The man on the bus
by
Bruin Fisher
I'm still a tourist here, really. Although I've
lived and worked in Kuala Lumpur two months now and I'm learning to
call it 'K-L' in conversation, I still watch through the windows of
the bus in fascination at the sights and sounds of this big, modern,
beautiful city on my journey to and from work each day. Sometimes you
get to see a glimpse of the older, colonial town, with its
picturesque villas, now falling into dilapidation and decay, no doubt
slated for demolition and to be replaced by gleaming office blocks.
There's not much of the older city left. I'm not sorry – this is a
vibrant and exciting city that has shaken off its colonial past. The
orchid gardens, the Islamic museum, the cityscape dominated by the
twin Petronas towers pointing skywards and linked at the waist like a
pair of lovers holding each other – these are the defining
characteristics of today's K-L. I love living here.
So, this
Thursday morning I've surprised myself. I've spent half the journey
watching my fellow passengers. In particular I was watching one
passenger, the shy young man who was sitting across from me, who held
me captive with his big brown eyes, wide brows, perfect complexion,
short black hair, wry smile. He got off the bus at the last stop, but
I can still picture him in my mind. Don't get me wrong, although I
was struck by the beauty of his face, there was nothing prurient
about my interest. I don't have delusions of youth, or
attractiveness. It would be interesting to talk to him, I'd like to
know how he lives, what his circumstances are, though I'm sure he has
friends his own age.
I wonder where he comes from. Everyone
here seems to come from somewhere else. About half the population
seem to be Chinese, and the rest are a big melting-pot mix of
Europeans, Indians, Australians, and ethnic Malaysians. Those big
brown eyes and coffee complexion could be from India, I think.
Will
I ever see him again? Unlikely, I think. Nevertheless, I'll make sure
I catch the same bus for a while. Tomorrow is Friday, the Islamic
Sabbath so I have the day off, but I'll be looking out for him on
Saturday. I get Sunday off too, which is nice. This Islamic country
is very tolerant of other faiths. It's a wonder I don't get Saturday
off as well in case I'm Jewish. Does anyone celebrate their sabbath
on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday? We could have the whole week
off!
So, I'm a little past my prime myself, but I still like
to look at beautiful things. Who doesn't? And from a purely aesthetic
standpoint the guy is certainly beautiful. I don't mean any harm by
it and I certainly don't wish my travelling companion any harm. But
if I see him again it will please me.
*******************
A
whole week has gone by and I haven't seen him again. It's ridiculous
– I've spent my bus journeys watching the door of the bus, checking
everyone who gets on or off. I've seen people of all shapes and
sizes, but not the boy I'm looking for. It occurs to me that he might
make his bus trip once a week rather than every day. If so, today's
when I'll see him. And I'm just a little excited. How sad is that?
I've rationalised, reassured myself that it's because I'm a stranger
here, I don't have friends yet, I'm lonely. It's quite
understandable, nothing to be ashamed of. But the truth is I'm
laughing at myself inside. I'm a grown man, there are any number of
serious issues for me to fret about, and instead I'm worrying about a
young man I don't know.
But, there he is – queueing for the
bus behind a very large woman who's having a little trouble
negotiating the step. The driver is patiently watching her heaving
herself laboriously into the bus, while the bus is causing an
obstruction to traffic, and the drivers of other vehicles are
patiently waiting for the bus to move. Everyone is very patient and
tolerant – at least compared to London.
You don't often see
obese people here – perhaps it's the diet, I don't know. But
there's a lot of respect for older people, I think, and now a man
gets up and helps her to a seat. Only once she's seated can the
slightly built young man make his way down the aisle. I'm watching
him, smiling. He catches sight of me, there's a glimmer of
recognition, I think. He walks past several empty seats and sits next
to me. “Hello,” he says, in lilting, perfect English, and fixes
me with those eyes, just for a moment, before shyly averting his
gaze.
© May 2009