are back at
Go
.
I asked him why my mother, his wife, had not accompanied him.
He said she has a touch of flu, nothing serious, but she preferred not to take the long trip. She would call me later today. He was planning to stay overnight and had arranged for a room at the Pompey Inn. Perhaps we might have dinner there, it seemed a decent place. He had returned here as a guest lecturer on occasion and also for a class reunion or two, and the old school still seemed like a fine place. Some of his happiest days had been spent here. There were changes, of course. Most of his old teachers were gone, but life was like that, always changing. I didn’t mention old Mr. Chatham. I listened mostly, wondering how long he could go without looking at me. He looked everywhere in the room except at me. I wondered: Am I really here? If he finally looks at me, what will he see?
Finally, he fled this room, with his excuses.
I see him now.
He and Dean Albertson are walking across the quad together. Parting now, my father waves to him. Dean Albertson is carrying a Christmas wreath. I have forgotten that Christmas is coming soon.
Is Christmas the time of year that Catholics must go to confession, or is that some other holy day? I’ll have to ask Donateli, who seems to be a Catholic. Maybe that’s what I need. Not to be a Catholic, but to confess. Because after confession comes forgiveness, doesn’t it? What do they call it? Absolution. And yet I realize that I don’t have to confess. He already knows what I’ve done. On the bridge. But I still have to ask forgiveness. If I do, will he forgive me?
He’s on his way to the room now.
I know. I can feel him coming.
And now I need to flee, get out of here, and leave.
Hide.
But is there any place to hide?
part
6
“The bathroom,” Kate said.
“What about the bathroom?” Miro asked.
“The kids. One of them has to go. And that means all of them will have to go eventually.”
“There is no bathroom,” Miro said. “They cannot go. There is no place for them to go. This is a bus.”
“
You
tell them. You can’t stop kids from going to the bathroom,” Kate said, taking a small pleasure in this bit of defiance.
Miro grimaced in exasperation. His first responsibility, and he was faced with this kind of problem. A foolish problem. He had schooled himself to remain intact, not to give in to the demands of the body. It was one of the things you learned. He looked at the children with distaste. He did not want to go to Artkin with thisproblem. He would look foolish in Artkin’s eyes.
“Well, what you are going to do about it?” Kate asked, pleased at Miro’s discomfort.
Miro turned to the children. “Who needs—” He waved his hand to complete the sentence. He hated these crude and coarse American words. The children stared at him blankly. “Who needs the bathroom?” Miro managed to say.
A girl held up her hand. “I do.” Another hand shot up. And another.
“There is no place for them to go,” Miro said to Kate furiously. He swiveled toward the children once more. “No one can go,” he yelled at them.
To emphasize the words, he drew on the mask and regarded them menacingly.
A little girl stepped into the aisle. A stream of urine traced a course down her leg and spread onto her blue sneakers, turning the powder blue a deeper hue. She began to cry.
At that moment, Artkin entered the bus. He took off his mask. The child continued to cry, her sobs getting louder and louder, and the urine continuing to stream down her leg. “What is going on?” Artkin asked.
“The kids. They need to go to the bathroom. And he says they can’t,” Kate replied, nodding toward Miro, sorry for the poor child who stood there soaked in her own urine. Kate was familiar with that feeling.
Artkin ignored Kate and spoke directly to Miro. “These things cannot be helped. There’s a plastic pail in the van. Bring it here.” And to Kate, he said: “You have another duty, miss. You
Go
.
I asked him why my mother, his wife, had not accompanied him.
He said she has a touch of flu, nothing serious, but she preferred not to take the long trip. She would call me later today. He was planning to stay overnight and had arranged for a room at the Pompey Inn. Perhaps we might have dinner there, it seemed a decent place. He had returned here as a guest lecturer on occasion and also for a class reunion or two, and the old school still seemed like a fine place. Some of his happiest days had been spent here. There were changes, of course. Most of his old teachers were gone, but life was like that, always changing. I didn’t mention old Mr. Chatham. I listened mostly, wondering how long he could go without looking at me. He looked everywhere in the room except at me. I wondered: Am I really here? If he finally looks at me, what will he see?
Finally, he fled this room, with his excuses.
I see him now.
He and Dean Albertson are walking across the quad together. Parting now, my father waves to him. Dean Albertson is carrying a Christmas wreath. I have forgotten that Christmas is coming soon.
Is Christmas the time of year that Catholics must go to confession, or is that some other holy day? I’ll have to ask Donateli, who seems to be a Catholic. Maybe that’s what I need. Not to be a Catholic, but to confess. Because after confession comes forgiveness, doesn’t it? What do they call it? Absolution. And yet I realize that I don’t have to confess. He already knows what I’ve done. On the bridge. But I still have to ask forgiveness. If I do, will he forgive me?
He’s on his way to the room now.
I know. I can feel him coming.
And now I need to flee, get out of here, and leave.
Hide.
But is there any place to hide?
part
6
“The bathroom,” Kate said.
“What about the bathroom?” Miro asked.
“The kids. One of them has to go. And that means all of them will have to go eventually.”
“There is no bathroom,” Miro said. “They cannot go. There is no place for them to go. This is a bus.”
“
You
tell them. You can’t stop kids from going to the bathroom,” Kate said, taking a small pleasure in this bit of defiance.
Miro grimaced in exasperation. His first responsibility, and he was faced with this kind of problem. A foolish problem. He had schooled himself to remain intact, not to give in to the demands of the body. It was one of the things you learned. He looked at the children with distaste. He did not want to go to Artkin with thisproblem. He would look foolish in Artkin’s eyes.
“Well, what you are going to do about it?” Kate asked, pleased at Miro’s discomfort.
Miro turned to the children. “Who needs—” He waved his hand to complete the sentence. He hated these crude and coarse American words. The children stared at him blankly. “Who needs the bathroom?” Miro managed to say.
A girl held up her hand. “I do.” Another hand shot up. And another.
“There is no place for them to go,” Miro said to Kate furiously. He swiveled toward the children once more. “No one can go,” he yelled at them.
To emphasize the words, he drew on the mask and regarded them menacingly.
A little girl stepped into the aisle. A stream of urine traced a course down her leg and spread onto her blue sneakers, turning the powder blue a deeper hue. She began to cry.
At that moment, Artkin entered the bus. He took off his mask. The child continued to cry, her sobs getting louder and louder, and the urine continuing to stream down her leg. “What is going on?” Artkin asked.
“The kids. They need to go to the bathroom. And he says they can’t,” Kate replied, nodding toward Miro, sorry for the poor child who stood there soaked in her own urine. Kate was familiar with that feeling.
Artkin ignored Kate and spoke directly to Miro. “These things cannot be helped. There’s a plastic pail in the van. Bring it here.” And to Kate, he said: “You have another duty, miss. You
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