• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

The little man’s cap was down over the bandage around his head and his lips were swollen. He was awake and looking out of the window. The sergeant was sleepy, his eyes would shut and then open, stay open a while and then shut. His face looked very heavy and sleepy. Ahead on the next seat the other two were both sleepy. The prisoner leaned toward the window side of the seat and the detective toward the aisle. They were not comfortable that way and as they got sleepier, they both leaned toward each other.

The little man looked at the sergeant and then across at us. He did not seem to recognize us and looked all down the car. He seemed to be looking at all the men in the smoker. There were not very many passengers. Then he looked at the sergeant again. My father had taken another book out of his pocket and was reading.

“Sergeant,” the little man said. The sergeant held his eyes open and looked at the prisoner.

“I got to go to the can,” the little man said.

“Not now,” the sergeant shut his eyes.

“Listen, Sergeant,” the little man said. “Didn’t you ever have to go to the can?”

“Not now,” the sergeant said. He did not want to leave the half asleep half awake state he was in. He was breathing slowly and heavily but when he would open his eyes his breathing would stop. The little man looked across at us but did not seem to recognize us.

“Sergeant,” he said. The sergeant did not answer. The little man ran his tongue over his lips. “Listen Sergeant, I got to go to the can.”

“All right,” the sergeant said. He stood up and the little man stood up and they walked down the aisle. I looked at my father. “Go on,” he said, “if you want to.” I walked after them down the aisle.

They were standing at the door.

“I want to go in alone,” the prisoner said.

“No you don’t.”

“Go on. Let me go in alone.”

“No.”

“Why not? You can keep the door locked.”

“I won’t take them off.”

“Go on, Sergeant. Let me go in alone.”

“We’ll take a look,” the sergeant said. They went inside and the sergeant shut the door. I was sitting on the seat opposite the door to the toilet. I looked down the aisle at my father. Inside I could hear them talking but not what they were saying. Someone turned the handle inside the door to open it and then I heard something fall against it and hit twice against the door. Then it fell on the floor. Then there was a noise as when you pick a rabbit up by the hind legs and slap its head against a stump to kill it. I was looking at my father and motioning. There was that noise three times and then I saw something come out from under the door. It was blood and it came out very slowly and smoothly. I ran down the aisle to my father. “There’s blood coming out under the door.”

“Sit down there,” my father said. He stood up, went across the aisle and touched the detective on the shoulder. The detective looked up.

“Your partner went up to the washroom,” my father said.

“Sure,” said the detective. “Why not?”

“My boy went up there and said he saw blood coming out from under the door.”

The detective jumped up and jerked the other prisoner over on the seat. The other prisoner looked at my father.

“Come on,” the detective said. The prisoner sat there. “Come on,” the detective said and the prisoner did not move. “Come on or I’ll blow your can off.”

“What’s it all about, your excellency?” the prisoner asked.

“Come on, you bastard,” the detective said.

“Aw, keep it clean,” the prisoner said.

They were going down the aisle, the detective ahead holding a gun in his right hand and the prisoner handcuffed to him hanging back. The passengers were standing up to see. “Stay where you are,” my father said. He took hold of me by the arm.

The detective saw the blood under the door. He looked around at the prisoner. The prisoner saw him looking and stood still. “No,” he said. The detective holding his gun in his right hand jerked down hard with his left hand and the prisoner slipped forward on his knees. “No,” he said. The