lerkus: a journey to end all suffering...prajnanananda and gurudev paramahamsa hariharananda. your...

LERKUS: A JOURNEY TO END ALL SUFFERING

Copyright © 2015 L. A. GOLDING 2

For all travel companions

on the journey of life



DEDICATION

Destination unknown, I arrived with forgotten baggage.

And I hope to depart with no baggage. But how? For years,

in the dark, I stumbled around in circles until someone

gave me a flashlight. In my travels, I ended up writing the

book I always wanted to read, even though I prefer

nonfiction. Initially I had the idea to write a short

children’s story involving an odd character named Lerkus,

who lived inside a young boy. However, when I began

writing, a very different tale of Lerkus was transcribed―a

tale that taught me to surrender when it defied literary

boundaries, kept me intrigued until its final sentence was

written (and comprehended), and shared its joy and

creativity as I pondered its obscurities.

With all my heart and soul, I humbly dedicate this book to

my beloved Travel Guides, Guruji Paramahamsa

Prajnanananda and Gurudev Paramahamsa Hariharananda.

Your endless service to humanity has made this book

possible. The tale of Lerkus is essentially your teachings

twisted in a novel manner―please forgive my limitations

in understanding and conveying your wisdom and

knowledge.

Leisa Golding



CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

One THE GREAT TRAIN MERGER

Two MEETING MR. WHY

Three TOYING WITH HUMANIMALS

Four EXTINCT LIBRARIANS

Five VERONIKA’S FRIENDS

Six A WOMAN WITH THREE HEARTS

Seven FELIX THE SNAKE

Eight THE MISSION

Nine THE BLUE POND

Ten THE GREEN ROOM

Eleven THERE IS NO US

Twelve A FAVOR



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Life always presents us with what we need. In 2014, when

I discovered I had a few health issues, my employer agreed

for me to take leave on Fridays to focus on healing. Thank

you, Annemarie. I commenced writing as a creative way to

occupy my days off. In twelve Fridays, the twelve chapters

of this book were written. However, the book took almost

a year to elaborate, revise, and refine. I thank my husband,

James, for dedicating his Friday afternoons and many more

hours to review, discuss, and critique the chapters (and for

man-speak and other tips).

Many kind and encouraging friends also donated their time

and talents to help me create this book. I am deeply

grateful to the early readers for their support and insightful

feedback: Brett, Mom, Dad, Rebecca, Michael, Mary,

Anne S., Chester, Fern, Anne D., Marty, and Renee. Thank

you all. I also appreciate the exceptional talents of Ruth

Mullen for copyediting, Nick Lowndes for the cover

illustration, and Kat Mellon for the cover design. I am also

grateful for the ill health, because without it, I may never

have found the opportunity and the faith required to write.



One

THE GREAT TRAIN MERGER

Stopped at Grand Road Station, I gazed out the misty

window. Thick dark skies hung overhead, to the left, right,

and straight ahead. A hint of sunlight from millions of

miles away peered back at me. I checked my watch:

7:38 a.m. I thought it was later, so much had already

happened. My fingers rubbed the stubble on my cheeks as

I yawned, tapping my foot as I waited.

The whistle blew and the train moved. I felt its pull

even though I was still.

As I lazed back against the chair, the tightness in my

shoulder blades softened. In a few hours, I would be there.

Excitement fluttered in my gut―there was no turning back

now.

Not far down the corridor, a conductor in a red jacket

was making his way through the crowd of passengers,

checking tickets. He had a dark complexion, with two

bushy eyebrows poking out from under the brim of his

traditional red cap; he nodded curtly as he moved from

passenger to passenger. When he got closer, I noticed that

embroidered on his cap was the word “Conducor.” How

odd, I laughed. Hasn’t someone told him that he’s missing

a “t”?



Locating my ticket, I held it tight and waited for him to

approach. He moved slowly past the passengers who

crammed the corridor. My eyes darted around, trying not

to lose sight of him. Opposite me sat a distinguished man

with a neatly manicured beard, possibly in his midfifties.

His hands were frantically checking the pockets of his

black suit jacket, his shirt pocket, then his trouser pockets.

His face was creased with worry as he stood up to check

his seat and the floor beneath him.

Only three passengers away, the conductor was getting

nearer, and the man was frisking his suit pockets faster

than before. Although my fingers grasped my ticket in my

hand, I could not resist checking that it was still there. The

dread. The humiliation, if I had lost it too. My baggage had

already gotten lost in transit before I boarded the train, and

I really could not cope if something else went wrong.

Again I spied. Only two away now, the conductor

moved in. My stomach churned as the man stood up,

desperately searching the cards in his wallet. My sweaty

fingers fumbled as I showed my ticket to the conductor; I

did not dare to question why his “t” was missing. He

nodded, then turned to the man. In a proper accent, the

man said, “I’m so sorry. I seem to have misplaced my

ticket. I know it’s here somewhere.”



“Don’t worry, Charles,” the conductor said. “You can

sit down and relax. I know a respectable gent like you

would have a ticket. This time I’ll give you a pardon.”

Charles exclaimed, “Thank you, but pardon or no

pardon, I must find that ticket!” The conductor, who had

already moved on to the next passenger, replied, “It’s not

necessary.”

“Oh yes, it is,” cried Charles, “because without that

ticket I have no idea where I’m going or what station I get

off at.” I kept my head down but out of the corner of my

eye, I saw Charles sit down.

I returned my ticket to the front pocket of my jeans and

leaned my head against the window. My eyelids were

heavy, and the train’s steady vibration lulled me as I

drifted off, lost in worries about whether taking this trip

was the right thing to do. But I had to leave home―I could

not stay there any longer. I just never expected to fall in

love; she was so tender and kind. Everything between us

was so good. Perfect. Then she vanished without even

saying goodbye. My whole world was shattered. I was lost

and empty without her. How could it end like that? Where

did she go? I needed to know.

Charles coughed, interrupting my thoughts. He was still

searching his pockets. I closed my eyes again and

wondered why Charles would board a train not knowing

where he was going. Maybe he’s famous and someone else



bought the ticket for him, I speculated. Life would be

easier if I were rich and famous. Others would treat me

differently. That’s probably why the conductor gave him a

pardon―Charles is famous. He doesn’t look familiar, but

he could be well known for something. Where is he going,

though? And why is he taking this train? I drifted in and

out, dozing in between my thoughts, thinking about

Charles.

A sudden thud jolted me awake. My eyes sprang open.

Where were we? The car was empty. Charles was nowhere

in sight, nor was the conductor. Nor the dozens of peak-

hour commuters. What time was it? I checked my watch. It

was gone. My hands―their skin was wrinkled and veined.

I looked down. My jeans, sweatshirt, and sneakers were

also missing, replaced by a black suit and shiny shoes.

Under the jacket was a crisp white shirt and black tie.

What! How was this possible? My fingers ran over a wiry

beard, and my gut knotted and sank into a ball of lead.

With dread, I peered into the window. Charles’s manicured

beard and hazel eyes peered back at me. My mind raced

faster. Where was Charles? No. Where was I? What was

happening? How long was I asleep? Was I dreaming?

Too many questions. No answers. Stay calm. Don’t

panic. Wait! Did I just tell myself to be calm—or did I tell

Charles to be calm? Or did Charles tell Charles?

Stop it! Just stop it!



I glanced down at Charles’s hands again. They were

shaking. I clenched his knobbly knuckles into a fist.

Frozen by fear, I sat confined to my seat, not knowing

what to do. I closed my eyes, hoping it was all a bad

dream. I had ridden the trains before and nothing like this

had ever happened. How could this happen now? I stared

at Charles’s hands again. If I’m trapped in his body, I

thought, then where is my body? My eyes flashed up and

down the corridor but the car was empty. Is Charles in my

body? And if so, where has he taken it? Or worse still,

does it mean I’m dead? No, I can’t be; I’m still here. So

how do I get back into my body? I need it back. I don’t

have time for this. At a hundred miles a second, my

thoughts raced faster than the train. So many questions and

worries were crammed inside my mind that I thought my

brain was going to burst.

I felt a sharp piercing pain behind my temples. I opened

my eyes and gazed into the window again. Charles was

still there. Looking past his reflection, I noticed that

everything outside the train was blurred. The train was

moving so fast that it was impossible to work out where

we were. I searched the pockets of Charles’s suit. They

were empty. No ticket. Did he ever work out where he was

going? Maybe he never found his ticket. And now my

ticket was gone too—but unlike Charles, I knew where I



was heading. Suspicion crossed my mind. No. Surely he

wouldn’t have taken my ticket. That’s absurd.

Pressure built up across my forehead. I closed my eyes

again, this time wanting it all to go away. I wanted my

body back; I was too young to be stuck inside his old body.

