Fools Gold: The Dream Traveler Book Four by Ernesto H Lee

Author:Ernesto H Lee [H Lee, Ernesto]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-08T22:00:00+00:00

The Past – Saturday, February 4th, 1984

“Oy, cloth ears! Are you getting on or what?”

The voice reminds me of my uncle, but the bus conductor looking down on me is at least ten years older than my uncle was when he passed away.

Confused, I look around and then ask the conductor where I am. Amused at my question, he turns to the bus driver and raises his eyebrows, “Here we go, another one on drugs.” Then turning back to me, he says, “If you took those bloody ridiculous glasses off, you might be able to see where you are going, son. Now, are you getting on or not? We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

Not knowing where I am and with no other choice, I get on the bus and ask the conductor where it is going. “I need to get to Fulham High Street. Is this going anywhere near there?”

The conductor smiles and says, “Luckily for you, yes, it is, young man. Single or return?”

I hand him the money for a single and he hands me my ticket. “We won’t get to Fulham High Street for another ten minutes. You might as well take a seat.”

The lower level of the bus is almost completely full, so I make my way to the upper deck and find a seat next to an elderly Sikh gentleman, who politely nods as I sit down.

A few minutes later we arrive at the next stop and there is a short commotion on the lower level before the bus continues its journey. A few seconds later, three teenage boys wearing Chelsea colors appear at the top of the stairs. One of them is chanting something about up the blues, and all three are swigging from cans of Tennent’s extra strength lager. Spotting an opening, they stagger down the aisle and to my dismay sit down in the row of seats directly behind me. Barely thirty seconds pass before the expected torrent of abuse starts.

“Hey, how do you stop a Paki from drowning?” one of the teenagers shouts loudly enough for the whole top deck to hear.

“Take yer foot off his head,” another of them shouts to the amusement of his mates. Then he adds, “What about this one? Why do Pakis smell?”

When his friends don’t answer, he bursts out laughing and answers for them, “So the blind can hate them too.”

The old Sikh gentleman is doing his best to ignore the jibes, but when one of the boys leans forward and whispers, “Smelly Paki fuck” in his ear, he turns around to face his abuser.

“I am Indian, not Pakistani, you ignorant fool. India and Pakistan are two completely different countries.”

As expected, his reprimand does nothing to diffuse the situation. Instead I can feel the atmosphere get noticeably more tense and I know that I need to step in. Forgetting for a moment that I am wearing shades and a white Armani suit, I turn around to warn the boys off. Instead of looking worried, they look at me with amusement.

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