Kenji Miyazawa





NIGHT

ON THE

GALACTIC

RAILROAD

& Other Stories from Ihatov





Translated by Julianne Neville





ONE PEACE

BOOKS





Copyright © 2014 by Julianne Neville

First edition published by One Peace Books, Inc., 2014



ISBN: 978-1-935548-99-7

Printed in Canada

Translation and cover design by Julianne Neville

Photo (jacket) copyright © 2007 iStockphoto LP/AAR Studio

Illustration (jacket) from Pixta (www.pixta.jp)

Distribution by SCB Distributors

www.scbdistributors.com

For more information, contact:

One Peace Books

43-32 22nd Street, #204

Long Island City, NY 11101

www.onepeacebooks.com





Kenji Miyazawa, born in the northern prefecture of Iwate in 1896, is one of Japan's most influential and well-loved authors. Despite not being well known in his lifetime, his pure-hearted and deeply romantic works continue to touch the hearts of readers eighty years after his death.





Born the eldest son of a wealthy pawnbroker, Miyazawa, from an early age, was disconcerted by what he saw as his family taking advantage of the poor farmers who made up much of the population of Iwate. His strong convictions led him to eventually forgo his inheritance and leave the family business to his younger brother in order to pursue his own path in life. Penning children's stories and prose on the side, Miyazawa worked first as a teacher and then as the head of an association geared toward educating the same farmers he held in such high regard. Operating out of a detached house in the countryside that belonged to his family, Miyazawa lived a simple life that was rich in terms of his pursuit of beauty and knowledge, as well as the connection it afforded him to the people and the land to which he was devoted. In fact, his birthplace of Iwate was so dear to him that it appears in his writing as the fictitious land of Ihatov.





Miyazawa had a great respect for religion, especially for the Buddhism he actively practiced and Catholicism with its emphasis on the virtues of charity and devotion. He also possessed an avid interest in science and mathematics, which perfectly complemented his spirituality. His work as a geologist spoke of his respect for nature, but he was just as intrigued with astronomy and space, which is depicted in his work not as a cold vacuum but as an emotional landscape. Perhaps Miyazawa's most defining trait, however, was his deep sense of openness and goodwill toward his fellow man. Miyazawa believed happiness could be achieved in service toward others, and it is this that led him to study the universal language of Esperanto, into which he strived to translate much of his writing.





Of the many themes Miyazawa touched upon in his work, one that stands out is that of death. He effectively illustrated the spiritual impact of loss, undoubtedly influenced by losing his beloved younger sister to illness. Miyazawa himself would suffer health problems throughout his life, eventually succumbing to pneumonia in 1933, at the young age of thirtyseven. “Night on the Galactic Railroad,” perhaps his most famous work, would be published posthumously the following year.





CONTENTS





The Star-circling Song

The Nighthawk Star

Signal and Signal-less

Night on the Galactic Railroad





THE STAR-CIRCLING SONG





Scorpio's red gaze stares

As the eagle Aquila's wings do spread

And the puppy Canis Minor's eyes shine blue

While Serpens the snake tightens its coils made of light





Orion sings proudly from up on high

Showering down frost and dew

As the clouds of Andromeda

Gather in the shape of a fish's mouth





Stretched northward at five times its reach

Is the paw of the great bear Ursa Major

And above the lesser bear Ursa Minor’s forehead

Lies Polaris, our guidepost, as we circle through the stars





THE NIGHTHAWK STAR





The Nighthawk was truly an ugly bird.

His face looked as if it had been spattered with brown miso paste, his broad beak extended nearly ear to ear, and his short, wobbly legs inhibited him from walking more than a few feet. And so it was because of these physical peculiarities that the other birds hated looking at him.

Take the Lark: While by no means an especially attractive bird, he even regarded himself high above the Nighthawk. Should their paths have happened to cross at twilight, the Lark would, with an offputting expression, pretend he hadn’t seen the other bird, shutting his eyes tightly and turning his head firmly in the other direction until the Nighthawk had passed. And smaller birds were always badmouthing the Nighthawk behind his back, saying:

“Humph! He’s come out again. Just look at that sorry face! It pains me to count him among us birds.”

“Tell me about it! With a mouth that big, you’d think he was one of the frogs!” As well as other nasty things.





Oh, if only he were the real Hawk! Then the mere mention of his name would send those shallow, little birds shrinking into the leaves to hide. But in spite of his name, the Nighthawk bore no relation to the Hawk. He was, in fact, the elder brother of both the beautiful Kingfisher and the Hummingbird, who was considered the jewel in the bird family’s crown. For dinner the Kingfisher fished and the Hummingbird feasted on honey, but the Nighthawk caught and ate little bugs. Since he had neither strong claws nor a sharp beak, even the weakest of birds had little to fear from him.

How strange it was, then, to have “hawk” in his name. They only resembled one another in two ways: The first being that the Nighthawk’s wings were quite strong. When he flew, they looked like blades slicing through the wind, and were easy to mistake for the Hawk’s. The second was that his cry was very piercing and too much like the Hawk’s. Naturally, this did not sit well with the real Hawk, who angrily demanded the Nighthawk do something about his name every time he saw him.

So it happened one evening, after a long series of threats, that the Hawk paid a formal visit to the Nighthawk’s nest.

“Hey! You home?” the Hawk called out. “I see you’ve yet to change your name. You’re unexpectedly brazen for such a lesser bird! But I’ll have you listen here, now. You and I couldn’t be more different. I can soar anywhere I please within the great blue sky, while you can only come out at dusk, or at best when it’s overcast. And just look at my fine beak and claws! I’m sure you’ll find yours cannot compare.”

“But…Mr. Hawk,” the Nighthawk replied, “how can I change my name? It’s not as if I named myself.

My name was given to me, by God.”

“I beg to differ,” retorted the Hawk. “That could certainly be said of my name…that it was given to me by God. But you’ve only borrowed yours—half from me and half from the Night! Now I ask that you return both names to their rightful owners!”

“But Mr. Hawk,” the Nighthawk cried, “that just isn’t possible!”

“Oh, yes it is. I’ll give you a new name. We’ll call you Pipsqueak…a fitting name for you! Now, when one changes one’s name, it’s imperative he make it known. So…pay attention, now…” the Hawk continued.

“You are to tie a sign around your neck with ‘Pipsqueak’ written on it. Then you’ll go into the forest and visit each nest to announce that from this time forward you are to be addressed solely by that name and not as the Nighthawk any longer.”

“I can’t do that!” the Nighthawk protested.

“You can, and you will,” the Hawk insisted. “If I hear you haven’t done so by tomorrow morning, I’ll come at once to fell you. I’ll catch you in my claws and kill you, make no mistake. Early next morning I’ll fly myself to each bird’s home and ask if you’ve visited.

And if I find you’ve missed even one, then that will be the end of you.”

“But that’s impossible!” cried the Nighthawk again. “If you’re going to make me do such a thing, then…then I’d rather just die now! P-please…strike me down here and now!”

“Calm down now and think it over. Pipsqueak isn’t such a bad name.”

Having stated his business, the Hawk unfurled his giant wings and departed, leaving the Nighthawk to ponder his situation.

　What is it about me that makes the others hate me so? I suppose it’s because my face looks as if it’s been smeared with miso paste and my mouth is very wide. But even so, it’s not as if I’ve ever done anything bad… Why, when the White-eye’s chick fell from her nest, I caught him and brought him home. But when I did, the White-eye snatched him back as if she’d thought I’d tried to steal him.

Then she laughed at me, didn’t she? And so scornfully, too.

And now… Ah, to be forced to change my own name… to wear a different one about my neck… It’s too much to handle.





By now it was growing dark, so the Nighthawk took from his nest. The setting sun tinged the mountaintops red, and the clouds hung gray and low, seeming to bear down upon the earth. As if skimming through them, the Nighthawk soared soundlessly through the sky. Then quite suddenly he opened his large mouth as wide as it would go and, with both wings spread, shot downward like an arrow, catching insects in his mouth, one after another. Just before his body hit the ground, he nimbly swerved back into the air. When the Nighthawk flew with all his strength in this way, the sky appeared as if it were being split asunder. He caught a large beetle next, which struggled as it made its way down his throat. He managed to swallow it, but for some reason a cold chill ran down his back once he had.

The sky had now gone pitch black, and only the mountaintops farthest to the west still caught the light of the sun, burning ominously. With the feeling of a weight pressing down on his chest, the Nighthawk rose upward. He caught another beetle in his mouth, but it, too, beat terribly against the sides of his throat as he swallowed it. When he did manage to get it down, his heart took an awful leap. Letting out a sorrowful trill, the Nighthawk began to weep. He circled over and over in the sky, crying all the while.

　Ahhh! Every night I kill so many insects! And now I am to be killed by the Hawk. Oh, why is it all so trying? So sad…so sad… I’ll stop eating bugs. Let me die of starvation instead. But no…the Hawk will have already slain me. Let me go flying, then…to somewhere far beyond the expanses of the sky.





The Nighthawk went to see his younger brother, the Kingfisher. The pretty bird was still awake and gazing at the distant mountains when he spotted his elder brother descending.

“Hello, brother! You look harried… Do you have some urgent news?”

“No…well…that is…” the Nighthawk stammered.

“You see, it’s just that I must go somewhere far away! And before I do, I wanted to see you—”

“Brother?!” the Kingfisher cried out, alarmed.

“Don’t go! The Hummingbird lives so far away… Without you it will be as if I’m all alone!”

“Well, that…that can’t be helped… Oh, please!” the Nighthawk begged. “Say no more. And promise me that from now on you’ll only catch fish when you’re hungry. Don’t go doing it just for sport. Farewell!”

“Brother! Tell me what’s happened! Come now, stay and talk this over with me!”

“No…nothing can change my fate. Look after the Hummingbird for me…and farewell… We’ll never meet again… Farewell!”

With tears running down his little face, the Nighthawk rushed back to his nest. By now the short summer night was already drawing to an end. The leaves of the ferns, blue and cold, shivered as they breathed in the morning mist. The Nighthawk tidied up his belongings and neatly groomed his feathers before leaving his home for the final time with a highpitched cry.

As the sun rose in the east, the mist cleared. Even though the brilliance of the light made him dizzy, the Nighthawk persevered as he threw himself like a javelin straight at the sun.

“Oh, Sun! Great Sun, up above!” he cried out.

“Please take me up to where you are! I don’t care should I burn to ashes. Even my ugly body would emit some small sparkle as it burned away. Please… bring me up to where you are!”

But no matter how he flew, the sun never grew any nearer. On the contrary, it moved farther and father away, and as it did, it said:

“You are the Nighthawk, are you not? It must be difficult for you, flying in my light. Try traversing the night sky instead and ask the stars for their help, for you are a nocturnal bird.”

The Nighthawk attempted a bow to show his appreciation for the sun’s advice, but by now he was so exhausted that he merely dipped downward, falling into the grassy field below. There he fell into a slumber and dreamt: He saw himself rising infinitely upward, among the gaps in the stars, and then he felt himself being blown eternally forward by a freezing wind. Finally he dreamt that the Hawk had found him and was clutching his body in his fearsome claws.

The Nighthawk awoke with a start when something cold unexpectedly hit his face. It was a drop of dew off the pampas grass in which he lay. While he slept, the sky had turned to dusk, and the stars had begun to glimmer. The Nighthawk steeled his resolve and, gathering all his strength, took to the sky once again.

“Oh, Star, up on high! Eastern star, burning white!” the Nighthawk called out. “Please take me up to where you are! I don’t care should I burn to ashes!”

But the star, Orion, paid him little mind and continued singing his heroic song.

Feeling greatly discouraged—his body all aquiver— the Nighthawk almost lost the strength to stay afloat, but instead he turned and looked for help elsewhere in the vast night sky.

Next he headed south, toward Canis Major.

“Oh, Star, up on high! Southern star, shining bright!” the Nighthawk called out. “Please take me up to where you are! I don’t care should I burn to ashes!”

But Canis Major, shining stunningly in purple and yellow hues, merely replied:

“What foolish words do leave your mouth. What are you, some bird? A hawk? Your wings couldn’t bring you to me even if you flew for a billion…trillion… quintillion years.” He then settled his gaze elsewhere.

Greatly depressed by this response, the Nighthawk almost lost his strength again, but was able to muster up his resolve, taking to the north, straight toward Ursa Major.

“Oh, Star, up on high! Great northern star! Please take me up to where you are!” the Nighthawk called out.

But to his plea Ursa Major answered quietly:

“What foolish thoughts are in your head. Go cool it a while instead. Try diving into an ocean full of icebergs… Although in your case, a cup of ice water would serve just as well.”

