Read Online When I Found You by Catherine Ryan Hyde - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Catherine Ryan Hyde
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changed into jeans and warm socks and shoes. And a jacket he didn’t like very well, because the one he did like had been left at Jacob’s.
He let himself out, locked the front door carefully. Stopped at the curb and threw the key-on-a-string down the storm drain.
He chose a direction more or less by feel and began to walk.
• • •
It was unclear to Nat how long he had walked, or where he was headed. He knew only that the suitcase was heavy, and he had to keep transferring it from hand to hand.
He followed dark streets until they opened up on to the train yard. Which he assumed would also be deserted. Every place he had walked since leaving home had been deserted.
The entire world was asleep, he thought. But not the train yard.
Here a huddle of four men stood around a fire built in an old oil barrel, warming their hands and laughing. A couple more men sat in an open freight wagon of a still train, their legs dangling and swinging over the edge.
They all looked up to mark Nat’s arrival.
He walked closer. Liking the idea that someone lived here, and used the night for something other than sleeping.
“Well. Who do we have here?” one of the men asked. Viewed up close, they looked poor. Their coats and beards were untended, to say the least.
“Nobody,” Nat said.
“Perfect,” the man said. “You’ll fit right in.”
• • •
Nat sat on the edge of a freight wagon, dangling his legs over the edge. Staring into the leaping flames of the fire. Letting it hypnotize him. Burn all the thoughts out of his head.
He watched little lights swirl in the air above the oil barrel, thinking that some were sparks and some were fireflies, and that it was hard to tell them apart.
But no, it was too early in the season for fireflies. Or was it?
Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him.
The old man sitting next to him was drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. He held the bottle out to Nat.
“Snort? It’ll warm you up.”
“OK.”
He accepted the bottle. Wiped off the mouth of it with his sleeve. Pulled a swallow. Coughed. All the men were watching and they all laughed at him.
“Where do you go when you jump on a train?” Nat asked the old man.
“Anywhere I damn please,” the man said.
“That sounds good.”
“It has its advantages.”
Another younger man, standing warming his hands at the fire, said, “Has its advantages for
us
. But maybe
you’d
best go home.”
Nat said nothing.
“Where’s your family, boy?”
“Don’t have any.”
“Well, what’ve you been doing up until now?”
Nat shrugged. “Just living with a stranger, I guess.”
“Maybe a stranger is better than nothing at all.”
“I guess I used to think so,” Nat said. “But I don’t any more.”
21 March 1973
The World
When Nat woke again, the train was moving. The door to his freight wagon had been closed without his knowing it, and the train had departed. And there was no one else in the car except him.
Good, he thought.
He scooted over to the door. A crack about an inch or two wide allowed light in. And allowed him to see out. And he watched the world go by.
He saw mountains in the distance. He had never seen mountains before. And massive sheets of icicles hanging on rock faces. He saw fields of cows and sheep, and horses running in a big paddock with their tails raised like flags.
He saw the dankest, most depressed corners of cities. The junkyards and train yards and stacked cargo containers and chain-link fences and steel railroad bridges.
And then, the country again, with its barns and tractors and silos and irrigation ditches separating neatly tilled fields.
He watched for hours, which turned into watching all day. And never once felt bored. How could he be bored? It was the world. It had been here all along, but no one had invited — or allowed — him to see it. Did they think he didn’t care about the world outside his miserable little city? Or was the world just
He let himself out, locked the front door carefully. Stopped at the curb and threw the key-on-a-string down the storm drain.
He chose a direction more or less by feel and began to walk.
• • •
It was unclear to Nat how long he had walked, or where he was headed. He knew only that the suitcase was heavy, and he had to keep transferring it from hand to hand.
He followed dark streets until they opened up on to the train yard. Which he assumed would also be deserted. Every place he had walked since leaving home had been deserted.
The entire world was asleep, he thought. But not the train yard.
Here a huddle of four men stood around a fire built in an old oil barrel, warming their hands and laughing. A couple more men sat in an open freight wagon of a still train, their legs dangling and swinging over the edge.
They all looked up to mark Nat’s arrival.
He walked closer. Liking the idea that someone lived here, and used the night for something other than sleeping.
“Well. Who do we have here?” one of the men asked. Viewed up close, they looked poor. Their coats and beards were untended, to say the least.
“Nobody,” Nat said.
“Perfect,” the man said. “You’ll fit right in.”
• • •
Nat sat on the edge of a freight wagon, dangling his legs over the edge. Staring into the leaping flames of the fire. Letting it hypnotize him. Burn all the thoughts out of his head.
He watched little lights swirl in the air above the oil barrel, thinking that some were sparks and some were fireflies, and that it was hard to tell them apart.
But no, it was too early in the season for fireflies. Or was it?
Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him.
The old man sitting next to him was drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. He held the bottle out to Nat.
“Snort? It’ll warm you up.”
“OK.”
He accepted the bottle. Wiped off the mouth of it with his sleeve. Pulled a swallow. Coughed. All the men were watching and they all laughed at him.
“Where do you go when you jump on a train?” Nat asked the old man.
“Anywhere I damn please,” the man said.
“That sounds good.”
“It has its advantages.”
Another younger man, standing warming his hands at the fire, said, “Has its advantages for
us
. But maybe
you’d
best go home.”
Nat said nothing.
“Where’s your family, boy?”
“Don’t have any.”
“Well, what’ve you been doing up until now?”
Nat shrugged. “Just living with a stranger, I guess.”
“Maybe a stranger is better than nothing at all.”
“I guess I used to think so,” Nat said. “But I don’t any more.”
21 March 1973
The World
When Nat woke again, the train was moving. The door to his freight wagon had been closed without his knowing it, and the train had departed. And there was no one else in the car except him.
Good, he thought.
He scooted over to the door. A crack about an inch or two wide allowed light in. And allowed him to see out. And he watched the world go by.
He saw mountains in the distance. He had never seen mountains before. And massive sheets of icicles hanging on rock faces. He saw fields of cows and sheep, and horses running in a big paddock with their tails raised like flags.
He saw the dankest, most depressed corners of cities. The junkyards and train yards and stacked cargo containers and chain-link fences and steel railroad bridges.
And then, the country again, with its barns and tractors and silos and irrigation ditches separating neatly tilled fields.
He watched for hours, which turned into watching all day. And never once felt bored. How could he be bored? It was the world. It had been here all along, but no one had invited — or allowed — him to see it. Did they think he didn’t care about the world outside his miserable little city? Or was the world just
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