Appointment on the Northbound Train.
by Peter DiBart

06.17.02 [9:06 pm]

Allen Turning. A British transvestite. He was a code breaker during WWII. He killed himself when the war ended. He simply could not accept the reduction in life. For him life was burning, the code was everything. There was nothing left after that.

That little tid-bit comes from an interesting conversation with a grizzled but elegant gentleman of later years who carried in his lap the book, "Battle of Wits". I seated myself opposite him in a facing four just inside the first car. "Hey, you made it" he put forth in a soft way as if he had known me forever and was mildly worried that I was not yet present for our pre-appointed meeting, our own "battle of wits." "You made it, that's the best thing, that's what's important at this time of night." He was right. But his open-ended comment and the way in which it was delivered immediately sent my mind to the higher plains of "you made it". Life? Happiness? Personal wellbeing?... or just the train. In truth I was glad to make it. I nearly missed the 9:05 trying to collect my dinner. A 16oz. Fosters Ale, a random catch from a nearly empty, but cold beer barrel at the split-second shop outside of track 34, and a black-and-white cookie from Zarros, where very angry people serve you without bothering to look up.

My "new train friend" was Morris, a wild haired attorney from Chappaqua. I know these three facts because a.) He talks in the second person "so I was saying to myself, Morris, you should go to Israel and spend money. They need that, so that is what I did. It's a different place now...so sad, you can feel the tension, you can't escape it. To just walk around you must believe in destiny. Otherwise you could not function" b.) you could just see that wild hair. That hair, white and receding to the top of his tan head and rising straight out of his scalp in waves. Sort of mad clown like, but distinctly cooler. In fact very cool. I could not imagine him with a crew or other such close cut. That display of personal freedom and disregard for convention surrounded him like a glow of white light. And finally c.) because he got up at Chappaqua only after the doors of the train had already opened, at once expressed his pleasure at our meeting, shook my hand earnestly, and was............ gone.

During those moments he talked about Israel. As mentioned he had recently returned. He went without his wife. It was something he had to do. Go to Israel and spend money, because that's what they need. He jumped right in. I know what I know about the man in front of me only from the facts along the way. He couldn't be bothered with the formal introductory stuff. Already knowing it was at once mundane and small talk that would take away from the more important issues at had. After all we had had this moment scheduled since time itself and I almost didn't make it. Time. Time. Time. Time is of the essence.

He needed to talk and I needed to listen. I can only imagine with distress had I not "made it". Another moment scheduled with another individual would have to be at once moved up and booked in my moment. What would that appointment have been like? Would Morris suddenly become a sad, wild train freak? One of those 'talkers'. 'My life sucks so how could yours be interesting.' I believe it's a good thing for both of us that I made my appointment.