--------------
by Hénock Gugsa
I am sure of it ... I must have been brainless that foggy Thursday morning last fall when I stood at a curbside, a few blocks from my house. I was waiting for the bus that would take me north to Fugue, Minnesota. Of-course, like most people, I had never heard of it before. You can’t find it in any listing or on any map anywhere. But, I was going there because an old friend of mine whom I hadn’t heard from in three years had moved to a cottage not far from there. He had kindly invited me to come up for a weekend and visit at my convenience. I had just returned home from Baja California where I had spent a few vacation days of glorious sun and fun. But, I still had a few more free days left, and so I decided to go up to Fugue and visit my friend. And yes … in spite of the lateness of the season, I was hoping to do a little bit of fishing and maybe some duck hunting. And if nothing panned out, I could hopefully still do some hiking and take in the season’s wondrous nature sights.
Fugue? Who would name a town “Fugue”? It must have been a music lover extraordinaire, very possibly a Bach devotee. Actually, I’m told, there is a factory up there that hand-builds these huge church organs that bring tears to a priest’s eyes. But all the same … if it hadn’t been for my friend, I would never have heard of such a place.
The charcoal grey bus arrived at the curbside, and its doors opened with a menacing hiss. I stepped up and got in … but before I took a seat, I approached the bus driver to ask if I was on the right bus and what the fare was. This man was an exact replica of the prison guard from the movie, Cool Hand Luke. The tall guard with the reflector sunglasses, the imperceptible limp, the cane, and the telescoped rifle at his beck and call … the man who never uttered a word but spoke volumes with his menacing silence.
Well, so there I was in the presence of another menace … but this one was twirling a tooth pick at the corner of his mouth. At first, he looked up at me uncomprehendingly. Then he said gruffly, “You pay when you get there. Take a seat.”
Obviously, service with a smile was not his cup of tea, but I swallowed my indignation. I nodded that I understood, but still demanded to know where the bus was headed.
The bus driver put the behemoth in first gear and got it rolling again. He looked up again, scowled at my favorite, lucky green shirt and whispered, “Fugue.”
I walked to the back of the bus to be close to the little restroom. As I was bee-lining to an ideal-looking location, I noticed that the few passengers already on the bus were very, very quiet. They were nondescript in appearance, no flashy colors anywhere. More depressing, the theme and decor inside the bus was just as dark and gray as it was on the outside. The windows on both sides and the rear were grainy and non-transparent. And earlier, I had noticed that the windshield was tinted black inside and outside except for a small rectangular area directly in-front of the bus driver. 'That ought to help the driver some,' I'd thought sardonically at the time. But now, I was beginning to realize that I was inside a dark, gloomy, and ominous place. Jonah probably had felt more comfortable inside the whale's belly.
Two miles down the road, the bus stopped again to pick up more passengers.
… Continues in … Part II
No comments:
Post a Comment