Chapter 46(41). Advancing Toward the Past |
Marie naturally followed behind me.
“You’re staying here.”
I stopped her.
“When we leave, they’ll certainly try something foolish. You need to stop them.”
“I—I really don’t understand what’s happening right now. Everything is just so confusing.”
She remembered nothing.
She stood alone, frozen in the endless currents of time. There was no other way. Her time had ended prematurely. And I was the one who had made it so.
“Please take me with you.”
“Marie, please.”
I didn’t want to find out. One such horrific experience was enough for her.
“You’re a very wise woman. Do what you can here. You’ll know what needs to be done.”
I deliberately spoke a meaningless yet profound-sounding sentence. I knew Marie was susceptible to such cryptic phrases. Taking advantage of her momentary contemplation, I opened the compartment door and stepped out. The fat man followed behind me.
—————Whiiiiissssh.
As I opened the compartment door, a violent sandstorm howled magnificently around us.
Ancient sand grains, perhaps trapped in this time-crevice for hundreds of thousands of years, worked their way between my eyelashes. This star-governed space remained coldly indifferent to the passage of eons.
I staggered several times but gripped the railing and held firm.
The wind came in rhythmic waves, building until I nearly toppled over, then suddenly subsiding just as I was about to fall.
Despite my bad leg, I crossed between the carriages with relative ease, drawing on my past experiences. But the fat man stood frozen before the railing, unable to move for quite some time.
“For heaven’s sake, move those legs of yours.”
Only after hearing my sharp words did the man, trembling visibly, cross between the carriages. He had a more flexible body than I’d expected—stretching his legs wide apart and sliding across without even lifting his trailing foot.
Together we entered carriage number 4.
I worried we might encounter the remaining passengers in carriage 4, but fortunately, that worry proved unnecessary.
“You know,” I said as we moved through the corridor.
The man flinched at my voice.
“Despite appearances, you have a certain steadfastness to you.”
“What?”
“I may have scolded you earlier, but I truly see you differently now.”
He blinked in surprise.
“I thought you disliked me!”
“I assumed you were past the age of craving approval. If you so dislike being disliked, perhaps you should have done something worthy of praise.”
After my curt reply, the man fell silent, seemingly deflated once again.
Initially, I walked in the lead, but after entering the compartment, our positions reversed. With my bad leg and the man’s complete disregard for my condition, he ended up walking ahead of me.
Even so, he never strayed too far. He was a man who lacked confidence even in his stride. I merely had a physical impairment, while his wounds were of the spirit. Different injuries, yet when it came to pace, we found common ground.
“Hey, let me ask you something.”
At my question, the man stopped and turned his head.
“We can talk while walking.”
He resumed his slow forward trudge.
“What is it?”
“Why did you follow me?”
The man offered no answer to my question.
“I’m not asking with ill intent. I’m genuinely curious. Forgive my bluntness, but you hardly seem suited for this kind of adventure, even by the most generous assessment. You appear more fitted for ordinary office work, as you yourself suggested.”
He remained silent for quite some time. We crossed another train car without exchanging a word.
“My grandfather served in the navy. Like you.”
“How did you know I had a naval background?”
“Your profanity gave it away. My grandfather used the same coarse language.”
The man spoke with unexpected composure. Only now did I realize he possessed quite a dignified voice. This quality had remained hidden because until now, he’d been squealing with the high-pitched timbre of a suckling pig.
But now, far from displaying that frivolity, his speech carried the polished articulation of someone well-educated in an aristocratic household.
I formed a hypothesis. Perhaps inside the compartment, nervousness had prevented him from speaking properly. For all his apparent love of the spotlight, the man himself suffered from severe stage fright.
He embodied an irony as excessive as his girth.
“My grandfather was a genuine hero. A true man of the sea. He assisted Admiral Nelson at the Battle of Trafalgar in driving back the invader Napoleon.”
“Impressive. You must be very proud of your grandfather.”
A complex expression crossed the man’s face. I had seen a young man with just such a look not long ago.
Noel Augustine, that pitiful second-generation Frenchman.
A mediocre son with an excellent father. Though the circumstances differed, the emotions they harbored seemed remarkably similar. Pride and inferiority—two feelings with dramatically opposing vectors despite sharing the same origin point.
“I knew from the beginning.”
“Knew what?”
“That you’re an extraordinary person. You must have been a splendid hero, just like my grandfather.”
Our conversation ended there.
Despite our deliberately languid pace, we had reached the end of the car, our dialogue having stretched longer than anticipated. I stopped the man as he reached for the door.
“We won’t be entering car number 3 just yet. Though everyone’s warnings were crudely expressed earlier, I don’t believe they were exaggerating. The passengers in car number 4 have truly become dangerous. If we proceed forward, they won’t simply stand by and watch.”
“Then what do we do? We still have quite a distance to cover before reaching the driver’s cabin.”
I lifted my gaze upward. The man’s face instantly drained of color.
“First, let’s climb atop the car and bypass car number 3 altogether.”