Wiping the sweat from Charles’s hands on his pants, I

desperately tried to comprehend what had happened. And

why had it happened to me? What had I done to deserve

this? Why Charles? Who was he? Why was I now in his

body? Where had he gone? And where was he going? If

I’m Charles, I realized, then I need to figure out where he

was heading.

Wraaank! Wraaank! Wraaank! The train’s horn

reverberated in my ears, halting my thoughts. My eyes shot

open. The headlights of another train were speeding head-

on toward the car where I sat. The car shook as the train

crossed the Grand Union intersection. I sprang to my feet,

frantically planning an escape.

Badaboom! In a split second, the two trains collided.

I was flung across the car backward; the impact sent

shock waves into the windows and directly into my head. I

sensed death. I could smell it up close and the aroma was

sickening, but everything was starting to make sense. I

figured that Charles was about to die. He had no ticket

because he had no destination. This was his final stop. He



knew it, so he got out while he could. I fell to the floor in a

lump, expecting to die.

I lay motionless.

Maybe time passed; maybe not. Nothing felt real

anymore.

During bouts of consciousness, I heard whispers and

chatter. I didn’t know what was happening, though, or

where I was. I drifted in and out of consciousness, too

weak to care, too tired to want to know.

Slowly, I came to. My nose twitched. Perfume? Sickly

sweet. Honeyed fruit. I gasped for fresh air. The stench

became stronger and I felt nauseated as I breathed it in. My

nostrils flared, opening and closing as the stench of

perfume resuscitated me. A woman’s voice echoed in my

ears. “Charles! Can you hear me?” My arms were being

shaken and something was rubbing my chest. I heard her

voice again. “He’s breathing. I can see his nostrils moving.

Can you hear me, Charles?” A light touch gently stroked

my face, then my hair. The woman repeated, “Charles, can

you hear me?”

Who is Charles, I wondered. But I had no strength to

open my mouth to tell her I was not Charles. Then I

remembered—Charles was the old guy with no ticket. It all

flooded back to me. Was I still trapped in his body? Did I

survive the train crash? Or did he survive? Oh, what a

mess. I must be lying somewhere in the carnage of bodies



and rubble. I was not game enough to open my eyes and

see what damage had been done to me or others. I expected

the worst: a broken spine, never able to walk again. I

wanted to vanish and make it all disappear, but the woman

insisted, “Charles! Answer me!” Reluctantly I opened my

eyes. Her glossy pink lips, emerald eyes, and sculptured

red hair glared at me, brighter than neon lights. “He’s

conscious!” she screamed. Her cry was followed by a huge

cheer from a group of people. “Charles, are you hurt

anywhere?” she asked with tenderness. My wide eyes

stared at her mouth, watching the shiny pink oval bend and

twist as she formed each word. My lips were unable to

move, and I had no idea whether I was hurt or not. Then

she reassured, “It’s okay. You just lost balance when the

train sped up.” She smiled, again waiting for me to

respond.

“Am I dead?” I asked in Charles’s proper accent.

“Of course not!” she said.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I’m Pixie Pinkus, remember me?” I stared at her.

Panicked, she exclaimed, “Charles, do you remember me?

Tell me you remember me!” I nodded affirmatively, even

though I had never seen or heard of her before. Pixie held

out her hand; her fingers were tipped with various shades

of pink, from fuchsia to carnation to salmon. With

Charles’s hand, I grabbed hers, taking care to dodge the



five thornlike nails, and sat upright, resting one hand on

the car floor to prop myself up. I was shaking slightly,

partly from the vibration of the wheels turning fast on the

tracks and partly from the shock of being flung around two

colliding trains. Pixie stood beside me, resting one hand on

my head, softly styling Charles’s hair back into shape.

Although Charles’s body was stiff, I could not feel any

pain or broken bones. The blood slowly flowed back into

my brain, and my vision grew clear. I scanned my

surroundings. I was still inside a car, and the train was

moving fast as if nothing had happened. Dozens of pairs of

eyes were staring at me; none of the other passengers were

injured. I blurted out, “How did I survive? I can’t believe

I’m alive.”

Pixie Pinkus spun her head down close to my face. We

eyeballed each other as she exclaimed, “Of course you’re

still alive, Charles! The dreadfully swarvellous ones

couldn’t possibly live without you!” She then smiled, and

so did all the on-lookers, except for the guy standing

beside Pixie. He was erratically snorting and I could not

tell if he was laughing or ridiculing. He had brown beady

eyes, a mousy-brown buzz cut, and a handlebar moustache,

and he was quite rotund; he reminded me of a little pika

rabbit. Pixie towered over him. She was at least two feet

taller than he was, even without her red velvet high heels.

They were an odd pair. She was extremely glamorous in a



strapless pink dress with her hair styled up, while he had a

style of his own in a skintight shirt and high-waisted, light-

blue flared pants. Who were these people? And how do

they know Charles? They didn’t seem his type—but then

again, I had no idea who Charles really was.

Not wanting others to hear, I whispered to Pixie, “I

don’t understand what happened.” But before she had a

chance to explain, Pika Rabbit loudly announced to

everyone, “Can you believe it, he says he doesn’t

understand what happened!” Pika snorted, and everyone

laughed. He then said to me, “Isn’t it obvious? Even a fool

could tell that you lost balance when we merged trains.”

“We merged trains?” I queried. But neither Pika Rabbit

nor Pixie Pinkus answered my question. They just nodded

in agreement. It appeared that everyone, except me or

Charles or whoever I was, was a seasoned merger. My

head started to spin again so I remained seated on the floor,

trying to make sense of it all. I had heard of corporate

mergers and acquisitions but a train merger was ridiculous.

Was this a horizontal merger in the public interest? Or was

it more like a corporate takeover? And if so, who acquired

whom? How could I survive a seemingly trivial train

merger? It was well beyond my comprehension. Then,

through the huddled crowd of onlookers, I spotted a flash

of red. The conductor.



Still dizzy and lightheaded, I rose to my feet. Arhhh! I

groaned as Charles’s knees cracked and his hips locked. I

removed his suit jacket and let it drop on the floor as I

shook his arms and torso, hoping to warm up his rusty,

tight joints. Then I untucked his shirt and rolled up his

sleeves, and undid his tie and threw it over a seat. I ran his

fingers through his hair to mess it up. That’s better, I

thought, I feel more like me now. I clutched the edge of the

seats to steady his creaky knees as I made my way through

the horde of passengers. I heard Pixie Pinkus call after me,

“Charles, where are you going?” I did not answer. I was

not Charles, and I had no idea where I was going. Besides,

I had no time to talk as I needed some answers from the

conductor. And I needed them quick.

As I made my way down the corridor, the car was

becoming increasingly crowded, and the undercurrent of

eclectic faces, bodies, and creatures directed my

movement, forcing me to take one step forward and two

steps sideways. All civility was lost; their snorts, burps,

and grunts sounded like an orchestra of untuned

instruments. In an attempt to push my way through the

corridor, I commanded, “Step out of my way!” Hearing

Charles’s proper accent was enough to capture the

attention of the conductor; it startled me, too. The

conductor stopped in his tracks and glanced over his



shoulder. “By George! It’s Charles! What are you still

doing here?” he asked.

“That’s great! You remember me!” I exclaimed as I

pushed past the passengers toward him. “What station does

this train stop at next?”

“There are no more stops,” he said.

“Is it an express train?” I asked.

“No.”

“There must be some stops.”

“No, there are no stops.”

“How do I get off, then?” I asked.

“It’s too late to get off,” he said.

“Why?”

“You’ve purchased a ticket and boarded the train, and

it’s already left the station. So it’s too late to change your

mind. You’re in for the journey. End of story.”

“I don’t get it. If I chose to get on the train, surely I can

choose what station to get off at.”

“Yes, if only life were that simple,” the conductor

mumbled to himself as he resumed checking tickets.

“No! That’s not good enough!” I blurted out. The

conductor stopped what he was doing and stared at me,

raising one of his bushy eyebrows. I insisted, “I need to go

to the Cave of Lerkus.”

“Really?” the conductor asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed.



He paused, and then said, “Lerkus is not a journey for

the fainthearted. Very few have the courage to go inside

the Cave. And anyway, it’s almost impossible to do so

without a guide.”

“But it is possible to go there?” I asked.

“It’s not impossible.”

“Good. So which station should I get off at?”

The conductor laughed. “If you think you’re in control

of when and how you get off this train, then you are

deluded. Visiting the Cave of Lerkus is as difficult as

catching a grain of rice with chopsticks.” Then he

hurriedly returned to checking tickets. Thoughts were

racing inside my mind. Who does he think he is? If I got

on this train, then I can get off it. And I’ll get off when and

where I want to. Nothing is going to stop me; I need to get

to the Cave of Lerkus. If this train isn’t going there, then

I’ll catch the next one. He said there’s no way to get off,

but I’ll show him.

