Purgatory Train

By ALI RAY

Purgatory Train is the story of a book that reaches different individuals. A book which has an ?anonymous author and sender and the last pages of the book are blank. In the book different ?characters state their autobiographies. The individuals who are aboard the Purgatory Train are ?in a cabin which connects them through their similar pasts. ?

The story begins with a tale of a farmer boy whose name is Alan Conner. He decides to move ?from his hometown of Utah to Los Angeles, in order to change his social and financial status. To ?his imagination, this move could rescue him from a boring and uneventful middle class life. He ?is striving really hard towards a better life, he as an entire financial outlook on life and he sees ?happiness and wealth. Before he moves and leaves his family the book Purgatory Train is sent ?to him. While on the way to Los Angeles to start his new life and his odyssey, he reads this ?book. ?

The book tells the stories of three characters. The first character which explains her own life in ?the Purgatory Train is Amytis, the daughter of the king of Media which takes place thousands of ?years prior to the death of Christ. This is a romance and portraits life from loves point of view.?

The next story is of a priest names Antonio form the medieval ages. He explains life from ?religious point of view and tells the role of religion in peoples life and how it could be placed as ?a toll in their hands.?

And the third story is about a girl names salma who lives in Algeria and tells a summary of ?World War II and beginnings of the Algerian revolution. She explains life in the form of war, ?politics and how revolutions are shaped.?

All characters have one thing in common and have a message for Al Conner, but he does not ?care about the messages the book conveys which is history is full of mistakes that we continue ?to repeat and finally he has a similar destiny of the characters and becomes a passenger on the ?Purgatory Train and one of the characters of the book, and the book is sent to another ?individual.?

This novel a totally new idea which studies humans from a different angles and how people ?although red about the past, make the same mistakes that have been repeated throughout ?history. As human mistakes are endless, so are the passengers of Purgatory Train and are finally ?added to the end of this book.?

This is a social novel, mysterious, romantic and historical which possesses philosophical essays ?with criticism on politics which sometimes lead to war and distinction of human kind.?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Apr 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781426963834

ALI RAY

ALI RAY lives in Vancouver, British Columbia, with his family. He earned a bachelor’s degree in accounting and is currently studying CGA-BC to become a certified general accountant.

Book preview

Contents

SKU-000461687_TEXT.pdf

1 - The Move

2 - Love

3 - Aim

4 - Religion

5 - Destiny

6 - War

7 - Mistake

8 - Future

From A Friend

1 - The Move

SKU-000461687_TEXT.pdf

The alarm clock rang several times. I opened my eyes with great difficulty.

Oh my God! What time is it? I took a look at the clock on the table and stopped the damn ringing. How quickly 8:00 a.m. had arrived. I stretched the blanket over my head. I was wishing morning had never come. I didn’t want to get up. I had had difficulty sleeping the night before; I was thinking about the next day all night. I couldn’t remember exactly what time I had fallen asleep. All the time, I was wondering, What will happen today? I had to get up. I moved myself with some difficulty. I got up from the bed and sat on the edge of it. I felt languid; my body had no feeling. I stood up and staggered toward the washroom. I took a look at myself in the mirror. My hair was tousled, and around my eyes were dark circles, probably because of last night’s insomnia. It was the first time I had wanted to leave my family and go far away. I was born in Utah to a farming family. My father was a farmer; my grandfather was a farmer too, and so was my grandfather’s father. Farming had been inherited from generation to generation, but I was not interested in that, so when I finished high school, I spent two years in a small college in our city. It had been some months since I had graduated with a degree in finance.

There were four people in my family. I was twenty years old. Janet, my elder sister, was about 30. She had married several years ago and had two sons: Alex, who was four years old, and Dani, who was one year old. My sister’s husband, John, had a small restaurant downtown, and I worked for him part-time. I stood behind the cash register and took the customers’ money. What a boring job it was! You had to watch people eating, and when they were finished, they would come and pay the bill. For a long time, the economic situation had been declining, and the restaurant’s customers were decreasing too. I knew they didn’t need me anymore. Janet was supposed to work at the restaurant instead of me, and my mother was supposed to look after her children. Although I helped my father with farm tasks, I hated that kind of work. My father knew that. We had discussed it many times, and finally, my father was convinced. He knew that I didn’t like this job at all. I had even talked with him several times about selling the farm, and he had become angry each time.

My father adored farming and believed since our predecessors had lived on the same farm, we should follow their ways too. Thank God our predecessors had not lived in a cave; otherwise, we would have to live in a cave too. Anyway, farming was my father’s life; it was in his nature, and he never stopped farming. Perhaps it was because my father’s family was originally from Ireland. My arguing about this topic was fruitless since he did his own thing, as I did my own. Perhaps this pertinacity was hereditary in our family, and all the previous generations were stubborn too.

