The time is the nineteen fifties. Lola had been brought up near Chicago with her grandmother’s spooky tales about their origins as the progeny of “Tunnelman” a surrealistic entity who inhabited the rail road tunnels under the big City of New York. Lola takes a train to New York City to see the improbable Tunnelman’s haunts for herself. Her strange quest is realized as vivid images of Tunnelman popped up to her view while the train traveled the tunnels into Grand Central Terminal. Lola thought what she saw happened in past imaginings but did it as the train comes into the reality of the station.
ANA and TUNNELMAN in Amerika East
The wheels of the Chicago Zephyr click clacked its hypnotic tattoo to Lola of the words to the past along a billion sections of rail toward Grand Central terminal. Lola followed her changing reflection in the window. She pressed her nose even tighter against the glass as if to witness first hand any hint of alien wonder in the maintenance tunnels as the Zephyr blurred through. Shadow shapes flitted here and then the same one there. Persons? They were like persons, hunched humanoid forms that lost and found themselves in and out of a white flutter of light like an arcade peep show. Perhaps darker than humans ever go, swift moving holes in the dusk of the underground networks.
Reflections and smoke, the smoke of her endless Camels. Oh how Granma Ana hid there saying. We lived in his heaven underground. If you can get that.
She dipped the turban off her head. Here’yar. puddit on.Lola did as she was told.
Looks pretty on you, Your age I was a real beauty. He said so.
Who?
Ana Bushed the hen off her lap like always when she’s startin in. But now. Ana hisses out smoke. I’m on my last legs if I’m a day. Tunnelman. They say he’s eternal. God, you gotta hate him royal he’s tricky.
Ana’s turban had moons on it and stars.
Lola snatched it and now she was checking for reflections.
A man popped out, rather a man’s head, seemingly unattached, a wild mat of pitch black hair and beard held by knots you’d better comb out of a dog’s fur to prevent its legs from tying up, his fingers splayed spatulate across his face and crystal eyes speak a story, a piece of knowing, a conjure of evil and beauty. a joke only he knows, a restive appreciation of evil and beauty combined.
The train never passed him though it was clicking along at a discernible speed. He appeared between supports as the train came upon him, and then he was an image in fading vision.
ANA and TUNNELMAN in Amerika East
The wheels of the Chicago Zephyr click clacked its hypnotic tattoo to Lola of the words to the past along a billion sections of rail toward Grand Central terminal. Lola followed her changing reflection in the window. She pressed her nose even tighter against the glass as if to witness first hand any hint of alien wonder in the maintenance tunnels as the Zephyr blurred through. Shadow shapes flitted here and then the same one there. Persons? They were like persons, hunched humanoid forms that lost and found themselves in and out of a white flutter of light like an arcade peep show. Perhaps darker than humans ever go, swift moving holes in the dusk of the underground networks.
Reflections and smoke, the smoke of her endless Camels. Oh how Granma Ana hid there saying. We lived in his heaven underground. If you can get that.
She dipped the turban off her head. Here’yar. puddit on.Lola did as she was told.
Looks pretty on you, Your age I was a real beauty. He said so.
Who?
Ana Bushed the hen off her lap like always when she’s startin in. But now. Ana hisses out smoke. I’m on my last legs if I’m a day. Tunnelman. They say he’s eternal. God, you gotta hate him royal he’s tricky.
Ana’s turban had moons on it and stars.
Lola snatched it and now she was checking for reflections.
A man popped out, rather a man’s head, seemingly unattached, a wild mat of pitch black hair and beard held by knots you’d better comb out of a dog’s fur to prevent its legs from tying up, his fingers splayed spatulate across his face and crystal eyes speak a story, a piece of knowing, a conjure of evil and beauty. a joke only he knows, a restive appreciation of evil and beauty combined.
The train never passed him though it was clicking along at a discernible speed. He appeared between supports as the train came upon him, and then he was an image in fading vision.