I scanned the car for the emergency stop button. Eager

to prove him wrong, I rushed over to the box and opened

the glass door. As I pushed the big red button with my

fingers, I braced for the train’s brakes to engage and bring

the train to an abrupt stop. Nothing happened. I pushed my

sleeves up higher and pressed the button again; nothing

happened. Uggh! I howled, slamming my fist on the wall

beside the emergency box. Out of the corner of my eye, I



noticed that some passengers were glaring at me; others

purposely moved toward the other end of the car. Now

what? I was determined to prove to the conductor that I

could get off the train, and I would do so any way I could.

I staggered over to the car doors and yanked down hard

on the emergency door release. Nothing happened. The

brakes did not activate and the doors remained tightly

sealed. I kicked the doors with one foot, and then with the

other foot, trying to force them to slide open. Nothing

happened, except I accidentally smashed my left knee

against the metal doorframe. A sharp pain stabbed up from

my knee, causing my right hip to spasm violently. I yelled

and hurled my raised arms against the doors. I lowered my

head on the glass. As my forehead vibrated, tiny beads of

sweat trickled down my face. One by one, they fell on

Charles’s scuffed shoes beneath me.

Now what? Reality hit. Maybe the conductor was right.

My hands trembled as I wiped my face, smudging the

sweat into my beard. Maybe I had lost control. What if

there is no way to escape this train or Charles’s body? No!

Focus. Think. But maybe the conductor is telling the truth:

there is no way out. And if I can’t escape, then I’m trapped

here, regardless of whether I like it or not. What other

option is there? I hesitantly turned around, expecting

passengers to be staring at me. But no one seemed to

notice me. I needed to remain focused, focused on where I



was going. If the conductor said it was possible to go to the

Cave, then he must know how to get there. There must be

something else that he’s not telling me. With an aching

right hip and a throbbing knee, I hobbled back down the

corridor toward the conductor.



Two

MEETING MR. WHY

Pushing my way through the passengers crammed in the

corridor, I carefully scrutinized the conductor’s every

move. I was anxious to seize the right moment to break his

concentration. Patience came in short, sharp bursts. Being

sandwiched between sweaty slabs of human flesh made it

difficult to be calm. Restlessness was rising within me;

sweat was pooling under my armpits as I tried not to get

too close to anyone. These passengers were not the usual

type of riders on the early morning train. They made a

peculiar clicking noise as they twitched and jerked past

each other. Their faces were expressionless, but overstated.

Some had huge mouths. Others had gigantic noses, or two

massive ears. And some had large eyebrows arching over

two enormous eyes. I saw one passenger with two

contorted eyes that were looking directly at each other. I

silently asked myself, what sort of nightmare train is this?

I squeezed my arms together, securing them tightly in

front of me to ensure they did not get in anyone’s way.

Invisible bugs crawled up my chest and onto my neck and

face. A burning sting inched down my spine and legs. The

soles of my feet were itchy; I was eager to move them but

there was nowhere to go. Everywhere I glanced, the



peculiar clicking passengers with their distorted faces were

there. With my senses heightened to the extreme, I kept my

eyes on the conductor, dissecting his every movement. He

no longer seemed to be checking tickets; instead, he was

pushing through the crowd, making an exit for the next car.

In frustration, I yelled, “Get out of my way!” One of the

passengers with an oversized mouth yelled back, “Swollen

senses go nowhere!”

Immediately the clicking passengers ground to a halt,

their expressions blank. To my relief I quickly paved a

twisted path through them and chased after the conductor,

running out of the car and through the enclosed vestibule

into the next car. The silence was deafening. This car was

deserted except for the conductor, who was heading

straight for the exit doors. I hobbled faster so I could catch

up to him. Then I noticed that the car was not completely

empty; a woman sat in the far corner near the exit. Her

salt-and-pepper hair screened her face as she stared

downward. She did not even flinch as the conductor and I

rushed past her.

As I burst through the open doors at the end of the car,

in an attempt to get the conductor’s attention before he

entered the next car, I asked him, “Where’s her ticket?” He

stopped and shot me a look of contempt, then asked, “Why

are you still following me?”

“I need some answers,” I said.



“First you must know the right questions.”

“What am I doing here?” I asked.

“It’s rather obvious to me,” he said. Obvious? But

before I could say anything, he grumbled, “Stop following

me! I have lots to do and no time for your games.”

“This isn’t a game,” I pleaded. “I honestly don’t know

why I’m here.”

“It’s simple,” he said, “you’re the passenger and I’m

the conductor. So sit back and enjoy the journey. It’ll make

it easier for me to fulfill my duty to check tickets.”

“You said it was possible to go to the Cave of Lerkus.

How do I get there?” I asked.

“I didn’t say it was possible, I said it was not

impossible. And it’s almost impossible without a guide.”

“Can you guide me?”

“No, I’m the conductor, not a tour guide.”

“If you’re the conductor, then why does your cap say

‘Conducor’?” I asked.

He fondly touched his red cap, and smiled. “This

constantly reminds me that nothing is as it seems.” He then

hurried out of the vestibule and into the next car. I wanted

to follow him and ask why he had failed to fulfill his duty

by not checking the ticket of the woman in the previous

car, but that seemed trivial compared to all the other

unanswered questions I was mulling over in my mind. So

now what? Stuck in limbo between two cars, I had a



choice: follow him or turn back. I needed a place to

recollect my thoughts, and at least the previous car had

plenty of spare seats. So I backtracked.

A loud humming noise rang in my ears as I entered

through the sliding doors. I thought twice about staying but

then I noticed a man—not a woman—with long salt-and-

pepper hair was standing by the window. He was staring

out, watching the kaleidoscope of blurred colors that

zoomed past. My rowdy entrance broke his stillness. He

slowly pivoted in my direction, placing a classic cream

cowboy hat on his head as he turned. His fingers were

covered in chunky gold rings. He meticulously folded a

small piece of paper in half, and then in half again, and

inserted it into the top pocket of his vest under his all-

white vintage suit. Almost seven feet tall, he towered

before me like a pyramid of precious rhinestones. How

could I have mistaken him for a woman? A heat burned

my cheeks as it blazed, and I quickly looked down,

showing an unnecessary interest in Charles’s scuffed

shoes.

The man twanged, “Greetings, my friend!” I glanced

up, and he tipped his hat down to salute me; but it was not

until I tilted my chin all the way up that we made eye

contact. His eyes were familiar―warm and gentle, kind

and generous―but I had never met him before. Nor had I

seen such mesmerizing eyes on anyone, ever. Despite his



graying hair, his face was fresh and smooth, with only a

few laugh lines. In fact, it was difficult to tell how old he

was.

“Hi!” I said. “I’m…” I hesitated, not knowing who I

was.

He sealed the gap from my silence with a question.

“Have you been waiting long?”

“For what?” I asked.

“Never mind,” he chuckled. “I’ve been waiting for

you.”

“Me? Really?” I asked.

“Sure have,” he nodded, moving closer toward me. I

tilted my chin even higher to maintain eye contact.

“I’m not really the person you think I am,” I said. “So

far it’s been a bit of a strange journey.”

“You know what they say―a river twists and turns

before it flows into the sea. Its convoluted nature makes it

strong and powerful.”

“True,” I nodded, pretending that I understood. I

wanted to tell him how convoluted my journey had been,

but it all seemed too ludicrous. How could I tell him that I

was trapped inside someone else’s body, I had survived a

train merger, I had tried to get off the train but even the

emergency stop did not work, and the conductor had said it

was almost impossible to visit the Cave of Lerkus.



As if he were reading my mind, he asked, “So tell me,

what drives you to Lerkus?”

“How did you know?” I asked.

He laughed. “Your eyes―the eyes always reveal the

unseeable.”

“I thought that going to the Cave of Lerkus would be

easy, but everything seems so complicated. Now I just

want to get off this train but…” The humming noise rang

loudly in my ears. I shook my earlobes and blocked each

ear with my index fingers, but that only intensified the

drone into a high-pitched whistle. “What is that noise?” I

yelled, looking around the car and outside the windows.

“What noise?” he asked.

“The loud humming sound. Where’s it coming from?” I

said as I covered my ears again. He chuckled and pulled

my hands down. “You can’t block it out.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“It’s coming from inside, not outside.” Again, I

checked inside the car but did not see anything unusual. He

laughed and gave me a gentle slap between the shoulder

blades. “Not inside the car, inside here.” His fingers

knocked on the top of my head.

“Oh,” I said, unsure whether to believe him or not. He

then swung his arm across my shoulders and whispered in

my ear, “How thirsty are you?” An icy-cold brainwhacker



ale came to mind, but I was not sure if that was the type of

thirst he had meant. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, you say you want to visit the Cave, but how

keen are you?”

“I’m keen,” I nodded.

“Really?” he asked. I nodded again. Then he removed a

pocket watch from his small vest pocket and asked me,

“How long can you hold your breath?”