Defeated yet again, the Nighthawk gathered his waning energy to continue his flight. He turned west and headed to the other side of the Milky Way, which had just become visible. There he called out to the constellation Aquila:

“Oh, Star, up on high! Great western star! Please take me up to where you are! I don’t care should I burn to ashes!”

With a pompous air, Aquila responded:

“That is an impossible request. Becoming a star requires a certain grace…a sense of bearing…an essence of character that you decidedly lack… Coming from money doesn’t hurt, either.”

By now the Nighthawk was all but completely exhausted. Closing his wings, he let himself plummet downward. But just before his weak, little legs smashed down upon the ground, the Nighthawk suddenly shot up like a flare. He ascended until he reached the sky’s midpoint, where his body jolted as if hit by lightning, feathers standing all on end. At that moment he looked just as a hawk does when attacking a bear. He let out a piercing screech—“CAW CAW CAW!”—and his voice too was like a hawk’s.

The birds sleeping in the forest and fields below all awoke at the sound and, trembling fearfully, gazed up at the starry sky where the Nighthawk continued his climb, higher and higher. The light of the sun tingeing the mountaintops looked like little more than the end of a burning cigarette to him now. Soon the air around him was cold enough to turn his breath white and freeze his wings, which he could flap less freely as the atmosphere grew thinner. Yet the stars above seemed no closer than before.

The Nighthawk’s breathing turned ragged, and he felt as if his body were being pumped like a bellows.

The bitter chill and frost tore through him like a jagged knife, and when his wings had gone almost entirely numb, he opened his tear-filled eyes to behold the sky one last time.

Yes, these were the Nighthawk’s final moments.

He could no longer discern whether he was falling or rising, having lost all sense of up and down. He did know that his heart had grown very calm. And to look at him flipped upside down—his wide mouth now coated in blood—one would see he was smiling.

After another moment the Nighthawk opened his eyes clear and wide, his body transforming into a beautiful blue light, a phosphorescent flame. Close beside him lay Cassiopeia, and clear behind him shone the pale light of the Milky Way. Between the two the Nighthawk Star began to burn, silently. And so it would continue to burn indefinitely—even today it is still ablaze.





SIGNAL AND SIGNAL-LESS





Clackety-clack, chooga-choo

By the time the red-eyed scorpion comes into view

The morning light rings right at four o’clock

The basin waiting in the Tono prefecture

Is full of the voices of cold water

Clackety-clack, chooga-choo

Breathing steam onto the frozen gravel

Scattering sparks into the darkness

I come to a cliff at the end of a serpentine path

And at last, the west burns as if aflame

Clackety-clack, chooga-choo

The birds cry, the forest glistens

The blue river flows

But the hilltops and the gaps in between

Are coated in a dazzling layer of frost

Clackety-clack, chooga-choo

Running really takes a lot out of you

I’ve started sweating quite a bit

I’d like to make it seven, no, eight leagues

Today, too, I’m covered in frost

Clackety-clack, chooga-choo





So sang the first train to bustle down the tracks that morning. Steam shot up weakly from beneath its engines, and bluish smoke rose from its oddly shaped smokestack. The utility poles situated by the railway all buzzed with anticipation as the train approached. With a creak, a railway signal raised her white wooden arm for him. This railway signal was also known as Signal-less.





Signal-less let out a sigh as she gazed at the wispy clouds above.

“I’m certain all my aunts must be facing this same direction today,” she said softly, and continued gazing upward for some time until she heard a noise behind her. She turned to see that it was the sound of the impressive main railway signal, lowering his arm to signal a distant train approaching from the south with a trail of white smoke.

“Good morning. Warm today, isn’t it?” The main railway signal, also known as Signal, greeted Signalless in earnest. His posture, as usual, was as upright as a soldier’s.

“Good morning…” Signal-less replied in a whisper,her eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

“That won’t do, young master,” interjected the fat utility pole that was connected to Signal in order to supply him with electricity at night. “You mustn’t speak so carelessly to those beneath your rank.”

His pompous words made Signal fidget uncomfortably, and were enough to make the thin-skinned Signal-less wish she could disappear. But, of course, she couldn’t, for she was rooted to the spot.





The clouds, opaque like slabs of amber as the rays of the sun shone faintly through them, had put the utility pole in a cheery mood. Following a small horse carriage in the field opposite with his eyes, he began to sing a decidedly out-of-tune song:





Mumble bumble rumble

Wine rains down

Down from the thin clouds

From that wine

Frost begins to flow

Mumble bumble rumble

Mumble bumble rumble

Once the frost has melted

The earth will be pitch black

The horses will wear trousers

And the people will be panicked

Mumble bumble rumble





The more he sang, the less the song made sense. Taking advantage of his being preoccupied, Signal spoke to Signal-less, having the east wind carry his words to her.

“Please don’t let him get to you. The man is a savage,

lacking in social graces. Truthfully, I find him to

be quite the bother.”

Signal-less, still flustered, replied quietly, not looking up. “Oh, no…it’s nothing, really…” But without a wind to help carry them, her words did not reach Signal.

“Can you find it in your heart to forgive me for his transgression? To be honest, I couldn’t live with myself if I thought you were upset with me.”

“My, what a thing to say…!” Signal-less’s tone was that of embarrassment, but the expression on her lowered face glowed with happiness.

“Signal-less, I have something very important to say. Do take it seriously. For you, I’d do my best to keep my arm from lowering as the ten o’clock train arrived. I’d let it pass clean by.”

“You mustn’t!” Signal-less protested.

“Well, of course I won’t. It really wouldn’t be much help for you or for me to do so. The point is, I am willing to, for that is how dear you are to me. You are the most important thing to me in the world. So, please…won’t you love me?”





Signal-less kept her eyes on the ground and uttered not a word. As for the utility pole, he was still singing:





Rumble bumble mumble

In a mountain cavern

A bear lights a fire

But it gets so smoky

That he must run away

Rumble bumble mumble

Rumble bumble mumble

River snails are very slow

Oh yes, so terribly slow

Yet the caps they wear

Are made of the finest wool

Rumble bumble mumble





Signal, an impatient sort, grew agitated as he waited for Signal-less’s response.

“Signal-less, why don’t you answer me? Oh…it’s as if my entire world has been engulfed by darkness… As if I have fallen into a black abyss! Oh, if only a bolt of lightning would see fit to strike me down. Or if the ground beneath my feet would erupt, sending pieces of me flying! What’s the point in living on like this? Please, lightning, won’t you strike me?”

“You’ve nothing to fear, young master! Should lightning hit, I’ll be sure to shield you with my body.

Do be at ease!” At some point the utility pole had finished singing and was now butting in on Signal’s conversation, his eyes set on him. The steel spears atop his head were pointed and at attention.

“What are you saying…? That’s not what I meant!”

“Are you sure? I’m certain that’s what I heard you talking about.”

“Oh, just be quiet!” Signal exclaimed, only to fall into silence himself.

The clouds gradually began to clear and soft sunbeams shone from above.





That night, when the moon was near to sinking behind the western mountain range, it peeked its face out just enough from the bank of black clouds to fill the field with a last bit of dull, ashen light. The bare winter trees, the railroad ties, and the utility poles were all fast asleep. Only the sound of what could have been either the far-off blowing of the wind or the gurgling of a brook remained.

　What reason have I to continue living? Lowering and raising my arm each day…switching my eyes back and forth from green to red… What’s the point of it all? I’ve grown to find it tedious. Let me die, then. But how? That’s right…I was still deciding between lightning and an eruption… Signal, unable to sleep, was muttering to himself. He wasn’t the only one, though; Signalless was across the tracks, looking dejected and saying much of the same things:

　Ah…I hate that Signal has become so cross with me. Yet, how could I answer his question? What’s my reason to continue living? Oh, God…should you cast lightning down on Signal, make sure a bolt hits me as well, so she prayed to the starry sky.

It just so happened, though, that her words faintly entered Signal’s ears. At first he was shocked, his chest tightening, but the more he considered what she had said, the happier he became, to the point he began to tremble.

“Signal-less, what ever are you praying for?” he called out in a shivering voice.

“Oh, nothing…”

“Don’t be cruel. How can you ignore me when I might be done in at any moment by either a lightning bolt or an eruption? Or, perhaps, I’ll be knocked over in a grand fashion by a raging storm, or carried away in Noah’s flood… In any case, I’ll be dead. Does that mean nothing to you?”

It took all of Signal-less’s courage to say the following:

“Actually, that’s just what I was praying for now—for lightning or a flood to take me.”

Her words overjoyed Signal so much so that he began to shake even harder, putting his signal lights in danger of falling off his face.

“Tell me what troubles you, Signal-less. Why ever should you want to die? Open up to me and I swear I’ll find a solution to your problem.”

“It’s you…it’s that you got so angry this afternoon…”

“I see. If that’s it, then there’s no need for concern! I’m not mad at you in the slightest. Even if you plucked out both my green and red eyes, or broke my arm in two, or plunged me to the bottom of an endless swamp…I’d still never think to hate you.”

“My, really? How sweet.”

“So won’t you love me? Oh, please, say that you will.”

At that moment the moon, caught between the black clouds and the mountain range, cast a light that made Signal’s face look like a ghost’s.

“You’ve gone quiet again. I suppose you must really hate me. It’s just as well, seeing as how I’m soon to be struck by lightning…or carried off in a flood…or burst to pieces in an eruption… I haven’t decided yet.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“Am I? Am I? Oh, do tell me if I am!”

“My heart has been filled with nothing but thoughts of you for a long time now.”

“Truly? Truly? Oh, truly?”

“Truly.”

“Then there’s no issue here at all! Let us get engaged.”

“But…”

“No need for hesitation. As soon as it’s spring, I’ll ask the sparrows to inform everyone, and we’ll hold a ceremony. Will you be my betrothed?”

Once again it took all of Signal-less’s courage to say the following:

“But I’m…I’m so terribly plain!”

“I know, I find it charming.”

“But you are new, whereas I am old. You are made of metal, whereas I am made of wood. You’re powered by electricity…and have two signal lights…whereas I have only one!”

“I know, that’s why I love you.”

“Oh…I’m so happy. Yes, then yes! I’ll marry you!”

“This is the happiest day of my life! I promise to be a good husband to you.”

“And I promise that my feelings for you will never know change.”

“Let me give you an engagement ring, then. See　those four blue stars lined up above?”

“I do.”

“Can you make out what looks like a small ring, toward the bottom of them? It’s sometimes called the fish’s mouth. That ring of light is a gift from me to you. Please accept it.”

“I will, gladly… Thank you so—”

“Wah ha ha! This is quite the performance!”

The loud voice that interrupted the scene belonged to the storehouse, who was situated not far from the tracks. Seeing that the couple had frozen, he continued, “Oh no, don’t worry. I’ll keep what I’ve heard a secret. My lips are sealed!”

The moon vanished behind the mountains at long last, shrouding them in darkness.





The following afternoon the wind was blowing so intensely that all of the utility poles, even the ones nearest to the tracks, were crying and creaking with strain. The fat one connected to Signal couldn’t even muster the energy to sing, he was so busy bracing his body against the gale, eyes all scrunched up. He, like the others, was moaning.

Signal-less was again observing the clouds as they drifted drearily through the pale blue sky, though the light of the sun, shining from the west, was making her feel faint. She glanced toward Signal, whose posture was as impeccable as ever. Taking advantage of the wind, which would mask his words from the utility pole, he addressed Signal-less:

“The wind is terrible today, isn’t it? It must be giving you a headache. I feel a bit dizzy myself.

Anyway, I’d like to talk with you. But since I won’t be able to hear your replies, I’d like you to just nod or shake your head to answer me. Actually, that’s what couples do in Europe when they don’t want to be overheard. It’s true, I read it in a magazine! Now… what do you think of that storehouse? A strange fellow, isn’t he, butting into our conversation like that? He said he’d keep things secret, but I can’t help but think him rather daft. Look, over there. He’s watching us. He can see our mouths moving, but he can’t hear what we’re saying. How about you? Are you hearing me all right? Shake your head if so… Oh, good. I was going to say that I want to marry you as soon as possible. If only spring would come sooner! But let’s keep that lughead attached to me in the dark until the day of the ceremony— AHEM! Excuse me… The wind is making my throat feel dry. I’m going to take a little break from talking. Do you understand? Right, then. Talk to you soon.”

Signal said nothing for a while; Signal-less waited

patiently for his throat to feel better. The utility poles were all still moaning, and the wind whistled loudly. Signal swallowed, cleared his throat, and addressed Signal-less again, indicating he had recovered. By then the wind was roaring louder than a bear, and the poles were crying out as if they’d disturbed a hornet’s nest, so Signal-less could only make out half of what he was saying.

