In the icy cold dawn, I dreamt of Norway and found myself suddenly, willingly back on that train.
And you were there, of course. Opening and closing your wallet. The leather billfold shifting between your hands, as you kept us nervously in hand. Cajoling, convincing us to eat the freshly prepared reindeer in the dining car; meat marinating in gamey red peppers, and we could barely bring ourselves to do it.
And then, as the train rumbled along the length of the slowly rising mountainous track you called out, ‘Look! Look over there. Look!’ And we two siblings shoved over to the window and there in the middle of a brilliantly sage kiwi grassy meadow, rising out of sunny mists by the fjords…those stunning fjords…there was a child standing and waving madly at the train.
A blond headed cherub wearing a bright red woolen sweater; stood firm in a ray of Norwegian sunshine, watching and waving madly with abandon.
‘Wave! Wave back!’ and we obediently motioned back with all our might. Our happy efforts flowed out to him a split second before our long black train slid deftly into the cavernous mountains and I knew then as I know now that it was a snapshot I would never take.
I will never see that child again.
And as for you…well, for now you are gone; resting quietly on the other side of the veil and the darkened mirror.
But this is temporary of course, and the long black train still runs.
I reside in the Empire State, but I would rather be, for all the world riding on that line winding between Oslo and Bergen, waving madly at the child in the bright red sweater; the little one I can no longer see.
690 Saint Paul 