“Maybe half a minute. Why?”

“Give it a go and I’ll time you.”

“Really?”

“Are you keen or not?”

“Sure,” I shrugged. I paused, and then asked him, “Are

you ready?” He nodded. I took a deep breath in and

expanded my lungs and chest until my rib cage was tight

and solid. Even though he was timing with his pocket

watch, I also counted. One…two…three…four…five…. I

pushed myself to keep going. Six…seven…

eight…nine…ten…keep

going…eleven…twelve…thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…

sixteen…seventeen…. My counting slowed down as

pressure built up in my head. Eighteen…nineteen…twenty.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to continue.

Suddenly I sensed a pressure against the back of my

head and on my face. I opened my eyes. One of his dinner-

plate-sized hands was smothering my nose and mouth,



blocking the airflow; the other was squeezed against the

nape of my skull. I lost count. He pressed his hands

together tight, and I struggled for air, moving my head

from side to side trying to release it from his grip. He held

my mouth and nose tighter. I grabbed onto his hands,

trying to release them, but they firmly smothered my lower

face. A few more seconds passed and I knew I would be

brain dead, or dead, if I did not breathe soon. I threw my

entire body weight at him, kicking his solid legs with

Charles’s leather heels, hoping to release his hands, even

for a second, so I could take a tiny sip of air. Despite my

kicking and wrenching, he stood as strong as a stone lion.

His hands did not falter; he did not even try to fight me.

My knees cracked and weakened under the strain, and I

almost lost consciousness, but I persisted in using every

ounce of strength I had to loosen his grip. I refused to give

up; I fought hard but I was clearly no match for his power

and stature.

Then he let go and declared, “One minute!” My jaw

dropped open, and I gasped for air, drawing in mouthful

after mouthful, as I fell to my knees in exhaustion. My face

lay on the floor; his cream suede boots were parked next to

me. My breath was fast and shallow. The humming noise

reverberated loudly between my ears but it soothed me as I

watched my breathing gradually slow down.



After a while, I sat up, inching away from his boots. My

knees popped as I removed my legs from under me. They

were sore. Every muscle in my body ached. But I resisted

lying my head down on the floor again as I did not trust

what this cowboy would do next. I glared up at him, but a

pinched nerve in my shoulder forced me to bend my neck

forward again. He laughed. “My friend, that’s just topping!

You doubled your own expectations!” I shook my head;

peeved, I refused to look at him. Part of me wanted to kick

and punch him for trying to suffocate me but the other part

of me was so exhausted I could not move.

The exhaustion won. All I could muster was a few

words. “What the heck! Are you crazy?”

“I’m giving you a taste of what real thirst is,” he said.

“I was gasping for air! You could have killed me!”

“Nah! It’s just a bit of fun. Liven up. You’ll need to

endure far more than that, my friend, on this journey. One

day you’ll thank me.”

“For what?”

“Next time someone asks you how keen you are to visit

the Cave of Lerkus, you’ll know what keen really means!

If you gasp for the Cave in the same way you gasped for

air, then you will surely reach it.” He smiled and added,

“Come on, giddy-up, freshman. You won’t get any work

done sitting around like that.”



“What work?” I asked as I pulled myself up and

dropped down on a padded seat.

“How keen are you to venture into the Cave?”

I paused, then said, “Keener than breath itself.”

“Now we’re talking! Round them in and ride them

home! But you need to let go of them reins and stop trying

to take control.”

“I’ve got no control,” I said. “I’ve lost total control. I’m

trapped in someone else’s body and I’ve got no idea how

to get out.”

“That’s good, because you can’t lose control if you

think you’re in control,” he said.

“Who’s in control then?”

“A force much greater than you or me. We’re just the

passengers being taken for a ride. But that does not mean

we simply accept what happens.”

“Why not?”

“Because asking ‘why’ is your ticket to freedom, my

friend. ‘Why’ is the cause, the reason, and the effect. It’s

the answer to everything, and it’ll help you find the Cave.”

“So why is this happening to me? Why am I held

hostage in someone else’s body? Why am I stuck on this

train and can’t get off? Why am I―”

“Woah there! Easy on, my friend. You’re whip-

whacking my head three times around the dangler, firing

all these questions front, back, and center. I never said I



had the answers. You’ve got to ask yourself ‘why’ and

figure it out all by your lonesome.”

“You never said you didn’t have the answers.”

“Ten for trying, my friend! Now tell me,” he said as he

delved into the top pocket of his vest, “what came first: the

seed or the tree?” Between his forefinger and thumb, he

held up an acorn seed.

“The seed,” I guessed.

“Why?”

“The tree?” I guessed again.

“Why?”

“Stop asking me! I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. You just don’t remember. Be like a two-

year-old: question everything. And repeatedly ask ‘why’

until it annoys you and everyone else. Then you’ll discover

why ‘why’ is so important.” I nodded obediently. He

checked his pocket watch and then said, “We must part.”

“Why?” I asked.

He laughed. “That’s good, my friend. Keep asking

‘why’ and all your questions will be answered.”

“Like, why am I trapped in this body? And why am I

here?” I asked him again.

“Be patient. The answers will come. Those who dig for

water and give up, make potholes. Those who persist and

dig deep, make a well. Everything will start to make sense.

But, first you need to do some right smart work. Be



curious. Then we’ll meet again when the timing is right.”

He tipped his hat and wandered off down the corridor.

I called out to him. “But how will I find you again?”

He answered as he kept walking. “When you need me,

I’ll find you.”

“But who are you? What’s your name?” I asked.

“Why?” he asked. “You can call me whatever you

like!” Then he ducked his head as he exited through the

sliding doors. And he was gone before I had the chance to

respond. It seemed like Mr. Why was the perfect name for

him.

I stared out the window. The humming sound had gone;

all I could hear was the noise from the wheels grinding on

the tracks. I looked down at my wrinkled hands. I realized

that I was none the wiser about how to get out of Charles’s

body and back into mine. I had no answers to any of my

questions. I sighed, wishing that I were back home.

Everything seemed more logical there, even though at the

time I didn’t like living there. Although horrible things

happened, and the pain I suffered when she left me was

unbearable, at least I had control―I did things at my own

pace, in my own way, on my own terms. I made the

decisions. I decided what I liked and what I didn’t like,

where I wanted to go and when. If I had known I would

lose control, I wouldn’t have boarded this train. Maybe I’m

not ready for this trip, I thought. I don’t know. Nothing



makes sense anymore. Life isn’t easy. I just want things to

go back to how they used to be.

My eyes darted up and down the empty car. I never did

like being alone in strange places. It gave me the creeps.

Strange things happen in strange places. But, I thought, at

least if something strange happens to me now, I can call on

Mr. Why. I wonder where he was going. A cold shiver ran

up my spine. It was time to move on, even though my body

was aching, and I was nervous about where I would end

up.



Three

TOYING WITH HUMANIMALS

Heading in the same direction as Mr. Why, quite uncertain

about what I would discover, I hobbled through the train,

car by car, observing and assessing everything I saw. Each

car was oddly quiet. Why? Passengers were nodding off to

the repetitive beat of chashung, chashung, chashung as the

train kept its monotonous pace. Other passengers were

busy reading, oblivious to their surroundings. A few

nodded to me. Why? Maybe they were being friendly. Or

maybe they recognized Charles. I reluctantly nodded back.

Grouwoull! My stomach gurgled. Why? Because I was

hungry. I tried to calculate how long it had been since I

had eaten, then I remembered where I was. It was

impossible to calculate. The growls howled louder,

echoing through the hollow hall of Charles’s stomach. I

needed to eat. But what? Anything. Salty, sweet, crunchy,

soft, meaty, or chewy. I could have eaten it all! The seats

and passengers zoomed in and out of focus. Dizzy and

lightheaded, I wanted to sit down, but I was hungrier than

ever so I hobbled on. I had no idea where I was going. A

banquet of irritation and confusion was being served deep

inside, and with each course the growls howled louder. I



grabbed the back of an empty seat to steady myself. Then I

noticed it: a beam of light heading straight for me.

I flung my body into the seat and gripped its edges

tight, expecting the unexpected. “Watch out!” I warned

others, but none of the passengers near me took cover.

Maybe they’re novices, I considered, unaware of what’s

coming. I tucked my head down low and held on tight. My

fingers were cold and tense. My armpits were hot and

sweaty; I rubbed them into my upper ribs to smear their

sweat onto my shirt. As I stared out the window, watching

the lights approach, a glimpse of Charles’s face and beard

haunted me. I craved to see my shaven face, my floppy

hair, my eyes, my smile. I wanted to feel strong and agile

again. That was who I really was. My fingers held the seat

tighter, and I closed my eyes, yearning for my old body.

Badaboom! The train merger hit.

And within a split second, it was over.

