The Train Window

The Train Window

Eneas Lamartine wiped the sweat from his brow and looked over to where two older boys were trying to unlock the cabin window. The older, a thin boy that stood at least twice as tall as Eneas, had a wire coat hanger between the frame and the jamb. Every so often the train would shift and the hangar would slip, never failing to elicit a curse from the boy and a groan from other five in the cabin.

“Any time now, James,” the boy next to him said. “Before we all sweat ourselves to death.”

“Shut it, Robert,” James said, “Not like you could do this with those fat fingers of yours.”

“Better than those twigs sprouting from your hands. Maybe if you’d spent less time in Mrs. Lancaster’s office and more time at lunch you’d have strong hands like these.” Robert held out his hand and flexed a few of the short, fat fingers. “What did Mrs. Lancaster have you doing in her office so much anyhow?”

“Writing sentences, what do you think?”

A boy in the seat across from Eneas laughed and said, “Come on, James. No one believes that story. Everyone knows Mrs. Lancaster had her eye on you the whole year, right Thomas?”

The boy, whose name Eneas couldn’t recall, winked at him and grinned. Thomas was the name given to Eneas by Mrs. Lancaster. Like the other children, he’d been stripped of his native name the first day they’d arrived at boarding school back in August and issued a new, proper name. Thomas. Even after nearly a year of using it the name still sounded wrong. He’d railed against it at first, refusing to answer morning roll when called, but the will of Mrs. Lancaster and the rest of the staff wasn’t to be resisted. After two days without dinner and with his backside stinging from a dozen lashes with a sapling branch, he’d been forced to give in. From then on, he’d answered every morning to Lamartine, Thomas without complaint.

Looking back at the grinning boy, Eneas answered his question with a shrug. A chorus of laughter from the other boys went up but James quickly silenced them.

“Quiet! You want Whipwood to hear you?”

Eneas frowned at hearing the name Whipwood. Miss Girnwood, her actual name, was a young teacher with a pretty face but was universally hated by the students. Eneas doubted he’d ever met someone more hateful and unyielding. Any transgression on their part, be it mistakes on schoolwork, missed chores, or even failing to speak in English all too commonly resulted in being dragged outside by the collar and whipped with a willow switch across their bare backside. Eneas’ own bottom was still sore from the whipping he’d received just a few days before when he’d forgotten to make his bed properly before morning chores. Whipwood’s shrill accusations of being a “lazy savage” were still fresh in his mind.

The mention of Whipwood quieted the group. His mood fouled, Eneas’ thoughts went to Major Miles. The Major was the reason Eneas was here. For as long as he could remember, the Major had been in charge of choosing who went to the school each year, showing up at the end of summer to each child’s house with their name on a list and returning a few weeks later to pick them up. Despite promising otherwise, the Major had chosen him. Why? Eneas didn’t know. They’d first met the winter of the year past when the Major had come to Eneas’ house to check on Eneas’ grandfather, who’d been contracted to cut wood for the Major’s Agency. His grandfather had been too sick to keep their own fireplace lit, let alone cut enough wood to sell to the Major, and had needed Eneas to chop wood for the house. Eneas had walked through the door with an armload of wood that morning to find the Major standing there.

He’d thought the Major a nice man at the time. He’d helped Eneas cut enough wood to last the week and even taken him to the store to buy food for his family. Eneas had gotten scared when the Major had said he was going to take care of him by sending him away to boarding school, saying, “You won’t make me go away, will you?”

“Why, no, Eneas. If you don’t want to go.”

Eneas was relieved to hear that and soon forgot about the matter. But come the end of summer he found the Major at his house again, this time with a list of names. Eneas Lamartine was on the list. He’d cried and begged not to go but in the end he’d wound up in the back of a bus with a small suitcase, crying and watching through the back window as his house shrank. A train had taken him and the other children to the school in Oregon, where they’d be made ‘civilized’ and ‘proper’. If civilized meant obeying the rules, doing homework and chores all day, and getting switched across your back for not using the proper words then Eneas wanted nothing to do with it.

He pushed the thoughts away and leaned backwards against the seat. Beads of sweat built up on his forehead until a tickling, prickly sensation ran down his temple to his cheek. He wiped the offending droplet away with a damp cuff and looked over to where James was still struggling with the coat hanger. If only the boy could get the window unlocked. Then they’d get some respite from the oppressive heat.

“I think I got it,” James said.

“Bout time,” Robert said.

“Oh shut your-“

The opening of the cabin door interrupted James. Eneas drew in a breath and went cold. In the doorway stood Whipwood herself, fury in her eyes.

“What are you doing? Get down from there! Give me that!” she took one giant step forward and yanked the coat hanger out of James’ hands. The wire broke with a ping, leaving a half-inch piece sticking up out of the crack, the end sharp and glinting in the sunlight.

“I told you!” Whipwood was saying. “I told you all before we boarded that the windows were to remain closed! Mrs. Lancaster and I have had to put up with your insolence all year, James. Well, no more!”

She grabbed James by the collar and made to drag him out the door. His face contorting with anger, he swatted her hand off of him with the back of his closed fist. Surprised, Whipwood took a step back. There was a second’s pause. Both stared at each other. Whipwood flicked the coat hanger up like a rapier, leveling it broken end first at eye level. James leaned backwards against the window. His eyes flitted between Whipwood and the sharp-ended metal.

Whipwood huffed. “Not so insolent now. Dirty little savage boy.”

James said nothing.

Whipwood’s eyes shot to Eneas. He pressed himself as far back in the seat as he could.

