Chapter 6

Jared settled into his seat and carefully packed his chips, Coke and Junior Mints in the seat-back pouch.  He adjusted his back, stretched out his legs, and muttered to himself, “Greyhound’s gonna cash in on this marketing test.”

He smiled as the above-the-aisle TV screens came alive with a look-a-like of the old Pan Am version of meet-and-greet.  This time it was a packaged Central Casting bus driver type, complete with graying temples, a new, and improved, they would say, uniform of comforting pale blue.  Even the voice sounded like it could have been the last voice-over of Don LaFontaine: “In a world where transportation choices and comfort are either at a price most can’t afford, or too cramped for most to endure, welcome to Greyhound’s Concorde Fleet of affordable luxury bus travel.”

The screen dissolved into a travelogue of Southwestern sights that would be visible in just a couple of hours through the bay-window upgrades the buses now claimed.  As the bus filled with an eclectic group of moms, pops, kids and college students, a uniformed Native American Marine took the seat next to Jared. 

He didn’t know why, but Jared found himself suddenly quiet and feigned tiredness with the closing of his eyes.

Sam’s written instructions to the next bank were clear, but the original funds made available by him in the first Los Angeles box might be it for all Jared knew.  Savings had never been a top priority in his life, so getting lucky with a Greyhound “Discover the USA” couldn’t have come at a better time. 

As he thought about the comfort question of twenty-three hours from LA to Taos, the two-hundred eighty-eight dollar round trip fare made it all seem warm and fuzzy.  All that was really missing was the feel of Spot’s tail idly tapping his pant leg, hinting for a scratch behind the ear, a ploy the dog had learned as a sure sucker-punch. 

He drifted off for a much-needed nap.  The sound of almost imperceptible chanting in the adjacent seat reminded him that he’d never spent any time with Native Americans, let alone hours in a sweat lodge—the next run-of-the-mill meeting place where he would experience Pakwa, sure to be yet another of Sam’s inordinate friends.

***

What is it about a bus that brings out the pocket fuz we’ve not noticed for ages…the kind we unconsciously keep manipulating until it’s a wad too big to ignore?  That was the strategy Jared concentrated on as the restless dreaming head next to him seemed determined to make captive the subconscious demons that drove the man’s head closer and closer to Jared’s unwelcoming shoulder.

A quick move would have avoided the collision, but...the man bolted upright, eyes blinking like a projector’s shutter blade, and burst forth with,  “Son of a bitch.  Crazy motherfuckin’…”  He sat upright, rubbed his eyes and straightened his tie.  After checking his pockets for wallet and cigarettes, he took a deep breath.  “Sorry for the bad Indian talk.  Sorry.”

“Hey,” said Jared with a smile.  Better than listening to that driver with his boring travelogue.”

Rubbing his eyes, he offered, “Name’s Edward, but I prefer ‘Pump.’”

Jared nodded.  “Pump it is.  Jared.”

Pump extended his prosthetic hand.  “Sorry.”

Jared hesitated a split second, then shook his hand.  “Okay, man.”

Casually retrieving his hand, he said, “Oh, hell…not this fuckin’ blessing.  I apologize for my nightmare crap.”

 Jared awkwardly glanced away and tried to return a relaxed nod.  “Hey, sure.   Got my own dreamy shit too.”

Pump turned back toward the front of the bus.  “Yeah.  Gotta be happy it never turns up like mine.”

“Iraq?”

Pump nodded.  “Long time ago.”

Jared looked at his medals.  “Headin’ home?”

“Well, kinda.  Prosthetic specialist and a new one of these…advanced tech gonna make me a hand that can grip like Iron Man, so they say.  Still a fuckin’ stump.”

Jared turned back to the window.  “Hey, just trying to make chit chat.  No problem.”

Pump got up and made for the vertical coffin they called a toilet.  Jared kept vigil on the passing landscape.  Dirt, dirt and more dirt.  At least it was starting to turn toward orange although he figured the real stuff was a few hours away.  Having never been into the Southwest, Jared started feeling his usual discomfort with the unfamiliar. 

