The gray man wandered about the coach, talking to the other passengers. He settled in near two heavy men, passed them a bottle, and set out a deck of cards. The man in buckskin, Coulter, watched for a few minutes, then settled himself in to sleep.

The gray man won the first hand.

Later, the gray man got off at a tiny village which lay beneath the smoke of recent pogroms. Eighteen people got on the train. The gray man was the only one to get off.

The conductor said, “Where?” He didn’t need to ask why.

The leader was bearded and old, stick thin, and stooped. He said, “Anywhere.”

The conductor didn’t bother to tell them that they would not like where they were going. They were Jews. They already knew what life held in store for them.

#            #            #

In a green, soft land, by a lovely bay where seabirds swirled, they loaded men and women with pinched and hungry Irish faces.

#            #            #

In a shattered town in Czechoslovakia, they loaded displaced Germans, who were running from mobs that were celebrating the end of the war by killing the relatives of their oppressors.

#            #            #

In Tasmania, they loaded Aborigines who had been hunted like wallabies.

#            #            #

When Coulter awoke next, the gray man was back. He had come aboard during the night. Coulter stood by the window, watching the striped horses and the massive gray, long nosed — whatever they were — and the tall, powerful, naked black men with long bladed spears who were hunting them.

“Damnedest Injuns I ever saw.”

The gray man chuckled.

“Damnedest buffalo, too.”

“Come on, Coulter,” the gray man said, “playing the fool won’t do. You may not know what they are, but you know they aren’t be beasts and men of your own home.”

“It’s been a long time since I saw home,” Coulter said. “Where are we now?”

“We are on the railroad of Cecil Rhodes’ dream. Cairo to Capetown on a single railway. Three and a half feet between the rails, with an SAR Garratt 400 up front; one boiler, two bogies, the best articulated there ever was, even though your country never used it.”

“Is it real?”

“Stupid question.”

Coulter was not offended. He watched the herds in their migration for a while, then said, “Whatever it is, it’s making me homesick for buffalo. It looks wild and free.”

The gray man smiled and said, “It is wild. But nothing’s free.”

#            #            #

They stopped in a village at a tiny station which said Jerusalem on its signboard, in a green and pleasant land. The engine was in Midland Railway livery. The coach was upholstered in horsehair and illuminated by gaslight.

A single woman got on board, dressed in long gingham gown, with lace at the cuffs and an infant in her arms. A rake in top hat, wearing a Reynard smirk, descended to on the platform.

The conductor said, “Where and why?”

She said, “London,” and gestured at the child to answer the second question.

The conductor said, “All right, but you won’t like where you are going.”

She smiled at the conductor and said, “I’ll make do.” And he believed that she might. last post tomorrow