Public Works

It was one of those trips which required the full breadth of the modern transportation system, owing to my abrupt decision to travel, the remoteness of the locale, and my own fancy. It must have been Sunday that I left. Sunday, because of the looming Monday.

I spent most of the day on the road with my driver, Adam, whose company I usually enjoy, but that Sunday he had been churlish with me the entire four hour drive to the airport in the mountains. Snappy remarks. Careless stops. I asked what exactly the matter was and he told me that he had learned a bit about my business. “Oh,” I must have said, I don’t quite remember. It was a boorish conversation. I told him he did not know what my business was, and that if he did know he would not be in such a mood, for my business is quite important. Quite important. And good for that matter. He ought to be thankful to have myself as a patron. I did not say this, because it is not my way to press things home so harshly with my employees. The last words I said to him were: “Thank you for the ride, Adam.” Before that I told him: “Please come to a complete stop.”

From the airport I had a note sent to my security detail instructing them to bar Adam from the house while I was away. A bit of a difficult decision to make, but his resentful attitude forced my hand.

The flight was more pleasant but long as well and I could not sleep a wink. I made several visits to the cabin. The pilots did not tighten their shoulders. They did not make backward glances. But I felt a claustrophobic atmosphere in the cockpit.

I asked them no questions. I just liked to see the tip-tops of the clouds from their vantage. I can tell when I am not necessarily wanted, however. The clouds were light in any case. I returned to my seat and spent most of the flight staring out over the wing waiting for my stomach to lurch on descent, which was an almost supernaturally long time in coming.

Afterwards I rode on a freight train because I did not have a referral in that country for a good driver. As a matter of fact, I had heard that there were no good drivers there whatsoever. They will hit potholes on purpose in hopes of blowing a tire so they can keep you waiting for repairs and then charge you for the duration. I did not know if this was an exaggeration or not. To me it seemed unlikely, but I did not want to insult my counsel.

By the time I arrived from the airport to the marshalling yard, it was the middle of the night, and I was exhausted. I was helped into the dark lead car by a pair of anonymous hands and sat down in a chair next to a control panel. I fell asleep immediately.

I awoke earlier than I would have liked, such was the flood of morning light into the generously windowed conductor’s car. I found the conductor a pleasant, dutiful man, but we spoke completely different dialects of the same language. I could understand him, but I could not really speak to him, and he couldn’t understand me a bit. I was able to convey with a mix of hand signs, crude napkin maps and the few words I could barely pronounce in his dialect that at some stretch of rail I would tap him on the shoulder and the train would stop so I could finish the rest of my journey on foot.

He would not concede a full stop. I told him I would reimburse the company for costs accrued during the halt. He refused this, and indicated it was his reputation and career that was at stake.  It wasn’t about their money; it was about his time.

“Well,” I said, making a snapping notion with my hands. “What about my body?”

He said something to the effect of “You are a robust man. I will go as slow as my timetables allow.” And this struck me as tragic.

Eventually the train slowed. I glanced out the windows. The firs passed the windows at longer and longer intervals. I saw the top of some mountain, blue in the haze wrought by distance. We seemed to be near the right place.

I was pleased to find the conductor had slowed the train to about walking speed. I had dreaded that he would only nominally slow the train, that he had no concern for my person, but this was not the case. A considerate fellow. I smiled at him and tipped my hat. I said thank you in his dialect. He nodded and opened the door for me. I was just about to step outside when he tapped me on the shoulder. He pointed at his eye, a sign I took to mean caution. I nodded, conveyed in so many gestures and grunts that I had no need for caution seeing how slow he was going, but he shook his head. He mumbled, gestured with his hands.

“Eh… travelers.” And he pointed at his eye. I wracked my brain. I did not know what he meant. I shrugged and smiled. “Have a good jaunt!” And I stepped off, quite able to remain on my feet.

I stood on the edge of the tracks and watched the train rumble and clang past. Its volume at speed made me realize how long it had been since I had watched a train. I forgot how they could stretch without termination to the horizon, carting all number of commodities and heavy goods, throughput products and final products. I saw aircraft fuselages, loaders, steel containers, mountains of coal and grain, pallets and pallets of lumber, slabs of marble and limestone, some already cut and embellished, endless amounts of rebar, stacked and fastened tightly, and a tremendous amount of heavy equipment with buckets and blades. A curious amount of materiel, too. Tanks and self-propelled artillery pieces tied securely with chains. I figured somebody must be building something quite large, and I became concerned when I realized that I had not heard of the project.

