Hermes plowed on between the two bright rails. They'd been moving since the break of day, pausing only to refill their water bottles at a small stream. The tracks wound gently onward through the jungle, the gray gravel road beckoning them on.
"Thank God for that old man yesterday," said Hermes, for the umpteenth time. The polished rails made their journey much easier than it had been the day before.
Except for the fact that Hermes found himself being lulled into a stupor by the rhythmic shudder of his tires on the crossties.
Just as Kino had begun to complain of feeling hungry, and the imminent possibility of having to eat protein bars, they met the second man. Kino first noticed him as they came out of a tight curve. She slammed on the brakes, making Hermes squawk. His indignant commentary was forestalled by the sight of the cart parked atop the tracks, and the man beside it, wielding something that looked like a pikestaff.
This man turned around, surprised but not alarmed. He leaned the staff against the cart and spread his hands, gesturing for them to stop.
Kino halted Hermes a short distance away, cut the engine, and dismounted. She bowed politely. "Hello."
"Hello indeed, traveler."
Like the first, this man was old. He was slightly taller than Kino and very thin. He had a short beard, and his balding head was protected from the sun by a black pill-shaped hat. In fact, he wore the same type of clothing as the man they'd seen the day before, and his were equally threadbare.
Hermes noticed something beyond the man. "Kino! The rails!"
Kino leaned sideways to peer around the cart. There were no rails behind the cart. No crossties either. There was nothing but gravel leading away into the scrubland as far as the eye could see.
"There are no rails," she whispered.
The old man heard her. "Yeah, I'm taking them up," he said.
"You're taking them up," Kino echoed.
The man continued as if she hadn't spoken, "I'm afraid this cart doesn't come off the rails. You'll have to go around." He picked up his iron staff and moved behind the cart.
Kino started Hermes' engine and followed him. When she reached the other side, she found the old man hard at work, wedging the bent tip of his staff beneath the rightmost rail. With a grunt, he threw his weight into it, and a section of the rail lifted free and tumbled down beside the raised gravel mound. The old man then moved to the leftmost rail and repeated the operation.
"There's something I'd like to ask," said Kino.
The old man turned toward her, his expression friendly.
"Why are you tearing up the rails?"
"It's my job. I've been doing it for a long time now. I'm tearing up the crossties as well."
Hermes said softly, "I've got a bad feeling about this."
"How long have you been doing this?" Kino asked.
"Must be getting on fifty years now."
"Oh my," murmured Hermes.
Kino was silent.
"I joined the railroad company when I was sixteen years old. They said they had some tracks they no longer used, so I should go out and tear them up. It was my first job, and I was eager to do it right. But nobody ever told me to stop."
"You never went home?" asked Hermes.
"Nope. I got five little brothers back there, and I needed to earn enough to feed them. I can't afford a vacation."
"I see," said Kino. Then, casually, "They sure have a high polish, for abandoned rails."
"Always have. Strangest thing. But it makes them easier to tear up."
Kino stood in silence, while Hermes contemplated whether to tell the old fellow about the old man polishing the abandoned tracks ahead of him.
"So where were you headed, traveler?" asked the old man pertly.
Hermes and Kino had labored along the pale gravel path since the break of day. The narrow trail was relatively straight, and the only break from the unchanging vista (brush, brush, and more brush) was the occasional pile of torn-up rails and crossties or an orderly little stack of spikes.
The bike hadn't used the "B" word ( "I'm bored, Kino!" ) for some time. Kino was pretty sure he understood that would mean another detour into the nasty tangle of underbrush along the trail, which might result in scratches an his polished metal surfaces. For once, she was glad of the motorcycle's vanity.
"So hard to drive," complained Kino for the umpteenth time that day.
Without the crossties, the tires couldn't get a decent grip on the gravel road. The front wheel veered this way and that, and they nearly lost their balance on every curve. Kino kept their speed to a minimum and maintained a nervous grip on the handlebars.
Hermes had just proposed a rest, when they met the third man.
Kino and Hermes saw him at the same time, standing in the middle of the gravel road. This time, Kino gently slacked off the accelerator, so Hermes had no reason to squawk.
They approached slowly. The man was sitting in the gravel, apparently resting. When he saw Kino and Hermes, he waved in greeting.
Kino stopped Hermes a short distance from the man, cut the engine and dismounted. "Hello."
"Hey there, traveler," said the man. coming to his feet.
He was old, but robust. His torso was bare, and his arms and shoulders rippled with muscle. Were it not for the wrinkles carved into his face, he could have passed for a hard-working, middle-aged man. Hatless, he wore the same black pants as the men from the previous two days. The hems were ragged.
Kino peered past the old man with some trepidation. Beside her, she heard Hermes whisper, "Rails."
Behind the old man was a cart piled high with baggage and tools. It sat at the very edge of a set of gleaming rails that stretched away into the woods.
Hefting a massive hammer that had been lying on the ground beside him, the man said cheerily, "Yep, I done that."
"You're replacing them?" Kino realized she was stating the obvious.
"That I am. So a train can cross over 'em. Layin' down the crossties, placing the rails alongside, and hammering the spikes down to keep 'em there."
"All by yourself?"
"You get used to it. I got all the materials right here. See?" he pointed at the spikes, rails, and crossties that lay beside the tracks.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," murmured Hermes.
Kino asked, "Is this your job?"
"Of course it is. Always has been," said the old man with a chuckle.
"For how long?"
"Hmmm... must be coming on fifty years, now. Can't quite figure it."
"Fifty," repeated Hermes.
"I joined the railroad company when I was fifteen years old. Told me they might start using some old tracks again, so I should go out and fix them. Never told me to stop."
"You haven't been back home, have you?" asked Kino.
"Nah. My parents were sick, you see. I've got to work for them as well. They'd probably be dead now," he added, scratching his head.
Casually, Hermes said, "Well, keep up the good work."
"Thank you kindly."
Kino started Hermes' engine.
"Where were you headed, traveler?" asked the old man, smiling.