The driver braked to what was almost a stop, turned round and slid the glass panel back: the jolt of this flung Mrs. Drover forward till her face was almost into the glass. Through the aperture driver and passenger, not six inches between them, remained for and eternity eye to eye. Mrs. Drover's mouth hung open for some seconds before she could issue her first scream. After that she continued to scream freely and to beat with her gloved hands on the glass all round as the taxi, accelerating without mercy, made off with her into the hinterland of deserted streets. Mrs. Drover's screams diminished rapidly as she slid into unconciousness.
Mrs. Drover slowly regained her awareness but she couldn't remember where she was. Her eyes registered the pale colored upholstery of one of London's many taxis. Mrs. Drover felt like screaming again, but this time she quickly gained control of herself. She slumped back into the seat and tried to ignore her driver, who had been oblivious to her near hysterical screams. Mrs. Drover forced herself to look out the window at the passing streets. She almost immediately noticed that this section of London seemed to have been much more heavily bombed than any other and didn't appear to have been repaired at all since the end of the war. Just as the driver rounded a corner Mrs. Drover caught sight of a church steeple she had thought destroyed in the Great War.
Mrs. Drover didn't have time to examine the church because the taxi had reached the outskirts of the city and the driver started once more to accelerate. She had nearly worked up the courage to demand that the driver stop and let her out when a strange, swirling grayness enveloped them.
When Mrs. Drover had recovered from this new shock and glanced out the window, she had difficulty accepting what she saw. Not only was she no longer in London, she was no longer in England, nor any place she had ever visited. She was not riding in a taxi, but in a military car, similar to the ones she had seen during World War I. She fearfully turned to look at the driver, expecting to see the death's head that had confronted her earlier. She was both startled and confused to see her former fiance, dressed, not as he had been when she had last seen him, but in a gleaming General's uniform.
Despite Mrs. Drover's firm belief that this was a dream or hallucination she had to ask one burning question. "We were told you were dead. How, why, did you come back now after all these years?"
The driver glanced at her then slowed the car and pulled off the muddy road they had been following. When he spoke his words had a caustic, accusatory tome that made Mrs. Drover wince and turn away. "I at least, willingly kept my promise, and I was always faithful to you. Even if it was difficult for me to tell you how I felt."
Immediately a pained expression came over his face. He said softly, "I'm truly sorry, you didn't deserve that. I came back to.... No it is better that you not know." With that he started the car up again and continued along the road, silently, despite all of Mrs. Drover's pleading for an explanation.
The car was soon approaching what was obviously a very large battle, in spite of Mrs. Drover's continued disbelief in everything that had happened in the past several minutes. The landscape had been completely destroyed by the war, there were no living plants or animals anywhere to be seen. Men in old uniforms were hiding in a long trench and occasionally poking their heads over the sand bags to fire a shot off into the distance. The "General" stopped the car again, got out and helped Mrs. Drover out. He jogged toward the trench, pulling Mrs Drover with him. The horrible conditions nearly overwhelmed her, and she would have swooned had the "General" not supported her until she could stand on her own.
None of the soldiers seemed to notice the two as they walked along the trench. The "General" stopped and looked toward the enemy, he seemed to be waiting for something. Mrs. Drover was now quite worried about returning to her family on time, whether this was a dream or not, and was about to ask her former fiancé why he had brought her here when a soldier yelled "grenade!" and dove for cover. Her fiancé just stood, and held tightly onto her. The explosion raged around the two but did not harm them. Several soldiers were not so lucky.
When the "General" tried to help pull her away from the wounded men she refused to move. Even if this was a dream Mrs. Drover could not leave without trying to assists the soldiers. She spent several hours helping the men as best she could within her limited knowledge. When Mrs. Drover felt she couldn't handle any more of the horror, her fiancé led her back to the car. As she was entering it her attention was caught by a small splash of color. It turned out to be, of all things, a small, exquisitely beautiful flower. How it had survived the many battles that had devastated this region Mrs. Drover didn't know, but it was enough for her that it had.
The car had just started bouncing along the road when the strange, swirling greyness one again enveloped it and and its occupants. When she had recovered once more, Mrs. Drover was not at all surprised to find herself back in the taxi on the outskirts of London.
She was silent and thoughtful for the short time it took to reach her London house. She still hadn't said a word or given a hint as to her thoughts about the journey she had just completed, when the taxi stopped in front of her house. Despite her silence it was obvious that she was now convinced this experience had been no dream. How such a thing could be possible she didn't know and she had little desire to find out.
Before Mrs. Drover could open the door the driver turned, caught her hand and lightly kissed it. Mrs. Drover was startled and quickly pulled her hand back. The driver settled back into his seat and said, "I regret the rather cruel way I treated you, but perhaps this small favor will make amends, even if it is too late for us. Good-bye."
Mrs. Drover could think of nothing to say so she opened the door and stepped out of the car. The taxi quickly pulled away from the curb and Mrs. Drover turned around to wave, just in time to see the taxi vanish, not around a corner, but as if it were driving into a dense wall of fog. She stood for several seconds then with a little shrug, went into the house to call a taxi. If she hurried she would make the last train and wouldn't be late returning to her family.
Several weeks later the memory of that night had been buried beneath the minute details of every day life until it was almost totally forgotten. However, it was not completely gone. If Mrs. Drover was ever swamped by the many problems of life and her composure threatened to give out, a single, poignantly beautiful flower would surface in her mind and she could go on with her life a little more calmly.
Copyright 1997 by Andrew M. Salamon