There were about thirty or so other people in the bus terminal: some were seated; some were standing here and there – one person stared into a vending machine as if willing his favourite snack into existence; a few others had chosen to slump against pillars or walls; and the remainder wandered about, sometimes venturing outside to check that the outside world was still there.
Mike stayed where he was, seated on the floor, his back to the pillar, and his two bags by his side, his gaze alternating between the people around him and the sign above the door which had yet to tell him that his bus was ready to board. The expression “a watched pot never boils” haunted him: he knew what time the bus was due to depart but the hands of the clock moved ever so slowly and it was beginning to feel as if the departure time would never come.
His thoughts were also haunted by the conversation he had overheard on the previous bus. Sleep had proved elusive as the bus bumped along the road and jerked around bends and corners. Tried and alone, Mike had begun to doubt the wisdom of his vacation. What had been a well planned dream holiday had so far become a nightmare.
Motel prices had proved to be three times as expensive as he had budgeted for; the monthly bus ticket he had purchased in the belief that it would take him all around America had been of some use – but he had discovered that in reality the ticket would take him to the major cities and that everywhere he wanted to go tended to be off the main routes and would require other tickets and extra money – money he did not have.
A drastic rationalisation of his dream holiday had resulted in his itinerary being reduced to a quarter of its original size. Same day journeys had been replaced by multi-day trips – and it was on one such trip, on the bus, over a distance of close to a thousand miles, that Mike had overheard the conversation that played at the back of his mind without remission.
‘Take my advice, don’t stop in St Louis – just keep on going. The place is filled with muggers and murderers.’
‘This bus stops there, doesn’t it?’
‘Sure, but look, I’ve been around and I’ve seen a lot of places and things. The worst place I’ve ever set foot in is St Louis and I’ve seen some of the worst things there too. Now, if ever I have to go anywhere and my route takes me near St Louis…well I get off a few stops early and take another route around. Believe me; you don’t want to go there. If you have to…don’t leave the bus terminal and don’t leave your bags – not for one moment. Turn your back and someone will take everything. If you’re lucky you’ll still have the shirt on your back and if you’re really lucky you won’t have any scars to remember your visit!’
As much as he wanted to go to the toilet and as weary as he felt, Mike sat next to his bags in the St Louis Bus Terminal. In forty five minutes his bus would be leaving…but those forty five minutes were taking their time to pass by. All he could think of was that conversation…and all around him were people he did not know. For all he knew any one of them could be a mugger!
None of this helped to relieve the pressure on his bladder. There had been a rest room on the bus, but that had been an hour before. Whether it was just anxiety or simple biology, Mike wanted to relieve that pressure as soon as possible. While he was confident that he could wait until the next bus got here he also found himself wondering if this would be a bus that did not have a rest room. Or it might even be broken! How long until the next stop, Mike found himself wondering? The display board listed the ultimate destination of the bus but not the stops along the way. Even if it had there was never any guarantee that there would be a rest room at any of those stops!
As his gaze wandered around the terminal, Mike noticed an old man enter from outside. On his head was a fur hat and a black scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck. He wore a dark cloak which seemed to be clasped at the neck with a jewelled clasp, the cloak itself ended just above his knees. Checked trousers emerged from the hem of the cloak and ended on a pair of boots which, in contrast to the man’s otherwise dapper appearance seemed scuffed and ready to fall apart. They gave the impression of someone who walked great distances, although he hobbled along with a cane.
The old man looked around him and his gaze met Mike’s. Realising that he had been staring, Mike looked away and glanced at the departure board for about the hundredth time. Forty-four minutes to go. Why couldn’t the bus be here now, allowing passengers to board early?
As he turned his head back, Mike became aware that someone was approaching him. The old man stopped, looked at the departure board and then tapped the seat next to Mike, ‘Is this seat taken, young man?’
In all honesty, Mike would have preferred that no-one sat next to him, but he was too polite to say anything and so he simply said ‘No.’
The old man sat himself down and let out a weary sigh. The two of them sat there for a few minutes before the old man tapped Mike’s bag with his case, ‘Have you seen much of this country?’
‘Boston, New York, Philadelphia…there have been a few other places but I’ve just passed through them.’
‘I know that feeling young man. When I was younger – I watched places without experiencing them. Finally I realised that I would never understand what the rest of the u…world would be like unless I went out and took my time. I stopped here and there and it never ceases to amaze me how much there is to see. All the tastes I have begun to experience, all the sounds, the sights, the smells…I envy you young man, reaching out now at this time in your life.’
Although Mike did not want to listen to someone’s tales of regret he found the old man’s presence reassuring.
