The Wayward Bus (18 page)

“Five months,” said Ernest.

She dropped her eyes to his lapel with the blue bar and white stars. “That's a nice one,” she said. “That's the real big one, isn't it?”

“That's what they tell me,” said Ernest. “It don't buy any groceries, though.” They laughed together.

“Did the big boss pin it on you?”

“Yeah,” said Ernest.

Mr. Pritchard leaned forward. It bothered him that he didn't know what was happening.

Pimples said, “You ought to try some of this raspberry pie.”

“I couldn't,” said Camille.

Alice said, “You find a fly in that and I'll let you have the rest of the pie right in the kisser.”

Camille knew the symptoms. This woman was getting ready to hate her. She glanced uneasily at the other two women in the room. Mrs. Pritchard wouldn't bother her. But the girl, there, who was trying to go without her glasses. Camille just hoped she didn't cross with her. That could be a tough babe. She cried in her mind, “Oh, Jesus, Loraine, get rid of that jerk and let's live in the apartment again.” She had a dreadful sense of loneliness and weariness. She wondered how it would be to be married to Mr. Pritchard. He was something like the man she had in mind. It was probably not very hard being married to him. His wife didn't look as though he gave her much trouble.

Bernice Pritchard was in the dark. She didn't hate Camille. Vaguely she knew that some change had come over the room, but she didn't know what it was. “I guess we'd better get our things together,” she said brightly to Mildred. And this in spite of the fact that their things were together.

Now Juan came out of the bedroom. He was dressed in clean corduroy trousers, a clean blue shirt, and a leather windbreaker. His thick hair was combed straight back and his face was shiny from shaving.

“All ready, folks?” he said.

Alice watched him as he walked around the end of the lunch counter. He didn't look at Camille at all. Alice felt a stir of alarm. Juan looked at all girls. If he didn't there was something wrong. Alice didn't like it.

Mr. Van Brunt, the old gentleman with the stiff neck, came in from outside and held the screen door open a little. “Looks like more rain,” he said.

Juan addressed him shortly. “You'll get on the next Greyhound north,” he said.

“I changed my mind,” said Van Brunt. “I'm going along with you. I want to see that bridge. But it's going to rain more, I tell you that.”

“I thought you didn't want to go.”

“I can change my mind, can't I? Why don't you call up again about that bridge?”

“They said it was all right.”

“That was some time ago,” said Van Brunt. “You're a stranger here. You don't know how fast the San Ysidro can rise. I've seen it come up a foot an hour when the hills dump into her. You better call up.”

Juan was exasperated. “Look,” he said, “I drive the bus. I've been doing it for some time. Would you mind? You just ride and take a chance on me, or don't, but let me drive it.”

Van Brunt turned his face up sideways and stared at Juan coldly. “I don't know whether I'll go with you or not. I might even write a note to the railroad commission. You're a common carrier, you know. Don't forget that.”

“Let's go, folks,” said Juan.

Alice kept secret eyes on him, and he didn't look at Camille, didn't offer to carry her suitcase. That was bad. Alice didn't like it. It wasn't like Juan.

Camille picked up her suitcase and scuttled out of the door. She didn't want to sit with any of the men. She was tired. Quickly her mind had gone over the possibilities. Mildred Pritchard was unattached and already Mildred didn't like her. But the girl who had quit was out there in the bus. Camille hurried out the door and climbed in. As quickly as they could, Ernest Horton and Mr. Pritchard followed, but Camille was in the bus. Norma sat quite still. Her eyes were hostile and her nose red and shiny. Norma was very much frightened at what she had done.

Camille said, “Would you mind if I sit with you, honey?”

Norma turned her head stiffly and regarded the blonde. “There's plenty of seats,” she said.

“Would you mind? I'll tell you why later.”

“Suit your own convenience,” said Norma grandly. She could tell that this girl was expensively dressed. It didn't make sense. People didn't want to sit with Norma. But there was a reason. Maybe a mysterious reason. Norma knew her movies. Things like this could turn into nine reels of pure delight. She moved over near the window and made room.

“How far are you going?” Norma asked.

“To L.A.”

“Why, I'm going there too! Do you live there?”

