The Man Game by Lee W. Henderson Page B

chalk.
    Sometimes I do imagine I’m inside some kind a big ugly demon, said the conductor. I like to think aboot myself as a tiny angel cleaning the grit from inside a devil, sticking my fingers in his tubes, eh. But my job’s never done. The devil keeps on making grit.
    What eloquence, Sammy said, nodding to his wife.
    She scolded him in coded gestures for his condescension.
    I got a lot a time to read, said the conductor.
    Is that so? Molly asked. What do you read?
    What? said the conductor, wincing over the engine’s screams and hisses as the train rounded a corner. Oh, well,
screed
mostly, he said in answer to her question.
    Hm, said Molly.
    You know, I can stop the train any time I want, he said. I’m ahead a schedule. They made them times up back when nobody knowed how to ride the Rockies.
    Look how close the trees come to the rails, said Sammy.
    Heck, he said. See how close the trees come? You want to ride the cowcatcher?
Then
you’ll see how close they darn well do. Don’t worry, it’s safe. It’s a big enough apron there for you to stand on. The Queen a England rode on it, why shouldn’t you? It won’t fit two, actually, safely I mean, but you could ride it one at a time.
    How delightful, said Molly.
    Steady now, said the conductor as he manoeuvred the train to a halt.
    When Molly was seated properly atop the cowcatcher the train urged forward again with her there in front as its beacon. Molly, the sharp point of this megaton conveyance.
    Wee, she cried.
    Inside the engine, the conductor faced Sammy with one eye raised irretrievably, and said: Your wife?
    Yes? said Sammy.
    Finest lady I seen.
    Sammy paused to think. He scratched his Adam’s apple (oh, to have itches again). Another pause. Separated by blinks. Is that right? Sammy finally decided was the thing to say.
    A magnificent woman.
    I’ll make sure to tell her you said so.
    No, no, said the conductor. You mustn’t. A lady goes too vain when she hears a man’s compliments. Keep it a secret between yourself and I.
    Indeed I will then.
    Two miles on it was Sammy’s turn. Oh, Sammy, she said as she hopped off the cowcatcher and pet flat her hairstyle, now dishevelled from the wind, it’s the most wonderful feeling ever. They embraced on the gravel embankment overlooking the Rockies. I’m so excited for you to try it.
    I am too, he said.
    Take off your hat, she said, and lifted his bowler from his head. The wind might blow it away.
    He leaned in for a kiss and whispered: Mind the conductor, will you? He seems to have a bit a interest in you.
    She grinned: Ah-ha, a gentleman admirer?
    Indeed, he said, smiling. But maybe do that collar button up.
    She rolled her eyes, pecked him on the chin, and danced away back to the conductor, leaving him there on the cowcatcher.
    Sammy was more uneasy with the situation than he preferred to admit. But as the engine hissed to a start and the train rolled forward with the ground only inches from Sammy’s shoes, every other thought simply left his mind. He forgot all about the conductor. The silly thrill of riding like this swept away his concerns. Watching the ground scroll along below his feet and vanish ever faster under the train behind him. He held fast to the bars in a fairly cowardly grip, but who would criticize him for that? The train jostled onward in its wiggle of segments. Sammy’s feet were wedged between the iron bars extending up behind his back. He was excited by the approach of a turn in the rails, shrouded by an arboreal hood of deciduous leaves almost dark green enough to feel blue. Beyond the graceful bend, the trees on either side of the tracks gave way to immense hacked walls of granite.
    Are you having fun oot there? he heard his wife say.
    It’s fantastic, he replied. It’s so fantastic.
    Quartz and black crisps of mica tinselled in his eyes as the sun beamed against the rockface. How pretty were the ingredients of a mountain,