“No, the next car,” the Conductor murmured. “I guess you’re entitled to ride Pullman. After all, you’re quite a successful man. You’ve tasted the joys of wealth and position and prestige. You’ve known the pleasures of marriage and fatherhood. You’ve sampled the delights of dining and drinking and debauchery, too, and you traveled high, wide, and handsome. So let’s not have any last-minute recriminations.”
“All right,” Martin sighed. “I can’t blame you for my mistakes. On the other hand, you can’t take credit for what happened, either. I worked for everything I got. I did it all on my own. I didn’t even need your watch.”
“So you didn’t,” the Conductor said, smiling. “But would you mind giving it back to me now?”
“Need it for the next sucker, eh?” Martin muttered.
“Perhaps.”
Something about the way he said it made Martin look up. He tried to see the Conductor’s eyes, but the brim of his cap cast a shadow. So Martin looked down at the watch instead.
“Tell me something,” he said, softly. “If I give you the watch, what will you do with it?”
“Why, throw it into the ditch,” the Conductor told him. “That’s all I’ll do with it.” And he held out his hand.
“What if somebody comes along and finds it? And twists the stem backward, and stops Time?”
“Nobody would do that,” the Conductor murmured. “Even if they knew.”
“You mean, it was all a trick? This is only an ordinary, cheap watch?”
“I didn’t say that,” whispered the Conductor. “I only said that no one has ever twisted the stem backward. They’ve all been like you, Martin—looking ahead to find that perfect happiness. Waiting for the moment that never comes.”
The Conductor held out his hand again.
Martin sighed and shook his head. “You cheated me after all.”
“You cheated yourself, Martin. And now you’re going to ride that Hell-Bound Train.”
He pushed Martin up the steps and into the car ahead. As he entered, the train began to move and the whistle screamed. And Martin stood there in the swaying Pullman, gazing down the aisle at the other passengers. He could see them sitting there, and somehow it didn’t seem strange at all.
Here they were: the drunks and the sinners, the gambling men and the grifters, the big-time spenders, the skirt-chasers, and all the jolly crew. They knew where they were going, of course, but they didn’t seem to give a damn. The blinds were drawn on the windows, yet it was light inside, and they were all living it up—singing and passing the bottle and roaring with laughter, throwing the dice and telling their jokes and bragging their big brags, just the way Daddy used to sing about them in the old song.
“Mighty nice traveling companions,” Martin said. “Why, I’ve never seen such a pleasant bunch of people. I mean, they seem to be really enjoying themselves!”
The Conductor shrugged. “I’m afraid things won’t be quite so jazzy when we pull into that Depot Way Down Yonder.”
For the third time, he held out his hand. “Now, before you sit down, if you’ll just give me that watch. A bargain’s a bargain—”
Martin smiled. “A bargain’s a bargain,” he echoed. “I agreed to ride your train if I could stop Time when I found the right moment of happiness. And I think I’m about as happy right here as I’ve ever been.”
Very slowly, Martin took hold of the silver watch-stem.
“No!” gasped the Conductor. “No!”
But the watch-stem turned.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” the Conductor yelled. “Now we’ll never reach the Depot! We’ll just go on riding, all of us—forever!”
Martin grinned. “I know,” he said. “But the fun is in the trip, not the destination. You taught me that. And I’m looking forward to a wonderful trip. Look, maybe I can even help. If you were to find me another one of those caps, now, and let me keep this watch—”
And that’s the way it finally worked out. Wearing his cap and carrying his battered old silver watch, there’s no happier person in or out of this world—now and forever—than Martin. Martin, the new Brakeman on That Hell-Bound Train.
The God of
Dark Laughter
Michael Chabon
Thirteen days after the Entwhistle-Ealing Bros. circus left Ashtown, beating a long retreat toward its winter headquarters in Peru, Indiana, two boys out hunting squirrels in the woods along Portwine Road stumbled on a body that was dressed in a mad suit of purple and orange velour. They found it at the end of a muddy strip of gravel that began, five miles to