At the Bus-Stop

by Karen Overman-Edmiston

lived a life in which everything has had meaning, everything is more than it seems. I have been full, engaged, but only at centre. My extremities seem pale, tepid.' Salek lost his position on the seat. He fell on to one knee. He dropped the bag from his coat, scrambled to save it, succeeded, and set about pulling himself back on to the wooden slats of his seat. One of the women sitting at the bus-stop across the road saw what had happened.

  She nudged the woman beside her, 'Pathetic, isn't it?'

  Her companion agreed. And they set about consolidating their friendship with a joint tirade on people who didn't, people who did, people, people, anyone apart from themselves. Hidden from the sunset, cut off from the apocalyptic scenes just behind the bus shelter, the garden wall, they banded together against the world, as people do, and carved out a niche just for themselves. Full of warmth and vitriol, glued companionably by their shared bigotries, they scooped out a handful of dirt, nestled themselves into the hollow, and missed out on the paradise just behind them. They faced each other, they faced ignorance, and they outfaced heaven at their backs.

  They contracted to serration, cut through the old man across the road from them, then snapped in tight upon themselves. Friendship: infrangible, clasped, exclusive. Welcome to my territory. Bring all your terrors, your bigotries, your dreams, and we will share them.

  Salek regained his position on the seat. He felt the bag, the bottle, to make sure there had been no breakages. He looked down at his hands, spread out his fingers, clenched them tight to hide their paleness in white.

  I know thy works, thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot ... So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth.

  Salek looked up, terrified. Frightened that he would be judged cold; fearful of setting the record straight.

  Clouds reared up, they drew in and alchemized the light thrown off by the sun. Twisted the light, tormented it into colours, crushed it into molten pours, cast it off into livid pinks, terrors of gold, mauves wild with pain.

  'It is upon me,' whispered Salek, terrified, 'it is upon me,' and he gulped his wine as a potion, a charm.

  Behold I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.

  Salek lifted his cup slowly, tentatively, deliberately. And still it had not, would not, finish.

  'I was just a small boy,' whispered Salek, the door ajar, 'I was just a child.'

  Now the clouds threw down arms, tore light from the sun, tore it up and hurled strips through and past their own substance.

  ... behold, a door was opened in heaven ... I will show thee things which must be hereafter ... a rainbow about the throne, in sight like unto an emerald ... twenty elders clothed in white raiment ... crowns of gold ... lightnings and thunderings and voices ... a sea of glass like unto crystal ... beasts full of eyes ... lion ... calf ... flying eagle ... holy, holy, holy ...

  'I was just a child,' Salek sobbed, 'you can't do that to children. You mustn't damage the soft ones, mustn't damage the gentle women, the gentle men, the gentle children, the little ones,' Salek tried to whisper, but his words came out as water.

  And still the clouds kept tearing light from the sun, pitching it off into darkness: gold, mauve, deep blue, burgundy. And the blue of Salek's eyes darkened, and in them storms brewed.

  ... in the right hand of him who sat on the throne a book written within and on the backside, sealed with seven seals.

  The storms within Salek grew, came in on a front of fury.

  The seals, one by one, were broken.

  And when he had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour.

  Salek sat noiseless. The three women − tired by talk, laughter, vehemence − sat silent. The clouds, the sky, each star in its set path, moved silently. In silence roared trumpets, in silence the stars fell from their arcs, in silence rose smoke and fell locusts.

  'Do you know what I did for my father?' said Salek to the skies, 'I collected the blows.

  'When he was hurt by other people − I collected the blows.

  'When he was ashamed of his own nature − I collected the blows.

  'When he was held up to the angels by his dream in adolescence, and saw himself a weak, dissipated thing − I collected the blows.

  'When he promised me the world, came as a god, and gave me only his hurt − I collected the blows.

  'When he began to hate himself, was neutered, was shorn, he turned his fury on me − and I collected the blows.

