The World of Flying Trams

A story about faith and trams

Have you ever witnessed a miracle? I bet you’ve said ‘no’. Why, I’m to question, as they are always within reach.

In fact, talking of miracles, one could hardly expect that a person like me would ever be involved in anything wonderful and unusual. We, lawyers, are the second most boring people in the world, surpassed only by accountants and, sharing the first rank, auditors.

A couple of years ago, let’s say, when I was a young and promising lawyer, I was given a task to settle certain matters with the tax inspection. Early in the morning, with a caseful of dockets in my hand I took a tram to get to the inspection at the time appointed. It was early autumn, and the tram was as hot as in summer, and I was pressed between men and women, all going up and down, left and right, like water in a basin when it quakes. ‘Why can’t men fly?’ I thought.

Meanwhile the tram limped to a stop; the crowd at first expanded and inhaled, then shuddered and shrank as new passengers pushed in. Amongst those new I noticed a very eye-catching dude. He was clearly more hectic than it is appropriate for the morning time even in a city like this. He wore no ‘I’m going to the office again’ face, his eyes glanced, his whole figure was full of some candid feverish expectations and disheveled. His looks inspired not only my curiosity but also odd compassion: I felt his confusion, vague hope and that great, creeping up on him, despair.

At this moment a stir spread through the tram’s cabin – the fare-collector urged through the mess of people to the bandbox between the two carriages where, among the others, stood I    and the stranger.

‘Travel card or you purchase?’ the collector, a heavyset mid-aged woman, addressed the stranger in a beforehand tired manner.

‘I’ve got no travel card’, he mumbled.

‘Why, then you need a ticket, fourteen rubles’.

The shine in his eye increased, something switched on inside him and he excitedly uttered:

‘Why cannot you all understand, it is absurd to take money for riding a tram, especially this kind of tram! It’s the third time today that they ask me to pay. It goes right over my head!  And these trams of yours, look, they don’t even fly! And afterwards, how should I have your money? They made me get out twice, yet you see, you must understand, I need, I have to go by a tram!’

The collector froze, a storm of righteous anger rising within her, carrying out a hard but not at all engrossing job, and being crapped on by some loony. The public went all eyes and ears, distracted from typing their SMS and dozing. Hardly anything may be as potentially entertaining for an average passenger as a sudden quarrel.

Some feeling shifted, some pity towards the stranger, who seemed to have had already lost the  energy of his outburst.

‘Let me pay for him’, I said and gave the collector the fee.

With the money she decided to do her best elsewhere and the public sank in its habitual aloofness. I smiled, nodded and introduced myself to the stranger.

‘I’m Ivan Fomich’, he almost whispered.

‘Nice to meet you. So, where are you going to?’

‘Oh, well, I can hardly tell you’, he said under his breath, all drooped, crumpled and shrunk.

I thought he must be very uncomfortable and embarrassed (wouldn’t you also be?) and estimated the time. It was sufficient, we could leave the tram at the next stop and have a walk. Fortunately the tram soon squeezed its way through the traffic and opened the doors. I took Ivan Fomich by his elbow and we fought our way out.

I asked him to keep me company - the inspection was near, the sun was shining and nothing promised rain.


‘So, it appears to be one has always to pay for taking a tram somewhere?’ he started.

‘Well, of course. There some people who try to go for free, but usually they are found out or   fined sometimes’

‘Mmm, well… Let me see, have I understood correctly, that I can’t hope to find a flying tram here anywhere?’

His words about flying trams alerted me in the tram. It seemed to be a figure of speech, as the tram was evidently not flying, as snails can’t. But at that moment I read in his eyes the vital  importance of the question, so I understood he took it seriously.

‘Nope. They do not fly. Absolutely.’

‘However it is incredibly awfully – deathly necessary for me to find the flying one!’

‘But what for, dear Ivan Fomich?’

‘I can’t get home without flying in a tram…’

I waited until he took his breath and words and started his story.

He said he lives in another world, which is however quite like this (here he pointed at his clothes and boots, completely indistinguishable from our things). It’s a good world, it’s full of wonder and you only see it when you lack it. For example, trams fly there and no payment is charged.

‘Do they?’ I recall I was surprised, ‘Flying – and free?’

He gave me a very attentive gaze. For free, he said, as all the money was obsolete in his world and entirely out of use… Well, that’s not essential. Most interesting things are flying trams. They fly fast and unrestricted without any special equipment or engines, for no reason in particular. But the tram which Ivan Fomich had taken one day had an accident.

‘You see, they fly because that’s the way a cookie crumbles. Flying per se, let’s put it’, there he halted for a wink. ‘To be brief, at that time I suddenly started pondering on this. How can it hold in the air, I thought. It’s heavy, why doesn’t it fall? What’s so special in it that it can fly and… and a bicycle cannot? And while I thought this anxiety possessed me, I became assured that the tram would undoubtedly, unavoidably crash. And so it was. I awoke from my thoughts, looked around and found the tram lurching, pivoting, dropping fast to meet the Earth’s surface! … I don’t know how, but we wriggled out of it. I was so scared, I comprehended nothing, I can’t recall us landing, escaping or being rescued, I think I fainted a couple of times. After all the passengers calmed down and went away and the tram was taken to a depot, a messenger came to me. I was summoned before the commission set to investigate this unprecedented occurrence. My thoughts, my doubts, my incredulity appeared to be the cause for the  nuisance, I was accused, convicted, considered dangerous due to the ongoing possibility of having the thoughts for the second time and more and exiled. Exiled to this world. And here I am. My only chance to get back is to take a tram and fly back to my home. And they don’t fly here, you say. No way.’

At that Ivan Fomich went dejected, walked silent, turned in upon himself. We were very close to the inspection. There I brought him to the coffee-room, bought him a cup of coffee and a sandwich (‘Oh, sandwiches are always racish it such places’, he mentioned) and asked him to wait for me.

In half an hour I exited the office completely satisfied not only with my work well-done but with the fact that I, it seemed, had guessed how to help my new acquaintance.

 But he was not in the coffee-room, nor could he be found in the corridors, lobby and yard. I searched through the whole building, strode all the adjacent side-streets, but didn’t find him. And I unfortunately surmise I’ll never see him again.

I hope he learnt not to poison his mind with idle troubles and doubts. I hope he found his flying tram.

Why men can’t fly?