It’s ten thirty but the clock on the dashboard here says its three thirty. But it’s not, it’s, I believe it because I remember back when it was eleven, so yeah, it makes sense. Some time as gone, must be about four hours. The worst thing is the bugs, they give you a nice uniform but it…there’s bugs in here. And so I scratch at my arm all the time and its red and hot and it’s hard to pull the sleeve up and I dip my finger into my water bottle and spread the water on my forearm and it feels good, good so I put more and more water on and the lights of the next station come so I press the button and slowly move the brake handle up to slow and press the other button that tells them…ah you know. Stuff like that.
There is a little girl between Central and City Square. She lives in the tunnels with I think her mother but I’ve only seen the mother three times. She is so cute and small, like a dream, always in the same dress. I like that she is in a dress. That her mother perhaps makes her wear a dress like it’s possible she will be married. I saw the movie ‘Emily’, Jane Austin it was. It’s like that. She watches me drive by and I think about her, and the rats, and that she is standing there, watching the lights come, the loud noise come, the train come and she stares into my eyes it seems but it’s only a second I see her and only those black things for eyes.
I’ve circled the subway twelve times, its four thirty it says but I can’t be sure after twelve hours under here. I thought four thirty am maybe but when I asked a station guard he laughed and blew a whistle and I thought he was the devil. He had teeth missing, the two either side of his front teeth. Not the devil, a rat, another rat in here with white skin and a shrieking whistle. He laughed and looked away, he laughed without looking at me as if I was so much of an object or wanted him to laugh and again blew on his whistle and held up the white flag. I can’t remember if it was him again or someone else at a different station. Some other rat. They spend so much time down here.
Slowing into the station you see the difference in mankind. You see the scum, the fake rich, the idiots, the partiers, the children, the homeless, the regulars, the weirdos, the old people, the pathetic, the unusual, the dead, the living. You let them in. They come in. They get on, ‘aboard’ it used to be called. All aboard. Like an adventure, like something meaningful. Going somewhere. Not just there to fall off and go on and get back on and move around and circulate. Rats. I see them because I have the lights on up front, see them scurry every time. What do they eat? Toes and nibble on scum, the thick scum that comes down from above. Through the sewer, out through the old pipes.
Its getting to midnight. The clock tells me eight thirty. I don’t know what eight means. Morning? The people are dressed well. Night? They look stupid all together like that. They should go home to their wife who has a nice meal ready. My wife used to cook meals. Proper meals with meat and gravy and potatoes and corn. God. I used to pray every night. Knelt beside my bed and felt small because the bed was so high. Like a child I would pray in slippers and flannel pyjamas and like a boy sometimes my penis would slip out of the slit while I was praying and my mind was distracted by this which made me think of God more fully.
The radio, hard to hear it say “Barry (?)….<unheard>…night…<unheard>…city will…to…station for…<unheard>…under…for there can issa (maybe?)…when issh…<unheard>…” and like this and it stops after a while and I pick up the receiver and talk to the guard who says something in not really English and I say “did you get that?” and he says “what?” and I hang up. The lights are coming again.
My arm, again. Keep scratching at it, along the forearm, look at it, nothing there but a redness. Still aches to be scratched. I try to ignore it, got a sudoku magazine that was left on the train, half finished but they made mistakes. I turn to a new one, write a few numbers and throw it back onto the seat. It’s infinite. Infinite with no point. There are bugs in here but they are too small to see. They are around and in here. There aren’t any scientist here to take them and say “you poor man”. Is it Museum station already? The girl with the dress will be coming soon. But like an old man I get my hopes up and quickly kill them down. She will not still be there.
I move the handle up a notch. From stop to run. My reflection in the mirror, in my uniform, catch myself pinching my arm. The itch is being killed by self inflicted violence. Violence. I see the tunnel coming, the shape of the internal void forming as a curl, a black, charcoal curl coming and coming in an ever developing arc. Seen it half an hour ago, the same thing. This time the girl comes and she is bright and alive, moving, dancing, she is…wait, move, little girl. Get off the tracks little girl. And it’s so fast. The train moves along, pushes along like a silver smooth beast, moves so fast and along that it crushes her and she falls away, as brief as a moth and quick and fragile as a tissue. Hit and gone and no sound and only I saw it.
No no no. And the time says nine thirty six pee em. I am on the train that is stopped at Central station. I need to go. I open the door and come out onto the platform. This one is outside, with air and people and the bits of sky out from under the awnings. There are lights and stars in the sky. It is night, I thought it was night, did I? A hand on my shoulder, turns me around, has a whistle in her lips, a flag down by her side, saying words. Words that sounds like “what .(and). you .(and). doing .(and)…” and I hear that and I push her hands off me and she catches up and I sit down on the ground.
My wife died three years ago. At home I put a frozen pie in the microwave and press ten minutes. It goes on with the sound and that light. I walk away from it, sit down on the lounge and turn the TV on. Its people talking of course. I stare at their mouths. They are loud and saying things. They have their hair done. The scene changes so fast all the time I don’t know what’s going on. I see her face, in the tunnel. Her little face with black eyes. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there really. The clock says midnight now. It’s not midnight. The microwave finishes.