Hypnotic rhythms and techno drum beats whirled

around me. A clatter of snorts and squeals came from all

directions. My entire body pulsated, awkwardly twisted

and bent, resting on a warm lump. I opened my eyes,

staring up into the beady eyes of Pika Rabbit. He squealed,

“Get off me, you inconsiderable imbecile! Get off me!”

My torso was uncomfortably sprawled across his two

thighs, pinning him to a seat. I unscrambled my arms and

legs and clambered off of him. “It’s me, Charles!” I yelled,



but the pounding racket drowned out my voice. Pika stood

up, waving his tiny hands and mouthing what I assumed to

be “Shoo! Shoo!” I backed away from him and, within

seconds, a group of dreadfully swarvellous passengers

swarmed around him and he was hidden among his own

kind. Although I remembered many of them from the first

train merger, none of them recognized me.

I scanned the car, searching the different partygoers.

There were lots of passengers with big hair, arrogant

stances, and dresses with daring cut-out bits, but I could

not see Pixie Pinkus anywhere.

Something sweet and smoky caught my attention. I

sniffed harder. Roasted and delicious. My stomach sent

violent quivers into my chest and my heart pounded faster.

I spotted a platter of stuffed peppers behind me. Before the

attendant wandered off with it, I weaved my arm through

the crowd and grabbed three slimy peppers. They slid out

of my hand and straight into my mouth. My cheeks were

stretched and swollen as I struggled to chew. Grease from

the melted cheese dripped out the corner of my mouth. I

swallowed and then licked up the dribble.

What’s that smell? I took a long inhalation. Deep-fried

something. Still chewing the peppers, my eyes hunted.

Then I saw it―finger food galore in all shapes and sizes. I

pushed through the loitering passengers toward the platter.

Flaky tartlets, crispy wedges, gooey rounds, creamy



scrolls―my right hand shoved its way in, past shoulders,

and plunged down. My goal was to seize two of

everything, but I could barely see what I was picking. My

fingers crawled and rummaged, crumbling pieces together,

squeezing them tight into my fist, redesigning their petite

appearance. I swallowed the remnants of the peppers and

pulled my ballooned hand back, aiming straight for my

open mouth. But before it reached its destination, a hand

seized the top of my shoulder and a gruff male voice

boomed from behind me, loud and clear in my ear, “That’s

stealing!” I quickly stuffed the crumbling ball into my

mouth. He clutched my shoulder and roared, “Gatecrashers

aren’t welcome!” Grabbing both of my wrists, he yanked

them behind my back and pushed my shoulders forward,

forcing me through the crowd. My mouth was jam-packed,

unable to even mumble a defense. As he prodded me, he

boasted, “The party’s over, gatecrasher!” I lowered my

head and tried to gulp down the half-eaten food, keen to

explain that there was no gate, but I almost choked. He

continued to push me down the corridor, through the

glamorous ones, who were flamboyantly toasting fruity

brainwhacker cocktails and striking self-righteous poses;

they shook their heads in disgust when I was escorted past

them.

I shunned their sneers and stares, and as I did, a pink

dress and a mass of red hair caught my eye. She was a few



footsteps from the exit, so I yelled, “Pixie Pinkus, it’s

Charles!” but my voice was muffled, drowned out by a

rising shrill of voices. The security guard prodded me

harder, holding my hands tighter. In a last-ditch effort, I

cleared my throat and yelled louder, “Pixie, remember

me?”

I was startled to hear myself. That voice, I thought. I

know that voice! The security guard paused; maybe he

questioned what he was doing or maybe the corridor was

momentarily blocked? I peered down. A white sweatshirt.

Dark gray jeans. Sneakers. A thrill surged through me. I

beamed triumphantly. At that moment, Pixie shook her

head from side to side and, with a slow-motion wink and

an upturned smirk of her pink lips, she silently confirmed

to the security guard that I was an unwelcome intruder.

The door closed behind me.

Suddenly I did not care. It all made sense why Pixie and

Pika had not recognized me.

Dazed, I stood in the enclosed vestibule between cars. I

stared down at my hands, then ran my fingers over the

stubble on my cheeks. So smooth compared to Charles’s

beard. I searched for my reflection in the car window. My

dark eyes, chiseled chin, and floppy brown hair stared back

at me. My wide, goofy grin had returned. “I’m back!” I

shouted, giving myself a high-five in the window’s

reflection. My thoughts raced. How is this possible? When



did it happen? Why hadn’t I noticed right away? I don’t

care, I realized. I’m just happy to be me again. I bent my

knees, and pivoted my torso. No popping. No aches. No

cracking. I stomped up and down and then slid open the

doors to the next car.

My legs, hips, knees, and body moved with ease. No

stiff joints. It felt so good. I took a deep breath in, and

relaxed as I breathed out. As I strolled through the car, I

noticed it had a familiar scent of morning coffee and

aftershave. Although the passengers in the car were not

familiar, they were not unfamiliar either. In fact, if I did

not know any better, I could have been back at Grand Road

Station. I would have taken refuge there in the car for a

while, but emotions ran wild and I still had an intense

appetite―a burning urge for something sweet.

I scanned the car, trying to work out whom I could

approach. Someone my own age. Then I spotted her. A

girl, maybe a bit younger than me. I observed her for a few

seconds; she was mildly interacting with her surroundings,

neither asleep nor engrossed in her own world. As her head

moved, her soft blonde curls rested on her shoulders. Her

skin was fair but her face had a sun-kissed glow. I

summoned the courage to approach her. I nervously

cleared my throat and said, “Excuse me, do you know

where I can get something to eat?”

She gazed up at me. “On this train?” she asked.



“Yeah,” I nodded and stared into her blue eyes.

“Maybe there’s something through those doors.” She

pointed in the direction I’d just come from.

“Thanks,” I said, shaking my head. “But maybe I’m not

really that hungry.”

“I have an apple. You’re welcome to eat that,” she said

in a soft voice.

“Really?” I asked.

She delved into her orange satchel and then handed me

a green apple. “Take it, it’s all yours.” She smiled.

“Thanks!” I took the apple. “Do you mind if I join

you?” I asked.

“Sure.” She moved her bag onto her lap and tucked in

the folds of her floral dress to clear the seat beside her. As

I sat down, she held out her right hand and introduced

herself. “I’m Veronika Day.”

“I’m Jude,” I said, gently clasping my fingers around

her palm.

“Nice to meet you, Jude,” she said, with a cute smile.

“Where are you heading?” she asked. I bit off a huge

mouthful, chewing it over and over, juicing every morsel.

Veronika waited for me to answer, but since I continued to

chew, she added, “I’m going to see the Magus.” Still

munching on my mouthful, I raised my eyebrows, wanting

to hear more, but Veronika turned away in embarrassment.

I quickly swallowed half the mouthful, and then slurred,



“What station are you getting off at? Do you know where

this train is going?” Apple juice sprayed from my mouth as

I spoke. Luckily none of it fired directly at Veronika.

“It depends on where you are heading,” she said.

I quickly swallowed the rest of the mouthful, and said,

“I thought I knew but now I’m not so sure. The trip has

been quite unpredictable so far.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. I really wanted to tell

her about everything but I had only just met her. Instead, I

asked her, “Have you heard of train mergers?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Really?” I asked. She smiled and nodded. So I

continued. “I’ve experienced a couple―”

She interrupted. “We all have, otherwise we wouldn’t

be here.”

I probed deep into her eyes and paused for a moment.

Then I asked, “Are you really Veronika?” Her eyebrows

squinted together slightly as she studied my face. I

regretted asking the question. “Sorry,” I said. “I just

wondered whether you really are Veronika or whether

you’re trapped in someone else’s body.” I took another bite

of the apple.

“Oh,” she said, “now I understand.” Then she laughed.

“I guess none of us really know who we are. We’re all a bit

deluded. That’s the whole point of this journey. By the

way, you haven’t told me where you are heading.”



“Do you promise not to laugh or think I’m crazy?” I

asked.

“Sure,” she said.

“You promise?”

“Definitely,” she said, placing her two hands across her

heart. “I’m not one to lie.”

“I’m going to the Cave of Lerkus.”

“The Cave,” she nodded, and then added, “That’s a

huge trip.”

“So you’ve heard about Lerkus? Do you know what

stop I get off at?” I asked. Veronika laughed. I frowned.

“Hey, you promised!” I bit into the apple again.

“Sorry,” she said, gently touching my forearm. “From

what I’ve heard, the Cave of Lerkus isn’t a destination that

we can choose to go to.”

Still chewing on the apple, I insisted, “Yes it is! The

conductor said that it’s possible.”

“It’s possible, but we have absolutely no control over

when we get there. We’re just the passengers,” she said.

“But I know a girl who was going there. She asked me

if I wanted to go there with her. At the time, I said no. And

then she left without me and now I want to go there, too.”

“So you want to go to the Cave of Lerkus to chase after

a girl?”