A very long time later the train passed me and thundered further into the forest, north toward the mountains. Across the tracks were the same dense woods as behind me and no real indication of the incognito footpath I had commissioned at such great expense decades ago. But I knew which direction was south because of the tracks and that if I cut a rough 45-degree bearing through the woods, I would, in no time, find myself on my westward footpath, and thereupon, eventually, my estate in the woods.

As it turned out, I was overconfident, and the density of those woods proved a stumbling block to quick traversal. There was also the problem of the animals. I saw many chipmunks, and for a time they lifted my spirits. But around two hours into my hike, and just around the time I began to doubt myself, I saw a black bushy tail and lean black legs disappear behind a tree a few hundred yards ahead of me. Thereafter, every scurrying chipmunk over rustling pine needles caused me to jump out of my shoes. Many times I glimpsed a silhouette ahead of me, and stopped dead, but judging by the loping gallop of these creatures as they ran from me, they were elk or moose. I did not see the bushy tailed creature again, even after I found the path, but the thought of it kept me moving at a brisk pace. I remembered the conductor’s warning and wondered if this was the “traveler” to which he had crudely referred.

From the path, it was a surprisingly short distance to the estate, which meant I had asked the conductor to stop farther south than was necessary and cut too shallow an angle from the tracks to find it. In any case I was thankful, because by the time I found it, the sun had set deeply, and in the forest it gets darker more quickly than on the plains, for example.

I set eyes on the log home estate when the sun had totally descended behind it. The cabin stood black against a sky ablaze with deep orange, and the trees which tightly surrounded it curtained the sky’s flaming reach in greenblack, branching fractals. I tend not to be sentimental, but it had been such a trip – I shed one or two tears. I did.

And so I arrived at the property after a great deal of time, what felt to me like centuries or eons. I locked the heavy, carved wooden door and collapsed in a large fireplace chair with a hard drink. My greatcoat kept me warm enough, so I did not start a fire but stared at the hearth. The drink made me sleepy. Soon I was dozing.

When I awoke it was still dark, but I was not tired. I was completely alert and puzzled. What roused me? A flicker of light outside my sitting room window answered the question. Then multiple flickers. And a murmur. Pine needles crunching underfoot. I stood and approached the window. I cupped my hands and peered through the glass: fifteen, twenty people.

Men, mostly. A few women among them, shambling camp followers. I stepped back from the glass, shocked. I went to the entry of the house and peered through the window next to the great wooden front door. I cursed the glazed glass, but I could still see the flickers. Seemed to be more of them.

I swore. What on earth were these people doing here? This was my estate! My dacha. My secluded hide from the problems of this world.

I went to the opposite window where I had a much clearer view and found that some of the men had come closer to the estate, taking nervous steps in worn out boots. They looked like shuffling apes. When one finally realized I was watching him, he stopped. He held out a hand and the others around him stopped. Their eyes turned toward the window. I heard a muffled shout. The front door latch behind me jiggled. Then a loud thump. Then louder thumps. Another shout. The thumps ceased. 

I grabbed the elephant gun from over the hearth, broke the barrel to check that it was loaded (it was), and went to my back door. I threw open the door.

The men staggered backward. They had no hatred or any real fear on their faces. Just curiosity. I could see now that they were all heavily laden with bags. I was the only one with a weapon, which suited me fine.

“What are you people doing here?” I asked.

No answer for a moment. I almost spoke again but then –

There was a crashing noise inside. Broken glazed glass. I reentered my cabin, and saw a foot, an arm. Some man clambering inside. I took aim and fired. I wasn’t prepared for the noise or the recoil. A painting fell off the wall, and I staggered two steps backward. My ears rung and the pressure from the blast jiggled my brain in my skull. I blinked.

A scream came from beyond the broken window, then short staggering breaths, and then nothing. I ran forward and peered through the window, my elephant gun at the ready. Several of the interlopers knelt over a collapsed figure, a pool of blood spreading steadily beneath him on the footpath and the pine needles. I saw more torches from the trees, and shadows bearing them. None approached.

