Subway Sonata

The carriage doors slammed shut and the train clattered off down the tunnel. José cursed. He looked at the electronic notice board. Next train in 28 minutes. He cursed again. The absolute last place that José wanted to be at this time of night in was down here, in the sweltering heat, on the platform of the Montevideo underground subway system. His wife was going to kill him. If some thug didn’t get there first.

José looked down the platform. These stations were notorious for attracting trouble, particularly at this time of night. He had 27 minutes to kill. Thankfully there was no one suspicious, just an old bearded man in ragged clothes, fishing something out of the garbage.

He stood there watching the man for what he was sure was a good long while. He looked back at the electronic notice board. Next train in 28 minutes. José cursed.

He hadn’t meant to curse out loud, but clearly he had done so, as the old man abruptly stopped his rustling and turned to him. José tried to avert his gaze, but not quick enough.

“Oh hello!” said the man, his raspy voice echoing along the empty platform. “I didn’t see you there!”

José nodded and turned away. But the old man was persistent. He started hobbling over towards José. This was the absolute last thing José wanted. He wondered if he should just leave the station before having to interact with the man. But there were something like 200 stairs back up to the surface.

He glanced quickly at the exit, and then glanced back. He jumped. The old man was right next to him. “Hello!” croaked the old man. He smelled awful. “Didn’t see you there!”

José nodded again and glanced at the exit.

“Somewhere to be?” asked the old man. José looked at him. Of course he had somewhere to be. He was on a subway platform late at night. The old man was grinning at him, toothlessly.

“Just trying to get home to my wife,” said José. He looked at the electronic notice board. Next train 29 minutes.

The old man noticed the pained look on his face and chuckled. “Hope she’s a patient lady!” José nodded. As a matter of fact she wasn’t a particularly patient lady and José had promised he would be home before midnight. She was going to kill him.

“Nothing to do but wait,” said José. “I suppose, I suppose,” said the man, hobbling over to a nearby garbage can. The man rustled for a while. Next train 29 minutes.

A few more minutes passed, with no progress on arrival time. “It’s amazing the things that people thrown away,” said the old man suddenly, fishing something out of the garbage and stuffing it in his ragged coat pocket.

José nodded then looked away. But the old man hobbled over. “Like this,” he said, withdrawing something from inside his coat. “Would you believe I found this, thrown away, just yesterday?”

José looked at what the old man was holding. It was an old wooden flute, discoloured and cracked at the edges. It was certainly believable that someone would have thrown it away. José shrugged.

“Do you know what it is?” said the old man. “An old wooden flute?” said José. “Not just any old wooden flute!” yelped the man, his voice rising a few octaves. “This is a magical wooden flute!”

José glanced at the exit again. Still 29 minutes.

“One blow on this and it will grant your heart’s desire!”

José looked at the old man and started walking towards the exit. And that’s when he heard it. The sound of voices coming down the stairs. The voices were distant, still at the top of the stairs. But they seemed to be getting closer.

The voices filled José with dread. He could tell the voices were trouble. From the accents, from what they were saying to each other. This was not a good sign.

He glanced at the electronic notice board. Still 29 minutes. He glanced back. He jumped, the old man was right next to him, waving the flute by his face. “Just one blow…”

“I’m not going to…” mumbled José, his attention still firmly fixed on the approaching voices. They were definitely trouble. “I can give you money, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t want your money!” snickered the old man. “Why would I need your money?”

José glanced back at his filth-encrusted clothes. The old man smiled his toothless smile. “All I want is for you to trust me.” He held out the flute.

José looked away and back towards the exit. The voices were close now. Still 29 minutes until the next train. This was definitely bad. They were definitely trouble. José glanced back at the old man.

And as he did so he was struck by something strange in the corner of the old man’s eye. Was it a shimmer? Was it a mysterious twinkle? Was José simply delirious with tiredness and panic?

The voices were closer still. Almost at the platform. Still 29 minutes.

José’s heart was pounding. He could barely hear himself think. The voices were there, just at the bottom of the stairs, they were yelling, howling to each other, voices filled with rage and fury. José looked back at the old man. Still smiling, eyes still shimmering, old wooden flute still held out.

José wished more than anything that he could just be with his wife right now. He reached out and took the flute and pressed it to his lips. He blew a single note.

Nothing happened.

The voices were getting louder. The old man chuckled and took the flute, and hobbled off down the platform.

José glanced towards the stairs. Here they come.

And then, without warning, the clattering of a train. It clattered out of the tunnel and into the station, clattered right up to where José was standing. The doors slid open.

José stood there for a moment, unsure. But the voices were here now. He hopped onto the train and the doors slid shut behind him.

José watched the platform as it slipped past with the clattering train. The old man wasn’t looking. He was huddled over a garbage can and then he was gone, José and the train swallowed by the darkness.