“We give you everything and this is how you treat us?” she said. Eneas didn’t know if she was talking to him or to them all. Looking back at James she added, “I should throw you off this train and make you walk the rest of the way. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To go back to prancing barefoot in your silly little dances around you muddy little tents, free of all this civilized nonsense like trains and automobiles?”

The cabin was silent. James stood defiantly at the window.

Whipwood turned and called, “Mister Jacobs!”

A dozen seconds passed and a large man in a grey suit appeared in the doorway behind Whipwood. His eyes widened at the scene before him. “What’s all this now?”

“Little bastard thinks he can slap a lady around, that’s what,” Whipwood said.

“Surely there’s been a misunderstanding, Girnwood. I’ve never had any trouble with James.” When Whipwood said nothing he added, “Why don’t I take him up front with me where I can keep an eye on him?”

“Fine.” Whipwood lowered the coat hanger and stepped into the hallway.

Mr. Jacobs motioned for James to follow. “Come with me, Son.”

James stood where he was, a fist at each side, scowling and breathing hard through his nose.

Mr. Jacobs leaned inside and said in a low voice, “Listen to me, Son. Just come with me and everything will be fine.”

“But I didn’t-“

“James.” Mr. Jacobs cut him off. “Come with me. Now, please.”

James glanced around at the rest of them. There were a few murmurs of “Just go” and “Do what he says, it’s not worth it”.

His fists uncurled. He drew in a deep breath and took a step forward.

“That’s it, Son.”

Two more steps and he was in the hallway. A moment later both James and Mr. Jacobs were gone, leaving Whipwood alone in the doorway. She shook her head.

“So disappointing. Maybe the rest of you will use him as an example instead of causing trouble.”

She made to leave but turned back and pointed to the window. “And leave that alone! I will not have you boys hanging out the window like apes!”

She left and a great pressure seemed to leave with her. Eneas let out a relieved sigh and leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. Around him the other boys whispered insults towards Whipwood.

“Stupid white bitch…” Robert said. “I just wanna…” He reached out and curled his thick fingers into a fist, tightening his grip until his whole arm shook from the strain.

Eneas dropped a hand from his chin and balled it into a fist. He tried to picture smashing it into Major Mile’s face but the man was so much taller than himself that he couldn’t imagine a situation where he’d get the chance. Perhaps the Major would trip over his bootlaces one day, right next to Eneas. Yes, that was a good image. In his mind he saw the man flat on his back in the dirt, staring up at him in surprise.

“Stupid white bastard!” he would yell, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Then he’d bring his fist down. Maybe knock out a few teeth like what had happened during a fight between two older boys at school one day. He remembered seeing the teeth on the ground after several instructors had broken up the fight. They had seemed so small. Much smaller sitting there in the dirt than his own teeth appeared in the mirror. He could have mistaken them for baby-teeth had both boys not already had a hint of a stubble on their chins and a few thin strands of dark hair on their upper lips.

Eneas pushed the thoughts from his mind and tried to get into a comfortable position in his seat. The whispering had stopped, leaving the cabin hot and silent. Several hours passed before the train whistle began blowing and they came to a halt at the station a few minutes afterward.

Whipwood and Mr. Jacobs came around, telling them to get their luggage and disembark. Eneas had to wait for the rest of the boys to grab their luggage first and jumped when Whipwood passed by, yelling, “Hurry up, Thomas! Hurry up!”

He grabbed his luggage and hurried out the door, awkwardly limping down the hallway with his one large suitcase. As soon as he had stepped out onto the platform and put down his luggage a voice went up.

“Alright! Everyone away from the train! Line up at the wall! Don’t forget your luggage!”

Eneas froze in place. The voice unmistakably belonged to Major Miles. The Major strode up to them, calling out and waving his arms and directing the children as if they were traffic. Around Eneas the other children picked up their luggage and walked away towards the station.

“That’s it! Keep it moving! You! Grab that bag before you forget it!”

Soon Eneas was the only one who hadn’t made his to the station. The Major turned to see him alone on the platform.

“That you, Eneas?”

Eneas nodded.

“Well! Look how you’ve grown! How was school? You learn a lot like I said you would?”

Eneas opened his mouth. The urge to scream at the Major, to throw his luggage and run at the man, yelling and hitting, nearly overwhelmed him. But the Major was smiling at him. Eneas suddenly found that he couldn’t meet the man’s eyes and he looked at the ground.

“Eneas?” The Major came close and crouched, bringing him down to face level. He put a hand on Eneas’ shoulder. “How was school?”

This was what he’d wanted back on the train. The Major’s face was right there. A single hit would send him backwards onto his back, right in front of all the students he’d taken from their home and sent away. All the whippings, the fights, the long days spent in the stifling classrooms were his fault.

Eneas’ hand twitched. Three of his fingers curled up. The other stubbornly resisted, curling halfway up into a hook. He forced himself to look the Major in the eyes. Two green eyes stared back at him. He felt no malice from those eyes. There was no barely controlled fury like he saw in Whipwood’s eyes every day. Only a calm, concerned look.

The wind picked up and a breeze blew across the platform. The confliction inside him evaporated like the sweat on his forehead. The cool sensation seemed to be under his skin. He felt it in his chest. His stomach. His very bones. One at a time his fingers uncurled.

“School was fine, sir.”

The Major’s smile grew wider. “That’s good! I knew you could do it! Knew it all along!” He tussled Eneas’ hair before standing. “Alright, go line up with the other students. We’ll have you back at your grandparents in no time!”

“Yes, sir.” Eneas picked up his luggage and joined the other students lined up against the station wall.

Thomas Lamertine stood against the wall, eyes closed, letting the breeze wash over him until it was time to go.



Author's Note: I wrote this story for my writing 102 class. It is a continuation of the short story "Train Time" by Native American writer D’Arcy McNickle.