Bathurst
Station. The doors rattled shut, the grey-tiled walls slid away. Margery, who
had been standing since Yonge Street, caught a glimpse of bare vinyl, and made
for it.
The sight of the man's face
brought her up short, for a moment. Then she dropped onto the seat with a sigh,
settled her parcel on her lap, and waited.
A hand descended firmly upon
her thigh.
"Been a long time,
hasn't it?" murmured the man next to her.
"Oh, it's you!" She
sank back, but removed the hand. "Haven't changed, have you, Brian?"
"Neither have you. Still
heart-breakingly beautiful."
"Good old Brian! But
what are you doing back in Toronto?"
"Got a job in a travel
agency. Not bad, Pays the rent. What about you? Don't tell me. you married old
Greg and spawned two-point-five healthy kids. I hope you're miserable,you
ungrateful girl."
"Wrong. I haven't seen
Greg in over a year, I'm childless, and I'm far from miserable."
"Finally ditched him?
Smart girl. Now's my chance."
"Go away, Brian, I've
outgrown you."
"Outgrown me?
Impossible!" His laughter bubbled up.
She remembered a time when
she had found him irresistible. Brian of the sparkling eyes, the mobile face;
impulsive, exciting, changeable Brian.
***
At Christie Station, three
dark young men crowded onto the seat behind. They talked loudly, rapidly, not
in English. One of them leaned close to Margery and exhaled softly on her neck.
"Hey, Miss -- "
Brian twisted around glaring,
and the man drew back with a shrug.
"Bastards!"
muttered Brian.
"Don't get fussed, he
didn't bother me."
"I saw too many like
that in Brazil. Always on the prowl for other guys' women."
"Like Carla, you
mean?" she asked quietly.
He drew in his breath.
"Yes. Like Carla."
"That wasn't much of a
letter you sent me last summer. I could hardly make out what happened."
"What do you expect? It
demolished me. I couldn't think straight, let alone write."
"You never said what
arrangements were made for the funeral. I don't even know where she's buried,
here or in Brazil."
"For God's sake, keep
your voice down!"
***
The train pulled into
Ossington Station. Brian took Margery's hand and squeezed it. "Sorry. I
haven't got over it yet. It's still hard to think about her."
The crowd had begun to thin
out. Margery glanced sideways and caught Brian staring towards the far end of
the car. His hand suddenly crushed hers.
"Ow, let go! What's the
matter?"
"Don't you see
her?"
"Who, for heaven's
sake?" She pulled free.
"That woman near the
end, on the right. Next the window. See her?"
"You mean the one with
the wooly red hat?"
"No! Just past her, the
blonde. See?"
"Oh, her. Yes, I see
her."
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
He looked at Margery, began
to say something, then shrugged and stared out of the window. She smiled.
***
The train passed in and out
of Dufferin Station.
"When's your stop?"
Brian asked.
"Islington."
"Hey! That's where I
transfer! This has got to be the hand of fate!"
"Why?" she asked,
warily.
"I've just started to
fix up my apartment. You can give me all kinds of womanly help and
advice."
"Sorry, Brian, I have an
awful lot to do this evening." She pointed to the package in her lap.
"What's that?"
"These are my children's
poems and stories."
"Your what?"
"It's our big project
for the term, a book of our own. My job is to type up the written work. Don't
look so dumbfounded! I'm a teacher, I teach fourth grade."
"Schoolmarm, eh?"
He grinned at her. "You'll be glad to know it doesn't show on the
outside."
"What a load off my
mind!"
"Look, why don't you get
rid of that stuff and come shopping with me? You'll pick out the curtains and
I'll hang them while you cook dinner. Then we'll make love."
She laughed. "You're out
of your mind!"
"You have something
better to do?"
"Much. I have to work on
the book."
***
At Lansdowne Station two
schoolgirls collapsed into the seat across the aisle. Long brown hair, satin
jackets, short tartan skirts, fresh rosy faces.
One of the dark young men
tossed a soft, casual remark across the aisle. The girls looked furtively at
each other and giggled. Brian swore under his breath.
"Take it easy,"
Margery said.
"Women are such damn
whores!"
"Hey, thanks!"
"Oh, I don't mean you,
darling!" He took her hand again and stroked it.
"I hope you didn't mean
Carla."
"Carla!" He drew
his breath in again. "I just can't get over it. Will you look at that
girl?"
"Which one?" She
freed her hand again.
"The blonde, damn it!
Look at her! Isn't she the image of Carla?"
Margery looked. "There's
a resemblance, I think. Hard to tell, at this distance."
"She's identical! Only,
Carla never wore her hair like that, did she? She swore she'd never cut it --
remember? -- and it was nearly to her waist, and just like silk, just as fine
and shiny. And the colour: pure gold. Real, too. God, she was like a -- what is
it? -- Lorelei. Mermaid."
