His ears throbbed loudly; his chest with a rhythm of its own. He was rushing for his car; it was right there, just ahead of him, waiting in the driveway. He walked—paced, to anyone who noticed—his worn leather satchel under his arm. He had to keep walking. His face would give everything away any minute. He had to look straight on. His bag, with a notable bulge, grew heavier and heavier, and in the night he could just get away with it. He pushed his left hand down his pocket, his trouser, his hip pocket, his chest pocket, and took out his keys. They jangled noisily. He heard the front door creak behind him; he couldn’t turn to look. He heard footsteps, maybe two, loud footsteps, louder and louder. He observed the trees at each side of him, stock still as could ever be. He kept walking, casually. He kept walking, casually.
He reached his car. The footsteps ceased. He crept into the driver’s seat and placed the satchel, close to his side. He twisted the key; the engine came on. The headlights shone on a desolate ending of an arterial road, long and without feeling. An imprecise mist obstructed the pathway. He looked to the rear view mirror. It was all dark behind him. The men must have left. He drove, steadily at first, and then he pushed his foot. The car zoomed across. The windows were up all the way.
He had won big at a large game. His skills at hand-mucking yet to disappoint. A ten, an ace, as simple as that. He won big, enough to go home, enough to rest for a while.
He was Ayhan Hussein Adam, driving now at the fastest pace. He didn’t want to get caught, not by anyone. It was around this time nine years ago did he get caught and put swiftly behind bars. He had only been in prison for a short two months but it was all that was needed. He couldn’t stop; not now; he didn’t know who tailed behind. They were on to him, he was sure. They knew, they must have. They weren’t like the others, and the money not as much.
He heard them; he couldn’t see them, but they were loud, and they were coming. Hussein sped, through the fog—now the road. He sped, they were coming, but then his car stopped. He stomped on the pedal but the car didn’t move. He twisted the keys again and again, again and again. Nothing worked, the radio, nothing. He grabbed the satchel and took off. Outside, an unfamiliar forest stood, down the middle of which ran the road, ran the fog, and he scurried into its trees. He went and he went, deeper and further away. He slowed when he happened upon the heart of the forest, it seemed, where the trees were pushed to the left and to the right, and on the center lay a small succession of grassland no higher than toe’s length. He passed through the field, the night watching, the wind now on his trail. The bushes moved about and the grass swayed. A wave, like a shiver, moved down the forest, first behind then ahead of Hussein, the petals all about him now alive. He walked slow, the satchel firmed into his arms. And he lowered his face when he felt something under his feet, cold, stretched, and it was stretching, he saw, as he followed its steel track down further of the field. Somehow in the middle of the forest a train track stood. He kept in its path. He walked until from under the darkness an old train rose and met his eyes. The moonlight slight, he could only make out the shape of the train and its age; it was old, it had to have been old. He moved to its side, trying to discern it from its shadows. He searched for and found the carriage door. He pulled on its handle and stepped in. It was dark, but then the door closed.
A spark, a flicker, and the insides came with light. Hussein surveyed the left of the carriage; it wasn’t anything special. Its spare few seats were empty and spread about; its walls coming off; its sliding doors without their panels. He looked above, above the overhead compartments, present only as outlines, the roof, it curved from end to end, and it looked bright and new. He looked at the carpet, pristine and vermilion. He turned to the right; there were people seated, and the room was much clearer.
There were four; two men and two women; in proper clothes, their faces unlike his. One said to him, “Ayhan Hussein Adam.”
Hussein froze in his step, not far from them.
One of the men held out a satchel—black, soft, satin, possibly.
“Do you know what is in here?” one of the women asked.
Hussein didn’t know if he could speak.
Their voices carried an echo. It couldn’t have been the train.
“Ayhan Hussein Adam,” repeated the other woman. “That is your name?”
“Yes,” Hussein answered.
“Do you want to know what is inside the bag?” asked a man.
“What’s in it?”
“Give us your bag,” said a woman.
“What?” Hussein said, “n-no.”
“Give us your bag, and we’ll give you this.”
“Give me what?”
“Take this bag and you can be free.”
“Be free,” said a man.
“Give us the bag,” said a woman.
“And be free.”
Hussein looked around him. Out the windows, it was empty; not even the night; just a void. He turned back to the left of the room, where light and life now brimmed. Every panel, every part, had come back, and they began to shake. He faced the four again, who had their teeth out.
“Where is this train going?”
“Give us the bag, and take this,” said one of them.
“Why do you want the money?” Hussein asked.
“To build more trains.”
The forest swelled and came back down—up and down again. The air was drifting every which way. The birds had left. The sun must have been coming, and you could see just a little more. There, the wild green had coiled itself around the fog, and everything was a dark blue yet. The bushes moved again, but this time not on its own. Two men emerged onto that narrow sweep of grassland, their clothes blending with the environs. Like two floating heads, the two men tottered, the heads pointed at a trail on the ground. They went. Quickly, they found the tracks and its train. A broken, nothing train. One of them entered through the front carriage.
“‘ey, come over here,” he yelled. “I found the case.”
“The money still there?” the other yelled.
He opened the black satchel bag and shone his phone on it. “Nah,” he said. “It’s empty.”
