The Girl on the Train Page #4

crying that day I met her on the train.

He was a brave man once.

He was in Cuba on business

during the revolution.

Somehow he managed to convince

both sides he was with them.

He infiltrated the guerrillas

on behalf of the government,

told the revolutionaries he was

gathering intelligence for them.

Both sides suspected

he was C.I.A.

I think eventually even he

didn't know what the truth was.

One time he was able to warn

a village about a coming attack.

About a dozen families

escaped.

Do you have chocolate?

I need you to do this

for me, Danny.

What will following him

with my camera give you?

Ammunition.

Not everybody

has a double life.

Not everybody

has a secret.

That's where

you're wrong.

You assumed the elderly

gentleman was her great uncle?

I imagine he was just some

old-timer she used as a prop.

She was very good

with stories.

That's when you agreed

to follow Carl Pruitt.

He was a criminal

defense lawyer.

I knew he'd have

some unsavory associations,

but I didn't think

much of it.

You were led to believe

this ammunition...

was for a potential

divorce proceeding?

She never actually

mentioned divorce.

Right.

The way she didn't say

what she didn't say.

About a week in,

it started to get interesting.

That was the first time

you saw James Fenetree?

Well, we weren't formally

introduced, but, yeah, that's him.

Of course

we already know that.

For the record,

I didn't leave her.

So, sometimes the scorpion

gets stung too.

You replay the last weeks

and days looking for a reason.

Did you say something wrong,

commit some callous act?

Can it really be so fragile?

Or you can move on.

Envy those couples who've

been together so long...

they can't remember why.

In the land of the one-eyed,

envy the blind.

With the Americans approaching,

they were in a hurry...

to finish up with us.

Finally it would be

my turn.

I thought back to the

little girl by the train.

In a place where evil

seemed so big...

Also so small,

so everyday...

I believed...

that this one little act

of kindness saved my life.

I had to know that

there was something else,

some people existed

who could be good and kind.

You didn't notice anything odd about the

picture she showed you of Carl Pruitt?

Not exactly

a family portrait.

That's taken

with a telephoto lens.

Well, she doesn't like

getting her photograph taken.

Right.

The aborigines.

I guess I took

a lot on faith.

Well, I thought all you

movie people were atheists.

Only when it comes to God.

In the morning,

so much excitement.

The camp guards

have disappeared.

People are running around.

The Americans

have liberated the camp.

They had

hot food for us...

Just some broth

with a little meat.

But it was so long since I had

had anything so hot and good,

I ate it so quickly that the little

cross came loose, and I almost choked.

Just think about it...

If after all I'd been through

I had choked...

on this kind gift.

I took it out of my mouth...

and hung it round my neck.

A Jewish boy wearing a cross?

I got tired of explaining.

So if they thought

I'd converted, let them.

I'd seen Pruitt go into

the building a couple of times,

so I decided

to get a better look.

Ever seen him before?

His name's Spider.

Of course.

Carl represented him

a few times.

He's required to do a certain

amount of pro bono work.

And Spider?

He's a provider.

Drugs, girls, you name it.

Carl likes to get paid

one way or another.

Are you asking

for the time?

Do I need

some kind of wrist band?

It ain't part of the club.

I wasn't getting past

this guy anyway,

so I figured

I'd come back another night.

He had to take a break

sooner or later.

You didn't think you might be

getting in over your head?

Ever try and jump off

a moving train?

If there's anything

you need to tell me...

about your relationship

with this young woman,

now would be the time.

I thought I wasn't

a suspect.

Yet you're willing to walk into a

potentially dangerous situation...

armed with

a video camera.

I guess I wanted to know

what was real...

and what was just some kind

of image of her in my head.

I needed to know if it was

possible to know someone,

really know someone.

It seemed very important.

My wife died last year.

Thirty years.

I got the call I'm usually the one making.

Car accident.

Funny thing is, she wasn't even

supposed to go out that night,

but she did go out.

She was going out to see

the guy she was screwing.

For weeks I bounced

between anger, hurt, loss.

The hardest thing was jumping

from one feeling to the next.

I couldn't get

a foothold.

So finally I decided

to pick one emotion.

I tried to remember

who she was...

and why I loved her.

And then when the dark

feelings would rise,

I would...

What do you call it when

you turn lead into gold?

Alchemy.

I'd take everything about her,

even the things I hated,

and I'd tell her in my mind

how that made me love her...

because that's what made her

who she was, even the flaws.

I see it every day.

Love a person half your life,

then wake up one morning...

and you can't find a single

thing about them not to hate.

I've seen women carved

to ribbons by men...

who two days ago would have jumped

in front of a truck to save.

I wasn't gonna let

that happen.

I wasn't gonna turn

gold to lead.

Did it work?

Sometimes.

You know, there's a tab

on the camera menu,

you can turn off

the tally light?

That way the suspect doesn't

know he's being recorded.

You're good.

You share. I share.

Was it true?

Didn't Jesus say,

"What is truth"?

Actually,

I think it was Pilate.

Eventually I made my way

to New York.

I found work with a relative

who sold small gifts,

religious trinkets

from the church.

He always made fun

of me anyway.

"The goy," he called me

because of the cross.

"Go out and sell the saints."

So every day I went to the cart

out on Coney Island.

I couldn't believe how happy

all the people were...

just for nothing,

for some cotton candy...

and a few silly rides.

This happiness

was more foreign to me...

than the new language.

One day

I'm pushing my cart...

when this pretty young woman approaches

to buy something for her niece.

I hear she has an accent,

so we start talking German.

I never talked

about my experience...

with a Gentile,

certainly not a German.

But she was so kind,

so gentle,

I let her know

I was a Jew.

She could figure out

the rest.

So much was different

between us,

and yet it was so easy

to talk to her.

I never forget her smile.

Finally she buys

a trinket,

and I reach down

to put it in a bag,

and the cross comes out

from under my shirt.

Her eyes get very big...

like two blue pools

of water.

"Where did you get this?"

she asks.

I don't want to tell her

the whole story,

but of course

she already knew.

"Why is a Jewish boy

wearing a cross?"

It seemed like forever.

Neither of us

said a thing.

Then there are tears

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