“No, it’s not like that―she vanished without saying

goodbye, and I’ve got no idea why. She saw life in an



entirely different way from me and she wasn’t afraid of the

unknown. She said that if I went to the Cave of Lerkus,

everything I ever wanted to know about life would be

revealed. I wasn’t ready for that back then, but we

prepared for the journey anyway. Twice a day we stared at

a big black pool of grime. She said griminess was good for

us―it would eventually make us clean. And it did help me

for a while but then she left me, and I almost drowned in

the pool of muck. Life got worse so I thought I’d take a

trip to the Cave of Lerkus and discover for myself what’s

really going on.”

“It sounds like you’ve been through a lot. I’ve dipped

my toes in a pool of muck a few times too when life got

messy but I’ve never fully swum in it. Did your friend tell

you much about the Cave? Do you know how to find it?”

she asked.

“The only thing I know is that she said it’s the most

amazing place―it’s incredibly peaceful and quiet, and

there’s no fear, no doubts, no worries, no pain, no trouble,

no heartache. Nothing horrible happens there, only sheer

happiness. It’s absolutely idyllic, beyond belief. Nowhere

else in the world compares to it.”

“It sounds like the perfect place to go to end all

suffering,” she said.



“Exactly. But my friend did say that it’s an extremely

difficult place to get to, otherwise everyone would be

there.”

“Do you have a tour guide?”

“No, I don’t think so. Do I need one?”

“It would definitely help, but you still would not have

control over when and how you get there.”

“How do I get there, then?”

“I’m not the right person to ask. I’ve never been there

so I don’t know exactly where it is or the best way to get

there. All I know is that very few people actually make it

all the way into the Cave, and those who do say that life

never looks the same again.”

“Oh, now you’ve got me worried―I’m going

somewhere that I know very little about, I’ve got no idea

how to get there, and who knows what I’ll discover once

I’m there.”

“Sorry,” said Veronika as she put her hand on my knee.

“I didn’t mean to worry you. It could be a fantastic

adventure into the great unknown.”

“It could be, but I’m not really into unusual

adventures―I guess that’s why I said no in the first place.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I don’t like adventure trips either.

They give me the goobly-wooblies. I much prefer to travel

within my comfort zone.”



“Same here, but unfortunately horrible things keep

happening to me, one after the other, and I can’t take it

anymore. I was really hoping that this trip would be

different.”

“And I’m sure it will be―if you let it. As far as I know,

this train will head wherever you want it to go. You just

need to be clear about your destination.”

I paused, then asked her, “Do you think it’s odd that we

are stuck on the same train but we’re going to different

places and neither of us has any control over when and

where we get off?”

“Maybe it’s not as strange as it appears,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, as I twirled the chewed

apple core between my fingers.

“To be honest, I don’t know. I just know that it feels

right that we are having this conversation. I don’t think it’s

a coincidence that you’re in that body on this train talking

to me right now, and that I ended up in this body on the

same train talking to you right now. Maybe we are both

exactly where we are meant to be.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “maybe we’re in the right place at

the right time.”

Veronika smiled as she checked her watch. “Oh no, I’m

late!” she exclaimed. “I have to go.” She grabbed her bag

and stood up.



Flustered, I accidentally dropped the apple core as I too

stood up. “Where?” I asked. I noticed that she was slightly

shorter than me.

“To see the Magus!” she said as she tossed the long

strap of her satchel across her body.

“Can I see you again?” I asked.

“Sure, I’d like that Jude.”

“How will I find you?”

“I’m sure we’ll find each other when our lines are

meant to cross,” she smiled. “But I really have to go now.”

She ran down the corridor and disappeared into the car

where Pixie Pinkus was holding her cocktail party. I

waited, biting my bottom lip, half expecting her to return.

This is ridiculous, I told myself. I only just met her. I

glanced up as the doors opened. My heart pounded. Two

guys stumbled out. I kicked the floor, disappointed. I’m

sure I’ll see her again, but not now, I thought. At least I

know she’s on board. Maybe being stuck on this train isn’t

so bad after all. A tingle ran up my spine. The muscles in

my legs and arms pulsated, something fluttered inside my

gut, and I was keener than ever to explore. I pulled up my

sleeves as I strode off in the opposite direction from

Veronika.

My feet pounded hard on the carpet as I moved through

each car, one after the other. Passengers either moved out

of my way or my body bounced around them. My energy



surged as I sped down the corridor. Indistinguishable, the

passengers were almost as blurry as the scenes outside the

windows. There was no time to stop and look around; I

pushed myself to keep moving.

Eventually I had no choice but to stop―I ran out of

breath.

Holding the sides of my gut, I gasped for air and heaved

short breaths in and out. My heart beat fast. I closed and

opened my eyes a few times and looked around. I

wondered if I had lost my mind. Was I hallucinating? A

hunched-over, cheeky monkey was playing with his

girlfriend’s pigtails. I squinted and tried to refocus my

eyes. Is it a monkey or a man? I started walking down the

corridor. A woman removed her coat, but as she did so, I

saw the snake within her shedding its skin. I slowed down.

I was curious but somewhat hesitant. A baby girl cried.

Caw! Caw! Caw! Her face had the beak of a crow chick

demanding food from its mother.

An eerie shiver ran through my body, and my arms had

goose bumps. I kept on walking, half expecting that the

three meerkat teenagers, who were peering over a row of

seats, would pounce on me at any moment. My heart was

palpitating; my brow was sweating. This doesn’t feel right,

I thought, I need to get out of here before these tamed

circus animals run wild.



I craved a drink. Something strong. The urge intensified

as I strayed down the corridor and into the next car.

Inside, strobe lights dimly flickered on and off, making

the passengers appear motionless even though they were

dancing to a loud and heavy beat. Their movements were

distinctive, given they had half-human, half-animal

features. The air was foggy and I struggled to breathe. But

strangely, I wanted to stay—it was uncomfortably

comfortable. Then something tapped on my shoulder and

my entire body jerked. My eyes feasted up and down on a

flamingo dressed in a strapless pink corset laden with

feathers. She had a matching pink miniskirt with a big

feather tail and a long pink feather in her hair. One of her

long bare legs was bent as she stood still in her sky-soaring

pink high heels. She stretched her long neck toward me

and asked, “Hey sexy, what can I get you?”

“Straight brainwhacker,” I ordered. Those two simple

words flew out of my mouth without any effort. She

nodded, holding her head high as she strutted over to the

bar, rhythmically turning her feather tail from side to side.

I scanned the crowd as I waited. Gothic swans and

tempting bunnies, ravishing peacocks and metallic

leopards masqueraded before me. Then my eyes locked

with those of an incredibly sultry dancer. She reminded me

of a white Samoyed puppy, with her playful eyes and small

pink tongue. Leaving very little to the imagination, she



was scantily dressed in tiny white shorts and a huge furry

collar, which barely covered her curves. She pranced on

tiptoes toward me. “Let’s dance,” she purred. My heart

pounded. “Sure,” I nodded, lunging forward. She grasped

my sleeve and drew me closer toward her. My heart raced

as she snuggled against my chest, moving her body to the

pulse of the music. Her perfume was intoxicating. As I

breathed it in, gulps of white fluff from her collar almost

choked me. She slid her fingers between my lips, wiping

away the stray fur. Then her petite pink tongue moistened

her glossy lips. She moved her mouth closer to mine, and

lightly brushed my lips with hers. A vision of Veronika

flashed before me. No! Not now. I closed my eyes, but her

face haunted me. I opened my eyes but guilt overcame me.

I pulled away, shaking my head as I walked back,

desperately searching for the flamingo.

She found me before I found her. I grabbed the drink

and guzzled it down in less than five seconds. “I’ll have

another,” I ordered.

“That’s one hundred kusos for the first,” she said.

“What!” I exclaimed. “You’re joking?”

From out of nowhere, a bouncer, who reminded me of a

fierce shark, demanded, “Pay up now! She means

business!” In between the flickers of bright light, I noticed

a mass of undesirable creatures covered in tattoos and

piercings emerge from the dark sides of the car’s metal



frame. I was surrounded by humanimals. A sharp pain

stabbed my chest as my heart sped up. A dog-man with a

truncheon pierced through his neck shoved past me. I

cringed. Sweat dripped from under my arms as I gulped in

the smoky air.

A nasty tube-nosed bouncer snarled, “What ya got for

us, then?” He flared open his brown-spotted batwing arms.

I shuddered. Fumbling for my wallet, I asked, “Do you

take cards?”

“No!” spat the batwinged bouncer. “You’d better get

more creative than that.”

“I don’t have anything else,” I said. My hands trembled

as I searched my wallet.

“You’ve got lots,” screeched the bat.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Two eyes, two ears, teeth, a pumping heart, a liver,

kidneys, fingers, toes…where do you want to start?”

“Um…my clothes,” I stuttered.