“Off and on,” said Camille. She noticed that the men who had come piling out of the lunchroom had seen her sit down with Norma. Their drive slowed down. There was going to be no competition. They clustered around the rear end of the bus to have the bags put in the luggage compartment.

Juan lingered at the lunchroom door with Alice looking through the screen at him. “Take it easy,” he said. “Had a god-damn mess all morning. Try to get it cleared up before I get home.”

A sharpness came on Alice's face. She was about to answer.

Juan went on, “Or one of these days I won't get home.”

Her breath caught. “I just don't feel good,” she whined.

“Well, start feeling good, then, and don't run it into the ground. Nobody likes sick people very long. Nobody. Get that straight.” His eyes were not looking at her but around her and through her, and panic came over Alice. Juan turned away and walked toward the bus.

Alice leaned her elbows on the cross piece of the screen door. Big soft tears filled her eyes. “I'm fat,” she said quietly, “and I'm old. Oh, Jesus, I'm old!” The tears ran into her nose. She snorted them back. She said, “You can get young girls, but what can I get? Nothing. An old slob.” She sniffled quietly behind the screen.

Mr. Pritchard would have liked to have sat behind the blonde to watch her, but Mrs. Pritchard took a seat near the front and he had to sit down beside her. Mildred sat alone on the other side and behind them. Pimples climbed on and he got the seat Mr. Pritchard wanted, and Ernest Horton sat with him.

Juan noticed with dismay that Van Brunt took the seat directly behind the driver's seat. Juan was nervous. He hadn't had much sleep and some kind of hell had been popping since early morning. He got the bags neatly stacked in the rear trunk, pulled the canvas cover down, and closed the door of the trunk. He waved his hand at Alice leaning inside the screen door. He knew from her posture that she was crying and he intended that she should. She'd got out of hand. He wondered why he stayed with her. Just pure laziness, he guessed. He didn't want to go through the emotional turmoil of leaving her. In spite of himself he'd worry about her and it was too much trouble. He'd need another woman right away and that took a lot of talking and arguing and persuading. It was different just to lay a girl but he would need a woman around, and that was the difference. You got used to one and it was less trouble. Besides Alice was the only woman he had ever found outside of Mexico who could cook beans. A funny thing. Every little Indian in Mexico could cook beans properly and no one up here except Alice—just enough juice, just the right flavor of the bean without another flavor mixed up with it. Here they put tomatoes and chili and garlic and such things in the beans, and a bean should be cooked for itself, with itself, alone. Juan chuckled. “Because she can cook beans,” he said to himself.

But there was another reason too. She loved him. She really did. And he knew it. And you can't leave a thing like that. It's a structure and it has an architecture, and you can't leave it without tearing off a piece of yourself. So if you want to remain whole you stay no matter how much you may dislike staying. Juan was not a man who fooled himself very much.

He was almost to the bus when he turned back and walked quickly to the screen door. “Take care of yourself,” he said. His eyes were warm. “Get a slug of liquor for that tooth.” He turned away and walked back to the bus. She'd be drunker than a skunk when he got back, but maybe that would blow out her tubes and she'd feel better. He would sleep in Norma's bed if Alice passed out. He couldn't stand the smell of her when she was drunk. She had an acid, bitter smell.

Juan glanced up at the sky. The air was still but up high a wind was blowing, bringing legions of new clouds over the mountains, and these clouds were flat and they were joining together and moving in on one another as they hurried across the sky. The big oaks still dripped water from the morning rain and the geranium leaves held shining drops in the centers. There was a hush on the land and a great activity.

Much as he hated to give Van Brunt any credit, Juan was afraid it was going to rain some more, and soon. He climbed up the steps of the bus. Van Brunt caught him before he even sat down.

“Know where that wind's coming from? Southwest. Know where those clouds are coming from? Southwest. You know where our rain comes from?” he demanded triumphantly. “Southwest.”

“O.K., and we're all gonna die sometime,” said Juan. “Some of us pretty horribly. You might get run over by a tractor. Ever seen a man run over by a tractor?”

“How do you figure that?” Van Brunt demanded.

“Let it rain,” said Juan.