"She was
beautiful," Margery said softly. Something in his voice touched her, some
tone that rang true. He had loved Carla, once.
***
The train arrived in Dundas
West Station. Pulling out, it suddenly burst from the tunnel into the open.
Beyond a chain-link fence was a row of budding trees and beyond them again,
sunlit brick walls and flashing windows. The carriage was flooded with golden
light.
The woman who looked like
Carla turned her profile to the window. The right side of her face was nearly
hidden by a wing of shining hair that fell across her cheek to her shoulder,
like a veil. On the other side she had pulled it back behind the ear, baring a
fine cheekbone and a pearl earring.
Her spring coat was pale
blue. Watching her, Margery felt grubby and overweight. She lifted a hand to
smooth her springy brown curls.
The tunnel's throat swallowed
the train again, then spat it out into Keele Station.
"Remember how she found
you in my apartment, that time?" Brian said suddenly, as if waking up from
a daydream.
Margery laughed shortly.
"I remember."
Neither woman had known about
the other's existence. After the first shock they had been excessively pleasant
to each other. They had chatted and smiled falsely while Brian, round-eyed with
innocence, enjoyed the dreadful meeting.
"She threatened to leave
me, then. But it was you who actually did leave, you silly kid!"
"Smartest thing I ever
did. Otherwise, that might have been me in Brazil, not Carla."
"What the hell do you
mean?"
***
In and out of High Park
Station, and out in the open again. Glowing treetops, rooftops, an expanse of
brilliant green grass.
"You know, this city can
be awfully nice, once winter's over," Margery remarked. Brian stared at
her as if he had discovered he was sitting with a stranger.
One of the three dark young
men walked the length of the swaying car to stand beside the blonde woman. As
he spoke his face lit up; his smile was dazzling white.
She glanced up at him briefly
from under her wing of golden hair, said something equally brief, and turned
her face away indifferently. His smile collapsed and he walked back to his
seat. Margery heard whispers.
"Funny," said
Brian.
"What?"
"I caught a phrase
there. 'Very ugly,' is what it meant."
"Then it can't be Carla,
can it?"
"But I can see she isn't
ugly! And her expression just then -- God, she looks more and more like
her!" He started to get up. Margery took hold of his jacket and pulled him
down again.
"You can't just go over
and goggle at the woman! Behave yourself!"
***
As the train drew into
Runnymede Station Margery said, "Tell me, just how did the accident
happen?"
"What? Why do you keep
coming back to that?"
"Because Carla was my
friend, in spite of you. And all you can tell me is she died in Brazil. You
don't even know where she's buried. Do her family know?"
"I guess so. I don't
know. Look, I admit I wasn't totally clear-headed at the time. I'd had a few
drinks, okay?"
"Are you saying it was
your fault?"
"No! Well -- I guess,
maybe, if I'd been more alert it wouldn't have happened. Maybe. But it was
pitch dark, the road was wet, and the Brazilians are rotten drivers. We didn't
see the car coming till it was too late. I didn't even have a chance to push
her aside."
"So you were walking? I
thought you had a car?"
"We did. It broke down,
I had to leave it. We were in this rotten little flea-bitten town, no cars for
rent. So we decided to hitchhike out -- "
"In the dark? In the
rain?"
"Well, yeah. Things were
getting ugly, I thought we'd better get out. You wouldn't believe the trouble a
guy can get into, traveling in these Latin countries with a woman."
"What kind of trouble?"
"Geez! You want a road
map?"
"Sure."
"Well, it was her fault,
when you get right down to it. I mean, talk about reckless, giving one of those
guys the come-on! And then he wouldn't let it drop, wouldn't take no for an
answer, so we had to get out. But fast."
"And then he came
roaring after you, is that it?"
"Could have been him. I
didn't see -- it was dark, and he didn't hang around."
***
Jane Station there and gone,
and the train was in the open again. In the bright light, Brian's face looked
pinched and pale. Margery hardened herself.
"All right, Brian. And
then you did what, carried her in your arms to the nearest hospital?"
"I -- I waited for
another car. They drove us to the next town."
"Which town?"
"I can't remember."
"How long before she
died? How long did you wait?"
"What is this?"
"Sure you didn't just
leave her in the road to die?"
He went white.
"Brian, who was driving
that car?"
***
He turned his face to the
window. The train pulled into Old Mill Station and out again. Glass walls, then
tile, then grey concrete. He watched the tunnel walls stream past until they arrived
in Royal York Station. Then he turned back to Margery, smiling.
"Where have you been
getting these incredible ideas?"
"Where do you
think?"
"Carla," he said,
"Is dead."
"You're sure?"
"I..." He kept the
smile by force. "Margery, my dearest, what are you up to?"
