By Gene Novogrodsky

And when the Texas Eagle, late as always, snakes its way into San Antonio, there are women in their 50s who are meeting military men.They have served, and are now retired with full pensions and benefits in greater San Antonio. The women have met them, often on-line, and have agreed to marry them, with financial security, fine houses and healthcare the lure.

“So I couldn’t handle her in Chicago,” the Afro-American woman tells me, pointing to her teen-age daughter who is several seats back listening to her I-Pod. “Impossible, so when I met him on the net, I figured anything would be better than Chicago.

“He’s crazy about me, and if you look in the station when we’re off this slow train, you’ll see him, former master sergeant, a really nice black man. Talking about school and music and all those conversational things, forget it. I want his house, and he wants me in it. And my daughter needs to have a change, a big change, now.

“And when the train stops, don’t get off with me, or talk to me. He won’t like it.”

“OK, nice speaking with you,” I say, and when the train stops, I hasten off before her daughter, their big bags and her are ready to leave, and I glance around the waiting room. A black man, more than six feet tall, is by the rear wall is looking at the women passengers’ faces. He has to be the master sergeant, ready to take charge, and they’re ready to let him.

“And this is going to be an issue,” the white woman says. Another train.

“He is so possessive, but we’re married, I’m in his house, and I get away to the North every four months. I don’t know how long I can stand it. But there’s the house, my choral group, money and cars. He’s a former Navy officer.

“Once, after we were married, in the first year, I went with him to his family in Arizona, but he was a jerk; so I got in the car and drove right back – 23 hours to San Antonio; he’s been better since. He had to fly back, cost him money and taught him a lesson.

“And make sure you don’t talk to me in the station. He’ll be very mad. I liked sitting with you. Maybe on another trip.”

I think that would be fine; after all, she sang a lot of ballads, very nice, told a series of American-life stories and even let her upper under arms accept my shy fingers. She liked me.

The train stops, and I rush off. I don’t look around to see who might be a former Navy officer.

I know I offer little, some talk, some attention, but little security, and the hot night swamps me ….