“I don't own a tractor,” said Van Brunt. “I got four pair of the best horses in this state. How do you figure that tractor?”

Juan stepped on the starter. It had a high, thin, scratchy sound, but almost immediately his motor started and it sounded good. It sounded smooth and nice. Juan turned in his seat.

“Kit,” he called, “keep listening to that rear end.”

“O.K.,” said Pimples. He felt good about Juan's confidence.

Juan waved his hand to Alice and closed the bus door with his lever. He couldn't see what she was doing through the screen. She would let him get out of sight before she brought out a bottle. He hoped she wouldn't get into any trouble.

Juan drove around the front of the lunchroom and turned right into the black-top road that led to San Juan de la Cruz. It wasn't a very wide road but it was fairly smooth and the crown had a high arch so that it shed the water nicely. The valley and the hills were splashed with gouts of sunlight, and they were fenced with the moving shadows of clouds rushing across the sky. The sun spots and the shadows were somber gray, threatening and sad.

“Sweetheart” bumped along at forty. She was a good bus and the rear end sounded good too.

“I never liked tractors,” said Mr. Van Brunt.

“I don't either,” Juan agreed. He felt fine all of a sudden.

Van Brunt couldn't let it alone. Juan had succeeded beyond his hopes. Van Brunt turned his head sideways on his stiff neck. “Say, you're not one of these fortunetellers or anything like that?”

“No,” said Juan.

“Because I don't believe any stuff like that,” said Van Brunt.

“Neither do I,” said Juan.

“I wouldn't have a tractor on the place.”

Juan was about to say “I had a brother who was kicked to death by a horse,” but he thought, “Aw, nuts, the guy's a push-over. I wonder what he's scared of.”

CHAPTER 9

The highway to San Juan de la Cruz was a black-top road. In the twenties hundreds of miles of concrete highway had been laid down in California, and people had sat back and said, “There, that's permanent. That will last as long as the Roman roads and longer, because no grass can grow up through the concrete to break it.” But it wasn't so. The rubber-shod trucks, the pounding automobiles, beat the concrete, and after a while the life went out of it and it began to crumble. Then a side broke off and a hole crushed through and a crack developed and a little ice in the winter spread the crack, so the resisting concrete could not stand the beating of rubber and broke down.

Then the county maintenance crews poured tar in the cracks to keep the water out, and that didn't work, and finally they capped the roads with an asphalt and gravel mixture. That did survive, because it offered no stern face to the pounding tires. It gave a little and came back a little. It softened in the summer and hardened in the winter. And gradually all the roads were capped with shining black that looked silver in the distance.

The San Juan road ran straight for a long way through level fields, and the fields were not fenced because cattle didn't wander any more. The land was too valuable for grazing. The fields were open to the highway. They terminated in ditches beside the road. And in the ditches the wild mustard grew rankly and the wild turnip with its little purple flowers. The ditches were lined with blue lupines. The poppies were tightly rolled, for the open flowers had been beaten off by the rain.

The road ran straight toward the little foothills of the first range—rounded, woman-like hills, soft and sexual as flesh. And the green clinging grass had the bloom of young skin. The hills were rich and lovely with water, and along the smooth and beautiful road “Sweetheart” rolled. Her washed and shining sides reflected in the water of the ditches. The little tokens swung against the windshield—the tiny boxing gloves, the baby's shoe. The Virgin of Guadalupe on her crescent moon on top of the instrument board looked benignly back at the passengers.

There was no rough or ill sound from the rear end, just the curious whine of the transmission. Juan settled back in his seat prepared to enjoy the trip. He had a big mirror in front of him so that he could watch the passengers, and he had a long mirror out the window in which he could see the road behind. The road was deserted. Only a few cars passed, and none came from the direction of San Juan. At first this puzzled him unconsciously, and then he began to worry actively. Perhaps the bridge was out. Well, if it was he would have to come back. He'd take the whole crowd of passengers into San Ysidro and turn them loose there. If the bridge was out, there would be no bus line until it was in again. He noticed in his mirror that Ernest Horton had got his sample case open and was showing Pimples some kind of gadget that whirled and flashed and disappeared. And he noticed that Norma and the blonde had their heads together and were talking. He increased his speed a little.