Abraham’s Child

Towards afternoon the train pulled in to the station.

The light came grey and cold through the dirty glass of the terminal roof,

and passengers waiting on the platform blew upon their hands and stamped their feet

and their breath came out like smoke.

In the comfortable compartment I leaned back against the red plush of the seat

and looked out the window. All the signs were in a language I could not read.

I got out my passport and held it, waiting in readiness.

My papers were in order and the train was warm.

The conductor slid open the door to the compartment and said to me,

“This is your last stop on this train. You will have to get out.”

I held out my passport, “No, no, my journeys barely half over,”

and I told him the cities through which the train was going to pass.

He handed me back my passport and said again, “You will have to get out,”

and he took me by the arms and led me from the coach.

His hands were so strong

my arms cried out in pain. On the platform it was cold. “But I don't know where I am!” I cried, “or where I am going.”

“Follow me,” he said. “I have been sent to show you.” Through the glass of the station roof I could see the sun was going down

and a horror of great darkness fell upon me.

“Come,” the conductor said. “This is the way you are to go,”

and he led me past the passengers waiting on the platform

and past the foreign signs and a burning lamp in this land

where I was a stranger. He led me to a train with no lights and broken windows

and a pale wisp of smoke lifting from a rusty engine, and said,

“Get in. This is your train.”

I fell upon my face and laughed and said, “But this train isn't going anywhere,”

and he said, “You may sit down,” and I sat on a wooden bench

and he put my satchel on the rack over my head.

“Are you ready for the journey?” he asked me. “I must have your passport.”

I gave it to him. “Where are we going?” I asked. The train was cold.

“The way will be shown,” he said, and closed the compartment door.

I heard a puff of steam. The old engine began to pull the dark car

and we ventured out into the night.

~Madeleine L'Engle