{"id":826,"date":"2020-12-06T16:12:52","date_gmt":"2020-12-06T20:12:52","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/?page_id=826"},"modified":"2021-06-24T16:05:59","modified_gmt":"2021-06-24T20:05:59","slug":"the-train-moves-and-the-fields-stand-still","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/fiction-archive\/the-train-moves-and-the-fields-stand-still\/","title":{"rendered":"The Train Moves and the Fields Stand Still"},"content":{"rendered":"\r\n
\"\"

Bugs and Doughnuts<\/em> by Ashley Miller<\/p><\/div>\r\n

\u00a0<\/h3>\r\n

The Train Moves and the Fields Stand Still<\/strong><\/h3>\r\n

William Hayward<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

The train rolls along. I look out the window and see fields surrounded by fields, different shades of green and brown and yellow. Sometimes a train station appears, and sometimes we stop, but not often. The fields are bordered by wooden gates and farmhouses and occasional patches of trees and bushes. My heart hurts from nothing. My eyes hurt from seeing the same thing. When the train speeds through the blackness of a tunnel, I dream about what might be on the other side. I imagine deserts and rain forests. Beautiful women and men standing naked, trying to hitchhike on trains with their thumbs out. Giraffes dancing the conga and quoting Anton Chekov in sign language. When the train comes out of the tunnel, I see more fields.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

The train journey is long. I’ve been on it for three hours and will be on it for five hours more. I\u2019ve moved seats five times to stop people from sitting next to me, but now the train is nearly full and there isn\u2019t anywhere else to go. I put my bag on the seat next to me, a last attempt to stop someone from sitting next to me, but in the two seats opposite, a young couple has sat down. The man is wearing a gray suit that\u2019s too big for him and bifocal glasses that magnify his eyes, and the woman is pretty with curly black hair and dark skin and freckles. She has her hand on his lap. Her hand is curved up as if she\u2019s waiting for him to hold it. He’s reading a newspaper but ignores it. She pulls a phone from her pocket with her free hand and scrolls through it. She does this for a few minutes and then puts it back in her pocket. They don\u2019t speak at all.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

On the other side of the aisle an old man has a table seat. He\u2019s sitting by himself and has stretched his feet across two seats. His coat is tucked behind his head, and his tie is loose. He leans forward and tugs at the back of his shoes every few seconds and grunts. Sometimes he takes one shoe off and pulls at the back like he’s trying to stretch it out. The shoes are\u00a0leather and look new. He continues to pull at it before slipping it back on and starting the process all over again.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

I look out the window and see some small trees in the middle of a large field. They are dead and have no leaves, and the bark has peeled away from them so they are white in the sun like jagged bones sticking from the ground.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

It depresses me again, looking out the window, so I start to read the back of the newspaper the bifocal man is holding.<\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

<\/p>\r\n

\"\"

Rhett Butler in a Fishbowl<\/em> by Ashley Miller<\/p><\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

There\u2019s a cartoon about a bearded man shaving for the first time in years. The final panel shows him sitting in a train station holding his cut-off beard in one hand. Beneath the cartoon is an article about a man who was killed in the street by a brick. It fell from the roof of one of the buildings and crushed his shoulder. He died a few days later. There are two pictures of the man next to the article. In one, he is healthy and with his family; in the other he is alone in the hospital, his body deformed. Whether the brick just fell or if someone threw it, I don\u2019t find out. The bifocal man clears his throat. “EHUM.”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

I try to carry on reading.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“EHUM!”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

I look up. His eyes are on me.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Can I help you?” I say.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

I see that he is a bit cross-eyed when he stares straight at me. One eye focuses on my eyes while the other points somewhere near my chin. He clears his throat again and pulls at his tie before speaking.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“I would appreciate it if you would stop staring at my wife,” he says.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“I was just reading the back of your newspaper,” I say.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Don’t lie. Do you think I haven\u2019t seen you looking up at us every few minutes? Do you think I\u2019m an idiot? You’ve been doing it ever since we sat down, and I’m getting sick of it.”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

His face is red, and he is sweating.<\/p>\r\n

<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

The pretty woman is looking at me and frowning. Her hand has flipped over and is gripping the man\u2019s leg tightly. The old man is tugging at the back of his shoes still and ignores us.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Look,” I protest, “if you don\u2019t believe me, I can tell you what it says on the back of the paper. The article is about–“<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

The man holds up his hand and glares some more.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

I haven’t gotten to the end of the paper yet, he says, and I didn’t buy it to have it ruined by some pervert on the train.<\/p>\r\n

“Come on, Lisa.”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

He stands up and starts to pull a large suitcase out from under his seat. When he bends down his glasses slip down his nose and fall onto the floor. I want to try to calm him down, so I lean over in my chair to pick up his glasses for him and bang my head and my hand on the head and hand of Lisa.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

She gasps a little as our heads hit, and the man gasps a little when he hears her gasp. He sits back down and waits for his glasses with his hand out. I lean back so Lisa can get the glasses, but she leans back to get away from me.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

The glasses are still on the floor.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Are you okay?” the man asks Lisa.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Yes,” she says. “We just banged heads trying to get the glasses.”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