After all those conflicts and disputes between me and my father, finally, my aunt Kathy, my father’s sister, had talked with him and had convinced him to let me go to Los Angeles, the city where she and all her family had migrated many years earlier. It was arranged that I would stay there for two months. If I found a job, I would stay there, and if not, I would return to our own damn city.

What day was it? I should have thought. I always became confused about the days. Oh, it was Sunday, and it was the last Sunday I would be there. I was supposed to leave at 2:00 p.m. Fortunately, since I was leaving, I didn’t have to go to church. I was not in the mood to go to church, but I always had to go to church because of my parents’ insistence. For them, going to church was very important, but what difference does it make where you are? God is everywhere, and you can pray everywhere. And we were supposed to listen to Father Philip’s sermon. He talked about things you couldn’t apply to real life; perhaps only the saints were able to do them. I don’t know whether he could apply them himself or if he only recommended these actions for others. Fortunately, I was becoming free of the boring rules of my family.

I had a strange feeling; I had never been far away from my family, but I had to leave that city. I was tired of being there. All the things there were monotonous. I didn’t think I’d ever miss that place; I had passed many boring and monotonous days there. I wanted to change my life. I had to do this; I didn’t want to do repetitive tasks, the tasks that had been handed down from generation to generation. What a crazy rule it was! I didn’t like this rule, and I was going to break it with my own efforts. Although it was difficult and although with this rule-breaking, I was breaking my parents’ hearts, I had decided to go, and I had to move. I hate the mere water in the lake, waiting for the pouring of the rain so that it can be refreshed again, waiting for the river to be filled with water again. The river, however, moves; it never waits for anything and continues its own way. The river goes everywhere and passes through everything. I also wanted to pass through everything too.

Today was the day I was commencing my motion; perhaps this movement would change my life. I was looking for new things. I wanted to see everything: the crowds, the tall buildings, the technology, and many other things.

I was tired of the farm and the men working on the farm, the field that is ploughed, the seed that is planted, the sweat that is sweated, and the patience in waiting for the seed to grow and to produce the crops. Then the crops are harvested and changed to money. The crop evolutionary cycle was completed, and again the money was spent for the seeds and the farm, and everything started from the beginning point again.

In today’s life, money is very important. Money talks! Oh, how I loved money! It fulfilled your wishes. With money, you could get respect, power, beauty, and many other things. With money, you could heal all those people who were dying. Today, you could even buy love with it. Looking at magazines, newspapers, and television, one can understand this issue. That day, I was going to get money, change my social level, and reach everything I wanted.

Suddenly, I became sober again at my mother’s knocking on the door.

I heard my mother’s voice asking me, Al, are you all right? What are you doing in there?

I said, I’m coming.

Come soon; breakfast is ready.

I washed my face, tidied my hair, and went out of the bathroom and down the stairs toward the table. I sat on a chair, and in an unclear voice, I said hello to my mother. I took a look at the table—milk, cheese, eggs, and the pancakes that my mother made herself. I was in love with those pancakes. I knew I probably wouldn’t be able to eat them for a long time, but I couldn’t eat them. My father came through the door. I looked at him and said hello. He replied with a greeting and sat on the same chair he always sat on. Everyone was quite silent. The smell of coffee had filled the room. In the silence, the noise of knives and cups and eating could be heard. I didn’t know how they felt. Were they sad because I was leaving, or did they just feel nothing? I had a strange feeling, but I knew this feeling would disappear very soon. Just a few hours were left. I looked at my father’s hands, the hands which were coarse, thick, and filled with lines because of hard work. My father had been able to raise me and my sister up to be cropped too. I looked at my mother. She was filling Father’s cup. Her face was down. I could see the sadness in her face. I didn’t know, perhaps she was sad because of my departure.

I finished eating breakfast. Father said, We should leave the house at 1:00. He wanted to take me to the train station.

My mother said, Al, I’ve talked with Aunt Kathy. They will give you a room. Try to be kind to them. Your aunt has done us a favor in letting you go there. Do whatever she tells you.

I nodded my head in confirmation. In fact, Aunt Kathy was a means for my leaving. If she hadn’t talked to my parents, they wouldn’t have been convinced; however, the bad economic situation was perhaps another reason. I had an opportunity: two months to change my life. I hoped I could find a job.

I said, I should go and pack.