The fierce shark snarled, “Yeah, that’ll make our job

easier. There’s nothing worse than excreting fiber and

zips.” My hands were shaking as I fumbled to put my

wallet back in the pocket of my jeans. My eyes stung as I

slowly reached for the bottom of my sweatshirt.

Another large bouncer—this one with piercing steel

eyes, pointy ears, and a shaved head—rammed in front of

me and bellowed, “Get moving!” His muscles bulged out



from under his tight black singlet, and his massive arms

reminded me of the tentacles of a giant toothless vampire

squid. I slowly removed my shirt. “Your belt and pants

too!” ordered the Vampire Squid bouncer. My fingers were

shaking uncontrollably as I unbuckled my belt and slid it

out of my jeans. Using his huge hands, Vampire Squid

grabbed the end of the belt; I tugged back. The harder I

pulled, the more strength he mustered.

I pulled even harder. He pulled harder again.

Determined not to give in, I continued to pull even

though I was exhausted. I fought with every ounce I had.

Mr. Why had shown me how keen I could be, and I was

keener than ever to fight for my life. Then the bouncer’s

tentacle-like arms suctioned onto me and all my effort was

not enough.

I silently begged: if you are there, Mr. Why, please help

me.

The belt slowly slipped through my fingers.

Mr. Why, wherever you are, please save me!

I gripped the end of the belt. My blistered fingers

clasped the buckle, knowing that if I let it go, Vampire

Squid could smash it around my head. The metal tongue

dug in deep. The pain was intense. Vampire Squid kept

pulling on the belt; it seemed to be getting longer and

longer. How was this possible? My face tightened, and I



gripped harder, using every muscle I had, but the belt was

slowly slipping through my fingers.

Mr. Why, please save me. I begged with every cell,

every molecule, every thought, every breath, everything I

had. Over and over again, I pleaded. Please help me. I

know you are here. Please help me. Then my hands let go

of the belt. If you want me to be beaten up, let it happen.

And my entire body caved in and shuddered as I waited to

be flogged to death. I cradled my bleeding, gashed hands.

The extremely long belt dropped at my feet. Had he

surrendered too, or had he simply found something bigger

to strike me with? I cringed as I cautiously peered upward.

His jaw was wide open, but no sound emerged. His face

was gaunt in agony, and the veins under the shaved skin on

his head bulged as his eyes protruded from their sockets.

Vampire Squid was holding his chest in what appeared to

be a cardiac arrest.

Two lights flooded the car. I cowered down low and

braced, pleading that the train merger would get me out of

there alive and safe.



FOUR

EXTINCT LIBRARIANS

All scattered in the mind, I landed feet first in an enclosed

vestibule between two cars. Somewhat shaken, I checked

my hands. Familiar and unscathed. Everything else was

intact too―my sweatshirt, belt, jeans, and sneakers. They

were back together, unmarked. How is that possible, I

wondered? I pushed the button and the doors slid open. So

peaceful compared to the thrashing bar. So quiet. Then

zing zoom! The doors behind me closed.

“Shh!” a woman hissed. My head spun toward her. She

gave me a stern glare as she raised an elongated pointer

finger to her lips; it was so long it reached right up to the

midpoint of her eyebrows. Had I gatecrashed another

cocktail party? It looked more like a tea party. Old-

fashioned cups and saucers were scattered on the table

where the woman and a dozen or so other passengers sat.

Each one of them had an elongated pointer finger on each

hand. I whispered to the stern woman, “Sorry, I didn’t

mean to disturb you.”

A young guy with chunky-rimmed black glasses and

scruffy hair, who was sitting the closest to me, laughed.

“We’re already disturbed!” he said. An older woman



sitting beside him added, “We have been since the

technological age hit.” They both laughed.

“Why?” I asked. A bald man with a wrinkled forehead

sitting at the head of the table, next to the stern woman,

shook his head in despair. “Oh no, it’s worse than I

thought. The youth of today don’t even recognize us

anymore.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“We’re librarians,” said the young guy.

“Aren’t you all extinct?” I asked.

“There’s a few of us left,” said the bald man.

“I thought the only place one could find a librarian

these days was in a museum,” I said as I surveyed the car.

Bronze textured, metallic walls shimmered under the glow

of spotlights; no bookshelves or books were in sight. The

car had oversized hexagonal windows, which encased a

collection of stylish velvet lounges. Most of the passengers

were playing dice in small groups. I asked the young guy,

“How is it possible that you’ve survived?”

“Our knowledge,” he said. “It’s our lifeline.”

The bald man then added, “All this is superficial

nonsense—designer games and elegant chattels to feed the

untamed thieves. We’re planning a silent protest to show

them that the intellect is more powerful.” Then he paused,

and said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but we have much work

to do, and we need to move quickly.”



“I understand,” I said, letting them return to their

collective discussion. Keen to explore, I wandered through

the car, which was much wider and longer than the other

cars. A dull humming noise rang in my ears. Then, in the

far corner of the car, I spotted a cream cowboy hat. A large

crowd was gathered around him. Had I found him or had

he found me? I messed up my hair and pulled my sleeves

up as I ambled toward him.

When I reached the group, Mr. Why interrupted his

discussion and drawled, “Friend, join us!” pointing to a

spare seat in the front next to him. Too embarrassed to

squeeze through the overcrowded assembly, I declined his

offer and opted to perch on the armrest of a curved lounge

on the outskirts of the group. From what I could

comprehend, Mr. Why was telling the others about a

mansion that he had inherited many years ago. Over time,

he had added improvements so it could repair itself when

broken, build its own extensions, restore itself every six

years, and be fully transportable. The entire concept was

beyond belief. As his presentation progressed, more and

more passengers were flocking toward him like an eclipse

of moths to a street lamp at midnight. I was easily

distracted. Thoughts drifted in and out of my mind as I

listened to his bizarre talk. What was it about him? Had he

rescued all of these passengers too? Then I realized—he’s



never actually seen me. Not in this body. Did he recognize

me somehow or was he just being friendly?

It suddenly occurred to me that I was lucky to be alive.

What was I thinking to enter that bar? What was I not

thinking to order a brainwhacker without first checking

that I had the kusos to pay for it? How could I have let my

wild cravings run loose like that? I should have gotten out

of there as soon as I had detected the first signs of

peculiarity. Something tapped on my shoulder and my

entire body jerked.

A somewhat familiar face smiled at me. “Hi, Jude,”

whispered Veronika.

“Veronika!” I whispered. She was more attractive than

I remembered.

“You look like you’ve been to hell and back,” she

joked. If only she knew. I smirked as I wiped my lips and

quickly changed the focus. “So is he your Magus?” I

asked. She nodded. I scratched my head. “Are you going to

the Cave of Lerkus too?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t going there,” she

whispered.

“I thought you said we were heading to different

places,” I whispered.

“I never said that; you assumed that that was the case.

We’re both seeking Lerkus. I’ve got the Magus guiding me



there, and you’re going directly there on your own—

unless, of course, you’ve now got a tour guide.”

“No, not really. But does this mean that this train will

take us both to the Cave?”

She shook her head. “No, not this train.”

“What!” I said, trying to lower my voice. “I feel like

I’m living inside a puzzle. Every time I get a new piece of

information, the picture changes and none of the jigsaw

pieces fit together. Then I get another piece, but before I

can figure out where it fits, the picture has changed again.”

She whispered, “That’s the trouble with the world.

Everyone is living in a fantasy world doing jigsaws.

They’re so focused on trying to put their picture-perfect

life together that they forget it’s only an image. A

reflection of what’s in here,” she said, gesturing to her

head, “and that’s constantly changing. We’re different,

Jude. Our images got distorted and the jigsaw pieces don’t

fit together anymore, no matter how hard we bend them.”

“What went wrong with us?” I asked.

“Something went right with us!”

“And what was that?”

“We peeked through a crack in the distorted picture and

saw what was beyond it. And now that preoccupies us

more than doing a fake jigsaw puzzle.”



I shook my head from side to side. “Maybe that’s how

it was for you but not for me. I never planned any of this. It

feels all wrong.”

“You need to speak with him. He’ll explain it better

than I can.” A swarm of passengers hovered around

Mr. Why. There was no way I could get close enough to

talk with him about any of this. Veronika gently nudged

me. “Go on,” she said, “ask him now. The sooner you hear

it from him, the more all of this will make sense.” I

stretched my feet down to the floor and stood up. Pins and

needles tingled in my backside. I hesitantly took a few

steps through the gatherers, and as I did, a path emerged

and Mr. Why headed toward me. “How is my friend?” he

asked. Lost for words, I nodded. “Follow!” he

commanded, as he walked past me, leading me away from

Veronika and the others.

In a quiet corner, we sat.

He broke the silence. “So what’d you think of my

talk?”

“It was different. I’m not sure I understood it all. It

seems a bit far-fetched. Is that mansion real?” I asked.

