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Authors: Elizabeth Knox
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stretch of the platform that was under cover from the sun was crowded with passengers, all keeping an eye on the luggage trolley, the smoking porters and their train, which sat in a siding five hundred yards up the line, breathing wisps of steam. The Sisters Beach Express was waiting for the special train to leave so that it could pull into the station.
The special train was up at the far end of the platform. Only one or two brazen travellers had wandered up to have a look at it. The special train had only two carriages — a luxury coach and a guard’s van. Its engine was new, bull-nosed, and black. The train flew red flags, two on the engine and two on the guard’s van — danger signals.
A group of officials waited by the train. They all wore dark suits and city hats. Several were mountainous,broad-shouldered bodyguards in the guise of civil servants. Also attending on the train was a famous and flamboyant physician from Sisters Beach. Doctor Wilmot was resplendent in grey pinstripes and a gold cravat. He was playing with a monocle; it flashed as he twirled it.
Grace and Tziga had come straight from the Place and were dressed in linen shirts and trousers, leather jackets and supple leather lace-up boots. Grace Tiebold wore a dustcoat over her clothes, and Tziga Hame had bandaged hands. He carried a handkerchief with which he sometimes dabbed at his mouth.
The special train had a full head of steam. Steam escaped from all its engine’s valves, wrapping the black iron in a tissue of white vapour.
The passengers waiting for the delayed Sisters Beach Express saw Chorley Tiebold’s car pull up, the two girls jump out of its back seat and sprint along the platform past them. Chorley hurried too, but was less headlong.
Long-legged Rose was the first to reach Tziga. She clasped him around his chest and leant close to issue a warning: ‘Laura’s mad with you!’ Then she let go and drew back and noticed how he held his hands clear, so that his blood-spotted bandages wouldn’t foul her clothes. She saw his hollow eyes and scabbed lips. Then Laura barged in and Rose stumbled back, too surprised to stand her ground.
‘Goodbye, Rose,’ Tziga said. ‘Good luck.’
Laura had begun to talk, low and accusing. Herfather didn’t meet her eye, but took her arm and walked her along the platform away from the others.
LAURA LET HER father lead her away. She knew that she would cry. She collected her thoughts and tried to tell him how she felt. She said, ‘You’ve always talked as though you’d be there for my Try. I expect you there. You should understand that, Da. Don’t you know that all my life people have looked at me as if they imagine they can see something in the air around me? Dreams. It might be you they are thinking of, but it’s me they’re staring at. Hame , those looks say, like someone sighing when they’re in love. How do you think that’s made me feel?’
Laura stopped walking: she dug her heels into the platform’s rust-browned bitumen and her arm slipped through her father’s hand. He gave a sharp cry and snatched the bandaged mitt of his hand back against his chest. He hunched over, cradling it.
Laura wiped her eyes and looked at him. She saw his torn lips, and the red seepage on the white linen. She forgot the rest of what she’d meant to say. She said, ‘What happened to your hands?’
‘I bit them,’ he said. He straightened and gathered her in an arm and hustled her along the platform again. This time Laura took in the movement he had suppressed, a glance back at the officials by the waiting train.
‘I’m afraid,’ Laura said.
Her father didn’t look at her, but he said, ‘What are you afraid of?’ He was brusque, sounding not so much impatient but as if his question were a formal challenge. Laura’s father’s tone did not say that there was nothing to be afraid of, but that he didn’t have any time for her fear.
‘When you come back, it’ll all be over. That’s what
The special train was up at the far end of the platform. Only one or two brazen travellers had wandered up to have a look at it. The special train had only two carriages — a luxury coach and a guard’s van. Its engine was new, bull-nosed, and black. The train flew red flags, two on the engine and two on the guard’s van — danger signals.
A group of officials waited by the train. They all wore dark suits and city hats. Several were mountainous,broad-shouldered bodyguards in the guise of civil servants. Also attending on the train was a famous and flamboyant physician from Sisters Beach. Doctor Wilmot was resplendent in grey pinstripes and a gold cravat. He was playing with a monocle; it flashed as he twirled it.
Grace and Tziga had come straight from the Place and were dressed in linen shirts and trousers, leather jackets and supple leather lace-up boots. Grace Tiebold wore a dustcoat over her clothes, and Tziga Hame had bandaged hands. He carried a handkerchief with which he sometimes dabbed at his mouth.
The special train had a full head of steam. Steam escaped from all its engine’s valves, wrapping the black iron in a tissue of white vapour.
The passengers waiting for the delayed Sisters Beach Express saw Chorley Tiebold’s car pull up, the two girls jump out of its back seat and sprint along the platform past them. Chorley hurried too, but was less headlong.
Long-legged Rose was the first to reach Tziga. She clasped him around his chest and leant close to issue a warning: ‘Laura’s mad with you!’ Then she let go and drew back and noticed how he held his hands clear, so that his blood-spotted bandages wouldn’t foul her clothes. She saw his hollow eyes and scabbed lips. Then Laura barged in and Rose stumbled back, too surprised to stand her ground.
‘Goodbye, Rose,’ Tziga said. ‘Good luck.’
Laura had begun to talk, low and accusing. Herfather didn’t meet her eye, but took her arm and walked her along the platform away from the others.
LAURA LET HER father lead her away. She knew that she would cry. She collected her thoughts and tried to tell him how she felt. She said, ‘You’ve always talked as though you’d be there for my Try. I expect you there. You should understand that, Da. Don’t you know that all my life people have looked at me as if they imagine they can see something in the air around me? Dreams. It might be you they are thinking of, but it’s me they’re staring at. Hame , those looks say, like someone sighing when they’re in love. How do you think that’s made me feel?’
Laura stopped walking: she dug her heels into the platform’s rust-browned bitumen and her arm slipped through her father’s hand. He gave a sharp cry and snatched the bandaged mitt of his hand back against his chest. He hunched over, cradling it.
Laura wiped her eyes and looked at him. She saw his torn lips, and the red seepage on the white linen. She forgot the rest of what she’d meant to say. She said, ‘What happened to your hands?’
‘I bit them,’ he said. He straightened and gathered her in an arm and hustled her along the platform again. This time Laura took in the movement he had suppressed, a glance back at the officials by the waiting train.
‘I’m afraid,’ Laura said.
Her father didn’t look at her, but he said, ‘What are you afraid of?’ He was brusque, sounding not so much impatient but as if his question were a formal challenge. Laura’s father’s tone did not say that there was nothing to be afraid of, but that he didn’t have any time for her fear.
‘When you come back, it’ll all be over. That’s what
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