The Imaginary Bus: Khalo Who Foresaw His Own Death in a Dream — Volume One
The ambulance slowly drove away.
For a few moments its blue lights slid over the wet tarmac and the shop windows before vanishing round a bend.
We stood where we were.
The rain kept falling: neither hard enough to drive us away nor softly enough to ignore.
Lena folded her umbrella.
The woman in red pushed her hands into her coat pockets.
— Well, what now?
— Now we get back on the bus.
The donkey, who had slipped out while we were helping the cyclist and taken shelter beneath the bus stop, brayed.
— Yes, the gentleman agrees too. The motion is carried by a majority vote.
— What motion? asked the woman in red.
— The motion to return to the bus.
She looked at me.
— Do you hold a meeting about everything?
— No. Sometimes I make the decision first and hold the meeting afterwards so it looks democratic.
Lena laughed.
The woman in red shook her head.
— You’re becoming dangerous.
We boarded the bus.
I sat down at the wheel again. The woman in red took a seat near me, while Lena went to the second row. Coco shook himself, splashing rainwater onto my trousers.
— Thank you, comrade. That’s just what I needed.
The donkey brayed from the back.
I turned round.
— You keep quiet. We still haven’t established whether you’ve bought a ticket for this bus.
— I object, said the woman in red suddenly.
My hand was still on the wheel.
I turned towards her.
— To what?
— Everything.
— That’s a rather broad objection. Could you define its geographical boundaries?
— Ever since I got on this bus, we’ve talked about death, or love, or exile, or politics, or the working class, or capitalism, or hospitals and the NHS. Even when there’s an accident, you manage to pull a history lesson out of the ambulance!
Lena burst out laughing.
— Well, an accident is important in its own right, I said.
The woman in red raised a hand.
— See? You’re doing it again!
I fell silent.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke.
— Very well. What do you propose?
— Let’s laugh.
— That’s it?
— That’s it.
— Without analysis?
— Without analysis.
— Without drawing a historical conclusion?
— Without drawing a historical conclusion.
— Not even an examination of the relations of production?
— Especially not an examination of the relations of production!
— I agree with that part, Lena called from behind us.
I turned towards her.
— You’re a Marxist!
— Marxists sometimes laugh too.
— Have you got evidence?
— No.
— Then don’t make scientific claims.
The woman in red laughed.
Coco wagged his tail without knowing why we were laughing.
Only the donkey remained serious.
I looked at him.
— Why aren’t you laughing?
He brayed.
— Of course. Sorry. That was a personal question.
— I’m making a new rule for the bus, said the woman in red.
— What rule?
— For ten minutes nobody is allowed to discuss politics, philosophy, death, exile, capitalism, socialism, psychology, love or relationships between women and men.
— Then what shall we talk about?
She paused.
Lena thought about it too.
I waited.
The three of us looked at one another.
— I don’t know, said the woman in red.
— See? You’ve banned every subject known to humanity, and now there’s nothing left.
— We could talk about food, said Lena.
— Dangerous.
— Why?
— Food leads to poverty, poverty to inequality, inequality to class, class to…
— Khalo! the woman in red cried.
— All right, all right. I won’t go on.
We travelled a few more metres.
Rain struck the windscreen and the wipers patiently swept it aside.
— When was the last time you laughed from the bottom of your heart? asked the woman in red.
This time the answer did not come at once.
I was about to say something serious.
Then I remembered the rule.
— That’s a suspicious question. It smells of psychology.
Lena laughed.
— Fair enough, said the woman in red. — I withdraw it.
— I’ve got a question.
— Ask it.
— If each of us had to do something completely silly right now, without thinking first, what would it be?
— I’d get off, said Lena.
— That’s not silly. Given my driving, it’s perfectly sensible.
— I’d drive, said the woman in red.
I slammed on the brake.
— No!
They both laughed.
— Jokes have limits.
— Were you frightened? asked the woman in red.
— Me? Never. I’m responsible for the passengers’ lives, that’s all.
The donkey brayed behind us.
— Especially his. Insuring him must be a nightmare.
— Your turn now, said Lena. — What silly thing would you do?
I thought for a while.
I took a cigarette out of my pocket, looked at it and put it back.
— Perhaps I’d wake up one morning and decide to do nothing at all.
— What’s silly about that? asked the woman in red.
— For someone like me? It’s very dangerous. By lunchtime I’d probably feel guilty for not having saved the world.
All three of us laughed this time.
Even me.
The bus moved slowly along the wet street.
For a few minutes nobody spoke of death.
Nobody brought up history.
Nobody analysed the world.
Even Lena was quiet.
The woman in red rested her head against the window and smiled.
Coco slept beside my feet.
The donkey looked out of the rear window.
Suddenly it occurred to me that perhaps laughter was also one way of staying alive.
I was about to say it aloud.
But as though she had read my mind, the woman in red said without looking at me:
— Don’t analyse it.
— I haven’t said anything!
— But you were thinking.
— Thinking hasn’t been banned yet.
She turned and looked at me.
— Carry on and I’ll ban that too.
The donkey brayed behind us.
— See? said the woman in red. — Even the donkey agrees with me.
I looked in the mirror.
— Very well. I am officially in the minority on this bus.
And laughter rang through it once again.
Outside, London was still under the rain.
Inside the bus, though, none of us intended to change the world for a few minutes.
We were simply living in it.
To be continued…
Naser Kamali
London, my small, cosy room, on a rainy evening.
دیدگاهتان را بنویسید