My eyes stopped on two female passengers sitting next to each other. As though withdrawing completely from our miserable world, their bodies were swathed from head to foot in dark baggy clothes with holes for the eyes. They seemed more like owls, or two frightened aliens from outer space.
I decided that all of them were oppressed and humiliated, but had remarkable powers of endurance. Absorbed in thinking about this aspect of the situation, I didn't notice someone had come up beside me until he stepped on my toes.
I was standing next to a plump, middle-aged woman. Almost plastered against her back was a giant in a shirt partially unbuttoned so as to show off his chest. He was looking out the window, feigning absentmindedness. The woman moved ceaselessly in an effort to keep away from him, which made her bump against me.
I made as much room for her as I could in the crowd. I watched-as did most of those around us-the minute space between his leg and her behind. He had bent his knee forward a little to aggravate her. I could only raise my eyes to him in complete disapproval.
I'm the first to admit I have a thing for that protruding part of the female body and am an aficionado of stolen moments in a crowd. From my point of view, this behavior, which some may condemn and which arises from our reality and independent character, is nothing other than an Arab substitute for Western dancing in which people pursue such business face-to-face.
But our national substitute fulfills a more complex role than the mere release of repressed desires. It is a successful way of fighting the boredom arising from overcrowding and frequent long delays in streets jammed with private cars. Likewise, for me, it is an important means of releasing tension and one method of acquiring knowledge.
A woman is a mysterious creature, the object of a thousand speculations, especially if she appears haughty and hostile, until, at the light brush of a leg, she suddenly reveals herself by indicating her consent or objection.
However, for this practice I set myself an important rule which distills the essence of the ensuing pleasure. This rule was also in accordance with one of the moral principles I had imposed on myself: to avoid hurting others. The first or second brush of my leg against anyone's behind suffices for a connoisseur like myself to tell whether the woman shares my secret pleasure. If not, I lose interest in her.
My principle made me disapprove of his behavior toward the woman. More than once she had indicated in no uncertain terms that she disliked the proposition the giant was making by repeatedly brushing her with his leg.
It was apparent he subscribed to other moral principles. He ignored her distress and attempts to avoid him. Indeed, he persisted in touching her, which made her protest openly.
She suddenly turned to him and said agitatedly, "I wish you'd cut it out."
He was astonished, then exploded loudly, "Cut what out, lady?"
"You know what I mean!" she snapped.
Silence fell in the bus. The passengers glanced to ward them, smiles of amusement and enjoyment on most lips.
The man raised his hand, slapped her face roughly, and shouted, "You whore!"
The woman sank onto the passenger beside her, pressed her hand to her cheek, and burst out sobbing. None of the passengers moved a muscle.
The giant spoke without addressing anyone in particular, "The way some people behave these days!"
I don't usually let myself get into situations I'm not physically up to. However, since the morning when I hadn't been able to speak my mind to the Committee, I had been seething and I hadn't even benefited from my meekness. On top of that, I hadn't been able to turn the tables on the Coca-Cola vendor who had robbed me. Likewise, the crowd and the heat grated on my nerves. In short, matters came to a head.
It's not inconceivable that I drew courage from facing one person rather than the whole Committee. Since they had been following the matter from the beginning and knew full well what had happened, I may also have been encouraged by imagining that all the passengers would leap to my aid. Perhaps out of religious or moral considerations they would condemn the giant's sexual behavior, or disapprove of his striking a defenseless woman, or simply stand by the truth.
I found myself unexpectedly addressing the giant, "The woman has a valid complaint."
He stared in disbelief and asked threateningly, "What are you getting at?"
I said firmly, "I saw you plastering yourself against her. When she didn't respond, you should have left her alone."
"Liar!" he screamed. "I think you two are in cahoots."
I looked at the bystanders and persisted, "I'm not the only one who saw what happened."
Suddenly everyone looked the other way, some at things along the route, whereas others just turned their backs. My adversary didn't wait for anyone to take his part, but decided to finish the matter quickly. He threw a knockout punch and hit me in the face, throwing me onto some seated passengers.
Before I could recover from the effects of this blow, which made me see stars and made the world spin before my eyes, he pulled me by my forearms and shoved me again. My shoulder hit one of the metal poles. I lost my balance. I saw I would fall on my face, so I stretched out my right hand. My weight landed full on it as I hit the floor.
I felt a sharp pain in my forearm. The giant had plunged headlong after me, cursing my forefathers. Two of the passengers got between us. Several tried to soothe him, as though it was I who had acted unjustly.
I heard someone say to him, "Calm down. A cat in heat and a fag. Your virility aroused them and they picked a quarrel with you. Why sweat blood over them?"
While this exchange was going on, the bus came to a stop. The passengers freed me and pushed me toward the door saying, "Get off while the getting's good."
Automatically I got off the bus and stood in the street looking at my disheveled clothing. When I tidied myself up, the pain shooting up my arm made me notice the strange position it was in, twisted at the elbow. The bones of the joint were visibly out of place.
I hurried to look for the nearest hospital where I could have it treated cheaply at an outpatient clinic. I found one, but the doctor wasn't in. I waited so long I got fed up. If it hadn't been for the pain that seared through my forearm at the slightest movement, I would have gone home without thinking twice about its strange position.
After almost an hour, a medic approached me and let me know that it was too late for the doctor to show up. If I urgently needed him, he was now at his nearby private practice.
I tipped him for his advice and went at once to the doctor's clinic. After paying five pounds at the door, I entered a fashionable, air-conditioned room where soft European music played.
Having examined me thoroughly, the doctor relieved my mind by saying that the bones had shifted out of position at the elbow but that it was not at all serious. By pressing with his hand, which hurt, he pushed the bones back into place, then wrote me a prescription for some pain killers.
I set off for my apartment, climbed wearily to the seventh floor, and immediately took refuge in bed. I gave myself up to a deep sleep until the pain in my arm drew me back to consciousness. I tried some of the pain killers, to no avail. Although the pain wasn't extreme, it was persistent. I had a lot of things I needed to do right away, which, thanks to the little time left me, required my total concentration. When the pain continued into the next day and prevented me from thinking, I was forced to go back to the doctor.
I was surprised when the medic who admitted the patients asked me to pay one pound. I said, "But I paid a whole five pounds only yesterday."