Dante's train

I met Dante at Clapham Junction station today. He was wandering along the concourse looking down at all those tracks shining in the rain. He said that Beatrice had left him there to make his choice. One journey would take him to join her in Paradise, another led … well, to the other place.

I remarked that I couldn’t remember anything about Clapham Junction in his books, and he replied that no one would have believed him. I’m not so sure – there’s definitely something purgatorial about that place in the way it sets heaven and hell before me. There’s the line I take to work, but each time I have to pass by another which would take me away to the lost sleepy stations of my childhood and a host of old memories, beautiful and bittersweet. The choice is there every grey morning: the possibility of heavenly escape, even if just for a few hours.

I told Dante this. He seemed distracted and wasn’t paying much attention, but he did mutter something about ‘duty’ which set me wondering. Perhaps Paradise does hide behind an ugly mask and Hell behind a fair one.

I never found out which line he took.