“Remember when I said I’d keep from lowering

my arm for you? I’m sure you’d do the same for me. You are so lovely… I wonder how many railway signals like us there are in the world? I suppose they’re mostly women…but you are surely the most beautiful among them. Well, truthfully, I’ve never seen a woman besides you, but I’m still certain I am right. Are you hearing me? Everyone around us is such a fool. Take a look at that lughead of mine. He’s noticed us talking and is straining to hear. What a nasty grimace that is on his face… He’s frightfully stupid. Are you hearing me? Are you—”

“Young master! What could you be discussing

with Signal-less?!” the utility pole connected to Signal shouted, his voice traveling clearly across the din. It caught Signal and Signal-less so off guard that the color drained from their faces and they snapped away from each other.

“Young master, do tell me. It’s my duty to know.”

Signal quickly recovered from his shock and, thinking he may as well say what he pleased on account of the wind, replied with a serious expression:

“You dolt! I’m just discussing my wedding plans with Signal-less and how happy we’ll be. Don’t worry, though, I’ll find a nice piece of driftwood to be your bride.”

Signal-less, who could clearly hear his words, couldn’t help but laugh. Upon seeing this the utility pole became furious and began to tremble with anger, curling his lips in a snarl. He sent out an electric broadcast in all four directions to utility poles both upwind and downwind, all the way to Tokyo. He requested that anyone who might have overheard Signal and Signal-less’s conversation let him know.

Signal had made the worst mistake of his life, having not realized that there was another utility pole with sharp ears situated farther downwind than Signal-less. He had heard their entire conversation and was now relaying it, in its entirety, to the utility pole attached to Signal, who before long was gnashing his teeth. Once he had heard everything, he proceeded to throw a childish fit:

“Damn it! Damn! How infuriating! This is too much! Damn it all! Young master, I’ll have you know I’m a man, too. Do you think I’ll abide being made such a fool of? If you want to try getting married, go ahead! But know that all us utility poles will object, and even you railway signals need to heed the orders of the railroad chief…who just so happens to be my uncle! See if you can get married once he finds out, ha!”

As he spoke, the utility pole was broadcasting his words as far as he could. His expression settled while he listened to the responses that were, as he had anticipated, all in protest. There was no mistaking that he had informed his uncle of the situation as well. Having established the opposition, the utility pole suddenly cried out tearfully:

“Ahh! Eight years I have spent looking after you, and this is the thanks I get! What is the world coming to? Master Thomas Edison would be ashamed! Oh, how sad!”

The wind grew stronger and snowflakes fluttered down from the now-white sky. Signal stood looking shell-shocked. Turning his eyes toward his gentle Signal-less, he saw that she was crying, even as she dutifully lowered her white arm to signal the approaching two o’clock train. As her little shoulders trembled, the cold-hearted utility poles continued to moan in the wind.





Evening came and Signal looked no less crestfallen than before. The light of the moon painted the clouds a shimmering white, and small red and blue lights were quietly appearing in the sky. Far off into the distance, the last remnant of the afternoon wind was still whistling. The railroad ties were all asleep, dreaming of red triangles and yellow dots. The poor youth Signal could only sigh. His Signal-less, half-frozen, also sighed.

“How unfortunate we are,” he couldn’t help but remark to her.

Yes, and all of it is my fault…” she replied sorrowfully.

Dear readers, if only you could imagine how her words stirred the flames burning in Signal’s heart.

“Oh, Signal-less! I wish we could run off together, to someplace where we could be all alone.”

“If only. I’d go anywhere with you.”

“Look up at the sky: See that small blue flame, the one even farther off than our engagement ring? That’s as far as I’d like us to go.”

“I see it…” Signal-less gazed at the flame, her lips quivering as if she yearned to kiss it.

“I wish we could sit together, right in the middle of that star.”

“I do, too.”

“There won’t be any trains there, but perhaps we could tend to a field. It’s important to keep busy, you know, even up in space.”

“Oh, I agree.”

“Stars burning so distantly…please let us join you. Merciful moon, Santa Maria…Master George Stephenson…lend your ears to our sad plea.”

“Please.”

“Come, let us pray together.”

“Yes.”

“Merciful moon, Santa Maria, please take pity on the two of us standing here in the cold depths of the night. Master George Stephenson, grant us your blessings, for we are your humble servants. Take pity on these two wretched souls. Ah, Santa Maria…”

“Ah…”

The stars circled silently through the sky. As the red-eyed scorpion appeared to the west, Santa Maria looked down on the couple, her golden gaze full of compassion. By the time she slipped behind the black mountains, Signal and Signal-less, exhausted, had fallen asleep.





Now our scene changes back to day, as night has a habit of doing.

The sun rose over the mountain range, coloring Signal and Signal-less in a warm tint. A deep voice unexpectedly cast over them like a net. It was the storehouse again.

“You there, utility pole attached to Signal. Why don’t you just put in a good word with your uncle and let these kids be together?”

The red-painted tiles on the roof of the storehouse gleamed like polished armor as he took a hard look around. The utility pole was clearly outraged, but replied stiffly:

“What right do you have to lecture me? This doesn’t involve you!”

“Maybe it doesn’t, but then again, maybe it does! Don’t you think you’re a little too involved, yourself?”

“What was that?! I’m Signal’s guardian and the railroad chief ’s nephew!”

“Oh, I see. Quite a pedigree you’ve got there! Doesn’t explain why you’re acting like such an ogre!”

“Why, you—”

“Don’t get so mad, now. That was just a little joke.

Really, don’t take it personally. Don’t you feel sorry for those two? Just let them get married. Everyone is always talking about how lucky Signal is to have you as such a devoted guardian. So have a heart, would you? Let them be together.”

The utility pole tried to say something but was so enraged, he could only emit shrill, little exclamations. The storehouse, by now more than a bit put off by the whole situation, could only watch him. The sun rose high in the sky, and Signal and Signal-less turned to one another. Signal-less let her eyes drop to the shadow on his white chest cast by his signal lights. She then looked down at her feet, keeping them there for the rest of the day.





It was warm that night. A deep and heavy mist permeated the air, but the moon still managed to shine through it. When all were asleep, Signal let out a sigh that he had been holding in. Signal-less, her heart heavy, followed suit with a little sigh of her own. They heard the storehouse call out to them, his voice calm and kind:

“You poor kids. I didn’t think things would go so wretchedly earlier. I suppose I’ve only made the situation worse. I do apologize. But don’t worry! I have another idea. I bet you’re lonely, not being able to see each other’s faces through this mist?”

“We are.” The couple answered in unison.

“Let me fix that for you, then. Repeat after me. Say alpha.”

“Alpha.”

“Next, beta.”

“Beta.”

“Gamma.”

“Gammaaa.”

“Delta.”

“Deltaaa…”

Something mysterious happened then: Signal and Signal-less suddenly found themselves standing side by side, surrounded by darkness.

“What is this?”

“My, how strange! I can’t see a thing.”

“Wait, look up above! Look at all those stars! How much bigger they seem, and how much stronger their light is. I’ve never laid eyes on these constellations before, either. They are completely unfamiliar! Wherever could we have been transported to?”

“My, look how quickly the stars are circling!”

“Ah, yes, and you can see a large orange one rising on the horizon. Why, it’s rising over the ocean… I see, yes, of course! We’re standing on the shore of night.”

“How lovely. The waves are shining blue.”

“It’s the foam on the crests of those waves that shine so. What a sight! Let’s move a little closer.”

“The water seems as if it’s made of liquid moonlight!”

“And look there, under the water: See those red starfish? And there’s a silver sea cucumber. How slowly she crawls! That creature there, with the glimmering spikes, must be a sea urchin. The tide is coming in now. Come, let’s step back.”

“Let’s.”

“It’s gotten rather cold. The sea seems almost frozen now. The waves have grown still.”

“Perhaps on account of that, I can hear a faint sound.”

“What sort of sound?”

“Listen closely. It sounds like the creaking of the watermill of dreams.”

“Why, you’re right. That’s the melody of this Pythagorean celestial body moving.”

“My, and now everything around us is glowing bluish-white!”

“The dawn is breaking. Ah…now I can see your face clearly!”

“And I yours.”

“At last we are alone…”

“My, there are bluish-white flames burning all over the ocean and ground, and yet they aren’t hot to the touch.”

“We’re standing among the heavens, we’re sitting within the phosphorescent flame of a star. Our fondest wish has been granted… Oh, Santa Maria!”

“Santa Maria!”

“We must be far from the earth.”

“We must be.”

“I wonder which star among all these might be it. There are so many, I can’t tell. I wonder how that lughead is getting along without me? He really is such a sorry fellow.”

“Yes, he is… My, the flames have grown whiter, and they burn so restlessly.”

“Perhaps it is autumn now. How I’d like to thank that kind, old storehouse!”

“Why, you’re very welcome.”

Suddenly his deep voice reached their ears, and Signal and Signal-less realized they had merely been sharing the same dream, and were back upon the earth. While they were dreaming, the fog had lifted and the blue and orange stars could be seen shining up above. They looked at the storehouse, who was smiling widely, before letting out a simultaneous sigh.





NIGHT ON THE GALACTIC RAILROAD





Afternoon Lesson





“Now, then, class, even though it’s called the Milky Way, do you know what this expanse is really made up of?” the teacher asked as he pointed to a large diagram of space—specifically to the whitish streak that ran across it—that had been draped over the blackboard.

Campanella raised his hand, followed by several others. Giovanni also went to raise his hand, but stopped himself at the last second. He was sure the answer was stars—he had read so in a magazine. But lately Giovanni had been so busy with work, he was too tired to pay much attention in class, and he had neither the time to read nor the money to buy any books. This listlessness had caused him to hesitate to answer; however, his teacher called on him anyway.

“Giovanni, can you give us the answer?”

Giovanni stood up from his seat with a start, but was unable to reply. Zanelli, the boy who sat in front of him, turned around and sneered at him. Seeing Giovanni’s embarrassment—his whole face had reddened— his teacher kindly gave him a hint:

“If you looked into space with a large telescope, what would you see?”

I knew it! The answer is stars! thought Giovanni, but he still couldn’t muster a single word. His teacher, looking a little disappointed, addressed Campanella instead.

“Well, then, Campanella, can you tell us?”

Campanella stood up, but despite having had enthusiastically raised his hand just moments earlier, he now fidgeted uncomfortably in silence. His actions surprised the teacher so much so that he briefly stared at the boy before quickly explaining the answer himself.

“If you looked at this glowing expanse with a high-quality telescope, you’d see it’s made up of many small stars. Isn’t that right, Giovanni?”

Giovanni was still blushing furiously, and his eyes had filled with tears. He had known the answer, and he knew Campanella had known it, too. After all, that magazine he’d read had belonged to Campanella’s father, a professor, and they’d read it together at Campanella’s house. After they’d finished reading it, Campanella had fetched a large tome from his father’s study: it was a book on the galaxy and was chockfull of beautiful pictures of space, which was entirely black save for dots of tiny white stars. They had spent the entire day poring over those pages. Campanella surely hadn’t forgotten this, but perhaps he had noticed how exhausted Giovanni was, working morning to noon—how he was too busy to play with the rest of the boys after class or even to talk to Campanella at all. And yet Campanella had kept quiet out of respect for him. This realization made Giovanni feel terrible for the both of them.

Meanwhile, the teacher had continued with his lesson:

“If you were to think of the Milky Way as a river, all of these stars, including our own sun and earth, would make up the pebbles and sand at the bottom; in other words, we are floating within this river’s waters. The river flows at the speed of light, and just as real water appears bluer the deeper it is, the farther away the stars are, the more concentrated they appear, giving the impression of, say, a spill of milk. Now take a look at this model.”

The teacher then pointed to a large convex lens in which underneath was a pile of sparkling sand.

“Think of each grain of sand as a star, and let’s imagine our sun, with the earth nearby, situated in the middle of this pile. Now, imagine that you, are standing right in the center of this lens, looking upward: On this side, the glass is thinner, so you can only faintly make out the stars; but on this side, the glass is thicker, and you can see them much more clearly. In our next lesson I’ll explain more about how this lens works, as well as discuss the stars in better detail. Now collect your things, because it’s time for you to be dismissed. Oh, and tonight just so happens to be the Centaurus Festival, so be sure to take a good look up at the night sky while you’re out!”

The classroom filled with the sounds of desks being shut and books being gathered. After giving their teacher a respectful bow, the children filed out the door.





The Printing Office





As Giovanni was passing through the school gates, he noticed a group of seven or eight boys standing under a cherry blossom tree in the school yard. In the center of the group was Campanella. They seemed to be talking about how they were going to sail gourds decorated with lights down the river later, as was festival tradition. Not stopping to join in, Giovanni just gave them a wave before rushing off into town.

