Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“But do you think I can smoke on this bus?” “I really don't know.”
He was quiet for a few minutes, then his hand was on my shoulder again, not tapping it but
resting there. “I can't find an ashtray,” he said.
“No fooling,” I responded wittily, without opening my eyes. “Do you think that means
we're not allowed to smoke?” “I don't know. I don't care.”
“But do you think it means we're not allowed to smoke?” “If you don't take your hand off
my shoulder I am going to dribble vomit on it,” I said.
He removed his hand quickly and was silent for perhaps a minute. Then he said, “Would
you help me look for an ashtray?” It was seven in the morning and I was deeply unwell. I
jumped up. “WILL YOU PLEASE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” I said to him. Two seats
back a pair of Norwegian students looked shocked. I gave them a look as if to say, “And
don't you try anything either, you wholesome little shits!” and sank back into my seat. It
was going to be a long day.
I slept fitfully, that dissatisfying, semiconscious sleep in which you incorporate into your
dreams the things going on around you-the grinding of gears, the crying of babies, the mad
swervings of the bus back and forth across the highway as the driver gropes for a dropped
cigarette or lapses into a psychotic episode. Mostly I dreamed of the bus plunging over a
cliff face, sailing into a void; in my dream, we fell for miles, tumbling through the clouds,
peacefully, with just the sound of air whisking past outside, and then the Indian saying to
me, “Do you think it would be all right if I smoked now?”
WhenIawoketherewasdroolonmyshoulderandanewpassengeroppositeme,ahaggard
woman with lank gray hair who was chain-smoking cigarettes and burping prodigiously.
They were the sort of burps children make to amuse themselves-rich, resonant, basso pro-
fundo burps. The woman was completely unselfconscious about it. She would look at me
and open her mouth and out would roll a burp.It was amazing. Then she would take a drag
ofhercigaretteandburpalargepuffofsmoke.Thatwasamazingtoo.Iglancedbehindme.
The Indian man was still there, looking miserable. Seeing me, he started to lean forward to
ask a supplementary question, but I stopped him with a raised finger and he sank back. I
stared out the window, feeling ill, and passed the time by trying to imagine circumstances
lesscongenialthanthis.ButapartfrombeingdeadorataBeeGeesconcertIcouldn'tthink
of a single thing.
We reached New York in the afternoon. I got a room in a he el near Times Square. The
room cost $110 a night and was so small I had to go out into the corridor to turn around.
