Carved Whispers

Dear Yasha,

I was told this would be a good exercise. A message you can look back on and wonder why you were ever so worried. It all worked out after all.

I hope you look back on this and laugh. Like always, the past is fun to joke about, but hell when you’re still there.

I hope you’ve found peace.

I hope the snowscape is as winter wonderland as I’ve imagined it to be.

Maybe you discovered an abandoned village or a left-behind cabin. The nearby lake handed you enough fish to keep you fed. And eventually, you became in tune enough with the elements to start hunting. A thick jacket would do you good.

I love you. I promise. You’ll thank me when the world finally fades behind you.

It’s better than this town.

It’s better than pretending to be mute.

It’s better than a padded room.

***

The bells rang from the town monastery, signaling the end of the day and the arrival of Yakov’s last train; his new future.

The red star on its smokebox door shone bright in the pale winter.

Tall gas lanterns lined the station platform, with shallow puddles staining the ground below them.

Soft, white snowflakes dotted Yakov’s gloves, and the scarf wrapped around his neck. He warmed his flushed cheeks in his hands, watching torrents of wispy shadows rush past him, eager to board the locomotive.

Waiting for them to settle in meant no unnecessary interactions. Still, they would be sitting inside the wagon, their watchful, judgmental eyes following him every step he took.

In only a few minutes, the platform had emptied. One conductor was glaring at him.

He was just doing his job, making sure everyone who wanted to get on got on. Relax.

Yakov trudged across the creaking wooden panels, reminded of the one benefit his condition came with: self-induced body heat to protect him from the cold.

He entered the inviting maw of the train; one step closer to his dream life.

Inside, every surface, floor carpet, and chair was patterned, and the tables for the patrons had all been covered with a thin white cloth. A gramophone stood in the corner, surrounded by potted ferns.

Yakov felt far too small for such a regal train. At least, it was more exciting than the gray streets he was used to.

Low murmuring came from each side of the aisle, followed by the clinking of glasses and shuffling of newspapers and menus that every table was stationed with.

The earthy scent of black tea and the pets some passengers had brought calmed Yakov. Their dogs, with those big, beady eyes, were excited to see anyone who got close enough. They welcomed him to the train in a way no one else could.

It took a few more connected wagons before Yakov got to his sleeping car.

The interior was just as fancy as the rest of the train. It had a large bed standing on the left side of the room, and all the walls were patterned yet again. A wide window split the middle of the back wall, draped in flowy curtains held up by ropes.

Yakov dropped his bag onto the floor before peeling his sweaty gloves off one by one, placing them on the nightstand under the golden light of the ceramic lamp. There were two water bottles on the table, a little gift.

The scarf and jacket were staying on for now. Who knew when he would have to interact with someone. It was the only barrier he had between him and their scrutiny.

Yakov sighed, gazing outside at the blinding, snow-covered scenery: nothing but long stretches of boot-deep snow, with a few scattered trees and distant mountains.

His stomach growled. He hadn’t been able to summon the courage to buy food at any of the stores on the way to the train.

Starving wasn’t an option, of course. And as much as Yakov wanted to stay in the room forever, he had to visit the lounge car at least once. Maybe just to take a look around. He could always retreat when it became too much. That’s what they always said.

Don’t think. Just go.

It was nearing midnight. His clothes clung to him, sticky and warm. The train was well air-conditioned, and while the other passengers might prefer that reprieve from the cold, Yakov had gotten all too familiar with it.

He still hadn’t moved an inch outside his cabin. The growling coming from his stomach was interrupting his thoughts.

That reminded him.

The dogs. A natural antidote to anxiety.

The shriek of metal on metal, followed by a hiss of steam, brought him out of his daze.

It was getting impatient.

The lounge car featured a large area for relaxing and dining, with a bar that opened during the evening hours. There were only adults. They conversed, some louder than others, played cards, drank, and a few stuck to the corners with a book in their hands.

It was much more active than he had expected.

Had this been a mistake? How long did Yakov have to stay in this claustrophobic tunnel before he reached his destination?

He should have just stayed home, hurt himself enough to be incapable of working, and let those nice hospital workers come and take him in. He could come up with plenty of excuses to delay his stay indefinitely.

Why did his heart never stop beating when he told it to?

Yakov frantically scanned the car, finding only mild relief in the various sizes and colors of pets lying by some of the couches. They were too hidden away for him to interact with them.

No distractions meant extra hyper-awareness. That was never a good thing.

The tranquil melody coming from the piano, with two tall ferns perched on either side, caught his attention. He recognized the nocturne, the tension in his muscles fading with every stroke of the keys.

Short bangs dipped down the face of the man in the chair. With near effortless precision, he continued to play, not stopping even as he glanced up at the transfixed Yakov.

That put his already hammering heart into overdrive. He kept clawing at his palm, trying to wipe off the sweat that dappled every inch of his skin.

It wasn’t just a glance anymore. Those deep brown eyes, or black, or … They threatened to pull him into their void.