There, everyone was busy preparing for the festival, hanging wreathes of yew leaves all about and placing lights on the branches of the cypress trees. Instead of heading straight home, Giovanni made three turns to reach the printing office. Stepping into the entrance room that also doubled as the accounting office, Giovanni greeted a man wearing a baggy white shirt, who was the only one sitting there. Then, after placing his schoolbag in the corner, he entered the adjoining room, which was abuzz with nervous energy. All the lights were on, even though it was still daytime, and the many rotary presses were shaking noisily. Workers were scrambling back and forth, hurriedly counting and reading in a way that sounded almost as if they were singing. Giovanni headed toward the third desk from the front.

“Can you get me these?” the man sitting at the desk said, handing Giovanni a sheet of paper. Giovanni took it along with a box from beneath the man’s desk and proceeded to the brightest corner of the office, where racks of type were lined up. Kneeling down, he began carefully picking out pieces of type, which were as small as grains of millet, with a pair of tweezers.

“If it isn’t the living magnifying glass! Good afternoon to you!” commented a worker in blue as he passed by Giovanni. A few of his coworkers who had overhead him chuckled without ever turning to look at Giovanni. Giovanni continued to diligently pick out the type, only pausing to rub at his eyes.

A little after six o’clock, after comparing the type that he’d filled the box with to the letters on the sheet of paper, Giovanni returned to the man’s desk. The man took the box and paper with a nod, and Giovanni returned to the entrance area. The man in the baggy white shirt wordlessly handed him a single silver coin, which immediately restored Giovanni’s spirits. After retrieving his bag with much gusto, he sprinted out the door. He whistled a cheerful tune all the way to the bakery, where he bought a large loaf of bread and a bag of sugar cubes. Then he ran home as fast as his legs would take him.





Home





Giovanni arrived at his small house, which was located on a back street.

“Mother, I’m home. How are you feeling?” Giovanni called out as he took off his shoes.

“Oh, Giovanni. It’s cool today, so I’m feeling just fine. Have you just returned from work? You must be exhausted.”

Giovanni’s mother’s room was the one closest to the entranceway. He went inside to see her resting, covered in a white sheet. Cracking open her window, he said, “I bought some sugar cubes. I thought I’d mix some in with your milk.”

“That was nice of you, but rest a little first. I’m not hungry just yet.”

“When did sister come back?”

“Around three, I believe. She took care of the cleaning for me.”

“Did the milk delivery come?”

“I don’t think it did, actually.”

“I’ll go pick it up from them directly, then.”

“No need to hurry. I don’t mind waiting, so sit down and have something to eat. Your sister made a tomato dish and left it out for you.”

“Okay, I’ll eat, then.” Giovanni found the plate containing the tomato dish in the kitchen and ate it along with his bread.

“Say, mother…I have a feeling father will be home soon.”

“Do you? To be honest, I do, too. But what makes you feel that way?”

“Well, I read in today’s newspaper that the fishing up north was really good this year.”

“But there’s no guarantee your father was on any of those boats.”

“I think he was. I don’t think he’d have done anything to get himself kicked off any. Remember the huge crab shell and the reindeer antlers he brought back to give to the school? They’re both still there, in the display room. The teachers take turns bringing them into their classrooms.”

“I believe your father said he’d bring you an otter skin coat this time.”

“Yeah…somehow some kids in my class found out about that, though…and they’re always making fun of me about it.”

“Are they teasing you?”

“A little…but not Campanella! He never, ever joins in; in fact, he always looks sad whenever the other kids pick on me.”

“Well, your father and his father have been friends since they were the same age you and Campanella are now—”

“Oh, then that explains why father used to take me over to Campanella’s house. We sure had fun back then! Sometimes I’d also stop by after school. Campanella’s got a model train and the engine runs on alcohol, you know. If you put the seven tracks that come with it together, the engine rides around in a circle. One time we ran out of alcohol so we tried refilling the engine with kerosene, and the canister got all sooty.”

“Oh my.”

“I still pass by there to deliver the paper in the morning, but it’s always dead quiet in the house.”

“That’s because your paper run is so early. They’re probably still asleep.”

“They have a dog called Sauer, who’s got a tail like a broom. Whenever I stop by there, he follows me around, sniffing at me the whole time. Then he follows me all the way down the street, and sometimes even farther than that! Tonight, Campanella and the other boys are going to sail gourds down the river. I’ll bet Sauer will be with them, too.”

“That’s right…tonight’s the festival.”

“Yup. I’m going to have a look around when I go pick up your milk.”

“Have fun, dear. And be careful around the river. Don’t get too close to the water.”

“I won’t! I’m going to watch from a safe distance. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Take your time. I won’t worry as long as I know you’re with Campanella.”

“Yeah, we’ll be together! Shall I close the window for you now?”

“Please do. It’s gotten a bit chilly.”

Giovanni stood up, closed the window, and cleared his plate. After placing the bread back into its bag, he excitedly put his shoes back on.

“I’ll be back in an hour and a half, then!” he said as he left the dark entranceway.





The Centaurus Festival





The tune Giovanni whistled sounded a little more wistful than before as he made his way down a slope lined with cypress trees. At the bottom stood a lone, large lamppost, shining a splendid blue. Giovanni’s shadow, which had been stretched out long and far behind him like a creeping monster, grew darker, shorter, and more defined the closer he came to the light. Soon it was walking in time beside him.

I’m a great big locomotive! Watch as I speed down this incline! And look, my shadow has slipped out in front of me, swaying like a compass needle, he played around in his imagination

Giovanni was about to pass the lamppost when none other than Zanelli from his class zipped by him.

“On your way to sail gourds?” Giovanni started to say, but he was cut off before he could finish.

“Hey, Giovanni! Why aren’t you wearing your otter skin coat?!” Zanelli shouted over his shoulder as he ran past. His words made Giovanni’s heart go cold for a moment before it began to ache.

“What did you say to me, Zanelli?!” Giovanni yelled after him, but the boy had already ducked into his house.

Why does Zanelli have to talk to me like that? I’ve never done anything to him. I could easily make fun of him if I wanted to…like about how much he resembles a rat, darting around like that. But I won’t stoop to his level. He’s the fool for being mean for no reason.

As he mulled over these thoughts, Giovanni passed by several buildings decorated festively with wreathes and lights. The clock shop in particular had a wonderful display illuminating its store window: It featured an owl made of stone, with red eyes that spun around in its head. Surrounding the owl were what looked like jewels the color of the ocean, though they were really fashioned out of glass, revolving like stars. On the opposite side of the owl, a copper centaur slowly turned to face Giovanni. And in the very middle of the display was an oval constellation chart, adorned with fresh asparagus leaves.

Giovanni soon found himself lost in the chart. Although it was much smaller than the one from class, it had a dial that if turned to match the day and time, it would display the stars just as they were in the sky at that moment. He could make out the Milky Way, which resembled a white smoke trail rising from an explosion. Positioned in front of the chart was a small golden telescope on a tripod, and toward the very back of the display hung a picture that depicted the constellations as great heroes and animals, such as the fish, scorpion and snake. Giovanni wished he could go strolling among them, heading wherever the starry path might take him, and he stood for a while imagining it in his mind. Before long, though, he remembered his task of picking up milk for his mother and pulled himself away from the clock store. He walked, taking long strides as he continued through the streets, with his chest held out, despite it making his too-small coat pinch his shoulders.





The air was crisp and clear that evening and seemed to flow in and out of the storefronts and through the streets like water. All of the streetlights were wrapped with fir and oak branches, and the six plane trees in front of the local electric company were decorated especially lavishly with a number of little lights. Small children, all wearing brand new clothes, were singing songs about the stars and calling out to the constellation Centaurus as they ran along, playing happily and setting off blue magnesium sparklers behind them. In contrast, Giovanni, with his head hung low, seemed almost a foreign object among all the celebratory cheer.

Soon enough he came to a building on the edge of town, outside of which a row of poplar trees grew tall, as if reaching toward the sky above. Giovanni passed through a dark set of doors and stepped into the kitchen of the dairy, where the smell of cattle was overwhelming. Removing his hat, he called out, but received no answer. The house was completely quiet and no one appeared to be home.

“Excuse me! Good evening!” Giovanni called out continually, having no other options. After a while an old woman, who didn’t seem to be in an especially good mood, slowly made her way into the kitchen before asking what his business was.

“Yes, well, you see, we didn’t get our milk delivery today, so I came to pick it up,” Giovanni said as clearly as he could manage.

“I don’t know anything about it, and there isn’t anyone here now that would. Come back tomorrow,” the old woman said, rubbing her red eyes as she looked down at Giovanni.

“But my mother…she’s sick. She really needs that milk tonight.”

“Fine, fine. Then just come back in a little while,” said the old woman before she disappeared back inside.

“I will, thank you,” Giovanni replied politely.





Back outside, Giovanni was about to turn a street corner when he saw a group of seven or eight students in front of the general store across from the bridge. They were singing and laughing, their white shirts in disarray. He recognized their voices, and when he saw them holding lighted gourds, he realized they were his classmates. For a moment Giovanni considered turning back the way he came, but he collected himself and walked right over to the group instead.

“Are you headed toward the river?” Giovanni tried to ask, but as he stumbled on his words, Zanelli interrupted him for the second time that evening.

“Giovanni, where’s your otter skin coat?” Zanelli shouted at him, and before long all the other kids were doing the same.

Face flushed, Giovanni rushed past them, only vaguely aware of his legs moving him along. He realized Campanella was there, too, when his eyes met those of the taller boy. Campanella had a strained look on his face, yet he gave Giovanni a small smile, as if entreating him to not be mad at him. Giovanni averted his gaze to escape this plea. As soon as he had passed, the group continued carrying on like before, as if they had never even seen him. Giovanni paused to look behind him and saw that while Zanelli was still staring in his direction, Campanella already had his eyes set on the bridge they were about to cross. Feeling profoundly lonely, Giovanni broke into a dash. The sight of him running excited a few small children who were playing nearby, and they gave a cheer as he passed. Giovanni hurried on to his destination, a dark hill in the distance.





The Pillar to Heaven





Behind one of the farms on the outskirts of town stood a hill with a peak that sat directly beneath Ursa Major. Giovanni traveled a starlit path flanked by a small forest up to the peak. The surrounding bushes and brambles seemed to take on a life of their own in the darkness, while the fireflies cast their flickering blue lights over the grass—they reminded him of the lights on the gourds meant to be sailed down the river.

Once Giovanni had passed through the pine and oak trees, the sky above seemed to unfurl over him, the Milky Way flowing from the south toward the north. Marking the top of the hill was a tall pillar surrounded by blooming bellflowers and chrysanthemums that gave off a dreamlike scent. Giovanni threw his tired body down on the grass wet with dew and watched as a bird flew overheard with a solitary caw.

The lights of the town below seemed to Giovanni like those of an undersea palace. Even from way up on the hilltop, he could faintly pick up the sounds of children singing. The wind whistled past him, swaying the grass and flowers and cooling the sweat that had soaked his shirt.

Upon hearing the sound of a train somewhere in the distance, Giovanni turned to spy it passing through a field outside of town. As he watched the uniform lights of the train compartments pass by, he imagined the travelers inside, laughing and talking as they peeled apples to eat. This thought made him feel sad, so he turned his eyes back onto the sky above.

So that white expanse up there is really made up of stars?

No matter how long he looked at it, he just couldn’t imagine space being the cold, empty place his teacher had said it was. Actually, the harder he looked, the more he thought he spied a town, farms, and fields, just like the ones around him.

Giovanni watched as the stars within the constellation Lyra flickered faintly in a way that looked as if a leg were being extended before being pulled in again. Finally the lights of Lyra settled into view, while all the other stars in the sky appeared to cluster together to form what looked like a great wisp of smoke snaking down toward the town below.





Galactic Station





The pillar behind Giovanni began transforming into a signpost. At first it blinked in and out of sight, like one of the fireflies, but gradually it became clear and fixed. It stood strong, like newly forged iron, on what had become a cosmic field up in the steely blue sky.

A mysterious voice resounded from an unknown direction. Giovanni thought he heard it saying, “Galactic Station! This is Galactic Station!” Then everything before him went bright, as if the light of thousands of firefly squids had been frozen all around him, or someone had upended and scattered about a world’s worth of diamonds that had been hidden to keep prices inflated. It was all Giovanni could do to keep from rubbing his eyes.





Suddenly he found himself sitting in a train car that was chugging steadily along a track through space, or perhaps he had always been there, sitting on the blue velvet seat and looking out the window. The wall across from him had been polished with grey varnish and had two big, shiny brass buttons upon it.

He noticed someone sitting across from him; he appeared to be a boy about his age, but because he was sticking his head out the window, Giovanni couldn’t see his face. The jacket he wore was dark, as if it had been drenched in water. Giovanni couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew this person and was about to stick his head out the window, too, when he felt the boy looking in his direction.

Why, it was none other than Campanella!

