The Night Walk Men Read Online Free Page A

lips. He had heard
a short discourse whispered next to his ear and found himself alone
in the rain, coming to grips with what it meant when he heard the
little girl go over the edge of the platform. A dog had been loosed
in the station years ago and before it had been crushed by the
coming train he could tell by the echoing of its whimpers that it
was down in the track pit.
    The little girl’s whimpers
and grunts of effort had that same distinct hollowness and Braille
knew in his bones that she was somewhere down below the platform,
just as that dog had been.
    The mother’s scream
confirmed it.
    Braille’s sax hit the tile
floor hard. And he was off across the distance and into the pit
before he could rationalize the decision.
     
     
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    He’s lived past his
due , Montserrat had said to Obsidion, as
they had drank tea. He’s old and he’s
tired and he’s slipped through the cracks for too long. No good can
come of his creeping existence. You must perform your
Duty.
    Obsidion thought for a
long time. The two of them sat in silence, Monserrat sipping from
his cup, Obsidion saying nothing, only looking into his own
lap.
    Finally, he
spoke.
    But she still has so much
life , Obsidion said to Montserrat,
ignoring his own tea, not caring for its bitter taste any
more.
    Yes, but understand the
Word, my brother. The Word says it’s her time as well as
his.
    And so Obsidion had. He
bowed his head to Montserrat, as He had always done, and had set
forth to perform his Duty yet again.
     
     
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    The train roared into the
station, not easing on its brakes as usual but trying to slow down
faster than intended when the engineer saw what appeared to be two
people on the track ahead. The window of the ticket booth
shuddered. The brakes squealed.
    As he scooped up the
little girl, Braille the Rail had a recollection of Obo the Hobo’s
final discourse, whispered to him only a half-minute before and
finally understood what it meant. Moments after the blind sax man
reached up to the platform with a dirty three year old girl in his
hands, handing her off to the girl’s daddy, the train came in and
took his place.
    A panic-stricken father,
only three or four paces behind the old blind man who had ambled
over the edge faster than his age should have allowed, was now
cradling his little girl, wet faced and shocked, still bawling at
the ordeal. A similarly-shocked mother and twin son soon huddled
them as other station employees began to crowd around.
    Gabriela the great was
healthy, save for bruises and that long gash on her arm. She would
grow to be a young woman. But the Night Walk Men will come for
her.
    They always do.
     
     
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    Braille the Rail, the old
blind saxophone player, living long past his run, to the age of one
hundred and nine, was finally taken at his train station on that
rainy night in September, 1964. Before the train hit his body,
Obsidion gently let his heart stop. Along with his
music.
     
     
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    Last: The Flowing Robes of
Montserrat
     
    You’re greedy. Look at
you: you’re still here. Still wanting to hear the sordid details,
still wanting for every last crumb. Can’t you let our Gabriela live
her life, what’s left of it? Must you have your nose in it
all?
    You think you know so
much. You think you’re so special, that you’ve done this and you’ve
done that. The truth is that you think you know it all. But I’ve been around
a lot longer
than you have.
I’ve seen a whale of a lot more in my ten lives than you have in
your one life. The truth is, I’m probably more human than you
are.
    Fine. You’re still here. I
can accept that. Let’s finish this then. It won’t matter much.
You’ll still be the same as you were before.
    I told you that I’d share
what I know. Fine. Let’s share.
     
     
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    What is a Life?
    If you would ask Obsidion,
standing with your feet in the warm sand, his robes of black
touched lightly by movement