Murdo was tired now and just glad to be sitting there and like going to sleep if he felt like it, if he could. The wee guy had closed his eyes too and looked to be dozing then was awake again checking the phone and chewing the edge of his right thumbnail, and muttering: The goddam buses dont move. Want them to move they dont move. Aint my fault man. People blame me. It aint me. It aint me man.
He half turned to Murdo as if surprised to see him and wondering like Oh am I talking inside my head or out?
Murdo stared ahead. He wouldnt have minded a snooze. But the bus had been going a while and if he missed the connection it was a disaster. Buses didnt wait. If ye made it fine but if ye didnt ye didnt. There were other stops along the road and ye had to be careful. Other people would have felt the same the way they were watching roundabout.
The wee guy closed his eyes now and ye could see the worry there on his forehead. He began muttering again, moving his head in such a way he could have been speaking to Murdo: Fucking bus driver man he aint no bus driver. Got a brother’s a bus driver never drove so slow. What you think he’s doing man I’ll tell you what he’s doing. Forty em pee aitch is what he’s doing. You think I dont know? I know man; fucking been there man I been there.
What like driving? asked Murdo. Ye mean ye were driving?
The wee thin guy stared at him. Aint my fault; they blame me. Aint me man.
Murdo said, What are ye late?
Late. Yeah. The guy shifted to see out the window then shook his head, glanced at the phone.
Murdo waited for him to say something more. He didnt. Murdo had his book out from the rucksack and tried to concentrate. A couple of folk had laptops open. A few with phones and a couple reading books. Two guys were talking together, loudly.
People were just ordinary, worrying about ordinary stuff. That was this wee guy, whatever it was. Funny how people could blame ye for things that had nothing to do with ye. That happened to Murdo in Glasgow once, he was waiting at the train station and a foreign woman came up and started shouting at him. People were staring. They thought he had done something like stolen her bag. Probably she was ill. He tried to talk to her but she didnt let him. He had to walk away. There was nothing else he could do. These things happened. Ye wondered about other people, if it happened to them too or was it just like maybe who knows, who knows, it couldnt just be him.
Murdo dozed. When he awoke the wee thin guy had gone. The bus was stationary and only a quarter full. Outside people walked about, smoking and just stretching their legs. A few stood by the side luggage compartment awaiting the driver. Murdo was uncomfortable and sweaty but if he went for a walk what would happen? Imagine it went away without him. He moved into the window seat, rested his head against the glass, the feel of it cool against his forehead. He took the last orange from the rucksack and peeled it. It was good and juicy. Juicy oranges are just the best. He had a couple of sandwiches but was saving them. He wiped his fingers on his jeans.
Then the wee guy was there and glowering at him. Murdo moved immediately, out from the window seat into the aisle one. The guy shoved a small carrier bag into the overheard luggage rack, then squeezed in past Murdo, muttering as he went: I was at the bathroom, what you cant go to the bathroom!
I didnt know you were coming back, said Murdo.
You dont reserve no seats here.
Well I know that I mean I paid a ticket. Murdo shook his head.
Oh yeah you paid a ticket like what you think I dont?
No. I’m not saying that.
We all pay the fucking ticket man. The guy shifted on his seat, gazing out the window and doing the muttering again, We all pay the fucking ticket. He took out his phone.
I didnt know ye were coming back, said Murdo. Like if ye had just said to me ye know I mean like I would have kept yer seat. Ye didnay have to worry.
The guy turned to Murdo. He stared at him. Murdo shrugged. The guy glanced back out the window, seeing down to the main luggage compartment on the side of the coach. He stared down at whatever it was then nudged Murdo, pointing to where the tops of people’s heads were visible: Look at that now see that, he is leaving. He is father of that baby and he is leaving. Look man see his girl, she’s got the baby in her arms man this is them man and he is leaving, that is what he is doing; and she dont want to see it, dont want him to go man. Look…
The guy shifted on the seat enough for Murdo to lean and see out. He saw a young man and a young woman holding a baby. They stood apart, he held a bag and was ready to board the bus.
She saying to him write, write. That’s what she’s saying, write write. He wont write man. He’ll phone. That’s what he’ll do. Six month down the line man know what I’m saying? Hey conchita I ees sorry man.
Yeah, said Murdo.
I been there man I been there.
Soon the passengers had returned and the coach was back on the interstate. Murdo wished he could doze but it was best not to. He didnt want to in case like whatever, just whatever. The bus was moving and he would get there. People got to where they were going. Sooner or later they did. If it was sooner it was sooner which meant sooner than expected. “Sooner”. Nothing was sooner anyway, just later. Things were always later. Sooner was later than now.
In Jackson Murdo got up from his seat. The wee thin guy was staying on until wherever. Cheerio, said Murdo. The guy raised his arm in a short salute.
Less than an hour later he was back in Allentown, and glad to be back, passing through the waiting room and out into the main street. He crossed to the old-time Wild West shop and the pawnshop. The accordeon was not in the window. The ashtray was still on the window ledge; a quarter-smoked cigarette lay on it. Murdo peered through both windows. Guitars were the main instruments, including a beautiful-looking bass. Murdo liked bass guitars. How come? Just something about them. He didnt have one, but if he did. It would just be good having one.
Two saxophones and a clarinet; harmonicas that looked special. The shop door opened, triggering a security chime; a familiar tune. An older woman stepped out. She was quite big and Murdo made way for her. She stood by the doorway, lifted the quarter-smoked cigarette from the ashtray, soon had it alight, puffed a cloud of smoke, folding an arm and resting the other elbow on it, puffing again and watching folk pass by. She said to Murdo, How are you today?
Fine.
Aint it just so peaceful! She patted her bosom as though experiencing heartburn.
Yeah. Murdo gazed into the window.
So so peaceful, she said. I give praise to Jesus.
Murdo smiled and resumed walking, along towards Sarah’s family store. It was more than a mile away, maybe two. When he arrived he stepped up onto the porch and pushed open the door. At the cashier’s desk an older woman stared at him. An elderly man was about to be served. Murdo waited behind him. The elderly man waved him on ahead, but impatiently so ye felt like saying No thanks. But Murdo said, Thanks. I was wondering if Sarah was here? he asked the woman.
If Sarah was here? No, she aint here.
Is she at home?
I dont know. I cant say where she is.
Thanks, said Murdo although he felt like saying Ha ha, but what good would that have done? He heard the elderly man say, What’d he ask for?
He closed the door behind him and continued round the side of the building to the house. There was no one around. Then a boy about twelve or thirteen years old appeared. Who you looking for?
Uh — Joel.
Joel?
Or Sarah?
Oh. The boy nodded. They aint here; they gone away.
D’you know when they’ll be back?
No I dont. Joel’s ma now she’ll tell you.
Thanks.
Sure.
Murdo thumped again on the door. There was a bell. He rang this too but nothing. Nobody was in. He stepped to peer in the window. The boy was still watching and called: She aint there?