Just as Giovanni was about to ask how long he’d been sitting there, Campanella spoke:

“Everyone came running after me, but it was already too late. Zanelli ran the hardest, but he still couldn’t catch me.”

“Oh…that’s right…you were out together…” Giovanni recalled, albeit vaguely.

“Should we wait up for him somewhere?” Giovanni suggested.

“No. Zanelli already went home. His father came to get him.” Campanella’s face paled as he said this, and his eyes looked pained, giving Giovanni the distinct impression that he was forgetting something important, so he just kept quiet until Campanella smiled again and said:

“Oh no! I forgot my canteen. And my sketchbook, too. I guess it doesn’t really matter, though… Soon we’ll be arriving at Cygnus Station. I hope we see some swans there. I’ve always been good at spotting them, even from all the way across the river.”

Campanella then produced a map on a round board. When Giovanni took a look at it, he saw the surface was as black as night with the Milky Way displayed upon it in white. It detailed the route of the train they were on, which was traveling south. The most amazing thing about the map was how all the station names, signposts, springs, and forests were represented with pretty green, blue, and orange lights. Giovanni felt he had seen a map similar to this one before.

“Where did you get this? It looks like it’s made out of obsidian!” Giovanni exclaimed.

“It was given to me at Galactic Station. Didn’t you get one?”

“I don’t remember even being at a Galactic Station. I suppose we’re right around here now, then?” Giovanni pointed a little north of where cygnus station was written.

“That’s right,” answered Campanella, before pointing outside. “Oh, look! The riverbed is glowing with the moon’s light!”

Outside the window they could see a riverbank covered in silver pampas grass, swaying in the wind like waves.

“That’s not moonlight, that’s the glow of the Milky Way,” Giovanni said, excitement building in his chest. He scrambled to crane his neck out the window and get a good look at the cosmic river. At first he couldn’t see anything, but the longer he watched the water, which was more transparent than glass or even hydrogen, he thought he spied—if it wasn’t just a trick of the eye—small purple waves shining like rainbows with each soundless crash. Scattered along the riverbank were phosphorescent signposts: The ones farther away appeared small but well defined, colored orange and yellow, while the ones nearby were large, blurry, and colored white and blue. The various signposts were shaped into triangles, quadrangles, and even zigzags, like lightning, or links of chain, and they illuminated the entire area around them. Giovanni, his heart aflutter at the sight, shook his head, which made all of the beautiful lights in his eyeline streak and sway.

“I can’t believe it…I’m really in space!” Giovanni exclaimed. “But, you know, I don’t think this train runs on coal,” he then commented, his left arm dangling out the window.

“Perhaps it runs on alcohol or electricity, then,” replied Campanella.

The train traveled on and on beside the swaying silver pampas, the clear river water, and the faint lights of the signposts.

“Look!” Campanella exclaimed. “Gentian flowers! It must already be autumn.” In the short grass along the track bloomed splendid gentian flowers that looked as if they had been carved out of moonstone.

“Maybe I’ll jump off the train for a moment, pick some, and hop back on,” Giovanni said, his heart still dancing.

“I wouldn’t. See, we’ve already passed them.” Before Campanella finished speaking, they had left the gentian flowers behind. But soon another bed appeared, shining yellow and passing over their eyes like bubbling water or rain, while the lights of the signposts seemed to smolder.





The Northern Cross and the Pliocene Seashore





“I wonder if my mother will be able to forgive me…” Campanella blurted out, clumsily.

This utterance made Giovanni fall into a thoughtful silence, for it occurred to him that his own mother was off somewhere within those distant signals, most likely wondering where he was.

“I’d do anything to make her happy…but what would bring her true happiness?” continued Campanella, looking as if he was fighting back tears.

“Is she that upset with you?” Giovanni inquired, somewhat alarmed.

“I don’t know…but I think everyone is happiest after doing something truly good. So I think she will forgive me…” Campanella’s eyes looked more resolute as he said this.





Suddenly a bright white light illuminated the train car. Outside the window was a shining island sitting in the center of the silent, weightless water of the celestial river. At its highest point stood an amazing giant cross, which looked as if it had been cast from the frozen clouds of the North Pole. Crowned by an ephemeral golden halo, it towered in eternal silence.

“Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” Giovanni and Campanella heard voices calling out from all around them. The other travelers in the car were rising from their seats—pressing black bibles to their chests, holding a line of beads from their crystal rosaries, or simply clasping their hands together—and praying to the cross. Upon seeing them, the boys also rose to their feet. As he prayed, Campanella’s cheeks shone beautifully, like a pair of ripe apples.





The train rode on, and soon the cross and the island it stood on were far behind them. The cliffs outside the window were hazy with silver smoke that resembled someone’s cold breath swaying the pampas grass like the wind. The many gentian flowers, their blooms peeking in and out of the fog, could be mistaken for gentle will-o’-the-wisps.

A tall Catholic nun in a black habit was standing behind Giovanni. He wondered when she had boarded. Her large green eyes were facing firmly downward, and she was listening reverently, as if expecting to hear a heavenly voice at any moment. The travelers began returning to their seats, and as they sat back down, the boys found their chests heavy with a new emotion—one that resembled sadness. To distract themselves from it, they began quietly discussing a different subject:

“We’ll be at Cygnus Station any second now,” said Giovanni.

“Yes, we’re to pull in at eleven o’clock sharp.”

The boys glimpsed a green signal hanging on a white post quickly pass by their window, followed by the light of the railway switch, which burned like a sulfurous flame. The train began to slow down, and soon the lampposts lining the train platform came into view. Eventually the train came to a complete stop in front of the giant clock at Cygnus Station. The clock hands, made of blue steel, were pointing straight at the numbers eleven and twelve. All of the passengers got off, leaving Giovanni and Campanella alone in the car. twenty minute stopover was written underneath the clock.

“Let’s take a look around while we’re here,” suggested Giovanni.

“Good idea,” Campanella agreed.

The two got up from their seats and rushed through the train doors, making their way to the ticket gate that was marked by a bright blue utility pole. They didn’t see anyone else around, be it their fellow passengers or the train staff. Leaving the ticket gate, they entered a small square outside the station, which was surrounded by gingko trees that looked as if they had been crafted out of glass. Setting down the wide path ahead, the two boys ventured out into the blue light of the universe.





There were still no traces of any other people, and as Giovanni and Campanella strolled side by side, their shadows forked out in all directions, like the spokes of a turning wheel. Before long they reached the gorgeous riverbed they had seen from the train window. Campanella grasped a handful of sand and let it sift through his fingers.

“Each grain is like a crystal, with a tiny flame burning inside,” he said dreamily.

“You’re right,” Giovanni replied, equally dreamily, yet he was haunted by the notion that he had heard similar words not too long before.

The small stones littering the riverbed were all opaque. Some were, without a doubt, diamonds and topazes, while others were bits of rough mineral rock, and even corundums, shining a misty white.

Giovanni ran across the shore to dip his hands into the water, which was barely corporeal—thinner and clearer than any water on earth. But it was there, as evidenced by the ring of silver that formed where his wrists had entered the water. He could also feel little waves crashing against his wrists, letting off pretty phosphorescent crackles as they did.

Looking across the river, Giovanni spied a cliff covered in pampas grass, under which sat a large, smooth plateau of white rock. Upon the plateau were five or six people, their shadows standing and bending, who appeared to be digging with gleaming tools in their hands.

“Let’s go!” Giovanni and Campanella exclaimed in near unison. When they neared the plateau, they saw a signboard that proclaimed it the pliocene seashore. Along the waterside ran a thin metal railing, with nice wooden benches set up behind it.

“Look at these strange things,” Campanella said, stooping to gather what looked like a large black nut. “It’s a walnut. Look, they’re all over. Did they flow down the river to get here?”

“They’re awfully big—twice the size of a normal walnut,” Giovanni remarked.

“Let’s hurry. I want to see what those men are digging up.”

With walnuts in hand, the pair approached the excavation site. To their left, waves crashed on the shore like gentle lightning; to their right, the silver sand was overrun with swaying pampas grass and seashells. As they got closer, they noticed a tall, professoriallooking man, wearing Coke-bottle-thick eyeglasses and high boots. He was jotting down notes while directing three assistants who were waving around picks and shovels.

“Take care not to damage that protrusion! Use your shovel, your shovel! Wait a moment and back up a little before you begin digging. No, no, no! Oh, why must you be so violent?!”

Upon closer inspection, they saw that the men were digging out the skeleton of a large animal from the soft white rock. They also noticed a fossil with two hoof prints that had been neatly cut out and dated.

“Are you here to observe?” asked the professor, his spectacles glimmering as he eyed the boys.

“I see you found the walnuts. Those are 1.2 million years old, you know. Still look new, don’t they? Everything around here dates from 1.2 million years ago, from around the end of the Tertiary period. We find seashells, too; there’s salt water flowing through the currents of this river. Now, these bones you see, they’re from a creature called the Vos— Hey there, stop! Don’t use your pick, use a chisel instead, and carefully! Ahem… The creature is called the Vos, and it’s the ancestor of the cow. In the past, there were a lot of them.”

“Are you going to display the bones at a museum?” Giovanni inquired.

“No, they’re for proof. From our point of view, there is plenty to prove that this stratum dates from 1.2 million years ago. But some other people might not see it as a stratum at all; they might just see some water, or wind, or even just an empty patch of sky. So we need concrete evidence to show them. Understand? So— Hey! Don’t go shoveling there! That’s right where the ribs are located!” the professor began yelling, flustered, in the middle of his explanation.

“It’s time to get back to the train,” Campanella said, checking the map and his wristwatch.

“Oh…excuse us, then. Thank you for the explanation, ” Giovanni politely said to the professor.

“I see. Goodbye, then,” said the professor, returning to his overseeing.

The two ran from the white rock plateau as quickly as they could so as not to miss the train. They ran faster than they could have ever imagined, and without ever running out of breath or feeling tired—it was as if they had become the wind. Giovanni felt that he could easily run across the globe at this rate. Quickly passing the riverbed, the utility pole, and the ticket gate, they were back in their seats before they knew it, looking out the window at where they had just run from.





The Bird Catcher





“Do you mind if I sit here?” said the dry-but-kindsounding voice of an adult.

Giovanni and Campanella turned to see a man with a hunched back and a face full of red whiskers, who was wearing a shabby brown coat and carrying two parcels wrapped in white cloth over his shoulder.

“Go ahead,” Giovanni replied with a shrug.

The man smiled and began loading his parcels onto the luggage rack above them. Without understanding exactly why, Giovanni suddenly felt wistful and lonesome. Staring at the clock on the wall in front of him, he heard what sounded like a glass flute in the distance, and the train started quietly moving. Campanella was watching a black rhinoceros beetle that was standing on the globe of the light in the train car, casting a shadow twice its size across the ceiling. The man with the red whiskers was regarding Giovanni and Campanella with a nostalgic look in his eye. The river and pampas grass sparkled outside as the train began picking up speed.

“Where are you two lads off to?” The man asked, a little timidly.

“To the ends of the universe,” Giovanni answered with a bit of attitude.

“Oh, that’s nice. This train can really take you that far, you know.”

“And where are you going?” Campanella asked in a combative tone. Hearing it caused Giovanni to laugh without thinking, which in turn caused the man in the seat across the aisle from them to glance over and chuckle as well. Campanella, blushing, ended up laughing, too.

“I’m getting off soon. I’m a bird catcher by trade, you see,” the red-whiskered man told them, not offended in the least.

“What sort of birds do you catch?” asked Giovanni.

“Cranes, geese…sometimes swans and herons.”

“Are there many cranes around these parts?”

“Oh, plenty! Can’t you hear their cries?”

“Not at all.”

“Listen carefully. They’ve been squawking for quite some time now.”

The two boys closed their eyes and listened, but all they could pick up was the sound of the train clattering on the tracks and what resembled water gurgling in the wind and grass.

“So how do you catch them?” Giovanni continued questioning the bird catcher.

“The cranes or the herons?”

“The herons,” Giovanni replied, wondering how much difference there could be.

“They’re easy. Those herons are made of concentrated sand from the heavenly river, you know. And they always return there, so I just wait by the river for them to descend. They stick out their legs like this when they do, and I just grab them. I grab them and stick them in my bag. Once I do, they go stiff and die peacefully. After that, it’s easy. I just press them flat, like pressed flowers.”

“You press them flat? Are they science specimens to study under a microscope?”

“Not at all! They’re for eating, of course.”

“That’s strange!” Campanella said, tilting his head to the side.

“No, it isn’t. I’ll show you.” The man stood up, took down one of his parcels, and unwrapped it. “I just caught these.”

“They really are herons!” The two exclaimed. In the bag were about ten brilliant white herons that shone with a light not unlike the one they had seen from the great Northern Cross. They were flattened, with their black legs curled up, and stacked atop each other like plates. The feathers on the top of their heads stood erect like spears.