  'I was not yet full, I had no covering, I was a small boy who tried to please. I tried to be quiet even as I collected the blows. I tried not to cry, so I wouldn't upset him, as the blows fell. How much is a child supposed to do, how much is enough when you are a small uncovered thing, not yet full, a small vulnerable part of a thing not yet strong with maturity? How many blows would ever make an ending? When were they going to stop?'

  One woe is past; and, behold, there came two more woes hereafter.

  'They didn't stop falling upon me even when he died,' whispered Salek, 'he set up reverberations that tormented throughout my life. I ate books and my belly was bitter and sore.

  'How do you free yourself from such damage? I am a weak man, desirous of protection. And what have I protected − softness, fineness? No, I have protected a fury, I have protected a rage. He bequeathed me a ferocity at injustice that has rendered me useless. In order to live a life, I have hidden myself away. I am solitary. My pleasures, my pains, are solitary. My sharing? I have shared only with myself. I do not connect. I do not hurt. I do not let myself be hurt.

  'I am all on the inside.'

  The second woe is past; and, behold, the third woe cometh quickly.

  'Life moves past me. And I watch. I make comments. I do not engage. It moves past as a series of tableaux, and I look on. Detached, outside, dislocated, I watch from beyond. I do not commit, I am lukewarm.'

  ... there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament: and there were lightnings, and voices, and thunderings, and an earthquake, and great hail.

  'On the inside?' whispered Salek, 'I am maelstrom.'

  And there appeared a great wonder in heaven; a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of twelve stars.

  'Once I was so frightened and small,' said Salek to his cup, 'I twisted the button on my blue dressing gown so much it came off. And mummy, she threw herself at the bottle.'

  And there was childbirth, and dragons, and wildernesses, and wars and, finally, a Lamb.

  'But nobody,' said Salek, 'nobody has ever, will ever, accept a blow from me. I do not cause hurt. I have withdrawn into the core of myself. And no-one, not wife, nor child, nor friend, nor enemy, gets near the core of me. This is a gift, a mulct, for myself. It is all my own.'

  And sins will be worn on the forehead. And we walked through Babylon. And there were pits, and perdition, and famines, and torment. Then an angel with a key on a golden chain casting the dragon into the bottomless pit, and setting a seal upon him that would endure for a thousand years.

  'Every day I get up from my bed,' whispered Salek, 'and gather up my storm clouds. I gather my rage up to me. I tense myself, I keep it in, I protect everyone else.'

  And the book of life was opened, and all were judged.

  'I protect everyone else. I absorb their blows. I accept their disappointments. I take in their slights, their unhappiness, draw them in to my density. All this pain to carry off at my death.'

  And death and hell were cast into the lake of fire.

  'The density,' said Salek, 'gravity upon gravity, slips out, seeps out through ulcers, through the unnatural rhythm of my heart. But still I take on the flaws of others, hold them in, let them walk away relieved of their burdens, their spites, their needs.

  'The weakest have always hurt me the most ferociously.'
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  And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.

  And Salek raged. Salek rose up, as a pillar. Against the darkness, against the shadows, against the light. Salek raged. In softness, in silence, Salek raged.

  'You crush a small boy,' he whispered, 'you produce a small man. You damage a gentle boy, you damage a quiet thing, you make a closed, tight man, a man who hides, a man who is silent, who steals away in silence and shadows. Damage an open, gentle boy, and you produce a man condensed by fear into a shadow seeking shade. You turn a life in on itself, a black hole each successive year growing more and more condensed, more intense, only less alive than a scream. No movement on the outside − a life quiet, still, a series of hesitant movements held together by the desire to protect, no energy left to embrace, take in others, become bigger on the outside by comprehending other lives. But what fury on the inside, what ferocity at centre.

  'I believe the greatest damage is done in silence, the worst lies told without words. The most damaging of actions are carried out privately; misinforming, half-truths, un-informing,' mouthed Salek, noiselessly. 'Goodness is propelled by energy, as is evil. The greatest evils are allowed to occur by enervation, apathy, a lack of energy. The most damaging of actions are completed when no-one steps in to stop them. Evil thrives when no-one raises a finger to stop it, hold it back,