The First Chapter
Darkness. Black. Nothing.
Only the lights in the carriage and the low, rumbling noise of the train reminded Jacob Elliot of his existence in humanity. Almost in an attempt to acknowledge this, he glanced upwards to feel the sensation of burning in his eyes, betraying a rawness, a redness, the only outward indication of an otherwise inner turmoil.
Yet although he looked, he saw nothing. He only felt. He felt the oppression of his soul. His only vision was, like the tunnel which now enveloped the train, a dark, dismal blackness, a mixture of past, present and future thoughts and feelings played out, witnessed, unknown.
His eyes, grey and tired, again fell and momentarily focussed on his hands. He turned them slowly, examining them, every detail, every line, every movement they were capable of making. What they had touched! What they had felt! What they had made and caused and would touch no more! Hands clasped, he sighed and closed his eyes, causing a further and acute momentary sensation of burning.
When Jacob again opened them the train had departed the constraining void and the light of the late August sun caused him to close them once more. Then slowly, cautiously, he raised the heavy lids which hid the brightness of his youth yet evident despite the burden he carried.
And those eyes, which seemed to have a singular and unique power of their own, moved–despite the languor of their owner–to confront the window and what lay beyond, the home of civilisation. But whilst the eyes attempted to anchor on the quintessential beauty of the landscape, Jacob saw nothing but the bleakness of the world.
And then he saw it. He saw something which caused him to stir. Not physically, but inwardly. He felt the beauty, the comfort, the simple pleasure of it. And for the first time that month he felt something of the warmth of summer. The object discerned by his eye and which had touched his heart was this: a single, red poppy.
An overwhelming sense of peace permeated Jacob at that moment. This sudden spiritual cleansing seemed to re-awaken in him a sublime contentedness, evident by the vaguest hints of movement at the corners of his thick, full lips producing a smile conducive to a distant feeling of delight.
Yet the eyes. The eyes became dull and moist. All was lost. The mouth quivered. The head collapsed. The tears fell with ease and speed along their familiar path. Remotely, Jacob imagined them to be eroding deep channels into his face from which the story of his life could thence be told.
Jacob let the moment pass, knowing from experience that he was powerless against the consumer, the devourer, the tormentor of his soul. Then, once again, glancing towards the window he noticed for the first time his own reflection and spontaneously swept back his hair which had fallen in long, straight strands across his face.
Then, a small cough arrived at Jacob’s ears. It seemed to take a moment for him to comprehend it. In looking up Jacob suddenly became painfully aware that he was not –as he had felt inwardly – alone. The eyes of a young man of a similar age to Jacob’s had been watching him. They had been averted now, but by the quick movement in all directions but his, Jacob Elliot knew that their owner was struggling with the desire to look at him and the fear of meeting his gaze.
But the struggle was too great for the observer, and as he glanced over it was Jacob’s turn to avert his eyes and flush. He had an overwhelming feeling of embarrassment, of looking, of being watched, of fear of humanity and of anger at not having the inner strength to meet and challenge the eyes of the onlooker.
Yet Jacob had not the inclination to pay attention to the male presence felt opposite and sensed by the powerful pupils to have much interest in him. Instead, he again began to immerse himself in the agonies of re-living the oppression of a life just left and contemplating the oppression of the life he was travelling towards.
