The Talisman

Richard tried to push him away. Jack was having none of that. He held Richard. The two of them stood that way in the middle of the deserted railroad bed for a while, Richard’s head on Jack’s shoulder.
    ‘Listen,’ Jack said awkwardly, ‘try not to worry too much about . . . you know . . . everything . . . just yet, Richard. Just kind of try to roll with the changes, you know?’ Boy, that sounded really stupid. Like telling somebody they had cancer but don’t worry because pretty soon we’re going to put Star Wars on the VCR and it’ll cheer you right up.
    ‘Sure,’ Richard said. He pushed away from Jack. The tears had cut clean tracks on his dirty face. He wiped an arm across his eyes and tried to smile. ‘A’ wi’ be well an’ a’ wi’ be well—’
    ‘An’ a’ manner a’ things wi’ be well,’ Jack chimed in – they finished together, then laughed together, and that was all right.
    ‘Come on,’ Richard said. ‘Let’s go.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘To get your Talisman,’ Richard said. ‘The way you’re talking, it must be in Point Venuti. It’s the next town up the line. Come on, Jack. Let’s get going. But walk slow – I’m not done talking yet.’
    Jack looked at him curiously, and then they started walking again – but slowly.
    7
    Now that the dam had broken and Richard had allowed himself to begin remembering things, he was an unexpected fountain of information. Jack began to feel as if he had been working a jigsaw puzzle without knowing that several of the most important pieces were missing. It was Richard who had had most of those pieces all along. Richard had been in the survivalist camp before, that was the first piece. His father had owned it.
    ‘Are you sure it was the same place, Richard?’ Jack asked doubtfully.
    ‘I’m sure,’ Richard said. ‘It even looked a little familiar to me on the other side, there. When we got back over . . . over here . . . I was sure.’
    Jack nodded, unsure what else to do.
    ‘We used to stay in Point Venuti. That’s where we always stayed before we came here. The train was a big treat. I mean, how many dads have their own private train?’
    ‘Not many,’ Jack said. ‘I guess Diamond Jim Brady and some of those guys had private trains, but I don’t know if they were dads or not.’
    ‘Oh, my dad wasn’t in their league,’ Richard said, laughing a little, and Jack thought: Richard, you might be surprised .
    ‘We’d drive up to Point Venuti from L.A. in a rental car. There was a motel we stayed at. Just the two of us.’ Richard stopped. His eyes had gone misty with love and remembering. ‘Then – after we hung out there for a while – we’d take my dad’s train up to Camp Readiness. It was just a little train.’ He looked at Jack, startled. ‘Like the one we came on, I guess.’
    ‘Camp Readiness?’
    But Richard appeared not to have heard him. He was looking at the rusted tracks. They were whole here, but Jack thought Richard might be remembering the twisted ripples they had passed some way back. In a couple of places the ends of rail-sections actually curved up into the air, like broken guitar-strings. Jack guessed that in the Territories those tracks would be in fine shape, neatly and lovingly maintained.
    ‘See, there used to be a trolley line here,’ Richard said. ‘This was back in the thirties, my father said. The Mendocino County Red Line. Only it wasn’t owned by the county, it was owned by a private company, and they went broke, because in California . . . you know . . .’
    Jack nodded. In California, everyone used cars. ‘Richard, why didn’t you ever tell me about this place?’
    ‘That was the one thing my dad said never to tell you. You and your parents knew we sometimes took vacations in northern California and he said that was all right, but I wasn’t to tell you about the train, or Camp Readiness. He said if I told, Phil would be mad because it was a secret.’
    Richard paused.
    ‘He said if I told, he’d never take me again. I thought it was because they were supposed to be partners. I guess it was more than that.
    ‘The trolley line went broke because of the cars and the freeways.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘That was one thing about the place you took me to, Jack. Weird as it was, it didn’t stink of hydrocarbons. I could get into that.’
    Jack nodded again, saying nothing.
    ‘The trolley company finally sold the whole line – grandfather clause and all – to a development company.