“Isn’t it something?”
He said.
“What is?”
I raised my eyebrows and looked straight at him.
“This?”
“I have gotten used to it”
I had taken the night train that drove from a small village in the north back to Nottingham, taking only few detours. I didn’t sleep much during the ride – I had always found it quite difficult to sleep on trains, especially on such quiet ones. One might have thought the silence would have calmed me down, yet the one thing it did do, was cause me unrest. I had always had an issue with pure silence; voiceless rooms, concert halls without music, but I had almost forgotten how much quiet train rides upset me. The droning sound of the wheels scratching against the tracks was the one thing besides his voice that I could focus on.
It had been a few hours now that I had learnt of my shadow’s own life.
“It didn’t take you too long to find me quite reasonable?”
He asked.
“I don’t know. There are many books about characters whose shadows lead a life of their own. After all, how am I any different from Peter Pan?”
I said sarcastically.
“Ah well.”
He thought for a moment.
“But isn’t Peter Pan’s shadow more mischievous than anything else?”
He looked proud of his point, though I didn’t want to let him get ahead.
“I guess it is a matter of perspective.”
The train took up some speed as it rolled down a steep hill and we found ourselves soon surrounded by a large river that seemed neither to start nor end anywhere I could see.
“And you don’t find it strange?”
He asked, trying to hide his smile.
“I don’t think so. No.”
I said.
Perhaps I had lied. In fact I almost couldn’t believe it, but when doubt arose, I remembered that all lives are stories – and stories tend to have some strange element to them after all.
The train drove over the river for a good while until it stood still before a junction. The doors were locked and no one tried to get out, though at moments I thought how simple it would be to pry them open, and dive into the cold water.
The wooden bridge swayed in the wind and the creaks proudly announced its age – at times one could hear the water flowing beneath and the sun holding its warm hand above the waves, and one felt enveloped by this calling of the sea, this hand- no, arm, reaching out for the old train and pulling us closer.
And as the rain that had been falling down, sluicing along the old winding-windows let off and became one with the water of the river, the bright dot on the horizon graced the world with the light of a new day – and we stood still on the old tracks.
Like rain upon fire we were cast out into dark shadows of distant light.
And when the water dragged out and wind swept above those sullen waves, I saw for the briefest moment what should become of me, what had already become of him, these years of my life, of my shadow’s existence in the cold world, in the world that had rained down upon me – the world that lead me by a leash and dragged me away like a dog to its death.
“Are you sure?”
He asked.
“I don’t know.”
I said and we were quiet.