The Indian Bus Stop
A Short Story by Henri Bauhaus
Copyright © 2015 Henri Bauhaus
All Rights Reserved
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and locations are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
This file is licensed for private individual entertainment only. The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into an information retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or otherwise) for any reason (excepting the uses permitted to the licensee by copyright law under terms of fair use) without the specific written permission of the author.
The Indian Bus Stop
Jack and Ellen parted ways without any big fanfare. It was a done deal, and both of them knew it. They had spent the last twenty-four hours together mainly as a matter of mutual benefit. Ellen got the extra security of having a man around, while Jack gained the status of being a traveler in the know, who could keep a woman by his side, at least for a few days....or so.
Their final moments together were anti-climactic, even though, they were both standing in the very same place, where they had met only a couple of days earlier.
"I guess this is the where we say good-bye," said Ellen.
"It must be written in the script, somewhere," said Jack.
"Something like that," replied Ellen.
"You know it doesn't have to end this way," said Jack.
"If you'd just say it with a little more enthusiasm, I might consider staying," said Ellen.
"I know," said Jack. "It's just that it's a long wait for the bus to the border and I could use someone to talk to while I wait."
"Jack, you really know how to charm a woman, don't you."
"I guess getting along with the opposite sex is not one of my fine points."
"You're not that far off, really," said Ellen. "And you know, all it takes is a little extra effort."
"Your bus is goin' to be leaving soon," said Jack. "You don't want to miss it."
"So it is," said Ellen.
Ellen turned around and took full notice of the line of passengers getting ready to board the bus. As always, in this part of the country, there was a mix of Native and modern dress, though there did seem to be more Latin people headed to the old Colonial capitol of Antiqua.
The announcer makes a public address about the last boarding call for the bus leaving for Antigua.
"Antigua is a very beautiful city," said Jack. "I'm sure you'll have a nice time there."
"And you.... you big goon," said Ellen. "Take care of yourself and be careful. Crossing the border into Chiapas, is not the safest trip in the world."
"I will," said Jack.
Ellen stepped towards Jack and gave him a big hug. Jack responded with a not-so-quite warm embrace.
Ellen released herself from Jack and with moistened eyes, she scurried across the empty floor and was the last one to board the bus.
The vehicle was fairly crowded, so Ellen took a seat in the front, next to an elderly woman, dressed in her village garb.
Jack returned to the same seat he had had in the small depot before Ellen had so unexpectedly arrived on the scene and entered his life. He even opened his trusty guidebook and took a quick look at the bus connections to Mexico.
Everything seemed in order, so Jack waited for the next bus to Santo Domingo, the last town in Guatemala, before crossing the border into the wild Mexican state of Chiapas.
Except for the sign that said Welcome to Guatemala, Land of Eternal Spring the trip along the two-lane paved highway was uneventful. This was probably due to the fact that Jack was traveling on a Sunday, which meant that the roads were relatively deserted.
Towards the end of the journey, the road ascended some tall mountains and the air temperatures dropped substantially.
About an hour after the sun set, the bus deposited Jack and a handful of passengers at a closed-down terminal. The other passengers left the station, as relatives and friends showed up. Eventually, Jack was left standing alone outside.
It was at this point in time that Jack turned his attention to the schedule that was posted on the exterior wall inside a glass case. After staring at the document for a few minutes, Jack came across a startling discovery. Nowhere was the Spanish word, Domingo, to be found. All the other six days of the week were listed, but nowhere could the Spanish name for Sunday be found.
Reeling in disgust, Jack kicked the wall of the little outpost so hard, he thought at first that he had broken the big toe of his right foot. After hobbling around for a few minutes until the pain subsided, Jack surveyed his predicament and realized that he had two choices.
One, he could wait 24 hours for the next bus....or two, he could sling the duffel bag over one shoulder and undertake a ten-mile night walk that would lead him to the Mexican customs station well after midnight.
Jack went for the latter option.
The first order of business was to search through his duffel until he found a clean pair of socks and his dependable U.S. surplus jungle boots. Already the cool evening air of the mountains was chilling his feet, so replacing his well-worn sandals with something warmer had been on Jack's mind for some time.
Locating the boots was no problem, but coming across a clean pair of socks was a whole different issue. After five minutes of attempting to locate a clean pair and then another five repacking his gear, Jack was ready to change his footwear and commence his nocturne walkabout into Mexico.
Since there wasn't a vehicle in sight, Jack slung his travel bag over his right shoulder and began walking right down the middle of the road. He figured that anyone driving along the highway would be long visible before they got even close to Jack.
After five minutes of hiking, Jack stopped and set his bag down on the ground. The walking was easy, the three- quarters moon shining on the mountains was spectacular, but the weight of his duffel bag on his shoulder was beginning to be a pain.
After a quarter-mile hike Jack needed a break. He set down right in the middle of the road, then looked up at the starry sky. The sight was absolutely amazing. The combination of high altitude and a remote landscape without even one source of artificial lighting made for near-perfect viewing conditions.
Then out of the darkness came the distinct hum of an approaching vehicle. Jack picked up his bag and waited till the approaching headlights were visible and then waited some more as the automobile negotiated a series of curves and moved toward the lone traveler at a steady speed.
