The Bus Driver Who Wanted to Be God & Other Stories (11 page)

in which Mordy continues not to lose hope, Uzi to complain, and Leehee to keep her sleeves down

I
t's been five days since we picked up Leehee. Uzi still keeps stashing small change and looking for phone booths all day long. Not a fucking day goes by when he doesn't talk to his parents for at least an hour, and when me or Leehee rag on him about it, he gets all uptight. At least he's stopped bugging us about the insurance, so now the three of us can take turns driving. We make pretty good time, even though we can't drive at night 'cause the headlights don't work. Around us, there's less and less city, fewer people and more sky, more little houses with gardens, though somehow everything's always wilted-like.
The tent was a pretty good deal and we're getting kinda used to it. Every night, I have that stupid dream about the fight with Desiree, and every night we make up, and suddenly I'm awake and Uzi's telling me there's no way we're ever gonna find her, but that he doesn't mind going on until I give up. He always goes out of his way to talk about Desiree when Leehee's around. Leehee thinks I do have a chance, but Uzi doesn't think much of her anyway. Yesterday when we stopped to take a leak, he started bitching that ever since she joined us everything had been getting really heavy. “Neither one of us is gonna score with her anyway, y'know,” he said and wrang it out. “But at least when we were on our own we could dish the dirt.” “Dish the dirt all you want,” I said. “Who's stopping you?” “Basically you're right,” Uzi admitted, “but deep down we both know that shoveling the shit just isn't the same when there's a babe around. Somehow it always sounds less like you mean it, and more like you're all jive.” When we got back to the car, I took over the wheel. All this time, Leehee was asleep in her sweats in the backseat. From the time we picked her up, I'd never seen her wearing anything with short sleeves. Uzi said he'd bet the Chevy she slashed her wrists, but neither of us had the guts to ask her how she offed and everything, and why. Not that it matters much. She's cute when she's sleeping, kind of peaceful-like, and except for the bit about finding the people in charge, which is way bizotic, if you ask me, she's cool. Uzi can go on bitching all he wants, but personally I think he's got a thing for her. Maybe that's really why he doesn't let it go, so I don't catch on. Truth is,
sometimes I think about it myself, that maybe I won't ever find Desiree, and that maybe Leehee will fall in love with me a little too, but I snap out of it right away. Besides, I have this hunch that Desiree's real close. Uzi says that's a bunch of crap, that she's probably way on the other side, and that wherever she is, she's bound to have someone by now, probably some black guy who hanged himself by his dick. But I can practically smell how close she is, and how I'm gonna find her, and just because the best friend I've got here is totally strung out, that doesn't mean I have to be strung out
too.

which begins with a miracle and ends with a close call

T
hat evening, just when we were starting to look for a place to stop, the weirdest thing happened. Leehee was at the wheel, when suddenly this truck tried to pass us. The guy leaned on the horn and scared the shit out of us. Leehee skidded off the road to let the truck pass, but then, just when she signaled to get back on the road, the headlights went on all of a sudden. Uzi, who was sitting in the back, was like totally psyched. “You're in-fuckin'-credible! You're a genius!” he said and he kissed her so hard she almost lost her grip on the wheel. “You're the Florence Nightingale of vehicles. Forget Nightingale. You're Marie Curie. You're Golda Meir.” “Take it easy,
will you.” She laughed. “It's only the headlights.” “Only the headlights?!” Uzi looked at Leehee like he was feeling sorry for her. “God, you're so naive. I don't know what you're more of—naive or brilliant. D'you have any idea how many mechanics got under the hood of this old ride? Forget mechanics. Nuclear engineers, holistic healers of heavy machinery, people who can take apart a Mack diesel engine and put it back together again in twenty seconds blindfolded couldn't fix it, till you got here.” He was massaging her neck. “My angel genius.” From where I sat it looked like Uzi'd chilled a little by then, and he was just using the chance to go on pawing her. “You know what this means?” I said. “It means we can keep on driving at night now too.” “No shit!” Uzi said. “And the first place we go tonight with these painfully beautiful headlights is to get trashed.” We kept on going, looking for a bar. Once you got out of town, things were pretty dead. Every half hour or so we'd pass a sign for some hamburger joint or pizza place. After four hours, Uzi'd had it, and we stopped to celebrate at this place that sold ice cream and frozen yogurt. Uzi asked what they had that was the closest to alcohol, and the salesgirl said it was cherry liqueur ice cream. “Hey, Sandra,” Uzi said after he took a peek at her name tag, “how many cones d'you think we'd have to have to really get trashed?” Under her name on the tag was their logo—a seal in a clown's hat riding a unicycle, and under that was the motto: “Low in price, high in flavor.” “I dunno.” Sandra shrugged. “Then give us ten pints,” Uzi said. “Just to be sure.” Sandra was real good at filling the
containers. She looked kind of worn out, but her eyes were wide open the whole time, almost like she was constantly surprised. Whatever she did to off herself, it must have been sudden. On our way to the car, Leehee stopped next to this poster listing all the things the workers were supposed to remember: Be polite to customers. Wash your hands after using the bathroom. That kind of thing. We had one like that at the Kamikaze, right next to the can, and I never washed my hands when I took a shit. No reason—just to feel like I was doing my own thing. “Places like that really get me down,” Leehee said back in the car, after we'd had some of the ice cream. “I go in hoping something unexpected will happen. Something small even. Like a salesperson wearing a name tag upside down, or forgetting to put on a hat, or just going, ‘Give yourself a break—the food here really sucks.' But it never actually happens. Know what I mean?” “Frankly”—Uzi grabbed the ice cream away from her—“not really. Want me to drive?” You could tell he was dying to take the wheel, with the new lights and everything. Less than a mile after he took over, there was a sharp turn to the right and just beyond it was this tall, thin guy with glasses sprawled right in the middle of the road, fast asleep. He went right on snoring—even after Uzi swerved right off the road and wrapped the car around a tree. We got out. Nobody was hurt, but the Chevy was a total wreck. “Hey, you,” Uzi screamed, running toward the guy and shaking him. “You crazy or something?” “Vice versa,” he said. In like a second, the guy was wide awake and up on his feet. He held
out his hand to Uzi. “I'm Raphael. Raphael Kneller. But you guys can call me Rafi.” When he saw that Uzi wasn't taking his hand, he squinted and asked: “What's that smell? Like ice cream.” And right after that, without waiting for an answer: “You haven't seen a dog around here by any chance, have you?”

