Edward Lee - The Black Train

“I happen to love both of those, too,” Collier lied, “so why don’t we order both and split them?”

“You’re so accommodating!”

“And since we’re both beer snobs,” he continued, “I guess it’s OB.”

“I like OB with Korean food. It’s probably my favorite Asian beer that’s not brewed here on a license,” she was quick to add. “Oh, and it’s great with rice.”

You’re great with rice, Collier dopily thought. He couldn’t believe he’d been given this opportunity. As one of the most credible beer writers in the country, Collier never needed to be told that genuine brewmasters knew more about beer than anyone, including him. He gauged her plain but vibrant beauty as she perused the menu for appetizers. Why couldn’t I have met her ten years ago? he scorned himself. Why couldn’t I have NEVER met Evelyn and met Dominique instead? We’d be the perfect match. We have everything in common…

The glittering cross around her neck suggested otherwise.

When the waitress arrived with their beers, Dominique said, “Here comes my one beer of the day.”

Collier sulked within himself. How many had he had today? Jesus …“I’ll have to try your method some time,” he said. “That is if I have the willpower. That’s never been my strong suit.”

“It wasn’t mine, either, until…” She half smiled and half smirked. “Sorry, I’ll shut up.”

Collier didn’t get it. “What?”

“You’ll think I’m Holy Rolling you again.”

“Go ahead and Holy Roll me.”

“Okay.” She took a sip of beer. “Nobody has willpower, not on their own. God knows we have weaknesses that are destructive, so that’s why he gives us an out. I’m not just talking about salvation, I’m talking about the shit we’ve got to bear while we’re here—”

I love it when she says shit, Collier mused.

“Half the apostles were probably alcoholics and whoremongers before they met Jesus. So what did they do?”

“I…don’t know.”

“They gave their burdens to God,” she said very casually, “and were freed. That’s what I did.”

Collier unwrapped his chopsticks. “How do you give away a weakness?”

“Ask God, that’s all. And he’ll answer.” She shook her head. “You should’ve seen me in college. I was an asshole, I was a tramp. I couldn’t tell you how many scumbag guys I had sex with. Every night was a party: beer, booze, dope, and sex.”

Her candid talk astounded him…and the gutter that was his mind tried to picture the scenario. It was thrillingly crude.

“I was so hungover in college,” she admitted, “I don’t know how I ever graduated. Don’t know how I managed to not get pregnant, either. I’d read things about myself on bathroom walls, and the worst part was”—she shot him a cunning look—“they were all true.”

Collier felt impacted and aroused at the same time.

“Then one day it occurred to me that I was letting my weaknesses destroy a child of God. So I asked God to relieve me of my burdens so that I could one day find salvation, and he did.”

“Is it that simple?” Collier asked, then noticed that his own beer was half drained already. He knew he was only listening in part, but trying to act like she had his full attention.

“It’s not like rubbing a magic lamp and then the genie grants your wish, no. Look at it this way. God’s forgiveness is a million times bigger than our sins, so we’re covered. You just have to do some stuff in return.”

Collier wanted to make out with her under the table, on the floor. In my case, he thought, God’s forgiveness would have to be TWO million times bigger than my sins. Suddenly his falseness seemed as solid as the chair he sat on. If human beings really did have auras, he knew that his was black with lust. Say something, you moron …“Stuff in return? What kind of stuff? Go to church? Give to charity?”

“No, no. Deeper than that,” she said. She crunched on some spicy bamboo shoots and pickled radishes. “That’s between you and God. But it’s like charging on your credit card. You have to pay for it someday. And declaring bankruptcy doesn’t cut it.”

Her analogies were interesting. He wanted to be engaging, he wanted to be involved with what enlivened her, but his lust nagged at him. And that’s when the truth hit him, rearranging her own words: My lust is a million times bigger than my desire to be forgiven…

Every time he looked at her bosom, his eyes were repelled by the cross, like a vampire.

“But enough of that,” she said, beaming. “Here comes our dinner.”

The waitress set down fragrant, steaming entrees. They’d also ordered a dish of squid flanks in scarlet hot sauce. “Be careful with that.” She pointed a chopstick to the latter. “It’ll torch you up.”

Collier was already torched up, by the lust boiling over in his psyche, which only made him feel more fake, more despicable. She could pick a phony like me out in a crowd, he knew. The worst thing I can do is pretend …He tried a piece of some kind of sweet barbecued beef. “Great bibimbop. ”

“That’s bulgogi. ”

“Ah, of course. It’s been a while for me.” The bibimbop looked like a hodgepodge of greens and meat submerged in broth, with a half-cooked egg on top. He tried some squid instead, which was tender, delicious, and—

“Wow, that’s really—” He chugged his entire glass of water.

“I told you it was hot. It’s better to eat it with some rice.”

Collier followed her lead with the food, eating it in the same way.

“So how was your lunch with the venerable J.G. Sute?”

“Do I detect sarcasm in your tone?” he asked after his mouth cooled.

“Just a tad,” she laughed. “He’s a legend in his own time—just ask him. Actually he’s quite a nice man, and he does know more than anyone about this area’s importance during the Civil War.”

“Well, his knowledge of regional history seems very detailed,” Collier said. “But I wasn’t asking him as much about the war as I was—”

“About the house,” she guessed. “And the legends. The cursed fields, the murdered slaves. The mansion of evil, and Harwood Gast and his railroad to hell.”

“Sute told me it was built privately by Gast, with his own funds.”

“Funds that were never depleted, by the way,” she added.

Collier remembered. “Oh, yes, he talked about that, too. So what did he pay his men with? They weren’t all slaves.”

“No. The white workers on his crew were paid a small fortune, and the slaves were well clothed, well equipped, and well fed—all thanks to Gast’s money.”

“So how did he buy the materials? All that track and railroad ties, spikes, tools, supply cars?”

“Nobody knows.” Dominique smiled. “Some say Gast sold his soul to the devil.”

The word flagged him. “And you said that there really is a devil.”

“Um-hmm.”

“So if there really is a devil, maybe people really do sell their souls to him.”

“People sell their souls to the devil every day, for a whole lot less.”

Collier found that if he ate the food without looking at it, it was much less radical. When Dominique excused herself for the restroom, his gaze covered the back of her body as effectively as a paint roller. He ordered another beer from the waitress and had her take the other bottle after draining it, then drank the new bottle down to the first bottle’s level. Yeah, that’ll fool her, all right…

When he saw Dominique coming back, he dug his fingernails hard into his leg. Don’t look at her boobs anymore, you sexist pile of shit! Instead, he sensed her breasts riding ever so slightly in the clinging cami-top.