‘I’m on my way to Arizona – to see the Grand Canyon. I hope…’
Mike was not sure what he expected the old man to say next, he half expected him to speak of his regret about never having visited the Grand Canyon, half that the old man would say that he had visited it but that it would not be the same as in his younger days.
Instead the old man looked at him and nodded his head, ‘You are afraid that it will not be as you expect? That the pictures you have seen and the stories you have heard have all served to create a legend that the reality cannot compare with?’
‘Yes!’ Perhaps it was as a result of his experiences to date in America, but Mike had begun to wonder if his planned trip to the Grand Canyon was a bad idea. It wasn’t just the thought that the place might not be as he expected, but the journey so far had been depressing and just a little bit terrifying.
‘Trust me, young man; the Grand Canyon is one of those places that transcend all the poetry and pictures it has inspired. While I cannot guarantee it, I do believe that you will be amazed and awed by it.’
‘Have you visited the Grand Canyon?’
The old man smiled and tapped his chin, ‘Yes,’ he murmured excitedly, ‘oh yes, I have been many times and it has never disappointed me. For some people one visit is enough, but for me…I can’t remember how many times I’ve been. Still, it is a place you must experience for yourself.’
The old man suddenly struggled up from his seat, ‘Do forgive me, young man. And old man’s bowels make demands that cannot be ignored. If you are gone before I return, have a pleasant journey.’
With that, the old man wandered off in the direction of the rest rooms. It reminded Mike of his own bowels and their constant insistence. Another look at the display board – still over half an hour to go! Already a few other people had begun to cluster near this aisle. Surprisingly, Mike recognised the voice of one of the people, as he began his tale of how unsafe St Louis was to some other traveller. Hadn’t he said that he would get off a stop or two before St Louis and that nothing would drag him this far?
The old man returned at this point and seated himself.
‘I do hate loud voiced people who try to spread their fears like that!’
‘He was on the bus here,’ Mike explained the troubled hour or so before he had arrived in St Louis. In reply, the old man harrumphed, ‘Nonsense my dear boy, as I said, he is a scared traveller who thinks that by vocalising his own fears he will diminish them. Instead he is generating more fear, spreading it and it is being reflected back at him! Quite foolish, pay him no heed. Why look at me, an old man, vulnerable to all sorts of highwaymen and scoundrels! Yet it does not bother me!’
Unfortunately that was easier said than done and the man’s speech was making his bladder situation more intense. Although he felt he had no choice, Mike had one avenue of reassurance.
‘Look, would you mind looking after my bags…call of nature…’
‘Certainly, young man. Don’t worry about anything.’
Mike got up and hurriedly made his way to the rest rooms. Minutes later, he stared at his tired but relieved face in the mirror. Despite his earlier fears, Mike felt more relaxed. Although there was some fatalistic part of him that believed his bags were gone, Mike had also concluded that if they were gone then were was little he could do about it now. Whether he returned to his bags in a minute or in five minutes their presence or absence would make no difference.
Feeling a bit more refreshed, Mike returned to the main concourse. His bags were still there and the old man was still sitting there. The loud mouthed man had stopped talking and Mike noticed that he had gone off to some corner where he now stood in silence as if he had been sent to the naughty corner by a stern teacher.
‘Thank you,’ he said to the old man, ‘My name is Mike, Mike Trafford. Where are you heading to?’
The old man had nodded in acceptance of Mike’s gratitude, but he paused in answering, ‘I go wherever my next stop is. Frankly, young man, I have little idea where I am going next. I may return here, I may even visit the Grand Canyon, or I may be in a completely different part of the world.’
‘My friends call me Doctor. Even if we never meet again young man, you can call me Doctor.’
‘Are you a Doctor?’
The old man was about to reply but then he pointed towards the door with his cane, ‘It would appear that your bus is ready for boarding. Well, young man…Mike, have a pleasant journey.’
‘Thanks, Doctor, and you have a good journey too,’ Mike hoisted his backpack over one shoulder and wrapped the broken strap of his carryall around the other arm. As he moved towards the bus he felt more confident about his journey than he had done for the previous few days. His excitement about seeing the Grand Canyon had returned: before he had set foot in America it had been one of the many adventures he had been looking forward to; the problems since his arrival had tainted that excitement – but now all that fear and anxiety had faded.
Before he boarded the bus, Mike glanced back, but there was no sign of the Doctor. Glancing around he spotted a large blue box in one corner – he hadn’t seen anything like that at other bus stations, but none of them were the same. He looked towards the bus and noted that the driver was greeting each passenger as they boarded as if they were all good friends. In about ten minutes or so he would be off on his travels again. Mike took one last glance around…but could not see the blue box. There was no pillar to obscure his view of where he assumed the box had been. It was of no matter, for as far as Mike could see it had nothing to do with his journey.