Time's Magpie - Myla Goldberg [36]
The tram is the night’s last crowded bar. Even when the evening is warm, its windows are fogged with breath and body heat. The night tram reeks of cigarettes and alcohol and terrible food eaten in bleary defense against a hangover: soggy pizza slices, greasy fried cheese, and stone-cold French fries. These are all the drunk, red-eyed city has left to offer.
Judgment is suspended; the day’s dictates have been drowned. People talk and laugh and sometimes sing. Fatigue, giddiness, displeasure, and contentment are all on display, expressions painted by vodka and beer but curated by the night tram. Bodies press against windows. Plastic bucket seats meant for one provide refuge for two as friends and lovers double up to gain more space to breathe. The crush of people is as anonymous as a basement game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Couples lean into each other with unmasked intent, kissing as if they are alone. Chic disco habitués brush hems with sloppy drunks; a neatly dressed woman reads a French novel, her seated body turned toward the window in a simulation of solitude; a few feet away from her a violently drunk couple argues, their faces contorted with the fathomless betrayal of offended infants. Every night tram contains at least one inebriate slumped in a seat. Bets are taken as to whether or not vomiting will occur in transit. When the tram makes a sudden stop, drooping, drunken heads slam into seat backs without waking.
Each tram stop signals someone’s return to the street and walk toward bed. The night tram dispatches without fanfare, abandoning its debarked and debauched to various stages of stumble. Folding its accordion doors behind them, it continues its smooth traverse of the city’s dark, slick rails. Through the tram’s receding windows, people press into each other as if every moment new secrets are being revealed, secrets those outside the tram will never know. At this hour the night tram is the only bright thing on the street and it can be sad to watch it go. Once the sun rises, the decorous day trams will return. People will once again be gainfully employed. There will be errands to run and classes to attend and appearances to maintain. The night tram will feel like a fib. Until the old ladies go to bed. Until midnight comes.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MY PRAGUE WANDERINGS AND RESEARCHES WERE ably abetted by Matt Covey, Heather Mount, Ken Nash, Radka Slaba, Will Tizard, and Lawrence Wells. The Cadogan Guide to Prague and Time Out Prague were valuable references. Thanks also to Caroline Sincerbeaux, Shauna Toh, and especially to Wendy Schmalz, agent extraordinaire.
This book benefited immensely from the critique and insight of Oliver Broudy, Tim Kreider, and Jason Little.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MYLA GOLDBERG lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her husband and daughter. Her second novel, Wickett’s Remedy, will be published in 2005.
ALSO BY MYLA GOLDBERG
Bee Season
ALSO IN THE CROWN JOURNEYS SERIES
Land’s End: A Walk in Provincetown
by Michael Cunningham
After the Dance: A Walk Through Carnival in Jacmel,
Haiti by Edwidge Danticat
City of the Soul: A Walk in Rome
by William Murray
Washington Schlepped Here:Walking in the Nation’s
Capital by Christopher Buckley
Hallowed Ground:A Walk at Gettysburg
by James M. McPherson
Fugitives and Refugees:A Walk in Portland, Oregon
by Chuck Palahniuk
Blues City:A Walk in Oakland by Ismael Reed
Time and Tide:A Walk Through Nantucket
by Frank Conroy
Lost in My Own Backyard:A Walk in Yellowstone
National Park by Tim Cahill
The Great Psychedelic Armadillo Picnic:A “Walk” in
Austin by Kinky Friedman
Copyright © 2004 by Myla Goldberg
Illustrations copyright © 2004 by Ken Nash
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced