by Lisa Martin
Cecil smiled at his brother. “I bet that’s one of those dogs no bigger than a shrimp.”
Before Anton could reply, the door began to slide open, and two men looked inside. The cats backed up to the hay bales, making themselves as small as possible. Anton closed his eyes, since he believed humans couldn’t see him when he did. But Cecil looked on as the men began unloading boxes and canvas bags and all manner of luggage from the cart, bumping, shoving, and pulling them into the carriage.
As he was sliding one crate next to another, one of the men, who wore a cap with a bill like a duck’s, looked right at Cecil and winked. “I see you,” he said. Cecil didn’t know what he meant, but the man appeared undisturbed, so Cecil stayed put.
When the carriage was about half-full of luggage, the duck-billed man jumped back in carrying a small crate from which the high-pitched barking of the dog continued the incessant and useless commands. “Back off. Don’t do that. Back off. No. NO, NO, NO, NO!”
The man seemed amused by the racket and spoke softly when he set the crate down near the back of the carriage. Cecil observed that it had a door with a grate at the front. The slats all around the sides were a few inches apart and he could see the creature inside—a runty tan fury shouting at the top of his little lungs. “No, no, not again, no. I don’t want to be in here. Back off, now. NO, NO, NO.”
“You can open your eyes now,” Cecil said to Anton. “They know we’re here.”
Anton sat up cautiously. “They do?”
“That man looked right at me,” Cecil informed him.
That man was speaking softly to the dog, whose barking had faded to a low whine. The man retrieved two metal bowls, then filled one with water and poured some little tidbits that smelled like salt and dust into the other. He opened the grate carefully, and the dog, who seemed to know what was going on, backed up to the farthest reaches of the crate.
“Oh, all right. All right,” he said in his high snuffly voice. “Just make sure the water bowl is full, pul-ease.”
When the man had finished with the dog and closed the grate, he turned and stared openly at the two cats, who sat side by side, their tails wrapped around their legs, alert and ready to bolt.
“So how far are you going?” he asked pleasantly, but the brothers didn’t understand a word. The man didn’t appear alarmed in the least by their presence. He turned and went out to the cart and then came back with two more bowls and another bottle of water.
“There’s not much to eat, where you’re going,” he said. “This’ll give you a start.”
And to Cecil’s amazement, he filled the bowls with the tidbits and water and set them along the wall of the carriage, not far from the door. His coworker looked in and they exchanged some amused remarks, then the kind, duck-billed man climbed down and they slid the door closed. But the man didn’t close it all the way. Cecil noted that he pulled it back a bit on its track, a space just big enough to let a little light and air in, and a cat, if he had a mind to leave, out.
The dog got up and lapped at his water, without speaking. Cecil sniffed, then tried a mouthful of the food in the bowl, working his jaws over it carefully. “It’s not good,” he pronounced. “But it’s not bad.”
The dog came to his grate and looked at his travel companions, his tongue out, panting. He had a dark, smushed-looking snout and big, brown, bulging eyes that made him look like he was horrified by what he saw. But evidently he wasn’t.
“I’ve never seen cats on a train before,” he said. “Did somebody put you on here? I think you must be in the wrong car.”
Anton went over and looked through the bars at the little dog. “We got on by ourselves,” he replied. “We’re going to wherever this thing goes to help a friend in need. My name is Anton, and that’s my brother Cecil.”
The dog made a snuffling sound, then ran his bright pink tongue across his black lips. “What do you mean, you got on by yourselves? Animals don’t just get on trains like that. And anyway, you got on the wrong car. This car is for dogs. Obviously.”
“That man seemed to think it was for cats, too,” Cecil observed from his station by the food bowl. “He brought us dinner.”
The dog snorted. “He’s just uninformed. Cats and dogs don’t travel together. Everybody knows that.”
“Have you been on a train before?” Anton asked.
“I’ve made this trip five times, and I don’t like it one bit.”
“It doesn’t seem so bad to me,” said Cecil. “There’s lots of room and they serve meals. It takes you where you want to go. I like it fine.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” the dog replied. “You’re not stuck in a steaming hot box.”
“Yeah,” Anton agreed. “That’s not so great.”
A loud whistle interrupted this conversation, followed by a ringing bell. A powerful vibration ran across the floor, followed by a rough, clanking jolt to the whole car, first one way, then the other. A man shouted something.
“We’re pulling out of the station,” the dog informed Anton. “There’s no turning back now.”
Cecil dashed to the door and looked out as the chuffing sound grew louder and a hot blast of air swept in from outside. “Whoa,” he said. “So this is a landship . . . I mean, a train. It’s amazing!”
Anton was studying the latch on the dog’s crate. “What’s your name?” he said, as he brought his paw to the metal plate.
“I’m Willy,” said the dog.
“Well, Willy,” Anton said. “I think you may be glad you got to travel with a couple of cats.”
Willy, panting miserably, didn’t seem to notice Anton’s paw working around the latch. “I guess it will kill time to have somebody to talk to,” he admitted.
“You can give us the benefit of your travel experience,” Anton agreed.
Cecil, turning away from the view, joined his brother at the crate and peered in. He saw that there was a blanket folded at the back, and something round and red in one corner. He thought it must be some stuff to keep the dog comfortable while he traveled.
Cecil watched Anton’s paw on the latch and recalled the time he’d opened a pirate’s chest by pressing on the lid. “Try pushing on it,” he suggested.
Anton slid his paw along the latch, pressing and pressing. “I’m not getting anywhere,” he said.
Willy finally noticed Anton’s paw. “Hey, what are you doing to my cage?” he snapped. “You don’t know anything about these; they’re for dogs. You’ll break it, and then I’ll never get out!”
“Let me give it a try,” said Cecil, ignoring Willy. Anton stepped back and Cecil studied the latch for a moment before placing his paw on one end. The latch was just a metal bar that dropped into an open slot. “If we let you out, will you be polite?” he asked Willy.
“Let me out?” cried Willy, looking from Cecil to Anton and back. “Can you really do that? I’d be crazy with gratitude!” He did a couple of quick spins in the crate.
Cecil slid his paw down to the far end of the bar and pressed. It lifted with a clink and the door swung open. “There you go,” he said.
Willy was awestruck. For a moment all he could do was drop his mouth open and roll his bulgy eyes. But as Cecil pushed the door away, he hurtled out of the cage into the wide-open space of the carriage.
“You did it,” he barked. “You did it. I’m free.” He ran with abandon, up one side of the car and down the other. “I love cats!” he shouted. “Cats are great!”
Anton and Cecil watched him, smiling smugly at each other. The chuffing noise had settled into a deep snore and they could see the scenery passing by, speeding up now as the train left the bustling city behind. Willy continued racing up and down.
“Dogs are weird,” Cecil said.
Willy made a few more wild circuits and then slowed to a trot. He went to the water bowl the man had left for the cats and lapped up half of it.
“This is the way to travel,” he said, approaching Anton and Cecil. He stretched his fron
t legs down and raised his back legs, snuffling gleefully. He had a silly, curly tail that quivered in the air. Then he sat down with a grunt and addressed the brothers. “I am now prepared to entertain any questions you cats may have about train travel. I can also enlighten you about the many interesting characters and places you may encounter on your journey.”
“I thought you didn’t want to go,” said Cecil.
Willy chuckled. “I just hate that box and I always protest injustice in the strongest possible terms. I actually look forward to my destination, which is the family home of my young mistress, who is traveling in one of the other carriages.” He lifted one back foot and scratched at his ear. “In the winter we live in the city, which has its charms, but in the summer I spend my time in the open and come and go as I please.”
“What is the open like?” Anton asked.
“Very open,” Willy replied.
Cecil groaned. “I’m unenlightened,” he said.
“Are there no buildings?” Anton asked. “Are there no trees?”
“Near the house there are trees and a road. But beyond that it’s all tall grass, taller than any of us, waving and rustling like water, as far as you can see in any direction. An ocean of swaying golden grass. That’s the open. One can scare up all sorts of little frightened creatures that live in holes.”
“Mice?” Cecil said.
“Some are mouse-like. Some are furry and chatter a lot. There are turtles, which can bite. I avoid those. Little snakes. I’ve caught a few of those. And there are all manner of large creatures as well.”
“Like horses?”
“Horses are generally kept inside fences. But in the open there are animals with hooves, smaller than horses, some with horns growing out of their heads. They run away when approached. There are also animals that resemble dogs but are not exactly dogs. I’ve never met one, nor do I hope to, as they are large and travel in groups making a great deal of noise, especially at night, when they howl in a most unseemly way.”
“How do you know they’re not dogs?” Cecil asked. In his view there was too much variety among animals called dogs, some big, some tiny, and all manner of noses and tails. But presumably dogs knew dogs when they saw them.
“Well, for one thing they live in the open, and run wild all the time. No human wants them around. In fact they chase them away. I always hide when I see one. It must be a very different sort of life they lead. They eat whatever they can catch!”
Cecil smiled. “They’re hunters. I think I like these dogs.”
Willy snuffed and bugged out his eyes. “They’re not dogs, that’s the point. Humans call them coyotes.”
“Coyotes!” Anton and Cecil exclaimed.
“Have you met any?”
“No,” Anton said. “But we’re looking for one. We’re trying to find a friend and he lives between a coyote and a whale.”
“Well, there are a lot of coyotes,” said Willy. “I don’t know how you’ll find the right one.”
“No,” Anton agreed, looking at Cecil, who grunted and shook his head. The whistle shrieked and the train seemed to shudder as it slowed down to travel around a bend.
Willy walked over to the door and stuck his head out. “We’re coming into a little town.”
“Do you get off here?” asked Cecil.
“Oh no,” said Willy. “I’ll be with you all day and all night. We’ll get to my stop tomorrow morning. I’m not sure where the train goes after that, but I know it’s not the end of the line.”
“The end of the line,” Anton repeated.
“I once traveled with a very superior dog who was going all the way. He told me there was a city and a lot of water at the end. Which is why it’s the end. After that you have to take a ship. I don’t think I’d like that.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” said Anton.
“Yes, you would,” said Cecil.
“Don’t tell me you cats have been on a ship?” Willy exclaimed.
“We have,” Anton said.
“Well, we’ve got all day and all night,” Willy said. He trotted to the back of the carriage and curled up on some of the hay. “I love a good story. Tell me all about it.”
And so they did, while the small towns and forests and fields drifted by. Willy listened, snuffling now and then, or asking a question, and the brothers described their separate adventures and eventual reunion. “That is one great story,” Willy said, as shadows crept across the floor and the sun began to set. They agreed to finish their meals and then dog and cats settled down for a long sleep. In the morning, after much whistling and shouting and screeching of brakes, the train pulled into a building with a long platform and a great many passengers began to disembark. Willy made a dash for the crate and got inside.
Soon the man with the duck-bill cap appeared and leaped up into the carriage, intent on Willy’s crate. When he saw the door standing open he gave a soft humph of surprise.
“How did this get opened?” he said. He turned, resting his hands on his hips, and addressed Anton and Cecil. “I don’t suppose you two know anything about this.” Cecil was very busy washing his face and Anton pretended great interest in the wooden ceiling of the carriage. The man looked back at Willy, who was sitting quietly before his empty bowls, his tongue hanging out, panting woefully. “Well, no harm done,” the man said, closing the grate and dropping the latch. “Your lady is waiting.”