My parents nodded their heads. I was not a child anymore, but they were still worried about me. I was tired of these checks. I had to stand on my own two feet and get myself out of this condition. I went to my room. I looked at my stuff and saw some odds and ends. Some of them were from my childhood. I had a memory attached to each of them. I gradually packed up my clothes and some things that might be useful, and I put some of my books in my luggage. I didn’t have that much of stuff. I put some of my smaller personal things in my backpack. I went to get my savings, which I kept in a small box under my bed. I counted it. It was about $3,000. I thought it was not a bad thing. I could get by on that money for a while. I put my money in my wallet; suddenly, the doorbell rang. I listened. I heard my mother’s footsteps and then the door opening and my sister’s voice greeting my mother. I think my sister had come to say good-bye to me. I went downstairs and met her. She had brought her children.

Janet said, Hi, Al. Are you ready to go? Everything okay?

I said, Hi, yeah, everything is okay.

Take care. When you get there, make sure to call us. I hope you find a suitable job.

I hope so too.

Anyway, it’s a good experience. Make the most of it.

I’ll try my best.

I took my younger nephew from my sister and tousled Alex’s hair. My mother and Janet went into the kitchen.

Dani was a sweet child. I loved him very much. He stared at me and wavered over whether to cry or not. I played with him, and he called his mother. My mother was talking with Janet in the kitchen, and I took Dani to the kitchen and gave him to my sister. Alex was sitting in front of the TV, eating the cookies on the table. Good for them! Their world was playing; I wished I was a child too.

My father, who had been out of the house, entered with a parcel in his hands. Alex, upon seeing my father, ran toward him, and my father laughed and embraced him. He played with him for a bit. When I was a child, each time my father entered the house, he embraced me too. I don’t know what secret lies in age. When you grow up, you can’t do some things anymore, or perhaps these actions aren’t problematic, but the human being thinks if he does them, he is crazy, or he is shy about them. But children’s actions originate in their simplicity. They act without any guile; that is why they look more beautiful.

My father came toward me and said, Al, you have a package.

I looked in amazement at the parcel and asked, Who is it from?

My father said, I don’t know! Perhaps from your friends.

I asked myself, From which friend? I don’t have many friends. Maybe it is from Sam. He wanted to give me a gift before my departure. I looked at the parcel. It was addressed: To Alan Connor from a friend. That was strange. If Sam sent it, why he hadn’t written his name on it?

I opened the parcel. I wanted to know quickly what was inside. There was a book inside. On the book’s cover was written Purgatory Train. Who had sent this book to me? I skipped some pages; the author’s name was not there; instead, on the first page, was a sentence: Those who take lessons from history are those who change the future.

I took a look at the last pages of the book; perhaps I could find something. It was very strange. A few of the last pages were blank, and a sender or author’s name was written nowhere in the book. Who had sent this book to me? I went to the kitchen. Everyone was there. I said, I don’t know who sent this book to me?

Laughing, Janet said, Illiterate! You could have read the sender’s name.

I said, I did that, but it’s just written ‘from a friend.’

My mother said, Certainly, it’s from your friends. They wanted to get you a surprise before you leave. Also, it’s not a bad gift. You can read it on the train, so you won’t be bored.

Janet said, I’m sure it’s the trick of that loose Sam. Now what is the book’s name?

I said, "Purgatory Train."

Mother said, What a strange name!

Janet laughingly said, Whoever sent this book knew that you were going by train.

I don’t know. Anyway, it’s a present. When I go to say good-bye to Sam, I will ask him.

Father said, I want to go to downtown. I need some utensils. Do you need anything?

Mother said, No, I don’t need anything.

I said, I want to come with you to say good-bye to John.

Father said, Okay, let’s go.

I went to my room and put the book in my backpack; finally, I would find out who the sender was.

When I was ready to go outside, Alex said, I want to come with you.

And my sister said, No, you can’t, Alex!

And he muttered and murmured. I said, Good-bye, and went out of the house.

Broklin came toward me. Broklin was the name of my father’s dog. He was a German shepherd, which was a very clever breed. I loved him very much. When he was a small puppy, my father’s friend gave him to us, and now he was about seven years old. He was living with us and was a very cheery dog. I coddled him and patted his head, and he wagged his tail. We went toward the car. My father had a 1995-model truck. He opened the back door, and Broklin jumped up. We headed toward downtown. Going downtown only took twenty minutes.

My father said, Al, be careful. That city is a big one. Take care. All kinds of people live over there. The crime statistics are higher there. He gave me some fatherly advice, which I listened to, and then he began talking about the past, what he had done in his youth and my grandfather’s behavior with him. Finally, we arrived downtown. After a while, my father stopped in front of John’s restaurant, and I got out of the car. Broklin wanted to get out too and looked at me, but he had to stay in the car.

My father said, "After I finish my shopping,