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by Hénock Gugsa
Two rambunctious Hispanic youths boarded the bus. The first one to come aboard appeared to be the older of the pair. He seemed good-humored enough although his compadre was definitely jollier and more animated. He was also the one who was laughing the loudest as he told his jokes. They were speaking neither English nor Spanish. I believe it must have been Spanglish, because I could pick up the English words interspersed with Spanish.
The two amigos were headed toward the back of the bus … they must have had the same notion as I had earlier. Halfway down the aisle, the younger fellow stopped, turned, and hollered at the bus driver, “Hey, señor driver, are we going to Fugg?”
The silence in the bus now was even more deafening than before. The older compadre quickly said, “It is fee-you-guh, pendejo.”
“Fuh-guh, few-guh ... what’s the difference, Carlos? There are no mamasitas where we’re headed anyway!”
“Enough, Pepe. Sometimes you joke más que necesario.”
Pepe again looked back at the bus driver who showed no sign of giving these two guys the time of day. Shaking his head in mock disbelief, Pepe followed his friend to a pair of seats near where I was sitting.
“¡Hola! hombre.” Carlos said to me. Pepe shot a friendly nod in my direction, and the friends sat down quietly.
I kept looking out the window at a gray nothingness as my mind started to revert to its previous state of unease and even dread. This went on for maybe the next ten minutes or so. But then thankfully, the spell was broken by the wonderful Pepe. It was even surprising that he could keep quiet for that length of time.
Pepe turned toward where I sat, smiled and said, “Are you going to phuh-guh too?”
That certainly came out of left field. I was so floored that I had no immediate response. Carlos, fortunately, came to the rescue.
“Forgive my friend, señor. He likes to joke too much. I am Carlos, by the way. My friend, the payaso here, is Pepe.”
“Nice to meet you both, I’m Matt.” I said, happy to find some friendly companions on this trip.
“Are you going to the factory too, Matt?” Carlos asked without much preamble.
Before, I could respond, Pepe cut in and said, “No, Carlos. I don’t think Mateo here is a factory hand like us. He look more like a professor to me. Am I right, Mateo?”
“Actually yes, Pepe. I teach English at a community college here in the Twin Cities. How did you guess?” I asked somewhat nonplussed.
“Ah, señor. Pepe here jokes a lot, but he’s very observant too. He saw that you are quiet, well-mannered, and maybe too much into thinking. You are also a serious type, but you are friendly too. Otherwise, we would not talk to you.”
“Si. You are not like that zombie bus driver over there. ¿He’s muy malo, non?” Pepe said and he started to chuckle.
“I’m visiting a friend up in Fugue. He just got hired at the piano factory up there. He used to teach music, but he got laid off a year ago.” I explained.
“Carlos and me ... we got laid off too. We used to work for a construction company. I’m the best roofer in the world, ask Carlos.”
“You are good, Pepito. But you are not the best.” Carlos chimed in.
Pepe was looking somewhat pensive as he blurted out what was on his mind. “So, Mateo. Do you know anything about the factory? Carlos and me, we’re going up there because they hired us thru an agency without too many questions or explanations.”
“Actually, I had never heard of Fugue until two weeks ago when I got the invite from my friend.” I said with a slight tremor in my voice.
Pepe looked at his friend, and groaned. “Ooohhh, we are so fuhgged!”
However, that running joke was now sadly getting stale. At this point, I was only beginning to grapple with the realization that we three were the only normal and natural beings on this bus. Everything around us had already been emitting that ominous atmosphere of doom and gloom. We were in serious trouble here!
… Continues … in Part III
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