She bends down again to pick them up, moving slowly to make sure I don\u2019t make any sudden moves, but I don\u2019t move.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Banged heads? With who?” he says as she hands him the glasses. His eyes are tiny without them on and are flicking wildly around. I wonder if he can see at all without them. He slips them back on, and his eyes settle immediately. They are still cross-eyed, but they focus on Lisa.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“With…with him,” Lisa says and gestures at me.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

He almost jumps out of his seat at me. He spits when he speaks.<\/p>\r\n

“Jesus Christ man, what’s the matter with you?”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Honey, it was just an accident,” Lisa says. “He was just trying to get your glasses at the same time I was.” She is patting his tie and pulling at his shirt, trying to calm him down.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Even the man with the small shoes can\u2019t ignore us now and is staring at us.<\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Lisa and the bifocal man stand up. He\u2019s pulled the suitcase from under the seat, and they are both staring at me. He\u2019s tucked his newspaper underneath his arm and is stroking it as if it is some kind of animal. She is still smoothing his tie. His face is getting redder and redder. He\u2019s managed to gain some control over his eyes so they are now almost symmetrical. One of them is focused on my eyes and the other focuses somewhere near one of my eyebrows.\u00a0I don\u2019t know what is going on.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Honestly, this is all just a misunderstanding,” I say, raising my hands in a pleading way.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“So, you\u2019re a thief as well as a pervert,” the man hisses, spitting some more at me.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“A thief?”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Trying to take my glasses! Wanting to take my wife!”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“I was just looking at the newspaper.”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“That’s a damn lie. I was watching you the whole time,” he screams.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Lisa puts both hands around his arm and tries to pull him away. People further down the train have stood up and are watching. Some of them are laughing and some are just staring and shaking their heads.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

I remain sitting and look up at them both. Lisa is taller than him, and his head only reaches her chin. She has one hand on his shoulders, holding it tight.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Lisa looks around at the staring people and blushes. I think again how pretty she is.<\/p>\r\n

<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“So, you were staring at me?” I ask.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

The man shakes his head once and laughs.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Come on, Al,” Lisa says, “let’s just find somewhere else to sit. You\u2019re disturbing other people.”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“I’m not going anywhere until he admits he was staring at you.”<\/p>\r\n

He pulls the newspaper from under his arm, folds it again, and puts it back. He looks at me and then at Lisa and then back again. I look up at Al and Lisa. I look past them at the other faces. I am still confused.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Alright, I was staring at her,” I say.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Al\u2019s eyes bulge some more. Lisa blushes some more.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Why?” Al asks, quieter now.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“She’s very pretty.”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Al stutters. He looks like he is going to collapse.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“So, you admit it, do you?”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“I just did.”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“That you\u2019re a filthy pervert.”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“I didn’t admit that.”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Lisa whispers, “Al, please come on.”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Well, you were staring at her because you find her attractive. I would call that being a pervert. Wouldn\u2019t you?”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“No.”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Albert!” Lisa almost shouts.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Do you want to fuck her?”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Excuse me?”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Do you want to sleep with my wife?”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Lisa starts hitting his arms. He jerks around from the hits. She pulls at his tie, and it tangles and tightens around his throat. She hits him again and, with a cry, picks up the suitcase and runs down the train. She is crying.<\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

<\/p>\r\n

\"\"

Broken Hand<\/em> by Ashley Miller<\/p><\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Al doesn\u2019t look at her. He stares at me. He doesn\u2019t seem to notice she\u2019s gone. I look past him at her back as she drags the suitcase down the train. I look back at him and see myself reflected in his glasses.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

“Yeah, I want to sleep with her,” I say.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Al shakes his head, gasps, and pushes his glasses up. I expect them to be steamed up.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

He leans closer to me.<\/p>\r\n

“Pervert,” he says and then starts down the train after Lisa. He is almost running. Half the people on the train are staring at him, and the other half are staring at me.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

When he\u2019s disappeared into another carriage everyone stares at me. I\u2019m blushing. My face feels hot, and when I rub it, I feel some sweat. I look away from everyone. I look back out the window and look at the fields again. Across the aisle, I hear the old man with the small shoes tugging at them again. He is grunting. The other passengers sit back down, and soon no one thinks of me at all. Through the window I see field after field after field, and, reflected in the window, I see the man tugging at his shoes. He is still grunting. And suddenly I start laughing.<\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

\"\"<\/figure>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

 <\/p>\r\n

William Hayward<\/strong> was born in Birmingham, England. He has been writing for several years, mainly in short fiction. He’s previously been published in The Emerald City Review<\/em>, The White Wall Review<\/em> and Underwood Press<\/em>.<\/p>\r\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0 The Train Moves and the Fields Stand Still William Hayward The train rolls along. I look out the window and see fields surrounded by fields, different shades of green Continue Reading →<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2919,"featured_media":0,"parent":1301,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/826"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2919"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=826"}],"version-history":[{"count":18,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/826\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1585,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/826\/revisions\/1585"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1301"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubalt.edu\/welter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=826"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}