pair of headlights shows up in the distance, coming along the main street at high speed. The square lights throw a strong wide beam onto the asphalt. The diesel engine howls as the bus pulls in at the stop. It’s at least forty feet long, with rectangular advertisement panels along the sides. Some sort of mineral water touting its enticing effects. The doors open automatically. Their glass slides across the advertising panels, so that the purplish symbol of the enticing mineral water in question is now shimmering through the dark brown of the Plexiglas. We get on the bus. Florian first, then the two Felixes, Troy, and Janosch. The old man and I bring up the rear. The old man stops on the three steps leading up into the bus. Eyes bright, he turns around to me and reaches out his hand. I take it. The long rough fingernails dig into the back of my hand. I can’t wait to let go of his hand again.
“I haven’t even introduced myself yet,” he says. “How rude of me. My name is Sambraus. Marek Sambraus. Complicated name, I know. But you don’t forget it.”
Sambraus turns back to the bus driver.
“Two to Rosenheim, please,” he says.
The bus driver gropes for two red tickets in a drawer set next to the steering wheel and holds them out to Sambraus, who gets them stamped in a blue stamping machine. As he pushes the tickets in, it makes a pinging sound. He puts one ticket in his trouser pocket and hands the other to me. It has NEUSEELEN STOP stamped on it in blue cursive letters and the time. Seven-fifteen p.m.
Chapter 10
The others are waiting between the rows of seats. We’re almost alone—there are only two other people on the bus, sitting way at the back. Lovers. They press their faces against the glass when they think no one’s looking. Florian and Fat Felix keep turning around to look at them from their place just three rows in front of the couple, chosen to give them a good view. Just so that they don’t miss anything. The windows are full of night. You have to struggle to make out the shapes of things. The road. Fields. The occasional hill. Typical Bavarian landscape. Troy and Skinny Felix sit together in the first row. Troy wants to be next to the window; he likes looking out into the night. Skinny Felix digs around in his backpack and pulls out a Walkman. We’ve got about a half hour’s journey, maybe more. Depends on the traffic and the weather, but I don’t think we have much to worry about tonight. Sambraus sits down by himself, right in the middle of the bus, on the aisle seat. The window obviously didn’t appeal to him. But he dozes off right away anyhow. His green eyes disappear in the creases of his eyelids. His head drops onto his chest. Sambraus is asleep, breathing deeply in and out.
Janosch and I sit at the back, in the last row, right next to the pair of lovers. I get to sit at the window, which pleases me because I’ll be able to think a little and calm down. Birds are flying across the dark sky. They must have a long way to go, certainly farther than we do. Though our journey is not so simple either. Janosch gets a piece of paper and pencil out of the pocket of his jeans.
I look out the window again. We’re just passing some fields. The white stripes of the country road race past beneath us. On the horizon you can just see the Alps. A little section of forest interrupts the view. Huge fir trees rise up in the darkness, with a sickle moon above them that casts a faint light down onto the fields. Somewhere in the distance a thin line of smoke is rising. I think about my grandparents. They’ve been there for me forever, my grandfather in particular. He’s one of those grand-fathers you’d like to have had as your father. An unassuming old man who struggles unceasingly with life. Brave and gallant. My mother says he won’t hold out much longer—at some point he’ll have to give up. Cancer is really tough.
My mother loves my grandfather. Sometimes I wonder if she loves him more than
“I haven’t even introduced myself yet,” he says. “How rude of me. My name is Sambraus. Marek Sambraus. Complicated name, I know. But you don’t forget it.”
Sambraus turns back to the bus driver.
“Two to Rosenheim, please,” he says.
The bus driver gropes for two red tickets in a drawer set next to the steering wheel and holds them out to Sambraus, who gets them stamped in a blue stamping machine. As he pushes the tickets in, it makes a pinging sound. He puts one ticket in his trouser pocket and hands the other to me. It has NEUSEELEN STOP stamped on it in blue cursive letters and the time. Seven-fifteen p.m.
Chapter 10
The others are waiting between the rows of seats. We’re almost alone—there are only two other people on the bus, sitting way at the back. Lovers. They press their faces against the glass when they think no one’s looking. Florian and Fat Felix keep turning around to look at them from their place just three rows in front of the couple, chosen to give them a good view. Just so that they don’t miss anything. The windows are full of night. You have to struggle to make out the shapes of things. The road. Fields. The occasional hill. Typical Bavarian landscape. Troy and Skinny Felix sit together in the first row. Troy wants to be next to the window; he likes looking out into the night. Skinny Felix digs around in his backpack and pulls out a Walkman. We’ve got about a half hour’s journey, maybe more. Depends on the traffic and the weather, but I don’t think we have much to worry about tonight. Sambraus sits down by himself, right in the middle of the bus, on the aisle seat. The window obviously didn’t appeal to him. But he dozes off right away anyhow. His green eyes disappear in the creases of his eyelids. His head drops onto his chest. Sambraus is asleep, breathing deeply in and out.
Janosch and I sit at the back, in the last row, right next to the pair of lovers. I get to sit at the window, which pleases me because I’ll be able to think a little and calm down. Birds are flying across the dark sky. They must have a long way to go, certainly farther than we do. Though our journey is not so simple either. Janosch gets a piece of paper and pencil out of the pocket of his jeans.
I look out the window again. We’re just passing some fields. The white stripes of the country road race past beneath us. On the horizon you can just see the Alps. A little section of forest interrupts the view. Huge fir trees rise up in the darkness, with a sickle moon above them that casts a faint light down onto the fields. Somewhere in the distance a thin line of smoke is rising. I think about my grandparents. They’ve been there for me forever, my grandfather in particular. He’s one of those grand-fathers you’d like to have had as your father. An unassuming old man who struggles unceasingly with life. Brave and gallant. My mother says he won’t hold out much longer—at some point he’ll have to give up. Cancer is really tough.
My mother loves my grandfather. Sometimes I wonder if she loves him more than
Similar Books