“Don’t you people know who I am?”

I could see from their forlorn and nervous faces they did not. I was stunned by the notion. A problem of delegation I suppose. My people not doing the quality of job they ought.

“If you come through here,” I said, indicating the window. “I will shoot another.”

One of the men nodded. Another raised his arms.

I returned to the back door. The men outside rubbed their eyes and adjusted their packs but did not move. I stared at them.

“One of yours is dead,” I said.

“That’s what a bullet does,” one of the travelers said. His voice was gravelly and accented. It was the one who had first seen me through the window. His eyes drooped from exhaustion, and he had a long and dirty beard.

“That’s what trespassing does.” I said. “Now tell me why you all are here.”

“We are passing through. This place was a surprise.”

“And you know nothing of me?”

“Not the first thing.”

“Where do you come from?”

“South. Different places.”

“Where are you going?”

“Going to the construction site.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s in the north. A hundred thousand are required and we hope to be there before the spots fill.”

“What is being built? And by who?”

“I don’t know what or who but I know it will be large and the builder rich.”

I thought of the train.

“You’re not here to take my estate?”

“Certainly not,” said one, standing by himself, off to the side a bit. A bit younger, wiry. The torch he kept close to his face illuminated a thin mustache. “I’ll build one twice this large when I get paid.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s right.” He clenched his square jaw.

“I have nothing for any of you here. I hardly have enough for myself. Just whiskey and biscuits. I’m certain, judging by the size of your packs, you are better provisioned.”

“That’s alright,” said the bearded one. “We only came near out of curiosity. We are used to camping in the woods by now.”

“Very good,” I said. “I must ask you to continue moving.”

“Forgive us for trespassing.”

“Of course I forgive you.”

I looked out over the sullen mass of lamplit, drawn faces, and their eyes were pits. They shuffled along, calling out to each other quietly as they moved. Their torches bobbed among the trees and then the forest swallowed them.

I leaned the elephant gun against the hearth and returned to my armchair. I sat for a moment, beginning to doze again, but a breeze woke me. I turned my head. The broken entryway window leered at me, the world lightless outside it. After scrounging about the cabin, I found some nails and a hammer, and tacked a blanket over the opening. It would have to do for a time. Maybe a long time.  

After I collapsed in the chair again, I found I could not doze. I could not at all. I reached over to my ebony endtable, fiddled around underneath until my fingers grasped the phone. I took it from the receiver and dialed a number. It rang one time.

“Hello, Michael. Thank you for answering so quickly. I need you to arrange another trip for me out of here. Can you get a helicopter here? Try your hardest. I can’t stand to go out the way I came… No, it was a fine trip here. The trip itself was what I needed. There have been problems at the cabin though. Urgent matters have come to my attention… Good. We’ll talk tomorrow then. Goodbye. Oh, and bring a few extra men. Shovels too. Okay. Goodbye.”

Then I slept.

I awoke once more to light streaming through the windows and noise from outside. The light was the full light of day, but the noise came from beyond the broken window, and I could not see its source. Tearing. Low growling. I grabbed the elephant gun from the hearth and opened the front door. The lean black wolf I had seen earlier in the trees feasted on the corpse of the trespasser.

The sound of the opening door startled the wolf. It jumped and pawed the ground and growled, its teeth crimson and its black fur matted about the snout. It stared at me and then began to eat again, tearing away at a bit of troublesome pantleg.

I shouted and shouldered the elephant gun. “AWAY!”

The wolf growled again, and I saw its eyes travel from the bore of the gun to my eyes and back. It took a step over the carcass toward me.

“Do it.” I said.

Then there was a distant pattering sound. Low, reverberant. Louder and louder as the seconds passed, and eventually unignorable. A chopping roar over the treetops. I looked up and saw a helicopter coming in over the trees to land in the small bit of flatland behind the estate. When I looked back at the wolf, he had left the shredded corpse. He loped into the woods, his tail swinging lazily and heavy. He took one glance back at me as the helicopter descended, and then ran.

I walked to the backyard. As soon as the helicopter touched down, four men exited, Michael first among them, tall, blond, and strong. I waved. He ran toward me and eyed my gun curiously.

“Hello sir,” he said, his voice strained over the sound of the helicopter.