“As real as a donkey’s eee-haw. It’s ninety-five years

old and you’re looking at it,” he twanged.

I stared at him in disbelief. Was he referring to himself?

Or did he mean this train? Or was he playing games with

me again? Not knowing how to respond, I changed the



topic and asked, “Do you recognize me?” He nodded.

“Really?” I asked.

“You’re keener than breath itself. But maybe a bit too

keen on the brainwhackers and the tempting painted she-

animals. You gotta be careful not to wake up the wrong

passengers, otherwise you’ll be up a tree trying to crack

the big nuts.”

“How do you recognize me? I was in a totally different

body when we first met.”

“We’ve met many, many times, my friend. It’s the

inners, not the outers, that tell you apart from the others,”

he said.

Interesting. The loud humming sound returned and it

was difficult to think clearly. The pressure on my forehead

was intense, so I just let all the thoughts, doubts, and

questions leap out one by one. “I need some answers.

Where is this train going? You told me that to get to the

Cave I need to be curious and to ask why, and I did. And if

it wasn’t for the train merger I would have been eaten

alive.” My face was getting hotter, and the words started

spewing out of my mouth. Mr. Why was calm, listening

and nodding. That aggravated me more. “Tell it to me

straight,” I yelled, “I don’t want any more cryptic riddles.

Is this train going to the Cave of Lerkus or not?”

“Hold your horses,” he said. I gritted my teeth and

forced a few deep breaths. Then he said, “There’s nothing



to fear. You’re safe. The train merger brought you here. I

kept my word―I found you when you needed me.”

“Yeah, but it took you a while! That bouncer had his

tentacles wrapped all over me.”

“Very true, my friend. You just got out of there by the

skin of your teeth. I was watching the whole scene unfold,

ready to intervene, but you kept pulling. Then, when you

finally did ask for my help, you doubted whether I was

even there. It was only after you let go that it was possible

for me to free you.”

“Well, it was all your fault I ended up there!” I said.

“How so?” he asked.

“You told me to be curious and look where it took me.”

“You’re the yak that let your inner demons blaze up and

lead you astray, not me,” he said. “I didn’t give you a thirst

for seductive devilry. You did that all by your lonesome.

Remember, the deeper you dig your grave, the more dirt

you need to fill it.”

“But this train journey hasn’t been easy. I’ve gone from

being tossed around, to being trapped in someone else’s

body, to being admired, then ridiculed, then threatened.

Honestly, I’ve got my old body back but I don’t know who

I am anymore.”

“That’s because you’ve run off seeking your own

pleasures. Being curious doesn’t mean being a mushhead.

You need to stay focused on where you’re going. You



want everything to be straightforward but absolutely

nothing, my friend, is sequential, including this train. If

you really want to know who you are, spend some time

helping the other passengers—they’ll help you find

yourself.”

“I don’t have time for that. I just need to get to the

Cave. Is this train going to take me there or not?”

“I’ll shoot square, my friend―no,” he said. I closed my

eyes and cradled my head in my hands. He then added,

“Don’t worry about small potatoes, they won’t feed the

masses. One day the whistle will blow and the right train

will come.”

I looked over at him. “But I need to go there now.

What’s the purpose of going any further if this train is not

going to take me there? I want a refund on my ticket!”

He laughed. “You should have thought about that

before you boarded the train.”

“I didn’t know that I would not have a choice about

where the train was going. I’ve lost all my freedom to do

what I want, when I want. It’s like I’m being held hostage

inside a metal cage.”

“A turtle,” Mr. Why announced.

“What?” I asked.

“A turtle carries a heavy shell everywhere it goes. It’s

free to go anywhere because it’s always home. But it’s not

free, it’s deluded. It lives within the confines of its shell,



imprisoned because it cannot outgrow its shell or trade it in

for a new one. You think you had freedom, but you were

as deluded as the turtle. And now you yearn to have your

self-made prison back because you foolishly think there’s a

whole world out there to explore.”

“So if there’s no world to explore, where is the train

going?” I asked.

“Wherever you want it to go.”

“But you said I had no control, I’m just a passenger.”

“You desired a drink; you found a bar. You desired

something to fill your hollow gut; you found an apple. You

desired fame and recognition; you found Charles. You

desired to be yourself again; you found your body.”

“So I am in control?”

“Nah. Don’t be fooled by sawdust.”

“So who’s in control?”

“Something much greater than you or me.”

“Lerkus? Is Lerkus really the one in control?”

“You’ll know when you enter the Cave.”

“So I will get there?”

“It’s not up to me to say when you’ll get there, only

Lerkus can decide who visits the Cave.”

“But aren’t you a tour guide taking passengers to the

Cave of Lerkus?

“I don’t force them to come with me because there’s no

guarantee they’ll get there.”



“So if there’s no certainty, why would I bother trying to

go there?”

“That’s up to you. You’ve still got freedom to make

your own choices. You just need to decide where you want

to go, and go there.”

“But I don’t know how to get there.”

“Train mergers, my friend. Seize the opportunities

when they come. They’re a bonanza if you realize when

and why they are occurring,” said Mr. Why as he reached

for the water jug on the side table near where we sat. He

poured a glass of water, and then hunted in the pocket of

his vest and took out a cube of sugar. He dropped the cube

into the glass of water and said, “Eventually the sugar will

dissolve in the water. Can the process be de-solved?”

I shrugged, not knowing whether it was a trick question

or not. He continued, “With each train merger, you merge

a bit closer. You’ve had countless train mergers before we

could have this conversation, otherwise it would be like me

trying to teach a three year old how to break a wild

stallion; it just wouldn’t make much cow-sense. And then

you were almost lassoed when you met Veronika, but the

rope wasn’t long enough to pull you in and you needed to

stew in your own juice a bit longer.”

“Huh? Does that mean I don’t need any more train

mergers?” I asked.

“Not if you want to reach the Cave.”



“How many more train mergers would it take?”

“Count the number of cars on this train, and then triple

it.”

I pondered that for a moment, and then asked, “If this

train is not sequential, how can I count the cars?”

He smiled and rose to his feet. “Keep it up, my friend.

There are one hundred and twenty-nine tons of steel in this

car―it’d be a pity not to weld them into something swell

for the other passengers. But remember, don’t go waking

up the wrong passengers. Good company will keep you on

track, bad company will derail you.”

I too stood up, tilting my chin back to make eye contact

with him. “Thanks,” I said, “I’ve definitely got a long way

to go.” He then wandered off toward the passengers

waiting for him. I sat back down and pondered what he had

said as the remaining crystals of the sugar cube slowly

dissolved. As much as I did not want to admit it, he was

right about many things. I had no one to blame but myself

for the trouble I had attracted. I was only focused on

myself and what I wanted. I tried to understand what he

had said about being in control but not being in control, but

I struggled. Nothing was clear. My head hurt from

overthinking. To ease my brewing headache, I guzzled the

glass of sugar water. Then I slammed the glass down on

the table and said, “That’s one puzzle solved!”



A voice from behind me interrupted, “I’m not sure what

you’ve solved, but we need to leave.” Out of the corner of

my eye, I saw a floral dress with an orange

bag―Veronika. Her voice was strained. “Those extinct

librarians are planning a ‘Save the Dewey’ protest, and

even though they are saying it will be a silent protest, I

reckon it could turn violent. A huge group of disgruntled

paperback readers are following them. They’re pursuing

some idiosyncratic quest about paperback vandalism,

claiming that their access to knowledge is getting

suppressed. Little do they know―I don’t want to get

involved.”

“Sure,” I said, still sucking on the remainder of the

sugar cube. Standing up, I added, “Let’s get out of here

then.” Although I had just met Veronika, I trusted her and

my gut instinct told me that with her leading the way, it

was unlikely I would end up in a dark dungeon with wild

humanimals again.

We headed off past a huddle of librarians, who were

busy painting placards: “Thieves rob our peace,” “Trees of

knowledge need water too,” “Mind the mind, not the gap,”

“Witness the wit outwit the halfwit,” and “Book butchery

is mindless slaughter.” Odd. Veronika smirked at me. I

asked her, “So where are we going?” Still smirking, she

said, “There are a few friends I’d like you to meet. They’re

generous misers who like to take less and give more.” As



we exited the car, I bid a silent farewell to the librarians,

who were working hard with their heads down,

undistracted by what was going on around them, and I

braced myself for whatever might happen next.

About L.A. Golding

L.A. Golding (Leisa) is an author of contemplative and

surrealist fiction, based in Australia.

Her second novel Zombies Who Love God is due for

release in 2020.

Leisa and her husband, James Golding, also have free short

stories available on their website.

GoldingTales.com

Twitter.com/GoldingTales

https://goldingtales.com/

https://twitter.com/goldingtales

lerkus: a journey to end all suffering...prajnanananda and gurudev paramahamsa hariharananda. your...

Documents