in which Kneller extends lots of hospitality and a little paranoia, and explains why his house isn't really a camp

A
fter Uzi'd calmed down a little, we checked out the car, and saw it was totaled. Kneller was all shook up cause of what happened and 'cause it was all his fault. He said he wanted us to come crash at his place anyway. He didn't stop blabbing the whole way, and every step he took, his body went in all directions like he was trying to go lots of different places at the same time and couldn't make up his mind. One thing's for sure, he looked completely crazy, this Kneller, but harmless. He even smelled kinda fresh and innocent, like a baby's bottom. I couldn't picture a guy like that offing himself. “I'm not usually out at this hour,
but I was looking for my dog, Freddie. He's lost. D'you see him by any chance? It's just that suddenly all the peace and quiet around here started really getting to me. Well, whadda you expect? Everyone likes to veg out in the woods, know what I mean, in the great outdoors and everything,” Kneller tried to explain, waving his arms around a lot. “But why that way? Why in the middle of the fucking road, dammit? I mean it's fucking irresponsible, if you ask me. Too many recreational drugs, I guess.” He winked at us, and when he saw that Uzi was still really pissed off and looking pretty peeved, he added quickly: “Metaphorically, I mean. Nobody really does drugs around here.” Kneller's house looked just like those stupid little houses we used to draw in kindergarten, with a red roof, and a chimney, a green tree in the yard and a yellowish light in the windows. There was an enormous sign over the doorway, with
FOR RENT
on it in big bold letters, and
KNELLER'S HAPPY
CAMPERS
scribbled in blue paint right over that. Kneller told us that the house wasn't really for rent, or actually, that it used to be for rent once but that then Kneller came along and rented it, and it isn't like he even runs a camp. It's just a joke, not a very funny one, that a friend of his made up. This friend used to live with him for a long time, and he figured because of all the company that kept coming and all the fun stuff that Kneller used to set up for them that this place was kinda like a camp. “Wait till they see the ice cream.” He smiled, and pointed to the container that Leehee was holding. “They'll freak out.”

