beautiful should not like mirrors. He pondered this a long time. And time became elastic as he pondered. He lost himself in thought, and he lost himself in space. He was no longer in the bus, but in a magical world, a world that made him smile. He was within happiness itself, within its secret castle. When he came to, he found that the bus had stopped. It was the end of the journey. They all filed down. The men she was with regarded him darkly. When they had all got down on the dusty road, one of the men turned to him and asked what he meant by talking to the young woman.
‘Nothing,’ he said.
Then he apologised. The man grew angry at the apology: it seemed to confirm guilt. He got steamed up, he talked in a loud voice. He addressed the other men, and appealed to their common roots. The men crowded the boy. They were all shouting. Then a tall gangly man among them, a bit of a fool, set up his fists like a boxer in a comic movie. He began to jump around the boy. The men egged him on.
The boy was perplexed. He had no idea how things had come to this point. While the shadow-boxing went on around him, he caught a glimpse of the young woman. She was hidden behind the men. Confused, he felt a punch whistle past his face. Swiftly, he set up his fists too. Before he knew it he was grappled to the ground, his feet kicking the air. A heavy weight and smelly work clothes pressed down on him. Bad breath fanned his face. Bristles stabbed his cheek. There were voices all around, hollering.
Then, suddenly, he found himself standing up. His father, who was the bus driver, was beside him, shouting, waving his arms, defending his son.
‘My son meant nothing by it. What does he know? Harmless questions. A polite young man. Gave up his seat. Meant nothing by it.’
‘So you say,’ one of the men cried. ‘He’s old enough to do enough damage. They start earlier and earlier these days.’
The voices flew back and forth. The boy stood there, a boy among men. The other school boys were a short way off, staring, whispering among themselves.
Then Reggio’s father found a solution.
‘I will solve this problem,’ he said. ‘I will solve it now.’
‘How?’ they asked.
‘Get back on the bus. Everybody get back on the bus.’
After much discussion, in which nothing was really discussed, just voices flying out of mouths, they all trooped back on the bus. Then Reggio’s father got into the driver’s seat, started the vehicle, and they soon set off.
The young woman sat in the same place as she did before, near the window. Next to her was the man who shouted the loudest. He had a big jowled face, and severe eyes. He was squinting. He was a hard working man. Working his jaw. He looked like the word ‘honour’ in ragged clothes. He stared straight ahead. The young woman looked sideways out of the window. They did not speak. There was now a strange silence in the bus. Reggio was at the front, near his father.
The bus chugged across a bridge, past an orchard, an isolated villa, vineyards, a crumbling castle, and a field with a white horse staring at the sky. The bus drove past telegraph poles in meadows of blue.
Then the voices began again:
‘Where is he taking us?’
‘Yes, where is he going?’
They went on like that till they found themselves approaching a familiar place. The bus came to a halt. They were at the precise bus stop where the young woman and the men had first got on the bus. Reggio’s father swung open the door.
‘This is where you got on,’ he said to the men. ‘This is where you get off.’
There was a stunned silence. No-one moved. Then the young woman stood up. The man next to her was obliged to stand up too. She made her way down the aisle and when she got to the bus driver she stopped. Reggio did not look up at her. His father said:
‘Everything should be simple.’
The young woman smiled; and when she smiled something beautiful shone from her, like the purity of that limpid sky. Then, with a
‘Nothing,’ he said.
Then he apologised. The man grew angry at the apology: it seemed to confirm guilt. He got steamed up, he talked in a loud voice. He addressed the other men, and appealed to their common roots. The men crowded the boy. They were all shouting. Then a tall gangly man among them, a bit of a fool, set up his fists like a boxer in a comic movie. He began to jump around the boy. The men egged him on.
The boy was perplexed. He had no idea how things had come to this point. While the shadow-boxing went on around him, he caught a glimpse of the young woman. She was hidden behind the men. Confused, he felt a punch whistle past his face. Swiftly, he set up his fists too. Before he knew it he was grappled to the ground, his feet kicking the air. A heavy weight and smelly work clothes pressed down on him. Bad breath fanned his face. Bristles stabbed his cheek. There were voices all around, hollering.
Then, suddenly, he found himself standing up. His father, who was the bus driver, was beside him, shouting, waving his arms, defending his son.
‘My son meant nothing by it. What does he know? Harmless questions. A polite young man. Gave up his seat. Meant nothing by it.’
‘So you say,’ one of the men cried. ‘He’s old enough to do enough damage. They start earlier and earlier these days.’
The voices flew back and forth. The boy stood there, a boy among men. The other school boys were a short way off, staring, whispering among themselves.
Then Reggio’s father found a solution.
‘I will solve this problem,’ he said. ‘I will solve it now.’
‘How?’ they asked.
‘Get back on the bus. Everybody get back on the bus.’
After much discussion, in which nothing was really discussed, just voices flying out of mouths, they all trooped back on the bus. Then Reggio’s father got into the driver’s seat, started the vehicle, and they soon set off.
The young woman sat in the same place as she did before, near the window. Next to her was the man who shouted the loudest. He had a big jowled face, and severe eyes. He was squinting. He was a hard working man. Working his jaw. He looked like the word ‘honour’ in ragged clothes. He stared straight ahead. The young woman looked sideways out of the window. They did not speak. There was now a strange silence in the bus. Reggio was at the front, near his father.
The bus chugged across a bridge, past an orchard, an isolated villa, vineyards, a crumbling castle, and a field with a white horse staring at the sky. The bus drove past telegraph poles in meadows of blue.
Then the voices began again:
‘Where is he taking us?’
‘Yes, where is he going?’
They went on like that till they found themselves approaching a familiar place. The bus came to a halt. They were at the precise bus stop where the young woman and the men had first got on the bus. Reggio’s father swung open the door.
‘This is where you got on,’ he said to the men. ‘This is where you get off.’
There was a stunned silence. No-one moved. Then the young woman stood up. The man next to her was obliged to stand up too. She made her way down the aisle and when she got to the bus driver she stopped. Reggio did not look up at her. His father said:
‘Everything should be simple.’
The young woman smiled; and when she smiled something beautiful shone from her, like the purity of that limpid sky. Then, with a
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