“Their eyes are shut,” Campanella noted, gently running a finger across the closed crescent-shaped eye of one of the birds.

“See? Just like I said.” The bird catcher wrapped his parcel back up again.

“Are herons tasty?” asked Giovanni, wondering who in the world would eat a heron.

“Sure they are. I get orders for them daily. Geese sell even better, though, on account of being much easier to eat. Have a look.”

The bird catcher unwrapped his other parcel. Inside it were geese speckled with shining yellow and blue lights. Like the herons, they were stacked flat on top of each other, their beaks lined up in a row.

“You can eat these right away. How about it? Want to try some?” The bird catcher snapped off a goose leg, which broke off as cleanly and easily as a block of chocolate. “Go on, try it,” he said, breaking the leg into two and handing Giovanni and Campanella each a piece.

Taking a bite, Giovanni couldn’t help but think:

This is candy! It’s sweeter than chocolate. There’s no way this was ever a real flying bird. This man is no bird catcher; he just sells bird-shaped candy. I don’t feel I can call him out on that fact, though, seeing as how he was nice enough to give me some to eat. Giovanni then proceeded to gobble up the rest of the piece.

“Have some more,” the bird catcher offered. Though Giovanni would have liked some more, he politely refused. The bird catcher held some out to the man with the key about his waist, sitting in the seat across the aisle, instead.

“Why, thank you. Is it all right for me to be eating your precious merchandise?” the man asked, removing his hat.

“It’s no problem at all,” said the bird catcher. “Tell me, how does the migratory bird forecast look this year?”

“Oh, very nice,” said the man. “Why, the day before yesterday I got swarmed with calls complaining that the lighthouse light was blinking. But it wasn’t my fault. Large flocks of birds passing by were the cause of it. ‘You fools,’ I told them, ‘there’s no point complaining to me. Find the bird leading them and complain to him instead. You’ll know him by his rustling cape, big beak, and skinny legs.’ That’s what I told them, all right. Ha ha!”

The pampas grass outside had cleared, and the light came in bright and unfiltered through the window.

“What makes herons so hard to eat?” Campanella had been wondering.

Turning his attention back to the boys, the bird catcher replied:

“Well, you see, before eating a heron, you have to leave it out for ten days under the light of the Milky Way, or if that’s not possible, leave it buried in the sand for three to four days. Doing this sucks all the mercury out, and only then is it safe to eat.”

“But these aren’t really birds, are they? They’re just candy” said Campanella, who had been thinking the same exact thing as Giovanni.

But the bird catcher, suddenly in a rush, only responded by saying, “I need to get off here!” before gathering his bags and vanishing clean out of sight.

“Where did he go?!” exclaimed the two boys, looking at each other and then at the lighthouse keeper, who indicated toward their window with a nod of his head. When they looked outside, they saw none other than the bird catcher standing on the beautiful phosphorescent riverbank. He had an expression of extreme concentration on his face and was holding both arms out, gazing intently above.

“There he is! What an odd sight. He’s out to catch more birds. I hope he can get some before the train gets too far away,” said Giovanni, excitedly.

Herons, like the ones they had seen in his bag, began filling the empty bellflower-colored sky, falling downward like snowflakes. The bird catcher, looking pleased that things were proceeding as expected, opened his arms at a sixty-degree angle and grabbed at the legs of the herons that came dancing down, before stuffing them into his parcel. Once in the parcel, the herons shone with a blue light for a while, blinking like fireflies, before flattening out and closing their eyes.

The majority of the descending herons were going uncaught, however, seeming to dissolve as their feet hit the surface. They spread out over the sand, like molten copper, leaving bird-shaped imprints that soon faded.

After catching about twenty herons, the bird catcher abruptly raised both hands and fell over like a soldier who had been shot on the battlefield. The moment he hit the ground, though, his form vanished from sight like earlier. Then out of nowhere came the sound of his voice beside them:

“Ah, that was refreshing!” The bird catcher was back in his seat as if he’d never left.

“How did you get back into the train from out there?” Giovanni asked, feeling as though he was asking something painfully obvious.

“What do you mean? I wanted to, so I did. By and by, where do you two boys come from?”

Giovanni opened his mouth to reply, but found he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember where he was from. Campanella, blushing, seemed equally unable to recollect.

“Someplace very far away, then, I take it.” The bird catcher nodded his head, as if in perfect understanding.





Giovanni’s Ticket





“We’re reaching the end of the Cygnus quadrant. Take a look, there’s the famous Albireo Observatory,” said Campanella, referencing his map.

Outside the train car window, among the firework- like lights of the Milky Way, stood a building with four towering black spires. Atop one of them were two translucent spheres—one sapphire, the other gold—spinning around each other. The faster they rotated, the more they overlapped, seeming to create an emerald convex lens that swelled between them. The observatory itself, surrounded on all sides by black, shapeless space, seemed like a slumbering beast.

“That’s a tool that measures the speed at which the water is flowing. It—”

“Show me your tickets, please.” The bird catcher was interrupted by a tall conductor wearing a red cap, who had appeared in front of their seats. The bird catcher, after a moment’s search, produced a small scrap of paper. The conductor gave it a quick lookover before turning his eyes and holding his hand out to Giovanni. Giovanni grew alarmed, for he wasn’t sure he had a ticket. Campanella, completely calm, handed the conductor a grey-colored one, making Giovanni panic all the more. He began searching his pockets, hoping against hope something would be there. Surprisingly, he pulled out a large green piece of paper that was folded into quarters, though he wondered how it could have gotten there. Willing to try anything at this point, Giovanni handed the paper to the conductor, who promptly unfolded it. He paused to adjust the button of his coat as he looked it over. The lighthouse keeper was also staring interestedly at the paper from over the conductor’s shoulder. Thinking it might not be an authentic ticket, Giovanni felt his chest grow hot.

“Excuse me, sir, did you receive this in the third dimension?” The conductor asked.

“I’m not sure…” Giovanni replied with a smile, realizing he was out of danger.

“I see…well, then… We’ll be arriving at the Southern Cross, at three o’clock sharp,” said the conductor, returning Giovanni’s ticket and walking to the next row of seats.

Campanella leaned over in his seat, wanting to see what Giovanni had. Giovanni was also very curious about it. Printed on the paper were ten strange characters on a background with a black arabesque pattern. The more Giovanni studied them, the more he felt they were pulling him in.

“Now this is something! That ticket will take you anywhere, even all the way to the true Heaven… No, perhaps even farther! It will take you anywhere this four-dimensional Galactic Railroad is capable of going. To have something like this on your person…you must be very important!” gushed the bird catcher.

“B-but like I said, I really don’t know how or why I received it…” Giovanni said, blushing. He folded up the ticket and put it back in his pocket.

Feeling a little uncomfortable, he turned his gaze out the window again, but he could see out of the corner of his eye that the bird catcher was stealing amazed glances in his direction.

“Soon we’ll be at Aquila Station,” Campanella said, comparing the three signposts lined up outside to the images on his map.





Suddenly Giovanni was consumed by an intense fondness for the bird catcher. He thought of how joyously the man went about catching the herons and wrapping them up in his parcel, and how childishly surprised and impressed he was upon catching sight of Giovanni’s ticket. Although he had only just met him and didn’t even know his name, Giovanni felt he would do anything for the bird catcher’s sake. If it would bring the bird catcher true happiness, Giovanni wouldn’t hesitate to spend a hundred years catching birds for him in the outer reaches of the Milky Way. Unable to suppress these newfound emotions, Giovanni turned to ask the bird catcher what it was he most desired, though thinking that might seem too direct he was considering a more delicate way to put it. But the bird catcher was no longer in the seat beside him, nor were his parcels in the luggage rack above. Thinking he was outside catching birds again, Giovanni hastily looked out the window, but all he could see was the beautiful riverbed and the white pampas grass, as per usual. The bird catcher’s wide back and pointed hat were nowhere to be seen.

“Where did he go?” Campanella asked faintly.

“I don’t know. Will we see him again? I had something I needed to ask him.”

“So did I.”

“When he first showed up, I felt he was a bother and treated him like one… I regret that now.” Giovanni had never said such words before, because it was his first time ever feeling this way.





The Northern Pacific





“Something smells like apples. Maybe I’m imagining it… I was just thinking about them,” said Campanella, surveying the train car.

“No, I also smell them. And wild roses, too.” Giovanni was able to pinpoint that the smell was coming through the window, but thinking it was now autumn, he couldn’t imagine where the rose smell was coming from.

Suddenly there was a little boy of about six standing in the aisle, shivering. He was barefoot, his jacket all unbuttoned, with his hair soaked and an expression of shock on his face. Beside him, holding his hand, was a tall, young man wearing a formal suit. His posture resembled a zelkova tree being blown over by the wind.

“Oh, are we here already? It’s a lovely place,” came the sweet voice of a young girl. Dressed in an overcoat, she stood on the other side of the young man, holding onto his arm as she took in her surroundings with eyes full of wonder.

“Are we in Lancashire? Or perhaps this is Connecticut? No…no, we’re in the sky. We’ve ascended. Look, that mark there is the mark of heaven. There’s nothing for us to fear anymore. God is beckoning us to his side,” the young man in the suit said to the girl, his face aglow. But then he furrowed his brow and, mustering a fatigued-looking smile, sat the little boy down next to Giovanni. He then gently indicated toward the seat next to Campanella, which the girl obediently took, sitting with her hands placed neatly in her lap.

“When are we going to see my big sister Kikuyo?” the little boy asked the young man, who had just settled in the seat across the aisle from them, opposite the lighthouse keeper.

He did not immediately respond but instead wore an expression of deep sorrow as he gazed at the little boy’s wet face. The girl began to weep.

“Your sister Kikuyo and your father still have things to attend to back on Earth, but they’ll be here soon enough. Why not think of how excited your mother will be to see you. She’s been waiting quite a while, now, and I’m certain she’s been worried sick about her precious son Tadashi. We’re hurrying to her side, understand?” the young man responded, finally.

“Yeah, but I still wish we hadn’t got on that boat,” said the little boy.

“Of course, we all do. But look out there, at that gorgeous river. Remember in the summer, when we’d sing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” together? And when we finished singing we could see the stars shining from the window? Well, here it is up close. Isn’t it pretty?” said the little boy’s crying sister, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief as she looked outside.

“There is nothing to be sad about any longer. We’re traveling on this very fine train, which will bring us to God. The place where he resides is bright and full of the scent of flowers, and there are many other upstanding people there,” the young man said, his words comforting. “Besides, I’m sure all the people who were able to get on the lifeboats in our stead have all been saved. Soon they’ll be returned safe and sound to their own homes and families. It won’t be long now, so let’s sing a cheerful song as we go.”

Giving the wet head of the little boy a gentle stroke, the young man began to look more at peace himself.





“Where did the three of you come from? What happened to you?” asked the lighthouse keeper, though he looked as if he already knew.

The young man smiled and then explained:

“Well, the boat we were on hit an iceberg and sank. I’m a college student, and was working as a private tutor for these two children. We were to take the trip with their father, but he was held back on some urgent business, so it was just the three of us. On the eleventh—so either today or yesterday—the ship hit an iceberg—there was quite a lot of mist, you see— and began to capsize. Half the lifeboats had been lost when the ship tipped over, so not everyone could get on them. The ship was sinking fast and I was desperate, so I shouted for everyone to at least let these two skip the line. All the people who heard me made way and prayed fervently for them. But ahead of us were many other children, and I hadn’t the heart to shove my way past them. Rather than being saved by sacrificing others, I thought it might be better for us to see God together. I changed my mind, though, deciding to bear the weight of the sin on my own shoulders if it meant these two might live. But then my resolve faded just as quickly when I beheld all the mothers showering their children with half-mad kisses as they placed them on the boats and their fathers fighting back their tears as they endured the sorrow of parting. That’s when I made my final decision. I held these two tight as the ship went down, determined to hold onto them as long as I still had enough strength in my arms to do so. Someone threw a life buoy in our direction, but it slipped away toward the other side of the deck. I did manage to catch hold of one the gratings, to which we clung for dear life. I heard a voice singing a hymn and before I knew it, everyone left on the ship had joined in, singing along in all different languages. Then suddenly there was a huge crash, and we fell into the water. I held onto these two for as long as I could…

“And now we’re here. These children lost their mother last year. I’m sure everyone on the lifeboats were rescued—they had skilled seamen at the oars who rowed them quickly away from the ship.”

Feeling as if they could hear the voices of those singing the hymn themselves, Giovanni and Campanella began to remember thoughts they had forgotten, their eyes growing hot with tears.