in which Leehee performs a small miracle, and Uzi falls in love with an Eskimo

I
t's been almost a month since we got here. Kneller's starting to get used to the idea that his dog, Freddie, isn't planning to come back, and it doesn't look like the tow-truck that Gelfand ordered is ever going to show up either. During the first week, Uzi was still driving everybody crazy and dialing all sorts of numbers to figure out a way of getting back home, but then he met this Eskimo. She was way cute, and was from too far away to pick up on his character. Ever since they've been an item he's less hung up on getting out of here, and even though he still calls his mom and dad every day, now mostly he talks about her. At
first, this place really got to me too, with its cheerleader types from all over, who, only after they offed, discovered that this place was actually the flip side of a blast. Kind of like a cross between United Colors of Benetton and Swiss Family Robinson. Except that the people here are real nice. Kind of dazed, but doing their best to get the most outta the little spark they have, even if it's not much. Then there's Kneller, who's all over the place, waving his arms like he's conducting an orchestra. I told Leehee that when I was in high school we had a question in our physics book about this guy, Mr. Magic they called him, who falls off the roof of a building, and uses a stopwatch to see how long it takes. It didn't say there what he looked like, but somehow I'd pictured him like Kneller. Really into it, but way out. Leehee asked me how the physics question ended, and I told her I couldn't remember, but I bet Mr. Magic was saved in the end, because it's a physics book for kids and everything. And Leehee told me if that's true, then it had to be Kneller, because she could easily picture him walking off the roof of a building, but there was no way she could see him actually hit the ground. The next morning we went along to help him out in the garden. So far, he hasn't managed to grow anything there, except weed. After we'd worked a while, Leehee turned on the faucet to get a drink, and instead of water she got seltzer. Leehee and I got pretty worked up about that, but Kneller wasn't impressed. “Don't pay any attention,” he said indifferently. “Happens all the time around here.” “What does?” I asked. “Things like that.” Kneller went on hoeing the flowerbeds.
“Miracles?” I asked. “Because you know, Rafi, it isn't like Leehee turned water into wine, but it comes pretty close.” “Not close enough,” Kneller said. “You wanna give it a name? Call it a miracle, but it's not a significant one. Miracles like that are no biggie around here. Strange you even noticed. Most people don't.” Leehee and I didn't really get it. But Kneller explained that one of the things about this place was that people can do pretty amazing stuff like turning stones into plants, or changing animals' colors, or even floating in the air a little. But only so long as it's not significant and it doesn't count for anything. I told him that was pretty amazing and that if it was really happening so much around here then we could try putting together some kind of a show, like a magic act or something, maybe even getting it on television. “But that's what I'm trying to tell you,” Kneller said, and kept scuffing the ground. “You can't do that, 'cause as soon as people come specially to see it, it won't work. These things only work if they don't really matter. It's like, say, you find yourself suddenly walking on water, which is something that happens here every now and then, but only if there's nothing waiting for you on the other side, or if there's no one around who's gonna get all worked up about it.” Leehee told him about what happened to the headlights the night we met, and Kneller said it was a perfect example. “Fixing the headlights of a car sounds pretty significant to me,” I objected. “Depends where you're going.” Kneller smiled. “If you wind up wrapping it around a tree five minutes later, then not
really.”

in which Leehee tells Mordy something intimate, and Uzi insists it's just a crock of shit

E
ver since Kneller and me had that talk, I began paying more attention to miracles. Yesterday I was taking a walk with Leehee, and she stopped for a second to tie her shoe. Suddenly, just like that, the rock that she put her foot on started falling upside-down toward the sky, and disappeared out of sight, for no reason. And the day before that, when Uzi was about to rack up the pool balls, one of them suddenly turned into an egg. Truth is, I'm dying to perform my first miracle too, any kind of miracle, even if it's a really dumb one. Kneller says that so long as I want it real bad it's like something important, and that's why I'll never
get it to work. Maybe he's right, but there's something really mixed-up and spacey about his whole explanation.

Kneller says it's not his explanation. It's 'cause this whole place doesn't really make sense. One minute you're offing yourself, and the next thing you know—wham!—there you are with scars and a mortgage. And why only suicides anyway? Why not regular dead people too? Like somehow the whole thing doesn't make any sense. Take it or shove it, know what I mean? And even if it's not that groovy, things coulda been a lot worse. Uzi's spending all his time with his new girlfriend. There's this river not far from here, and she's teaching him how to kayak and fish, which is pretty weird, 'cause I for one never heard or saw any animals around here practically, except for Kneller's dog maybe. And for all I know, that dog may not even exist either. Uzi doesn't have much to offer her in return, but just so he doesn't feel like a shmuck he's teaching her the names of all the late greats of soccer, and how to swear in Arabic. And me—most of the time I'm with Leehee. Kneller's got these bikes in his storeroom, and we go biking a lot. She told me about how she offed. Turns out she didn't kill herself at all. She just OD'd. Somebody talked her into shooting up. It was the first time for both of them, and they probably botched it. That's why she's convinced it's all a mistake and that if she could just find one of the people in charge and explain, they'd transfer her out of here right away. Truth is, I don't think she has a chance of finding anyone like that, but I think I'd better not tell her. Leehee asked me not to talk about it to anyone, but I told Uzi, and
Uzi said it was a crock of shit, and that nobody gets here by mistake. I told him what Kneller says about how this whole place is one big mistake and that if the place is so flaky that a pool ball can turn into an egg then why couldn't it also be true that Leehee got here by mistake. “Y'know what this reminds me of?” Uzi mumbled, stuffing his face with a grilled cheese sandwich. “It reminds me of those movies where they throw the good guy in the slammer and all those other people keep telling him how they're there by mistake and that they're really innocent, but you take one look at them and you can see they're guilty as hell. You know I'm crazy about Leehee, but what's all this crap about OD'ing? D'you ever see anyone in Tel Aviv shoot up? They pee in their pants about a tetanus shot. They see a needle and pass out.” “It's not like she's a druggie or anything,” I said. “It was her first time.” “Her first time?” Uzi took a sip of his coffee. “Believe me, Mordy, nobody dies from a first time, no matter of what, unless they want to real
bad.”