She put on her best
no-nonsense schoolmarm voice. "All right, let's try to make sense of this,
Brian. Picture this: Carla, after weeks of traveling with you, is pretty damn
tired of your whims and moods. She meets a nice young Brazilian she likes and
decides to make a break."
He was listening but not
looking at her. He said nothing.
"So she tries to say
goodbye. And you can't take it, can you, Brian? You don't let those guys steal
your women! You make a scene. Carla leaves in the dark, in the rain, on foot,
with her new man. You come roaring after them..."
He laughed. "You know
what's craziest? I keep thinking that really is Carla over there, that the two
of you are together against me, that she told you -- things, that you've been
leading me on. Crazy, isn't it?"
"It does sound a bit
paranoid." She looked at him almost with pity.
"Because -- this is so
simple! If that really were Carla over there, I would have found the two of you
sitting together, instead of at opposite ends of the car. So that's not Carla,
that's nobody. And you don't know anything, do you, dearest? You're just
guessing, trying to upset me. I never knew you had a mean streak!"
"Sounds obvious. Unless,
of course, we got on together downtown, and it was so crowded we had no choice
where to sit. What then, Brian?"
At the far end of the
carriage, the blonde woman's head, haloed by the sun beyond her, made a beacon
that seemed to fascinate him. As the train entered the tunnel to Islington
Station, the beacon went out. Brian shivered.
***
Gathering up her purse and
parcel, Margery turned brightly towards him. "Here's my stop. It's been
nice --" He stood up and pushed past her to the aisle, knocking the
package from her arms.
As the train slid to a stop,
the blonde woman rose and stepped without haste to the opening door. Brian was
running up the aisle towards her. Margery only had time to scoop up her
spilling papers, stuff them back into her bag, and rush for the door.
It closed on her as she went
through. She jerked free, and found herself on a crowded platform between the
tracks. There must have been a delay, for the narrow space was crammed with
people. The two she wanted to see had vanished.
A sudden panic seized her as
the train at her back pulled out with an escalating din, and just yards away,
the eastbound train came roaring in. It was a hellish, dangerous place.
***
Later, remembering, Margery
thought there had been a scream, but it might have been only the scream of
brakes, an intolerably human sound that seemed to go on forever.
Then it stopped, and someone
cut the power, and the platform was in twilight: a dim, milling, murmuring,
crying chaos. Strangers caught each other's eyes, questioned each other, drawn
into fellowship by the event. Margery stood silent, while shapes of horror
filled her mind.
A voice blared through the
station, instructing the passengers either to board the train or proceed to the
exits, but not to linger on the platform. Margery let the surge of the crowd
carry her toward the stairs.
People craned their necks as
they passed the cluster of uniformed men at the head of the train. They were
warned away brusquely.
"Did you see that?"
they asked each other.
"My God, how
awful!"
"Did he jump? Or
she?"
"You can't tell."
"Not much left, is
there?"
"All this pushing and
shoving, that's how people get killed."
"Did you see the blood?
All up the front of the train, all over the windows. Oh, Lord, I'm going to be
sick!"
Margery forced her trembling
legs to take her away from that place and up the stairs. Just past the magazine
stand she sighted a slim figure in a pale blue coat. She snatched at the
woman's arm. The other whirled around, yanking her arm free.
"Yes, it was him!"
"I only meant to punish
him, to make him squirm," Margery whispered. "I never thought --
"
"It was an accident! He
chased me, I ran, he grabbed my arm. So I turned and I said, 'Hello, Brian,'
and I showed him my face. Like this."
Close against the wall, her
back to the streaming crowd, Carla lifted her swathe of silky hair to reveal a
bisected face. The flawless contours of the left side, the beauty of the one
dark blue eye, served only as contrast to the right side, which had obviously
once been terribly broken. It had been laboriously rebuilt to something like
human shape.
The cheek and jaw were still
a patchwork of colours from recent operations. The right eye, though nicely
matched to the colour of its living mate, stared soullessly.
"He didn't like my face.
He stepped back. And he fell. And then the train was there."
Margery closed her eyes a moment.
Then she said, "We have to tell somebody."
"Why? He left me lying
in my blood. He drove away and left me to die."
"But you didn't die,
neither of you."
"No: Paulo was only
bruised. I guess my face, at the hospital, finished it for him. By the time I
could speak to the police, Brian was gone, too, out of the country. They said
there was no use pursuing the matter, nothing could be proved. And I thought there
was no justice."
"You think this is
justice?"
"Not exactly."
Carla's smile was twisted on the right side. "He's better off now than I
am."
Margery stared at her
bleakly. Carla returned an odd, sly, fierce look, from under the half-mask of
her hair.
Margery backed away. She
slipped into the outgoing mass of safe, sane, everyday people, as if they were
a stream that could cleanse her. She never saw Carla again.