When he bent to pick up the crate, Willy rushed to the front, barking in the high-pitched voice Anton and Cecil now knew to be the height of theatrics. “NO, NO, NO,” he barked. “Get back. Get away from this box. NO, NO. This is an outrage.”
As man and dog disappeared out the door, Cecil stopped pawing over his face and turned to Anton. “Dogs are so weird,” he said.
The train clattered over the wide, serene plains with a great arc of steam trailing behind. As it rumbled solemnly along its route, Anton noticed that creatures of all sizes turned to take a look. The animals seemed wary of it. Thin, springy deer and colorful chickens scattered ahead of the train as it barreled across the land. Humans often stopped their work and watched its progress from one horizon to the other, sometimes raising a hand in greeting. Anton wondered if they made an odd picture: two cats, one black and one gray, sitting side by side in a boxcar doorway, gazing out at the world as the train rolled steadfastly by.
It was cooler in the breeze at the doorway, though not much. Between naps, Anton sat with his tail curled around his front paws and pondered the brown and green fields, mile after mile. It had only been three days of traveling, and though the carriage could be sweltering at times, the duck-billed hat man brought them water and food whenever the train stopped, so at least they weren’t starving. Even so, Anton felt uneasy. He was beginning to doubt the reliability of the mouse network.
“You know what we will never see out here?”
Cecil shook his head. “A nice crab dinner?”
“A whale,” said Anton. “There will never be a whale out here, because as far as I can see,” he gestured with a paw, “there is no ocean.”
“That’s okay. You can’t really eat a whale, anyway.”
Anton sighed. “But we need one if we’re going to figure out ‘between the whale and the coyote’ to find Hieronymus.”
“Oh. Right. Don’t worry about that, we’ll find him.” Cecil stuck his head all the way out so his fur rippled in the breeze.
“You’re going to fall,” Anton warned, carefully leaning away from the open door. “You’ll hit your head on something out there.”
“It feels good!” called Cecil, his voice warbling in the draft. He turned to face forward, his eyes squeezed almost shut. “Hey, I see something.”
“What is it? Wait, let me guess. You see an endless field of waving grass.”
“No. Well, yes, there’s that. But also there’s—” Cecil’s voice was carried off by the wind.
“What?” yelled Anton.
Cecil pulled his head back inside the carriage. �
��There’s a town up ahead, looks like a fairly big one. I bet we stop there.”
The brothers stepped over to the heap of straw in the far corner and burrowed behind it. A stop usually meant men coming on board to load and unload cargo. Sometimes the men were friendly and sometimes they were not, so it was better to hide. The train slowed and finally pulled to a halt with a last great sigh of steam. From outside the carriage came the sounds of a lively town—shouts, barks, bells, rolling cart wheels, even a thread of music, perhaps from a nearby saloon. Mixed in with the scents of metal and smoke from the train were the strong smells of horses, dirt-packed roads, and food cooking.
Cecil squirmed in the straw. “I hope the man brings us one of those things with the meats and cheeses smashed inside the bread,” he murmured. “I like those.”
“Shh,” whispered Anton. “Someone’s coming.”
The duck-billed man climbed through the doorway and spoke.
“Fellas?” he called softly. “This is as far as we go.”
Anton and Cecil poked their heads out of the straw and looked at the man expectantly. He gestured with his thumb, holding it sideways in the air and waving it.
“What’s he saying?” asked Cecil.
“Don’t know,” said Anton. “Something about his paw.”
The man took a few steps toward them, and the cats saw with disappointment that he’d brought them no food this time.
“Come on, now,” said the man gently. “End of the line.” He raised and lowered both arms in a sweeping motion toward the open door. The cats’ eyes followed the flapping arms.
“Maybe he’s telling us about something outside,” Cecil suggested.
“Like a bird?”
“Like one of those owls.”
“He’s warning us!” said Anton. “Oh, that’s very good of him.” They both nestled back down into the straw.