Ah…I’ll bet they were in the Pacific, toward the north where great icebergs flow. To think that at this very moment there are people on those lifeboats braving the freezing cold and rowing as fast as they can to save the children on board. I feel so sad and sorry for the people on that ship. What in the world could I possibly do for them? Giovanni bowed his head, lost in thought.

“No one knows what true happiness is, least of all me. But no matter how hard it is, if you keep to the path you deem to be true, you can overcome any mountain. With each step in that direction, people come closer to happiness,” said the lighthouse keeper, comfortingly.

“I agree,” said the young man, closing his eyes as if in prayer, “but to reach the truest happiness, one must make their way through many sorrows.”

The two siblings, exhausted, had drifted off to sleep in their seats, heads bowed. Giovanni noticed that soft white shoes had been placed on the feet of the little boy, though he knew not by whom.





Apples





The train made its way along the resplendent phosphorescent riverside, the fields outside the window resembling slides from a projector. Hundreds of thousands of triangular signposts, big and small, littered the fields, with red survey flags atop the larger ones. Countless blurry signal lights gathered at the edges of the fields, and vague shapes shot up like flares into the majestic purple sky. The invisible wind continued to carry upon it the scent of roses.

“Would you fancy an apple? I bet they’re not like any you’ve had before,” said the lighthouse keeper, who was holding beautiful deep-red apples on his lap.

“Oh! Where did you get those? They’re lovely,” exclaimed the young man, genuinely surprised, as he unabashedly stared at the lighthouse keeper and his apples.

“Now, now, just try one.”

The young man took one, then looked over toward Giovanni and Campanella and said, “Would you little boys like one, too? Here you go.”

Giovanni, peeved at having been referred to as a little boy, said nothing, but Campanella politely thanked the young man. When the young man stood to hand them their apples, Giovanni stood up and gave him his thanks as well.

The lighthouse keeper placed an apple on each of the laps of the sleeping brother and sister.

“Thank you very much. Wherever do these wonderful apples grow?” the young man asked, still studying his intently.

“There are some farms here and there, but mostly things just seem to grow on their own. Farming here isn’t so hard, either. You just spread the seeds about and soon they begin growing without much help. Take our rice, for example: the grains are ten times larger and without any husks, and it’s much more fragrant, too. Why, I wouldn’t call the agriculture from where you’re from very good at all, in comparison!”

The little boy, Tadashi, opened his eyes. “Oh… we’re still on the train,” he said. “I was dreaming of mother. She was standing among many bookshelves full of nice-looking books. When she saw me, she held her hands out to me with a really big smile. Just when she asked me if I’d like an apple, I woke up.”

“There’s an apple in your lap. This kind gentleman gave it to you,” said the young man.

“Thank you, mister! Oh, big sister Kaoru is still asleep. I’ll wake her. Kaoru! Look, you have an apple, too. Wake up and see.”

Kaoru awoke with a smile. When she looked down at the apple in her lap, she held her hands over her eyes, as if she found it to be too brilliant. The little boy bit into his apple like a piece of candy, the apple’s pretty peel falling downward like a corkscrew, vaporizing in a glimmer as it hit the ground.

Giovanni and Campanella carefully placed the precious apples in their pockets.





On the bank of the river, leading downstream, was a lush green forest, the branches of the trees heavy with full, round, shiny red olives. Standing among the trees was a tall signpost. A harmonious melody, made up of bells and xylophone, came floating out of the forest, melting into the wind as it carried the sounds to their ears and causing the young man to tremble. As they all quietly listened, the green grove spread out about them like a fresh-laid carpet, with dew like candle wax flecking the leaves. Above the pale light of the river, flocks of black birds flew in a row, quietly illuminated.

“My, look at all those crows!” Kaoru cried out.

“Those aren’t crows, they’re magpies!” Campanella said, matter-of-factly, causing Giovanni to laugh and Kaoru to look embarrassed.

“You can tell they’re magpies by the sharp tuft of feathers on their heads,” the young man interjected, acting as a mediator.

The tall signpost passed by the window, and from behind it the tune of a familiar hymn could be heard. It sounded as if a great many people were singing, all together. The young man’s face paled, and he got to his feet as if to go toward it, but he thought better of it and sat back down. Kaoru covered her face with her handkerchief. Giovanni, too, was biting back tears. They didn’t know who had started singing, or when, but soon all the people on board the train had joined in. Giovanni and Campanella added their voices to the chorus as well. Then the shining green trees and the sparkling olives disappeared into the depths of the Milky Way, as did the sounds of the singing and instruments, mere echoes on the wind.

“Look! Peacocks!”

“And so many of them, too!”

Above the forest, which had grown as small as a seashell in the distance, Giovanni’s eyes caught the rays of light given off by the flapping wings of the peacocks.

“I see. So it was the peacock’s voices we heard before,” Campanella said to Kaoru.

“Yes, I think there were about thirty in all. The harps we heard were actually the peacocks singing,” she replied.

For some reason their conversation made Giovanni feel melancholy. He felt like inviting Campanella to step off the train right here, so they could play, just the two of them, but he couldn’t speak, contorting his face into a terrible frown instead.





The New World Symphony





The river split off into two, with an island sitting squarely in between. In the middle of the island stood a tall scaffold, on top of which was a solitary man wearing baggy clothes and a red hat. In one hand he held a red flag, and in the other, a blue flag. He was looking straight up into the sky above and using both flags to signal. While Giovanni watched, he gave the red flag a firm wave and then quickly hid it behind his back as he raised the blue flag up high. He resembled a conductor passionately conducting an orchestra.

Suddenly the sound of rain came from the sky, and black clumps, like bullets, appeared, flying fast and heading toward the other side of the Milky Way. Giovanni stuck nearly his whole body out the window to watch. In the sublime purple sky, thousands of small birds, divided into flocks, were passing by each other, squawking busily.

“Look at the birds go by!” Giovanni exclaimed. Campanella leaned out the window, too.

At that moment the man atop the scaffold abruptly raised his red flag and began waving it like mad. When he did, the swarm of birds stopped dead in their tracks. A dull sound like a thud came from the bottom of the river, and everything went quiet until the man raised his blue flag and began shouting:

“Migratory birds may pass now! Migratory birds, pass now!” His voice carried clearly from the island to the train car.

With that, the countless avian formations began moving again. Kaoru stuck her face between Giovanni’s and Campanella’s, her adorable cheeks flushed as she looked up into the sky.

“Oh my! There are so many birds! And the sky, it’s so pretty!” the girl said to Giovanni with a big smile. But as he was still being reined by his contrary feelings, he kept his eyes on the sky and did not reply. Kaoru gave a little sigh and returned to her seat. Feeling sorry for her, Campanella also sat back down and examined his map.

“Was that person talking with the birds?” she asked Campanella in a soft voice.

“I think he was directing them. Perhaps they’re setting off rockets somewhere and he’s diverting them away from that,” Campanella replied, uncertainly.

The train car became silent once more. Giovanni wanted to pull his head back into the car but didn’t feel yet ready to show his face, so he remained where he was.

Why am I feeling so sad? I want a heart that’s stronger, more pure. If I fix my eyes on those smoky blue flames straight ahead, perhaps I can cleanse my soul.

Holding his aching head in his hands, Giovanni gazed out into the distance.

Ah…is there no one out there willing to be with me for eternity? Look at Campanella, having so much fun talking with that girl. He doesn’t realize how much it hurts me!

Giovanni’s eyes filled with tears, making the light of the Milky Way grow all the more hazy.





As the train climbed out of the riverbed and up onto the high cliffs, fields of corn spread out before Giovanni’s eyes. The leaves on the stalks were wavy and curled, and from behind the translucent green husks and silky, reddish strands, pearl-like corn kernels peeked out. The number of stalks increased steadily until they had completely lined the tracks and edges of the cliff. Giovanni, his head still out the window, could see a forest of corn growing all the way to the horizon. The stalks, soaking up the sunlight, were swaying in the wind, their curly leaves rustling and covered with dew that resembled red and green gems.

“Look at all the corn!” Campanella said to Giovanni, but because the boy was still in a fairly sour mood, he only gave a grunt in response without turning his eyes from the fields.

The train began to slow, and after passing a few signals and switch lights, it pulled into a small station.

The station clock’s hands indicated it was two o’clock, and the ticktock of its pendulum swept across the silent fields. Hints of a melody could be heard traveling from far off in the distance.

“Why, isn’t that the New World Symphony playing?” said Kaoru softly, as if to herself. The entire train car seemed to fall into a gentle lull.

What a peaceful place this is…and yet, why is my heart so restless? Why do I feel so alone? We got on this train together, but all Campanella is doing is chatting with that girl. I can hardly stand it!

In order to hide the face he was making, Giovanni continued to hold his head firmly out the window. There was the familiar sound of the glass flute—the train’s whistle—blowing, and the train began moving again. Campanella joined in with a somber whistle of his own.





“Oh, these hills coming up are rough ones!” said the voice of an old man from behind them, sounding as if he had only just woken up. “When planting corn, you’ve got to dig a hole at least two feet deep or else the seed won’t take, you know.”

“Is that right…? said a fellow passenger. “We must be a ways from the river, then.”

“Two thousand to six thousand feet, by my reckoning. We’ll be coming up on a ravine soon, too.”

Giovanni wondered if they were on the Colorado Plateau. Campanella was still whistling solemnly, and the girl with her rosy cheeks was gazing at Giovanni.

After a length of time, the stalks of corn thinned out and an empty field stretched out before them. The sound of the New World Symphony had become even clearer, and a lone Indian, with white feathers on his head, was running at top speed alongside the train, fitting an arrow upon his bow as he did.

“Look! An Indian! A real live Indian!” cried Tadashi, whose voice woke the dozing young man. Giovanni and Campanella hurried to see.

“Oh dear, it really is an Indian! And he’s running after us, do you see?” exclaimed Kaoru.

“No, he isn’t chasing us or the train. He’s either hunting…or dancing…” said the young man dreamily, hands in his pockets, as if he’d forgotten where he was.

Indeed there was something rhythmic about the way the Indian moved, which was too erratic to be threatening. Suddenly he came to a complete stop, the white feathers in his hair seeming to stand on end. He swiftly raised his bow to the sky and, with a graceful motion, shot his arrow, after which a single crane came floating down toward the earth, falling softly into the Indian’s outstretched hands. He smiled happily, throwing the crane over his shoulder. Then he began to shrink into the distance as the train moved farther away from him.





The insulators on the telephone poles began flashing, and before they knew it they were surrounded by cornfields again. Giovanni observed that they were running along a high cliff, beneath which the river could be seen flowing, wide and bright.

“We’re headed straight downhill from here. It slopes down to water level, so it won’t be an easy ride. Because the descent is so steep, most trains can’t climb up it from the other side. See, we’re already picking up quite a bit of speed,” said the voice of the old man from earlier.

As the train pitched downward, Giovanni felt his heart growing lighter, so much so that when they passed a little house that had a pouty-looking child standing in front, he couldn’t help but wave hello to him cheerfully.

The train really was going much faster, and many of the passengers were holding on tightly to their seats to avoid being thrust forward as they descended the slope. Giovanni and Campanella couldn’t help giggling. Suddenly the river of the Milky Way was flowing beside them once again, appearing even more dazzling than before. Pink flowers were in bloom along the riverbed. Eventually the train slowed down, returning to its usual relaxed pace.





Upon the cliffs around them, Giovanni noticed flags emblazoned with the symbols of a star and a pickaxe. “What do those flags stand for?” he wondered out loud.

“I wonder… There’s nothing about them on my map. Oh, there’s a metal ship on the river,” noted Campanella.

“Why, you’re right,” agreed Giovanni.

“Perhaps a bridge is under construction?” suggested Kaoru.

“Yes, I think that is the flag of the Army Engineers. Perhaps they’re doing a bridge-building drill. I don’t see any soldiers around, though,” Campanella replied.

Farther downstream, the transparent water of the heavenly river shimmered before erupting into a large geyser, following an earth-shaking boom.

“They’re blasting! They’re blasting!” Campanella cried, nearly jumping for joy.

The fish that had been shot upward with the geyser— large salmon and trout with glistening white bellies—drew sparkling circles in the air before falling back into the water below. The sight made Giovanni feel positively giddy.

“It must be the Sky Engineer Battalion at work! Look at all those flying fish! I’ve never seen anything so grand. What a wonderful trip this has been!” he exclaimed.

“There are so many of them, too. There must be a great many fish living in the river,” said Campanella.

“I wonder if there are other types of fish than just salmon and trout,” Kaoru joined in.

“I’ll bet there are! We can just see those more clearly on account of their being so big. There must be smaller ones, too. They’re just too small to see from this distance,” Giovanni replied with a friendly smile, having completely forgotten his prior bad mood.





“Look, there! Those must the palaces of the Gemini!” Tadashi, the little boy, suddenly exclaimed, pointing out the window.

