Sky Island
Chapter I
The train car violently shook back and forth. Jason snapped out of his drowsy slumber. The arm that he was using as a pillow was soaked with drool and numb with the amount of sleep that he wished he could achieve. It was impossible to sleep on trains. Every movement, every spike, he could feel it. He could feel it crawl up through his spine and taunt his bones, his brain. ‘Sleep is for the weak’ it would say, laughing. The taunt would then echo throughout his mind, further taunting him. Why did he bother to try to sleep time and time again? Such was a pointless notion.
His eyes were sleep lost in the sleep world, but his mind, his ears had tuned into a disturbance in the car. Colonel Mustang was yelling at some poor service boy. It did not take much to set off the colonel, and this time it was the matter of some drink splashing on his shoes. “You stupid nigger,” He howled, “Do you know how much these shoes cost?”
The service boy shook his head no. “No sir. I’m sorry sir. It will not happen again sir. Please, take this as a sign of my sincerest apologies sir.” The service boy refilled the colonel’s drink, free of charge. He scuttled away before suffering anymore verbal abuse from the colonel. The colonel, still red in the face, took a sip of his drink, muttering under his breath about ‘stupid niggers’. His balding head, his pudgy face was still moist with angry sweat. “I tell you,” he said, still cursing the boy, “These niggers get worse every year.”
Jason nodded in agreement. At least the train had woken him and not the colonel’s tantrum. “I tell you,” Jason said, averting his gaze outside to watch the train race by the green pastures under the vibrant blue sky, “it’s like they don’t even respect us.”
Next to Jason sat Christophe, who was unusually quiet throughout this whole ordeal. His mind was lost in the newspaper, reading about the latest on the war. Reading glasses hung from his nose, sculpting his face in a pointed manner. “I say, the longer this goes on, the less I want to go home. We should be at the forefront of this.” Christophe said, oblivious to the fit that the colonel had just thrown.
Colonel Mustang slammed his finished drink down using the force of his entire body. His wispy hair and muttonchops swayed as if a powerful gust had blown through the car. “No one is forcing you to go home, you know.”
The newspaper was folded in half so that Christophe could see over it. “Oh, but there is,” he said with enthused rhythm. There was always a reason to return home: the girls. Every single man in the car had a woman to that their heart belonged: Colonel Mustang had been married a happy sixteen years; Christophe had been dating a cute girl for the last four months, whom he expressed an eventual desire to marry; Jason was prepared to propose the day that he returned. Each had a reason to return, a reason that kept them away from the war.
“I’ll drink to that!” Colonel Mustang said as he slid the car door open. “Now, where did that damn nigger run off to?” He sighed heavily. “I tell you, they’re always there when you don’t want them but when you need them they vanish!”
Jason smirked. “I’ll drink to that!” He repeated the colonel’s words with sarcasm.
“So Jason,” Christophe put down his newspaper, “I’ve heard murmurs that you wish to be married to the lovely Victoria. I must say: congratulations on landing such a fine woman.”
Jason held up his drink. “Thank you my kind friend. She is truly lovely. And, if I may as well… that lass, what was her name… Elizabeth? She too is a worthy prize.”
Christophe picked up his glass and cheered Jason. “Yes, she truly is. I feel that she is the one for me. Hopefully she feels the same.”
Jason patted his friend on the shoulder. “I don’t see why not! You are a fine catch yourself!”
The men laughed. The laughter helped these long boring train rides all the more bearable. Five hours. That was how long it took to return home. That was how long it took to return to London. Home was the battlefield, not the city. Oh how these men longed for the smell of gunpowder, the constant threat of death always mocking them straight to their faces. London was just a place to reacquaint oneself with the touch of a woman, lest one forget and become a homosexual.
The train car became dark. Jason peered out the window – the surrounding landscape had as well. Above, a large cluster of clouds slowly crept across the sky. It looked weird, as there were no other clouds in the sky. Today was a beautiful day, and it was depressing to waste it cooped up in a train car.
When the train arrived in London, Jason was pleased to find that he had fallen asleep sometime along the ride. Nothing was impossible! Even though it was a restless sleep, Jason felt refreshed. He was even more excited now to see Victoria. Before his eyes she materialized in all her beauty. Her hair rested just atop her breasts, so firm. Her eyes glimmered in the setting sun, adding in a deep blue to the rich palette of red and purple. Her lips pressed against his, tongues entwined. Lost in a sea of noise and commerce, but alone. Just the two of them as one. Alone. When his eyes opened from this mirage, Jason surveyed his surrounding area to make sure that no one saw him living in this fantasy. He appeared safe. It pleased him to know that when he finally saw Victoria again, her actual beauty would surpass this hallucination. That was why he loved her – every time he returned she found a way to become even more beautiful. Jason scurried home, the sun setting behind him, the clouds seemingly staying in the same place as earlier as if time was standing still, waiting for these lovers to reconvene. Oh how he longed for her touch. Just a short while now.