“Tell the pilot to power down. It will be a while before we leave. Tell your men to grab shovels and come with me.”

We gave the trespasser a grave by the tree line. I helped carry his torn corpse and did my best not to look away. I was thankful the wolf had not touched his head. We spent the morning digging, and after we had buried him, I instructed one of Michael’s men to dig up the bloodstained part and then cover it back up again. I placed my elephant gun back over the hearth, locked the door again, and then we left. I sat next to Michael in the helicopter. 

I looked out over the woodland as we traveled east. I saw the track heading north and followed it with my eyes. Toward the blue mountain, and then past it. Far, far past it. I squinted.

“Michael, do you see anything out there?” I pointed.

He looked. “No, sir.”

“Me either.”  I rubbed my chin. “The dead man,” I said. “He was part of a larger group. I only shot him because he tried to break into the estate. A different man from the group said they’re building out there.” I pointed north. “The project needs a hundred thousand. And the freight train I rode to get here was loaded with building materials. Absolutely loaded down. Frightful tonnage. Do you know anything?”

He furrowed his brow. I could tell he shared my concern.

“I haven’t, sir.”

I nodded.

“We should know, shouldn’t we?”

“Certainly.”

“I want my people to build on their own, to work on their own, of course, but I hadn’t heard of it. I didn’t even know there were so many people this far north. And the trespassers, I must say this, not out of any vanity, but because it is troubling in the same vein, and I think related – they came from the south, and they had no knowledge of me.”

“None?”

“None. Why might that be?”

“Your officers – ”

“Michael, I don’t want to blame them – ”

“Pardon the interruption, but what else could it be?”

“I don’t know.”

He shrugged.

We both sat silently for a moment as we passed over a lake so deep and blue it might have been an ocean.

Then I laughed. “I saw tanks on that train, and artillery pieces.”

Michael nodded.

“I can’t stomach another war. I can’t stomach the destruction.”

“Nor I.”

“Shall we let them build? I am, I must admit, interested in their plan – do you think one of my officers is behind it?”

Michael laughed. “I should really hope not. And I think it would be impossible for that sort of thing to happen again.”

I laughed too. “Yes, I think you’re right. Some of them had children though. Maybe the offspring?”

“Maybe, sir. Maybe.”

I nodded and watched out the window. Signs of peripheral civilization began to appear amid the trees again. Stations, houses. Mills. In one village I saw a crowd thronging through a crossroads. A billowing brown bivouac. A hundred men, and maybe women and children too.

“Do you see that, Michael?”

“I see it.”

“They’re surely headed north.”

“I’d say so.”

“We have plenty of work. Where are they going? It’s a sad prospect. They no longer need me.”

“Well, if they don’t know you, they don’t know what they need.”

“Of course, Michael. I’m being foolish. I don’t think the officers are the problem. Perhaps I should deputize some among them.”

“Among the officers?”

“No, among this mass. This mass of people. There are so many.”

“I think that’s a good idea. I could visit them for you and discuss.”

 “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

Suddenly I felt my stomach drop, and I saw we were descending to an airstrip. A plane awaited to take me back east.

“Michael, stay in this country. Visit people. Live among them. Tell them of me. Most importantly, find out what they’re building up north, and who’s doing it. And if you can, meet with that person, or persons, and convey to them in strong terms that nothing is hidden and I am capable of anything.”

“Perfect, sir.”

The helicopter touched down with a light bump. I put my hands on my knees and looked around at the others in the cabin.

“Thank you for your promptness and your help.”

They nodded.

“Michael,” I said, turning to him right as he exited the helicopter. He couldn’t hear me with the door open and the chop of the blades roaring against the tarmac. He speed-walked directly across the airstrip toward a waiting car.

Michael’s dutiful walk and direct approach to tasks impressed me, and watching him I supposed it was impossible that they should all be that way, but I knew that among the mass there were those capable of it, of quiet duty, and should make good agents of mine. I thought of the bearded trespasser with sad eyes.

I boarded my plane, and perused the to-do list my secretary had prepared for me, but I could scarcely read the words there, excited as I was for the results of Michael’s mission. Who would he find? Would they be pleased to know of me? What was the nature of the project in the North? I was very interested to see what they would build. And one day, I thought, in the very far future, was it impossible that I might labor beside them? Then they would know of me forever.