The music slowed down to a few notes, requiring only one hand to play. The other, the man held up, beckoning Yakov closer.

His body begged him to run back to the room, to avoid ever looking this person in the eyes again.

Still, he moved; fighting all alarm bells.

“Have you heard this one before? A favorite?” the stranger asked, his voice as sweet as his music. “Or do you just like the way I play it?”

Yakov didn’t know where to look. The right words weren’t coming to him, as usual. Yet another person who had to scrape to get anything out of him.

The man, however, didn’t flinch or comment on it. He simply smiled to himself, returning both hands to the piano keys.

How refreshing.

“I do know of it,” Yakov said. “Your version is very different.”

“Oh?” The man still looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

Yakov leaned in. “I think… I prefer this one,” he whispered.

“Good choice.”

Despite being physically above him, Yakov felt smaller in every other way.

“I’d love to continue this conversation somewhere else,” he continued, pointing to the door that led into the connecting car. “Pick any empty compartment. I’ll come find you once I’ve finished up here.”

Yakov nodded. Some privacy would make it easier, although he had completely forgotten that there were even other people here. All he saw was an entrancing pianist.

“I won’t be long.”

After closing the compartment door, Yakov dropped into the bench seat, clutching his chest.

Vintage photos hung above the green leather backrests. On the table in the middle, next to a stack of brochures, stood a glass, carried in a podstakannik, that someone had forgotten to hand back. At least he had something he could throw up into if he needed.

Did that guy work here? Or did they let passengers play?

Why did the world disappear when he listened to him?

Piano, and… otherwise.

He could never trust those gut feelings. They always betrayed him, never lasting more than a few days. And never, ever becoming anything more.

It wasn’t worth it to try. He couldn’t hold on long enough. Sometimes, it felt like he didn’t want anything or anybody. Isolation was the price he had to pay for peace.

The compartment door was yanked open. Yakov nearly jumped. He let go of his chest, trying to look nonchalant.

“Hey.” The man slid into the seat opposite him. “It’s Vadim, by the way.”

“Yakov.”

“Right. I wanted to mention it earlier, but… why are you still in your jacket?”

Yakov fiddled with the tasseled ends of his scarf. “It keeps me safe.” Even in here, he kept his voice down.

Like some kind of negotiator, Vadim propped his elbows up on the table, hands clasped together.

“How much does a little fabric do for protection?”

“More than you’d think.”

Vadim retracted his arms and leaned toward the window. “Well… who am I to judge.” With a content sigh, he watched trees zoom by outside. “We all have our eccentricities.”

The golden glow of the lamp between them outlined the sharp features of his face.

Yakov drew in a deep breath. Was he supposed to be saying something? Why was there never a protocol for these things?

“Are you worried about keeping the conversation going? To avoid it getting awkward?” Vadim asked.

“Uh…” Yakov appreciated not having to keep eye contact. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Ah, I mean… Actually, yeah. Both,” Yakov said. “Why are you in my head?”

With a smile, Vadim placed his cheek against the rumbling train wall. “I know how it is. I used to be like that too,” he said. “A scared control freak.”

That was certainly a way to describe it. Yakov would rather refer to his diagnosis, but, well, who was he to judge.

“Still am, in a way,” he continued. “Only, I got the control I wanted. I don’t get scared anymore.”

“How…” Yakov trailed off as their eyes met. It felt like the compartment was shrinking, putting him in the spotlight.

“Yakov.” Vadim broke the silence. “Your financial situation. What does it look like?”

Were you allowed to ask someone that in your second-ever conversation?

“Pretty… average.”

“Hmm.”

Whether Vadim believed it or not, he, thankfully, didn’t press any further.

“I’m part-owner of this express,” Vadim said, cementing their unequal dynamic. “Power is how I made life predictable. I don’t have to fear the unknown,” he continued. “Or people.”

The rims of Yakov’s sleeves were getting just as clammy as his hands. “Do people fear you?”

Vadim leaned over the table again, pinning Yakov in his stony gaze.

“They respect me.”

“I… I see.”

Yakov didn’t know what to say to that. He half respected it, but was that the way he wanted to deal with his problems?

Not that he’d know where to start or if he even could.

“Well.” Giving the table a resolute pat with both hands, Vadim stood up. “It’s been a pleasure.”

“Wait,” Yakov said. “Where can I find you again?” He only ever took the initiative when there was something important to gain.

“You’ve been surprisingly direct with me. Considering your… disposition,” Vadim said. “My cabin is labeled. Walk around a bit. Get comfortable with the train. You’ll see me again.”

With that, he slid the compartment door open and headed out into the cramped corridor. He leered back through the opening before disappearing, a thin smile on his face. The door had been left open.

What exactly was he thinking?

A draft of wind brushed Yakov’s cheek, making him pull the scarf up over his nose.

It was time to head back to his room. Then, he could finally get out of these stuffy outdoor clothes.