"IN THE END, THEY SCREAM FOR BLOOD !!"

Monroe Stahr lay in bed, listening to the outside world. Thunder and lightning flashed, window shutters flapped back and forth, wind whipped around his house.

 He was shaking. He began to cry, pulling his blanket up close. A voice whispered, “Monroe! Do you love me….?”

He pulled down his blanket and saw Cathie standing next to his bed, then she was gone…gliding away in shadow. 

By degrees, forms and colors of things in his room returned with creeping dawn. His mirrors returned their mimic life. His curtains were where he left them. Nothing had changed. Today was Sunday morning.

The alarm clock sounded. He wondered if that was part of his dream. He struggled to get up and turn the clock off. Damn! It’s seven O’clock…got moments to get dressed and catch that train. Can I make it? I’ve got to try! Brush your teeth. Comb your hair. Tie your tie. Now run, man, run!

Monroe reached Union Station…the place where journeys began. He paused, marveling at giant white columns, that huge round clock, Ivory sculptures.

Inside, a mural depicted constellations. There were waiting rooms, marble floors and enormous windows that bathed the building with bright yellow sun. 

Perspiration covered his forehead.  He felt damp and cursed himself for ruining a fresh white shirt. He reached in his pocket and shoved out money on the counter. The Conductor asked impatiently, “Ticket?” Then he took his time tearing off blue stubs, and Monroe got angry because he heard someone call out --- “ALL ABOARD!”

Monroe dashed toward the steps. But no one was there. The steps were empty!  He was always late for trains…yet, it disturbed him that no one was there! He started down slowly, toward the platform. Then other people rushed up --- pushing right past him.

 All these people, rushing toward that Arch…was Monroe prepared to follow? 

As a boy with his Mother he came here to meet his first train. His Mother said she had always been deceived by trains. What if Mother was right? What if something failed? A train plunging throughout a crowd of people…splashing blood! An engine gone mad; leaping out to astound the World; to astound the World, again!

Monroe’s Mother was vivid in his mind. Her gestures toward him in which her whole meaning had been conveyed. Was romantic passion, like a train wreck?

The train to Pittsburgh rolled beside the platform. He boarded and sat close by a window. The train engine started then lurched ahead. The cars swayed, as the train gained speed. It stopped off in Shadyside and he watched a few people get on. Then a woman got on who reminded him of Cathie.

She sat next to him and together they rolled through a very dark tunnel, then stopped for a different crowd. The doors of the train slammed shut, the train groaned; lurched, wheels scraping tracks as they moved faster, passing other platforms where strange people were waiting for other trains. Then they rolled swiftly alone…rushing headlong through space and time.

A stranger leaned down near Monroe’s shoulder, his eyes drooped when he spoke, “My name’s Stewart, and yours?” 

Monroe replied haltingly, “Stahr!” then quickly turned away and looked out the window. Dew was on the ground; fog was thick…in the distance was Pittsburgh’s skyline. 

“Stahr?” the stranger questioned, “Are you Pittsburgh’s Professional Quarterback, “Monroe Stahr?”

“Yes---" Monroe offered, but the stranger interrupted… “Glad to meet you!” he put out his hand to shake as they crossed a wooden bridge. Monroe turned back toward the window, but suddenly faced this man and told him a football secret.

The stranger replied mystically, “Look not too long at fire, my boy, when breezes blow never turn your back. Accept the first hint. Those who glare at you at midnight, in the morning will fade away. 

“There is wisdom that is woe, my boy. But woe that is madness. At the edge of every playing field the young ones spill their blood. They start out with battle cries, then away they all run. That’s how games are played, my boy; away they all run, to play another game.”

This stranger, Stewart, rambled on until Monroe lost interest. Instead he day-dreamed he was climbing some very steep steps. Fog was in the air. “Do you love me?” were the words that floated into his mind.

Cathie’s death consumed him. He dropped his head. The air was cold and black. He was black and cold. The wind began to blow. He leaned through a window --- too far; he tried to balance --- “Can you say you love me, now?” Cathie asked, and then Monroe fell off…down among a million stars; his romance was gone with the wind….

Abruptly, Monroe was aware he was riding on a train…...“There is risk in playing games, my boy,” this stranger named Stewart was speaking. “In the end, they scream for blood!"

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