Just as the high beams were about to illuminate the solitary traveler, Jack scurried across the paved surface and squatted down behind a couple of boulders.
The car and driver passed by doing about 40, totally unaware of a lone walker on the highway. After the car passed, Jack regained his spot in the center of the road and continued his long ramble towards Chiapas.
Jack walked on into the night with his only noticeable companions being the occasional, distant howl of a pack of coyotes. Every hour or so another car would come buzzing down the empty highway, as Jack's response would always be the same. Wait until the last moment then take cover off the side of the highway, so as not to be noticed.
After a good five hours of walking, Jack came to a rise in the road. From the crest of the highway, he look down as the dark ribbon of pavement snaked its way through the valley below. Next to the road, he could vaguely make out a small cluster of buildings. Two of the remote outposts appeared to have their interior lights turned on.
Twenty minutes later, Jack arrived at the first building. Even th
ough it was the Guatemalan customs agent, Jack stopped anyway, mainly out of curiosity.
"Buenos tardes," said the agent.
"Buenos tardes," replied Jack. "Como estas?"
"Doing fine my friend, where are you headed?"
"Back to the states."
"Then you need to be talking to Senor Marquez."
"When does he come on duty?" asked Jack.
"He's on duty right now.
"I don't see him," said Jack.
Jack turns his head and looks around the room, looking for the other agent.
"That's because he's in the next building," chuckled the agent.
"Oh really," said a surprised Jack.
"This is the Guatemala customs......that's for travelers heading south. You are going want to check in with the Mexican authorities. That's the building next door."
"Guess that means I'll be headin' next door."
"That would be my suggestion," said the agent.
"Well it's been nice talkin' to you," said Jack.
"My pleasure," said the guard.
Then Jack picked up his bag and walked out the door. Another fifty yards down there stood another small one story-one room building. The light was on, so Jack entered the outpost and walked up to the counter.
As soon as he did, Senor Marquez awoke from his snooze, popped up out of his chair and walked up to the counter to check on the new arrival.
"Buenos dias, amigo," said the guard.
"Buenos dias," replied Jack. "Is it Monday yet?"
Senor Marquez turned around and looked at the clock on the wall, which read three-thirty.
"Yeah, and the sun will be up soon."
"I didn't realize it was so late. Time passes quickly when you are walking through the mountains".
"I guess so. But honestly, Senor, that's not a form of transportation that I can safely recommend. These hills are full of banditos."
"Don't worry, next time I'll take the bus."
"May I see your passport, por favor?"
Jack reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a well-used American passport. He handed it to the official, who then opened the blue cover and thumbed through the pages.
"What is your final destination?"
"Texas."
"How much money to you have on you?"
"About one hundred American."
"Can I see it?"
"Sure."
Jack reached into his blue jeans and pulled out a wad of American cash and traveler's checks. He laid everything out on the counter, so the border official could count it.
"That's only 80."
"That's enough to get me into Texas," said Jack.
"Barely, what you gonna do once you reach Texas."
"Hitchhike!"
"Don't try hitching in Mexico."
"I won't."
"Promise?"
"Promise," said Jack.
"Make sure you keep your word."
"I will."
"If you don't, we might be shipping your body back to next of kin."
"I hear ya’."
"The bus to San Cristobal stops just over there."
"Gracias, Senor."
"Buena suerta."
Jack walked away from the custom station, happy to be back in Mexico. Now, he had only one more border to cross, but it was a long way across Mexico and then the young traveler was very much apprehensive about the journey through Texas, not to mention the possibility that he might not have enough funds to get through Mexico.
The stars were still out, as Jack searched for the bus stop. Pretty soon he found the turnout and then started to set his bag down on the dirt, when he heard something stir in the grass.
Upon further examination, Jack noticed that the "something" was a man sleeping. Soon Jack became aware of four more men, all of whom, were lying asleep in the grass.
Jack surveyed the situation and soon picked his own spot away from the five Native men, and far enough off the road, so he wouldn't get run over, if he happened to drift off into slumber before the bus arrived.
Jack set down his bag, which he used for a pillow and tried to stay awake until the bus arrived at 7 a.m. For one thing he was quite worried about some of the strange tropical diseases that were carried by insects. His mind told him that here high in the mountains he was pretty well protected, but his inner voice was still very concerned about laying down on the side of the road in a poor Central American nation.
Then there were the five men sleeping soundly in the grass. Like most people of the highlands, they were short in stature and seemed harmless, at least on first glance. But they could awake at any minute and decide to separate Jack from his worldly possessions.
Nonetheless, Jack was exhausted from his long walk and fell right to sleep, oblivious to any immediate danger.
The next thing the young traveler knew was that the sun was breaking across the high peaks and a large vehicle was approaching. The driver stopped just a few yards away from Jack's feet, opened the doors and yelled: "Vamonos!.....Vamenos!"
The End
About The Author
Also by the Author
The Road Much Traveled
A Night In Old New Orleans
In the Ancient Lands of the Pemigewasset
A Forest Tale
The Letter
Ash Wednesday In Old New Orleans
Leaving Montana
Colonial Capers
Advice from a Master
A Night of Yowling Dogs
The Spell-checker Cat