The Heyday of the Insensitive Bastards by Robert Boswell

Author:Robert Boswell [Boswell, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781555975241
Publisher: Graywolf Press
Published: 2009-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

CITY BUS

Helen Swann shivers in shirtsleeves at the bus stop, coatless and confident the day will warm. The city bus, as it lumbers toward her, cracks the ice that lines the gutter. Frost nubs its broad, bald forehead and clouds the immense windshield. Like glaucoma, Helen thinks. It’s one of the old buses, which means the brakes will shriek and the heat won’t work. She boards at City Self-Storage, a concrete bunker directly across from her apartment building. She rents units on either side of the street. From the front window of her living room, she can see the corrugated metal door of her storage shed. This fact pleases her. The vehicle’s brakes bleat, and something under the great body rattles. The morning air is the gray of doves’ wings.

The driver slumps behind the steering wheel, his head bulging beneath his city cap as if it were screwed on too tight. His name is probably Otis, but his name tag bears an extraneous u (Outis), and at each scheduled stop he bellows not the street corner but merely Out, as if to confirm his complicity in a divine pattern. He is her least favorite driver. His hand rests on the steel knob that operates the door, the first two fingers tobacco-stained to the second knuckle as if dipped daily in a secret vat. He keeps his eyes on the asphalt, does not nod or smile as she boards, the bus accelerating as the doors whip shut, his aftershave as pungent as poison.

The few passengers already aboard, veterans all, avert their eyes as Helen navigates the rocking aisle. She feels the urge to hike her skirt to her neck to see if any head will turn. They space themselves about the bus, each in a separate stall. Helen sits equidistant from the fleece cap three seats ahead and the fur coat three behind, inclining her head against the chilly window as the behemoth carrying them plods around a corner.

The view is too familiar to seem remarkable, and yet she looks for evidence of hidden splendor. High above her, the sun notches a gloomy body of clouds. Snow lingers in north-facing lawns and the scant sunlight makes it sparkle. Winter is finally coming to an end. The channel nine meteorologist has promised it. His kind voice and sly face (as if he knows more weather than he’s letting on) visit her apartment five nights a week. She wears no coat as testament to her faith in him. He is a central figure in her secret life.

The bus slows and stops. Cars huddle at the traffic light, a woolly frost layering their backs. Helen’s mother died earlier in the year, and Helen had not wanted to fly across the country to go through the possessions. A moving company delivered it all to City Self-Storage. The van was full, and she advised the men to stack the boxes to the ceiling. When she came home from work, she discovered that the crates and furniture filled only the back wall of the shed.

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