“Have you lost your mind?!”
He leapt backward in alarm, his shout echoing through the corridor.
“Crossing to the driver’s cabin once is already foolhardy enough—you propose to do it twice?”
“I never insisted you accompany me.”
The man stamped his feet in frustration, then set down the bag he’d been clutching like a precious relic. While rummaging through it, he produced an exploration knife I recognized, alongside a pistol I’d never seen before.
“A Webley Revolver.”
“You recognize it?”
“It’s standard military issue, so I know it by name at least. My old companions were the antiquated Enfield and Beaumont-Adams. Are you familiar with them?”
He shook his head.
“They were rather fine firearms… Had I not dropped them in the mud during my final engagement, I might still have a serviceable pistol today.”
I lamented with a wistful sigh.
While pistols could hardly be considered part of a gentleman’s refinement, perhaps such items were necessary provisions in these circumstances. I resolved that should I survive this ordeal, I would certainly arm myself accordingly.
“Then even if I were to lend you this, you wouldn’t be able to use it properly.”
“One pistol is essentially the same as another.”
“I’ll lend you this instead.”
He handed me the exploration knife with the air of bestowing a great favor. I was so astounded that I couldn’t help but scoff.
“Giving a knife to a limping veteran while keeping the gun for yourself—what a splendid division of labor.”
“You wielded it competently before.”
“Indeed, fencing ranks second only to marksmanship among my talents.”
“What if you miss at a critical moment with an unfamiliar firearm!”
I seriously doubted his sincerity.
How could I not? I wasn’t confident I could miss such an enormous target even if I were blindfolded and spinning. Firing randomly into the air would likely yield a fifty percent success rate at minimum.
But being in no position to debate the matter, I accepted the offered knife with feigned gratitude. My expectations remained low. No matter how sharp the blade, it would hardly suffice against such formidable adversaries.
“From the moment we exit, we absolutely cannot stop until we reach car number 2.”
I instructed.
“Do you understand? Under no circumstances are we to stop.”
After emphasizing this point several times to the visibly anxious man, we ventured outside.
——————Clunk clunk.
Atop the swaying carriage, we crossed over to car number 3. I managed to climb onto the roof without much difficulty, relying on my grip strength. The fat man took considerably longer, burdened as he was by the considerable extra weight he carried.
“Hurry! They’ve spotted us!”
At my urgent cry, the man’s face drained of color as he bolted forward. Unlike his laborious ascent to the roof, his movements now displayed surprising agility—the practiced form of someone familiar with either horsemanship or rugby.
Yet despite his physical capabilities, his awareness was woefully lacking.
He knew only to run forward, never thinking to survey his surroundings or look above. In my desperation, I tightened my core and bellowed against the howling wind.
“Duck!”
Without even verifying the threat, the man immediately covered his head and flattened himself against the carriage roof.
A heartbeat later, an enormous maw swept through the air just above us.
“You bloody fool!”
I unleashed a string of curses. We might have escaped immediate death, but our situation could scarcely have been worse.
This wasn’t some frontal assault with bullets—we were being attacked from above. Cowering on the ground offered no protection whatsoever. In fact, it was the worst possible position, rendering him unable to assess his surroundings or flee.
“Run forward! Don’t look back—just run as if the devil himself were at your heels!”
I barked the command while scrambling to move.
By some stroke of fortune, I wasn’t too late. I managed to plunge the exploration knife into the horse-like head as it lunged toward the man’s exposed back. The creature’s neck jerked upward, thrashing wildly in the air.
───────!!!
Its head resembled a grotesque fusion of horse and hound, but its cry matched no terrestrial mammal. If I were to describe it, I’d call it the deep, frigid scream of a whale echoing from the darkest recesses of the abyssal plain.
It was a sound so bone-chillingly desolate that it could wrench the soul from one’s body by mere exposure.
So horrific was this wail that even I, hardened by countless terrors, instinctively clapped my hands over my ears—costing me any chance to retrieve the exploration knife. The real concern was my dull-witted companion—a man of such timidity could hardly withstand such an unearthly noise.
He had collapsed face-down on the roof again, hands pressed desperately against his ears.
“Run, you damned imbecile!”
I roared through clenched teeth.
Startled to attention by my commanding voice, the man lurched forward again, his substantial girth quivering with each step. We remained far from safety. Though we’d momentarily driven the creature back, its demeanor suggested we’d merely provoked its rage.
It was already descending rapidly toward the train again. I silently wished it might crash fatally into the ground, though I knew better—only humans are foolish enough to hurl themselves from the sky in suicidal fashion.
The man leapt from car number 3 onto car number 2, disappearing inside. I hobbled after him as quickly as my impaired leg would allow.
Mere seconds before the enraged beast reached the ground, I threw myself desperately at the door of car number 2, tumbling inside.
I attempted to scramble further in, only to discover the door already closed. That selfish dullard hadn’t even considered holding it open. I yanked frantically at the handle and hurled myself deeper inside.
Without a moment to collect myself, I crawled madly forward on hands and knees.