On a low hill, two tiny palaces stood side by side, looking as if they had been fashioned out of concentrated crystal.

“The palaces of the Gemini?” repeated Giovanni.

“They’re from a story our mother used to tell us, of two little crystal palaces lined up on a heavenly shore. To think they’re real…” said Kaoru.

“Tell us the story, too! What are the Gemini?” pressed Giovanni.

“I’ll tell it!” cried Tadashi. “The story goes, the twin Gemini stars went out into the field to play and were attacked by a crow—”

“That’s wrong, Tadashi,” interrupted Kaoru. “That’s not how Mother told it—”

“—and then a comet came buzzing past them! Whoosh—”

“Tadashi, stop! You’re telling a completely different story!”

“—and then they went blowing their flutes, into the sea—”

“No, no, they came from the sea. Don’t you remember?”

“Right, right. So then…” Tadashi continued, though it wasn’t clear if he did.





The Fire of Scorpio





Across the shore a light was casting everything in red, including the dark willow trees and transparent waves of the river. Soon the source of the light could be seen rising up into view above the fields: It was a large flame giving off a smoke trail that rose high into the sky. Redder than a ruby, it burned endlessly and even more beautifully than lithium.

“What a strange flame! What does it burn to produce such a red light?” Giovanni asked.

“It’s the Fire of Scorpio,” Campanella answered, referencing his map.

“Yes, it’s the burning scorpion,” added Kaoru.

“The burning scorpion?” prompted Giovanni.

“It’s a dead scorpion, whose body has been set aflame.”

“By scorpion, do you mean the bug?”

“Yes, but it’s a very good bug.”

“No, it isn’t! I saw one preserved in alcohol at the museum once. It’s got a sharp tail full of poison that will kill you if you’re stung by it! That’s what my teacher told me.”

“That’s true, but that doesn’t make it bad,” Kaoru reasoned. “My father told me its story: A long time ago in a field there lived a scorpion that ate other bugs by using its tail to catch them. Then one day he found himself cornered by a weasel. Fearing for his life, he ran but could not escape it. Suddenly, he fell into a well and, unable to climb out, began to drown. He started to pray, then, saying:

“ ‘Oh, God. How many lives have I stolen to survive? Yet when it came my turn to be eaten by the weasel, I selfishly ran away. And for what? What a waste my life has been! If only I’d let the weasel eat me, I could have helped him live another day. God, please hear my prayer. Even if my life has been meaningless, let my death be of help to others. Burn my body so that it may become a beacon, to light the way for others as they search for true happiness.’

“The scorpion’s prayer was answered, and his body became a beautiful crimson flame that shot up into the night sky. There he burns to this day. My father was telling the truth…”

“Why, you’re right. Look, those points line up and make the rough outline of a scorpion,” said Campanella.

Indeed beyond the flame stood three triangular signposts, which formed the scorpion’s body, with a few more making up the tail and stinger.

They all followed the flame with their eyes until it had faded into the distance. Then they heard the sound of whistles and lively music and the clamoring of people’s voices as the scent of flowers met their noses. They appeared to be passing a town in the midst of a celebration. Giovanni looked out the window to behold a vibrant green fir decked with lights, like a Christmas tree.

“Why, they’re celebrating the Centaurus Festival!” exclaimed Giovanni.

“Yes, that happens to be the village of Centaurus,” added Campanella, again referencing his map.





The Southern Cross





“Soon we’ll be arriving at the Southern Cross. Be ready to get off,” said the young man to his charges.

“I want to ride a little longer!” protested Tadashi.

Kaoru had begun making preparations, but it was clear from her expression that she, too, wanted to remain on board with Giovanni and Campanella.

“We have to get off there. It’s our stop,” replied the young man, giving Tadashi a firm look.

“No! I’m gonna ride on the train some more!” the boy cried, undeterred.

“Ride with us! I have a pass that will let us ride as far as we want,” Giovanni couldn’t help himself from exclaiming.

“But…we have to get off here. We’re going to heaven,” said Kaoru, wistfully.

“Why do you want to go to a place like that? Who’s to say it’s the real thing?” Giovanni argued.

“But it’s where our mother is. And God, too.”

“And who says he’s the real God? I’ll bet he’s a fake!”

“How would you know? Maybe the God you believe in is the fake.”

“No! He’s the real one!”

“Then tell me, what kind of God is your God?” asked the young man with a gentle smile.

“Well…to be honest, I’m not quite sure…but I do know he is the one true God,” Giovanni replied.

“Of course he is. There’s only one true God.”

“And my God is that one!”

“I agree. I can only pray that the two of you are seeing us off before that true God now, ” the young man said, clasping his hands together. Kaoru also clasped her hands together.

Everyone was sad to be parting, and Giovanni was about to burst into tears.

“Now, are you two ready? We’re arriving at the station.”

At that very moment, farther downstream, a giant cross could be seen standing like a towering tree. It was decorated with brilliant blue and orange lights, and the top of it was surrounded by pale clouds that shone like a halo. All of the passengers in the car grew restless and began praying toward it as they had when passing the Northern Cross. Children cried out in happiness and adults let out contented sighs, too moved to speak. As the cross came ever closer, they could see the halo of clouds from the window, white as the flesh of an apple, gently churning.

“Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” Joyous voices resounded throughout the train, and from far off in the cold distance of space came the blessed sound of a trumpet blowing. The train slowed as it pulled into the station, right in front of the cross.

“We must get off now,” the young man said, taking the little boy by his hand and leading him toward the exit.

“Farewell…” said Kaoru, turning to Giovanni and Campanella.

“Farewell…” muttered Giovanni. He sounded angry, but only because it was taking all he had to keep from crying. Kaoru’s eyes went wide with pain and she gave them one long, final glance before quietly departing.

The car, which had only ever been about half full, suddenly was empty and the atmosphere very lonely.

Giovanni and Campanella watched as the people outside all lined up and kneeled down alongside the shore of the Milky Way, facing the Southern Cross. Then they spied, just for a moment, a heavenly figure, bathed in light, floating across the river with his hands held out. But then the glass flute blew and the train began moving, and a silver mist obscured the scene so they could see no more. Only the rustling leaves of the many walnut trees and the squirrels within the trees, sparkling with electricity, were visible in the mist. All at once the fog lifted, as if it were being sucked up by a vacuum cleaner. The train seemed to be moving along a city street lined with lampposts, their small red lights blinking on and off, as if in greeting.

Looking behind them, the boys saw that the cross had grown quite small in the distance. It appeared to be about the same size as one worn on a chain about the neck. Were Kaoru, her little brother, and their tutor still kneeling upon that white shore? Or had they headed in whichever direction it was to heaven, led by that figure? The boys were too far away to see now, and Giovanni let out a deep sigh.

“Campanella…it’s just the two of us again. Let’s keep on traveling as far as we can go, together. I think I understand now how that scorpion must have felt… If it would make people happy, I wouldn’t mind if my whole body burned to ashes.”

“I feel just the same,” Campanella said, his pretty eyes full of tender tears.

“But what is true happiness?” Giovanni asked.

“I don’t know…” Campanella replied honestly.

“Well, we can find out together,” Giovanni said breathlessly, his heart swelling with a brand new strength.

“Oh, over there! That’s the Coalsack Nebula. Doesn’t it look like a hole in the sky?” Campanella pointed out the window, as if trying to change the subject.

Giovanni looked out and was shocked to see that it really did appear as if a giant hole had been torn in the fabric of the Milky Way. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t begin to tell how deep the hole was nor what was inside it, and staring for too long hurt his eyes.

“I’m no longer afraid, even of a darkness, as fathomless as that is. I’m sure true happiness can even be found within it. Let’s search for it…however long it takes, or however far we must go…” Giovanni said.

“Yes…let’s,” Campanella agreed, but suddenly something caught his eye outside the window. “Look at that beautiful field, and all the people gathered in it! That must be the true Heaven… Ah…! That’s… that’s my mother! My mother is standing there!”

Giovanni could see no such field, only the stars, but he didn’t say so. Instead he continued searching for any sign of what Campanella was describing, feeling increasingly lonely as he did. In the end all he spied were a pair of signposts across the shore, standing with their red arms lowered.

“Campanella, let’s…” Giovanni began, but when he turned back toward his friend, he found the seat facing him empty. There was no indication that Campanella had ever been sitting upon the blue velvet upholstery. Giovanni rose from his seat as if propelled by the force of a gunshot, sticking his head out the window and crying out as loud and as hard as he could, enveloped by darkness on all sides.





Campanella





Giovanni opened his eyes and bolted upright with a start. He was on the same grassy hill he had fallen asleep on. His heart pounding and his cheeks covered with cold tears, he looked down to see that the town below him was still sparkling with the lights of the Centaurus Festival, though they seemed much brighter to him now. The Milky Way, which he had just been dreaming of traveling through, shone dimly on the southern horizon. Giovanni, catching the eye of Scorpio burning red, noted that the stars had not changed their positions much, indicating that he had not been asleep for long. He began to rush down the hill, having remembered his sick mother who was waiting for her milk. He passed through the dark forest of pine trees, circled his way around the farm, and soon arrived at the white gates of the dairy. There was a wagon out front that hadn’t been there when he visited before.

“Excuse me!” Giovanni called out.

“Yes?” replied a voice from inside. A stout man in white pants came to the door. “Can I help you?”

“We didn’t receive our milk delivery today.”

“Oh! I’m very sorry.” The man retrieved a bottle of milk, which he then handed to Giovanni. “I’m afraid I left the gate ajar this morning, so a calf got out and drank half his mother’s milk,” he said with a sheepish laugh. “I do apologize for the trouble.”

“It’s quite all right,” Giovanni replied, and grasping the still warm bottle in both hands, he began heading home.





Before long he was back at the same crossroad where he had earlier encountered Campanella and the other boys, headed toward the river with their gourds. Giovanni realized something was amiss as the bridge came into view—lights were shining from atop it, and people were crowded all around it, whispering frantically to one another. The ominous sight made his blood run cold.

“What happened?” he asked one of the people standing nearby.

“A child fell into the river!”

Giovanni, struck by the feeling that he was perhaps still dreaming, crossed the bridge. There were so many people on it, including policemen wearing white uniforms, he couldn’t see the river. After crossing to the other side, Giovanni hurried toward the riverbank. There were countless lights, moving busily to and fro, across the river, too. Between the shores, the river flowed as quietly as death.





Another crowd of people stood gathered at a spot farther downstream, and Giovanni made his way toward them. As he did he spotted Marceau, one of his classmates, who ran over to him.

“Giovanni! Campanella fell into the river!”

“How?! When?!”

“Zanelli leaned too far over on the boat we were in, trying to push his gourd closer to the current. It ended up tipping over and Zanelli fell in, but Campanella dived in right after him and pushed him back up to the surface. Zanelli got pulled back into the boat… but Campanella…h-he never resurfaced!”

“Is everyone looking for him?”

“Yes, everyone rushed over right away…except Zanelli, whose parents took him home already. Campanella’s father is here, too. But still…we just can’t find him!”

Giovanni moved closer to the group of people and realized all of them, young and old, were circled around Campanella’s father, a tall man dressed in a black suit. He stood as stiff as a board, his gaze fixed intensely upon the pocket watch he held in his right hand. Everyone else was looking toward the river, as if they expected Campanella to emerge from it at any second. Until he did, no one dared to break the silence.

Giovanni’s legs were trembling. He could see the reflections of the carbide lamps—the same kind used for fishing—being carried on the glittering black waves. The water reflected the pattern of the stars above in near perfect clarity, to the point where it almost seemed a second sky had been transplanted onto the earth. Giovanni knew in his heart that Campanella was no longer among them; instead, he was within the cosmos, waiting at the farthest reach.

“It’s too late, now. Over forty-five minutes have passed,” said Campanella’s father, the professor, at last. Giovanni moved unthinkingly to his side. He wanted to tell him that he had just been with his son—that he knew where he was—but the words wouldn’t come. The professor spent a few moments silently regarding the boy before speaking.

“You’re Giovanni, aren’t you? Thank you for tonight,” he said politely, thinking Giovanni had come to give his condolences. Giovanni could only silently nod in reply.

“Is your father back yet?” The professor asked, still gripping his pocket watch tightly. Giovanni shook his head.

“How odd. I wonder what’s keeping him? I received a cheerful letter from him a few days ago saying he’d arrive sometime today. Perhaps his boat was delayed…” the professor paused. “Giovanni… would you mind bringing your classmates over to my house tomorrow, to play? I’d really like it if you would.” Then he turned his eyes back onto the river, its surface resplendent with stars.





Giovanni’s mind was racing, his heart overwhelmed. Departing from Campanella’s father’s side, he hurried home, concentrating on the only thing he could: delivering his mother’s milk and giving her the news of his father’s imminent return.