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his cell phone and dialed.  “Lilong…Jared.  Good.  You?  Yeah, well, on this bus heading for Taos.  New Mexico.  Yeah, well, God knows what’s next, so I’m trying to get used to this destination.  Spot.  How’s the little guy?  Hey, he’s only sixty-five pounds.  Had him on a diet and…Genghis.  Should have known.  Who won?  Typical.  He’s a pussy when it comes to cats.  No.  Christ, no.  A few scratches he’ll survive.  Vet costs could put me in the poor house.”

Pump returned and sat down. 

Jared turned toward the window, wrapping up his call.  “So, give’m a hug for me.  Tell him I miss him and all those wet kisses, hear?  Yeah.  You too.  Bye.”  Putting the phone back in his pocket, he turned back to Pump, who had a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

Jared, flashing back on his last few words, shook his head.  “Hey, man.  Just a dog.  Just a dog.”

“Whatever,” said Pump with a grin.

“So, you look better,” said Jared with one-upmanship.

Pump adjusted in his seat.  “Amazing what a good dump can do.”

“Yeah…amazing is the word.”

“So, where you headin’?”

“Taos,” said Jared.

“Small world.  Me too.  Got some time to kill ‘for them doctors start playin’ God again.”

“Really.  You from Taos?”

“Kinda.”

“Uh huh.  So…where are you ‘kinda’ from elsewhere?”

“Grew up in LA ‘til I joined up.”

“And Taos?”

“Where my girl was from.”

“Was.  Split, huh?”

“Kinda.  Coulda’ been a widower.  We were gonna tie the knot on next leave.  But…she caught an IED on that tour.”

“Sorry.”

“No problem.  She wanted to die anyway.”

“Pardon?  I mean…”

“Why am I going back there?  She’s got a brother all fucked up.  Gonna see if he’s salvageable.”

“As in?”

“Sleeps in a cave outside of town.  Just him and his assortment of bongs.”

“Oh, that kind of fucked up.”

“Yeah.  Makes war look like kid’s play sometimes.”

“You’ve visited him before?”

“Several.  This is a bad one.  A girl friend of his phoned me, said he was huntin’ with bow and arrow, eating raw snake and coyote, smelling about the same, and making trips into town astride his pinto, middle of the night like Sitting Bull storming Custer.  Leaving arrows stuck all over the place.  Walls, trees, tires of cars, real mess.  Then whoosh.  Back to his cave to make new arrows and get more stinky.”

Jared grinned.  “Whoa.  What’s he smokin’?”

“Shit I brought back from Iraq.  Shoulda known better, but, fuck.  The other kind of shit happens, you know?  So…what you all about?”

“Oh…me?  Nothin’ compared to you.”  He gestured toward the medals.  “Got yourself a few, eh?”

“Just bullshit.  Couple of Purple Hearts, Silver Star.  The usual for a crazy Indian.”

Jared chuckled.  “So, if you’re crazy, what’s your brother-in-law?”

“Insane.  If it wasn’t that he’s Apache like me, I’d have dissed his ass long ago.”

“Well folks,” said the bus driver over the speaker, “we just passed through Farmington, New Mexico.  Should make it to Taos in a little over two hours.  Might want to get some nap-time so you’re wide awake for the night life.  Happy snoozing.”

Pump rolled his eyes.  “Night life.  Only night life goin’ on there is what Little Frog’s providin’.”

“Little Frog being?”

“Boy in cave,” chortled Pump.  “Well, been nice chattin’.  I’m gonna take the driver up on that nap.  Gonna be a long night.  Pump over and out.”

“Sure.  Hey, uh, the nick name?”

“Yeah?”

“How’d …what does it stand for?”

“Got myself some new pipes and vents…plumbing for the heart and a lung transplant.  The IED that took her out, left me with a few damaged parts.”

“Fuck… I mean, sorry,” said Jared.

“Hey…just more bullshit.  See you in Taos.”

Sleep eluded Jared this day.  Staring out the window, all he could focus on were Pump’s medals reflecting off the fading sun.   Pump’s word “Bullshit” was taking on a new meaning.