William Vollmann - The Royal Family

She ain’t moved none while you were gone, said the hobo. She just been catchin’ up on her shuteye. She sure is a purty little peach.

Yes she is, said Tyler.

I used to be married one time, the hobo said. But then I died.

Is everybody dead around here? said Tyler.

I don’t know about you, said the hobo.

Well, how would I know?

Do you cast a shadder? said the hobo. They say that’s the most reliable test. Stand up an’ walk around. Well, heaven’s all clouded over. Can’t really tell. I ain’t cast no shadder ever since I got good and dead and buried.

They’re phasing out this yard, Tyler said. I used to see so many trains here. Now it’s going to be new houses, and where that trestle bridge is down there, that’s going to be a mall.

That’s why we’re here, the hobo said. We all been phased out. ’Course I don’t know about you.

You already said that.

Well, look. You got a mirror, son? Breathe on the mirror. If it don’t turn misty, then you’re dead. It’s that simple.

Now why would I have a mirror? asked Tyler reasonably. Do I look like the type who shaves? I gave up shaving when I became homeless.

All right. See if you can hold your breath forever. Just stop breathing. If you can do that, you know you’re dead.

You don’t know what you’re talking about, said Tyler in disgust. You’re telling me you’re dead, but you’ve been sitting here breathing all this time. What’s more, brother, you have wicked bad breath.

I do? said the hobo in amazement. I guess I ain’t brushed my teeth in a week or two. My wife used to nag me about that, but I don’t hold it against her. Out of all the woman I’ve known, she was the one who… You know, her mind…

You talk as if she’s the one who’s dead.

She might as well be. Don’t you know that the dead grieve for the living? Don’t you know nothin’?

From the coupling between two tanker cars a young man appeared, leaping down onto the tracks. Tyler waved. The young man swerved toward them, coming rapidly, alertly along the splintered, splitting ties whose stamped dates proclaimed them to be less than fifteen years old. How quickly everything goes! Strips had rusted off the verde-grising rails. The hobo looked him over, then cracked open a hip flask of Wild Turkey in a paper bag and gulped. Tyler watched the young man stony-eyed, not sure yet whether he was friend or foe. He was still far away, but now they could hear the young man’s rapid footsteps on the gravel. Irene’s eyelids trembled open. Tyler ran to her and held her hand. — It’s okay, honey, he said. Don’t be afraid.

Irene smiled and gripped his fingers tight. Her dark, made-up eyes were sickeningly beautiful. He felt as intimate with her as with his Queen, with whom he had shared so much pain.

Anyone been bothering you? said the young man.

So far, so good, said Tyler. What’ve you been up to?

Just checking out some pieces, the young man said.

Over the same coupling now emerged a black-uniformed railroad bull, with another bull coming briskly around from the rear of that string of cars. — Hold it! they called.

The young man lowered his head and began to walk away.

Stop right there! called the first railroad bull.

The young man ran.

The railroad bulls chased him but couldn’t catch him. So they gave up and came slowly gravel-crunching back to Tyler, the hobo and Irene.

Did he say anything to you? said the first bull.

Just asked if anybody were bothering us, said Tyler.

And what did you say?

I said nope, said Tyler.

He must’ve been doing something wrong, to be running away like that, the bull said smugly.

You got that right, officer, Tyler said.

What do you mean? cried Irene. Is it wrong to run away from a man with a gun?

Nobody said anyting.

Well, said the first bull, upon whose silver badge the sun sparkled with an ominous splendor, what are you all doing here?

We love trains, said Tyler. We’re train buffs, officer. We’re just trying to figure them all out.

What do you mean, figure them out?

Well, like you see that car over there? That says Burlington Northern. And right next to it, there’s a Southern Pacific car. And it’s so strange to think that two railroad cars from so far apart would end up coupled like that. It’s almost like magic. In fact, it’s almost divine. I for one never could have predicted it. I mean, can you explain how that could have happened?

Explanations aren’t exactly my job, said the bull with a sly smile.

You see what I mean? said Tyler enthusiastically. And then there’s the matter of that train that just blew through here without stopping. It was loaded full of brand new automobiles! And we wondered where it was going. I was thinking maybe Stockton or maybe Los Angeles. But both of those places already have so much traffic that they almost don’t need any more cars. So it’s quite a mystery. There’s so much to think about.

So you’re saying you’re train buffs, said the railroad bull.

I guess you could call us that. Train enthusiasts.

We’ll need to see your identification now, said the first bull.

Tyler took out his driver’s license, and the second bull took it and began writing up a report.

You’re homeless, right? said the first bull to the old hobo.

Homeless, well, I don’t know about that, officer. I got my own little plot of ground.

Where are you from?

Georgia, originally. But I been out here in California for about thirty some-odd years.

You have any ID?

Well, I have this food bank card but it’s expired.

The second bull took the card, studied it, and announced: This card is expired.

Yeah, that’s what I said, the hobo replied. I’m expired. I done expired four years ago now. And this fellow here, we needed you to figure out if he casts a shadder or what.

He’s drunk, said the second bull.

The first bull, spying around wisely, saw the paper bag with the bottle of Wild Turkey in it. — Whose is this? he said.

Tyler and Irene kept quiet. After a long silence the hobo said: It ain’t mine.

Sure looks pretty fresh, said the bull. And the cap is off. — Expertly he kicked it over, and every drop sank down into the gravel. The hobo licked his lips more sadly than ever. And the railroad bull smiled.

How about you, miss? said the railroad bull to Irene. You live with him?

We’re just friends, said Tyler quickly, not wanting to implicate Irene in his own filthiness. Do you have any ID, honey?

Irene stood up and took her billfold out from under Tyler’s coat. She opened it. Tyler suddenly began to get a sinking feeling in his chest, confirmed by the whistle and glimmer of an oncoming locomotive. Irene withdrew her California driver’s license and gave it to Tyler, who passed it over to the second bull.

This ID card is expired also, the bull said.

Well, sonny, now you know, the hobo said to Tyler. The gummint test is more reliable than mirrors and shadders. ’Cordin’ to the gummint test, you ain’t dead. She and I, we flunked the test. But the gummint said you’re still alive. You still gotta pay taxes to the gummint.

Pardon me, officer, said Tyler. I was wondering if my ID was expired.

Nope, said the railroad bull.

All right then, said Tyler to Irene. I was pretending about you, but you’re—

Please please don’t say it, said Irene. I’m not here for that. It hurts me to hear that said.

The locomotive screamed loudly. The train roared and clanked through the yard while everyone waited patiently. Tyler counted cars until he was nauseated. He never saw a single open doorway. The train trembled angrily, perspiring diesel-fumes. Then it was gone.