─────Pong! Pong! Pong!
The creature thrust its elongated snout through the doorway, snapping wildly in an attempt to seize me between its jaws, but I had already dragged myself beyond its reach. Each furious gnashing of its teeth sent tremors through the entire carriage as its jaw struck the floor.
Eventually, unable to force its bulk through the entrance, it withdrew with what I imagined to be reluctant fury.
“Huff… huff…”
I slumped against the wall, seated on the floor, struggling to regain my breath.
Meanwhile, the man had wedged himself into a corner of the carriage, trembling uncontrollably. Though the temperature in car number 2 was indeed colder than outside, I suspected that was hardly the sole cause of his violent shaking.
“You’re right, it’s my fault.”
Though I had uttered not a word, he responded as if to an accusation. With only the two of us present, there could be no question to whom he addressed his words.
“Leave me behind. I’m nothing but a hindrance even now. But please understand—it’s not for lack of trying. I’ve done everything humanly possible to uphold my family’s honor. Everything, I tell you!”
Even at a glance, his mental state was clearly deteriorating. He ranted in a delirium of fear and self-loathing.
“But what can I do? Heroes are born, not made, and my capacity reaches only this far! Is it truly so greedy for someone not born with greatness to aspire to heroism like my grandfather—or you? Is that failing mine to bear?”
As his frenzied monologue concluded, he dissolved into wracking sobs.
“No. You labor under a profound misapprehension.”
I replied, extracting a water flask from my coat pocket.
“What you lack is not courage, but time and experience—the time and experience necessary to understand you are not, and never will be, a hero.”
The man’s face crumpled into an expression of utter despair. I continued without sympathy.
“I don’t know what image of me you’ve constructed in your mind, but I assure you I am hardly the exemplary figure you imagine. Far from being a hero, upon closer examination, I’m rather the antithesis of one.”
I uncapped the water flask and raised it to my lips, only to discover I’d already drained the whiskey. A soft curse escaped my lips.
——————Thud! Thud! Thud!
The ornate chandelier overhead swayed violently. Evidently, we wouldn’t be leaving this carriage anytime soon. I tucked the flask back into my inner pocket—a habitual gesture ingrained in me decades ago.
“Sixteen years ago, I found myself in hell.”
My voice was steady, detached.
“Sardinia’s summer was merciless. After two months marooned on that island, our supplies had dwindled to nothing, and enemies thirsty for our blood surrounded us at every turn. We routinely spent days buried underground like corpses to evade our pursuers. Our only allies were Sardinia’s dense forests and craggy mountains, which sheltered us for nearly two years.”
The man regarded me with a pitiful countenance, his face still streaked with tears.
“But that first summer was unbearable. None of us knew how to forage in the wilderness, let alone survive in it. We had never before experienced the complete exhaustion of our provisions. Can you imagine the peculiar torment of missing your post-luncheon tea and biscuits?”
I’d intended this as a moment of levity, but the man’s expression remained unchanged. Feeling awkward, I hastened to continue.
“Have you ever visited the Mediterranean? Summer there bears no resemblance to London’s climate. It differs even from France. Compared to London’s fetid, oppressive heat, Sardinia was at least five degrees warmer, and despite being encircled by ocean, the parched air scraped your lungs with every breath. Under such conditions, we marched interminably without respite, and my exhausted men succumbed to fevers one by one. Even when we chanced upon water sources, we were forced to abandon them after a day or two to avoid enemy patrols.”
I shivered in the carriage’s chill even as I recounted that scorching heat—an irony not lost on me as we pressed forward while dwelling on the past.
“How we prayed for cooling rain, but the skies remained as dry as ancient parchment. Approximately two weeks after the last rainfall, my men began to collapse like dominoes. Their bodies were so saturated with sweat that they appeared freshly dredged from water—we called it ‘drowning on dry land.’ Once they reached that stage, salvation was impossible. We comforted ourselves by saying they had drowned in the water they never got to drink.”
My voice roughened as I spoke, whether from the cold or the weight of years, I couldn’t say.
“In retrospect, I contemplated surrender countless times. Perhaps that would have been wiser. We might have perished ignobly, true, but perhaps not—they might have treated us as prisoners of war and repatriated us. Yet I never gave the order. Had I done so, the conflict would have stretched on interminably, claiming even more young lives. Whether driven by youthful audacity, unwavering loyalty to Her Majesty, or simply swept up in war’s madness, our endurance ultimately helped bring the conflict to its conclusion. Thus, no sacrifice was in vain. Her Majesty personally decorated me for my service. Nevertheless, I still question whether my actions that summer held any true value.”
Somewhere along the line, those memories had become almost foreign to me. Even now, recalling them felt like acknowledging distant tragedies that happened to someone else. I fixed my gaze upon the man’s eyes.
“I merely lived according to what seemed right in each moment. Would you still insist on calling me a hero?”
“I… I…”
Words failed him. I provided the conclusion he couldn’t articulate.
“There are no heroes in this world. That is reality’s harshest truth.”