Betsy's Destiny by Richard F. Bernard

Author:Richard F. Bernard [Bernard, Richard F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781426991547
Publisher: Trafford Publishing
Published: 2008-02-03T05:00:00+00:00

All of this commotion alerted the driver. Running out, he quickly shooed away the dozens of youngsters surrounding Betsy, as her lights flashed off and on and her chassis jiggled wildly.

“What are you doing to my bus?” he shouted. “Get off! Get away!” He opened the door and climbed in, expecting to catch the one who was operating the switches. He was stunned to discover that there was no one, just a twinkling dashboard and a gentle rocking of the shock absorbers. He looked out and saw the peering eyes of dozens of small street urchins.

“Get away from here!” he shouted and immediately sat down and started Betsy’s engine. “What’s with this bus?” he said to himself. “Gomez never mentioned any electrical trouble.” He tried all the switches. Everything worked. Nothing wrong.

“Someone reached inside to do this,” he thought. “Darn kids! Where are their parents, anyway!” With that, he motioned for clearance in the street and drove off.

The children stared at Betsy as she disappeared in the distance. For days after this little village buzzed with the story about “El autobus que baila en la calle” with children mimicking Betsy as she “danced in the street.” For Betsy it was a relief just to be herself, even if only for a few minutes.

On and on they drove, always toward the south. Betsy’s yellow sides now had a brown tone, the accumulated stain of dust and rain. The rains were more frequent now, coming often in the late afternoon. It was nearly four days since her departure from Juarez. Betsy was beginning to show new signs of wear and tear.

Once, on a high mountain road, she had nearly missed a curve as her driver braked quickly to avoid other vehicles. Betsy had scraped alongside a guardrail and had badly bruised one of her side rub-rails. At a safe stopping place a few miles later, the driver examined the damage, swearing to himself.

“¡Aiyee! The owners in Morelia won’t like this at all. Maybe my mechanic friend in Leon can help. Damn!” He gave Betsy’s right rear tire a hard kick. Betsy resented this.

“Oof!” She wiggled. The driver stared, open-mouthed. His face darkened with anger. He kicked Betsy again. This time she really showed her displeasure.

“Blare! Blare!” Betsy’s horn sounded and sounded, a continuously noisy “Blare!” The driver ran to the front, lifted the hood and began checking all her electrical wiring. Nothing he could do stopped the blaring. Betsy’s anger cooled to amusement as she watched her tormentor struggle with the horn’s wiring.

Then, just as suddenly as the horn had started, it stopped. The driver stepped back, sweating and swearing. He slammed the hood down. As a parting gesture, he kicked the left front tire. Betsy started the horn again!

“¡Aiyee!” he shouted, taking off his hat and throwing it on the ground. That gesture satisfied Betsy. Her horn stopped blaring. The driver stood there, hands on hips.

“OK, bus. I’ve had enough, understand?” Betsy was really amused. It made her think of Marge and their first encounter.

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