Read Online The Train of Small Mercies by David Rowell - Free Book Online Page B

Mr. Chalmers shook his head, his face reset in amazement.
    They kept walking, and after Hayes stopped to straighten a doily on the back of a seat, they stepped into a car featuring a miniature bar on the far end. The passenger seats were replaced by long couches and four round, elevated tables for passengers to use while standing up.
    â€œThis is your car today, young buck,” Hayes said. “And the man behind the bar over there we call Big Brass, but you will call him Mr. Trent. You’re going to be helping Mr. Trent serve drinks and snacks and whatnot. We’re expecting maybe a thousand people on this train, and I figure seventy-five percent are going to stay in the snack cars. There’s three of them, but you stay assigned to the one.”
    Hayes introduced the two, and he told Big Brass the same story he told Mr. Chalmers about Lionel’s supposed knowledge of the train, and Big Brass appeared equally troubled. But Lionel knew there was no point in offering a defense. He could see that this was all part of the experience for the new man. “You do your job the way you’re supposed to, and you can count on your crew members for everything ,” his father had told him. “Porters always have to have each other’s backs.”
    Lionel planned to save virtually all the money from his paychecks, since he was staying with his parents. At night he would focus on his artwork, not spend his money at the bars or jazz clubs or on women. Adanya was in North Carolina, and they might go the whole summer without being able to see each other.
    â€œYou’re in Mr. Trent’s hands right now,” Hayes said. “I got to go to my own station, but you give Mr. Trent your full attention, and he’ll take care of you. Remember this, young buck: you’re going to have a few hundred bosses today, in addition to Mr. Trent. And by serving them, you are doing your small part to serve your country today. Am I overstating things, Mr. Trent?”
    â€œNo, sir,” Big Brass said. “That’s Senator Kennedy we’re talking about. And God rest that man’s soul.”
    Hayes stuck out his hand, and Lionel grabbed it and tried to squeeze harder than before, but this time Hayes’s grip was twice as hard, as if he had anticipated Lionel’s impulse. Hayes smiled broadly—for the first time. As Hayes walked back, he was whistling the same tune as before, though more fully this time, so that it swept through the car, ringing off the glass windows. Then he stopped abruptly and headed back in their direction. “Mr. Trent, you hear the news?”
    â€œWhat news is that?”
    â€œThey’ve arrested the man they think shot Dr. King.”
    Big Brass barely let his lips move. “Well, that’s good. What’s it been, two months now?”
    Hayes said that was right.
    â€œHow long did they take to nab the Kennedy assassin—about two seconds ?” Big Brass said.
    â€œWell, Sirhan didn’t even try to get away,” Hayes said. “Dr. King was killed by a sniper. It’s a little different. They caught him in London, in fact. This just came over the news a little while ago. They said the name, but I can’t remember.”
    â€œLondon,” Big Brass said. “The American authorities couldn’t catch him, but the English could, huh? The only question I have is, what shade of white is he?”
    He and Hayes let out a knowing laugh as Lionel looked on. He hadn’t heard the news, either, but Buster Hayes wasn’t exactly sharing it with both of them, and Lionel wasn’t sure if he was supposed to pretend to not even be listening. He had felt the ache of King’s death like any other black American, crowding into a dorm room with a dozen other students as they whaled and pounded the plaster walls with their fists. Lionel certainly knew what it was to be called nigger, to be followed by salesclerks as he shopped for a