THE ASCENT

They had all had copious draughts of tea before they got on the cable car.  It was quite by chance that they had discovered the pavilion at the bottom of the hill where the trolley line ends; hidden in a courtyard, it did not beckon the passing tourist, nor seem to cater to aught save a few local folk.
It was a very comfortable place. One could perch there for hours, observing the throngs going past the gate at the far end of the enclosure. Mothers with rowdy children sabotaging the return home, customers of the tobacco shop on the corner with lit cheroots happily exhaling clouds of joy, desperate sickos speeding towards relief at the apothecary counter in the Walgreens.
As well as the occasional streetcorner vagrant despondently swigging from a bottle in a bag, or high-arsed hookers strutting for the fat suburbanite Johns looking for a good time Charlie.
While they were there, no one entered the courtyard.
Yet the clientele seemed to change regularly.
The tea pavilion was constantly busy.
Though always half empty.


The end of the line is always a new beginning. The trolley stops for ten minutes, before reversing and going back up the hill. 

All of them wished to wait for nightfall ere heading up. It would be better then, with fewer people about. They were aware that their black coats made them somewhat conspicuous, and they felt safe inside this wonderful establishment where there was tea, and where slices of cake and hot buns with butter and preserves could also be found. So cosy! So inviting, and very much like home.
It was quite the warmest place in this cold city.
Really, just a little while longer.
It's nice here.

They had travelled so long, and they were tired.

Long after the sun disappeared between layers of cumuliform clouds in the western sky, the golden orb shining copper and turning the edges of grey masses pink and orange, they paid for their lovely repast, and headed out into the foggy street, over to the cable car platform.
In the cabin, they sat in facing each other. Outside, on the running boards and the benches facing the street, travellers from Europe chattered at each other unintelligibly, tweetering in Scandinavian and Romance tongues like flocks of starlings. Other passengers settled down, wriggling slightly to position spongy masses just so; one must be comfortable, and these seats were hard.

The cable car lurched forward, and trundled toward the intersection. The conductor entered the cabin to collect the fares. When he saw their passes, he grinned knowingly - "don't see many like that nowadays, welcome back!" He assured them that he would tell them when to get off, he knew where they were going.
When he went back out,he left a faint reek of cheroot in the air, and the smell of something warming. Rum?
Definitely an eccentric fellow, but cheerful, and the top hat he wore added a note of gay individualism. It did not go with the uniform. They were sure they would remember him if they ever saw him again, even without the chapeau.

Past the palace at mid-level, where celebrants stood on the pavement outside with cocktails and cigarettes. From inside came tuneless singing, and down past the stairs that took pedestrians to lower levels they could see gay banners, and signboards with cryptic markings. Was this it? It could not be, it seemed, somehow, wrong! The conductor caught their glances, and shook his head, smiling. No, this was not it, though they were welcome to stay here a while, he would pick them up on the next trip.
He knew that they would be waiting.
They looked wistfully at the row of glowing streetlights that faded towards the bay, which they knew was there though they could not see it, and resolved to come back another time, when it was daylight and the vistas were new again.
But not tonight.

Up at the crossroads where most people disembarked, near the top, they anxiously asked "is this the place?" The conductor said no, still a bit longer. Please do not worry. You cannot miss it.
He knew where they were going, and why, and sought to reassure them.
Two more blocks, and except for themselves, the cabin was empty.
Outside there were hardly any other passengers left.
Just a little longer to go, almost, almost.
Then finally, this was it!

They descended from the car, gazed up, and were transformed.
A small child riding on an outside bench noticed, and afterwards excitedly told his mother that he had seen people become crows, and fly into the slowly opening bronze doors of the edifice.
The smallest bird had looked back at him, before entering the light.
Did it recognize him? Surely he would see it again?
She marveled at his imagination.
And did not believe him.
Seeing things!

The conductor, Mr. Samedi, knew otherwise. What children observed sometimes changed them, and might remain for the rest of their lives.
And sometimes just faded from their memory.
Passing, over the length of a lifetime.
When the very last passenger got off a few blocks later, the cable car nosed into the thick layer of fog blanketing the hillside and disappeared, never reaching the other end of the line.


All that remained was an aroma of cigars.
And something warming.
Rum?


From the cathedral above came the sound of bells.



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