensation quickly disappeared as my face was gently kissed by the warm rays of the California sun that greeted me atop the train platform.
“Danielle.” A familiar sounding voice called my name. But I could not find the face to match the voice as the crowd around me was pushing and shoving to claim their luggage. But then, like Moses parted the red sea, a path opened and I spotted a waving hand quickly moving towards me.
“Marcia,” I yelled as the two of us embraced.
“Hello, girlfriend. Sure didn’t think I would see you again this fast.”
“Thank you, I think.”
“For what?”
“For being a friend,” I said, smiling into her eyes. “I am so sorry, I was going to call but my phone died soon after leaving Chicago.”
“It’s ok. I knew if something had changed, you would have let me know. So where’s your stuff?”
“This is it,” I said, gesturing to my small suitcase and backpack.
“Are you crazy? You traveled across the country with one little rolling suitcase?”
“I just threw in whatever I could. I really didn’t have any time to….” I trailed off, too pained to elaborate.
“No need to go into details. And now we have an excuse to go shopping. Anyway, I am just glad you are here,” Marcia said.
“Thanks. This really means a lot to me.”
Marcia’s car was parked only a short distance away. And as we walked, I marveled at all the people wearing shorts and sleeveless tops in the month of January.
“You won’t be needing that winter coat in this weather,” Marcia reassured me.
“I can’t believe I am here. Everything is so beautiful,” I marveled.
“Sweetheart. You’re only at the train station,” she smiled. “Come. You have a lot to see.”
After a few minutes of driving, we were bumper to bumper in heavy traffic.
“This is something you never get used to and just accept it as a way of life,” Marcia said.
“Well I don’t drive and don’t plan on anytime soon. So I won’t have to be worrying about that,” I said confidently.
“Danielle, everyone drives. This is not Queens. Anyway, are you hungry?”
“I am always hungry.”
“Good. Ever have Indian food?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, you are in for a treat. And their beer is amazing!”
Chapter Seventeen
Unlike the summer-like weather that greeted me upon my arrival in January, it seemed to rain almost every day in February. Being new to the city of angels, I was unprepared for the downpour I experienced as I stepped off the bus. Running the four blocks from the bus stop to Marcia’s apartment, I was drenched and could not wait to get out of my wet clothes. But as I opened the outer screen door, the key slipped between my fingers and I fumbled putting it into the lock. Finally, after two attempts, I turned the lock and pushed the door wide open. I stepped inside and sighed with relief as I found shelter from the deluge.
“Hey, I am home,” I shouted as I removed my soaked shoes and placed my wet jacket over one of the chairs in the kitchen. “I have been in blizzards. But I have never seen rain come down this hard before,” I said as I took a paper towel from the kitchen counter and blotted the water on my face. As I spoke, I remembered Marcia saying she had a doctor’s appointment and realized that with the rain she was probably stuck in traffic.
“Danielle,” a male voice responded.
Already chilled from the rain, the sound of that voice sent me shivering from fear.
“Danielle,” the voice sounded louder.
I momentarily thought of leaving but instead walked slowly into the living room like a cat preparing to attack its prey.
“I couldn’t stop him,” Marcia said. “He practically pushed the door in.”
Jacob was seated on the couch by the window.
“Hello Danielle.”
My face was still dripping from the rain. And without answering, I walked back into the kitchen to get another paper towel. Returning to the room, I found Jacob now standing with his arms crossed. I saw his mouth moving, but the only sound I heard was that of the rain pounding against the window panes.
“How did you find me? My father?”
“Don’t blame your dad. He only had your phone number. But I was able to Google Marcia’s address.”
There was a long painful silence as I stared at the floor.
“You did not call. You just vanished.” I said nothing.
“It has been over a month. I have been worried,” he said accusingly.
Against My Will Page 12