Sylvia Plath - Mary Ventura and The Ninth Kingdom

R ed neon lights blinked automatically, and a voice grated from the loudspeaker. Train leaving, on track three... train leaving for... train leaving...

I know that must be your train, Mary Venturas mother said. Im sure it is, dear. Hurry. Do hurry now. Have you your ticket?

Yes, mother, I do. But do I have to go right away? So soon?

You know how trains are, Marys father said. He looked anonymous in his gray felt hat, as if he were traveling incognito. You know how trains are. They dont wait.

Yes, father, I know.

The long black hand of the clock on the wall clipped off another minute. Everywhere there were people running to catch trains. Above them, the vault of the railroad station lifted like the dome of a huge cathedral.

Train leaving on track three... train leaving for... train leaving...

Hurry, dear. Mrs. Ventura took Mary by the arm and propelled her through the glittering marble halls of the railroad terminal. Marys father followed with her suitcase. Other people were hurrying to the train gate marked three. A conductor in a black uniform, his face shaded by the visor of his cap, herded the crowd in through the intricate black grillwork of the iron gate to the platform beyond.

Mother, Mary said, halting, hearing the colossal hissing of the engine on the sunken track. Mother, I cant go today. I simply cant. Im not ready to take the trip yet.

Nonsense, Mary, her father cut her short jovially. Youre just getting jittery. The trip north wont be an ordeal. You just get on the train and dont worry about another thing until you get to the end of the line. The conductor will tell you where to go then.

Come, now, theres a good girl. Marys mother tucked a strand of gilt blond hair up under her black velvet hat. It will be an easy trip. Everyone has to leave home sometime. Everyone has to go away sooner or later.

Mary weakened. Oh, well, all right. She let herself be led through the wrought iron gates, down the incline of the cement platform, where the air was thick with steam.

Extra, extra, newsboys were crying out headlines, selling papers at the doors of the train. Extra... ten thousand people sentenced... ten thousand more people...

There is nothing, Marys mother crooned, absolutely nothing for you to worry about. She pushed through the chaotic jostling crowds, and Mary followed in her wake, on to the next to the last car of the train. There was a long row of red plush seats, the color of wine in the bright light from the ceiling, and the seams of the car were riveted with brass nails.

How about this seat, here in the middle? Mr. Ventura didnt wait for an answer, but swung Marys suitcase up on the rack. He stood back. Mrs. Ventura touched a handkerchief to her painted red mouth, started to say something, stopped. There was, after all, nothing left to say.

Goodbye, Mary said with automatic fondness.

Goodbye, dear. Have a good time, now. Mrs. Ventura leaned to give Mary a vague, preoccupied kiss.

Mr. and Mrs. Ventura turned and began moving away, then, starting back down the aisle and retreating through the open doorway. Mary waved, but already they were gone and did not see. She took the seat by the window, slipping out of her red coat first and hanging it on the brass hook next to the windowframe. The rest of the passengers were almost all settled, now, but a few were still coming down the aisle, searching for seats. A lady in a blue jacket, carrying a baby wrapped in a soiled white blanket, paused at Marys seat for a minute, but then continued to the back of the car where there was more room.

Is this seat taken? The woman had come lurching down the aisle, puffing and red-faced, an earth-colored brown satchel in her hand. Her blue eyes crinkled up in a mass of wrinkles and her large, generous mouth stretched into a smile.

No, no ones sitting here. Mary could not help smiling back. She moved closer to the window and watched the woman take off her battered brown hat and her brown cloth coat.

Oof, sighed the woman, sinking heavily into the red plush seat, I almost thought I wouldnt make it this trip. Trains just about to start up.

The engine gave a snort, shuddered, and paused. Board... all board! a voice yelled from outside. The door to the car slammed shut with a final click, closing them all in.

This is it, the woman said. The departure. Steam rose up beyond the windowpane as the train slowly chugged down the track, and they could not see beyond the clouds of smoke and cinders.

The woman reached into her satchel and pulled out some knitting, the beginnings of a soft fabric of leaf-green wool.

Oh, Mary exclaimed. How pretty. Whats it going to be?

A dress, eventually. The woman appraised Mary with half-shut eyes. For a girl just about your size, too.

Im sure shell just love it.

The woman looked at Mary with an amused smile. I hope so, she said, and fell silent.

The train was still hurtling through the black tunnel when the squabble started on the seat in front of them. Two little boys were sitting there, across the aisle from their mother who was reading a magazine. They were playing with tin soldiers.

Give me that, the bigger boy with the black eyes said to his brother. Thats my soldier. You took my soldier.

I did not, the pale tow-headed fellow said. I did not take it.

You did too. I saw you. The older boy picked up a tin soldier and struck his brother on the forehead. There! Serves you right.

Blood oozed from a purpling bruise. The younger boy began to whimper. I hate you, he whined. I hate you.

The mother kept on reading her magazine.

Here, here, thats enough, said the woman beside Mary, leaning forward over the back of the seat. She reached out to dab gently at the blood on the young boys forehead with the hem of her white linen handkerchief. You boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves, making all that fuss for no reason at all. Over a couple of silly tin soldiers.

The little boys pouted sullenly at the interference and began to play quietly again.

The woman leaned back. I dont know whats the trouble with children these days. They seem to get worse and worse. She sighed, and took up her knitting again. Outside there was a sudden increase of light.

Look, said Mary. Weve come out of the tunnel.

The train had shot into the somber gray afternoon, and the bleak autumn fields stretched away on either side of the tracks beyond the cinder beds. In the sky hung a flat orange disc that was the sun.

The air is so thick and smoky! Mary exclaimed. Ive never seen the sun that strange color before.

Its the forest fires, the woman replied. The smoke always blows down from the north this time of year. Well be getting into more of it later on.