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THE BUS TO VACHY

The crowded bus pulled lazily out of the square on this sunny summer morning.  It was a long climb out of the valley town and the frequent stops allowing the egress and ingress of passengers, didn’t give the driver much opportunity to maintain any forward momentum.  The slight, thin faced, stubble-chinned, uniformed, conductor wearily made his way between the passengers collecting their fares and issuing tickets from a machine slung around his shoulder, on a sturdy leather strap.

He arrived, eventually, before the young English hiker whose bulky rucksack rested on the floor between his stocky suntanned legs.

“Fares”, said the conductor.

The Englishman held out a ticket, which he had purchased at the bus station before boarding.

“That is person only.  I must have 200 lira for the sack”, the conductor said pointing to the rucksack.

The young Englishman put his left hand into the pocket of his khaki shorts and pulled out an assortment of coins which he displayed to the conductor in his open palm.

The conductor regarded the display and looking up to the young man proclaimed, “No, no, too little. Too little money.  Come si chiama questo?  Piu denaro, per favour.”

“It’s all I have”, retorted the young man, with a shrug of his shoulders.

“No, no, you need more,” repeated the conductor.

“This is all the Italian money that I have”.

“It no good,” said the conductor, showing signs of frustration.

“Well”, said the young man, “I don’t have any more Italian currency and I am leaving your country today, so I’m not planning on getting any more, so you are welcome to take what I have.  That’s all that I can offer.  It is extraordinary that you should charge for the sack at all, it’s not taking up a seat, and the ticket office at the bus station said nothing about paying extra for luggage when I bought my ticket last night.”  He knew that the intransigent conductor would not understand all, or any, of what he said, but he thought that it was better to attempt an explanation rather than remain dumb.

The conductor, now redder of face and with beads of sweat beginning to run from under the brim of his ill-fitting ostentatiously fashioned peaked cap and down his cheek, looked up to the English passenger and opened his mouth as if to speak again but stopped and looked round at the other passengers with pleading expression.

A woman pushed her way passed other standing passengers toward the two contestants, put her hand on the conductor’s shoulder and address the young man. “He say you must pay.”

The Englishman held out his ticket toward her.

The Italian woman began again, “he say you pay now for sack, er, er, rucksack”, she said pointing to the rucksack on the floor.

The conductor said something to her in Italian and she once more turned to the young hiker and said, “he say he has to collect money from everybody.  It his job. If you not pay you must get off bus.”

The hiker explained his circumstance again to the woman.  Emphasising that at the end of the bus journey he would be walking over the mountain pass and into Switzerland.  The coins in his hand were the only Italian money that he had and since he would be leaving Italy in a couple of hours or so, he was not planning to get any more Italian currency.
 
He turned to the conductor and repeated his offer, “I’m afraid, old chap, that I cannot make you a better offer, take or leave it”

At this point the bus stopped and the driver turned round and called down the crowded vehicle.  “You must pay or he will lose his job.”

The Englishman laughed.

Kjh  05-10-04