Free The Train of Small Mercies by David Rowell

present, and he knew the fear of being passed by a car full of white men craning their heads at the sight of him, the brake lights suddenly blooming in the night air. But he understood that as men of an earlier generation, Hayes and Big Brass shared a history of indignities, injustices, and probably far worse than he was likely to ever experience.
    â€œAnyway, just wanted to pass that on,” Hayes said, and ambled back through the cars.
    â€œI thank you,” Big Brass called out, and then he looked at Lionel as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing there. Then he said, “Okay, son. Here’s what I need you to do.”

New Jersey
    M ichael’s mother appeared in the doorway, and Michael quickly let his feet come off the wall. He looked at her upside down.
    â€œSo you want to play with your friends, then?” she said. She was trying to sound carefree, but both of them could hear the flutter in her voice.
    â€œWe’re just going to go to the field,” he said.
    â€œWalt and Ty?” she asked.
    â€œAnd Daniel.”
    â€œRight, I spoke to his mother earlier in the week.”
    She sat down on the edge of his bed and ran her fingers through his fresh haircut. His hair was what she noticed first when the police brought him to the door. Like a hippie, she thought, with his overgrown cowlicks.
    â€œWhat do you boys like to do in that field, anyway?” she asked.
    â€œWe climb trees,” Michael said, hoping that would suffice. That Friday morning Ty Weldon heard his father say to Ty’s mother that the train would be passing right through town, and Ty knew that meant it would first bisect their field; when no one was looking, Ty studied the little diagram in the newspaper that showed the train’s route from New York to Washington. During lunch, he told Michael, Daniel Gregory, and Walt Pluncket that they should go see it, but not to tell their parents. “If they think we’re interested in seeing it,” he said, “they might want us to go with them or something.”
    â€œWell, just don’t climb too high,” Michael’s mother said, and wished she hadn’t. But she also knew that Michael wouldn’t hold it against her.
    â€œOkay,” he said.
    He waited on the steps of his front porch for his friends. Next door he watched a man climb a ladder, a cigarette clinched in his lips, to inspect the shingles on the roof. Every time the man reached over to tug on a piece that concerned him, he paused first to mop his brow.
    â€œYou wouldn’t catch me up there,” Ty called out as he strolled up the walkway. “Not on a hot day like this. Black attracts the heat, you know. Like a thousand times.”
    â€œI don’t mind the heat that much,” Michael said. “I like being up high like that. Gives you a good view.”
    Ty sat down next to him and looked over his shoulder to be sure they were alone. “We’re going to get a good view where we’re going.”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œMy parents were watching the funeral on TV,” Ty said. “They didn’t say anything about seeing the train, though.”
    Both of them sat and tried to imagine what was ahead of them. In a few minutes Daniel and Walt arrived. Michael’s mother looked out the screen door and came over to stand with them. “They say this might be the hottest day of the year so far. You boys be careful not to get overheated. Stay in the shade as much as you can.”
    They offered a low murmur of polite response.
    Michael stood up and said to the ground, “I guess we’ll be going.” He began to move toward his mother to put his arms around her before he caught himself, but the other boys didn’t seem to notice. She did, though, and smiled. She squeezed his shoulder and said, “Don’t get into any trouble over there.”
    Ty looked at Michael quickly, wondering what else he had told her, but Michael