I was sitting on a train about 9 years ago. It had been a while since I'd last used public transport as it was highly pleasurable driving around in an old white Chrysler Valiant AP6 circa 1965 with big windows and steel ashtrays everywhere, a classic beast of an automobile made for smokers. The train was traveling from the port town of F. where I'd just spent half the afternoon walking around looking at things as I did on a regular basis back then, en route to the city where I was thinking of doing exactly the same thing. This was the class of writer I aspired to be, a writer that walked around, looked around, sat down & wrote about the countlessly remarkable ways nothing at all happened. Writers these days write about too much.
Anyway if I remember well enough I had noticed some kind of pertuberance in the air even back in the uncrowded cafe strip where strangers still nodded when one walked by. I had sensed some kind of aggravation in the mood of the afternoon in general although I wouldnt waste anybodys time explaining this.There is nothing strange about it. Afternooons get anywhich way from time to time.
To get to the point a man with a look of extreme frustration & bloodlust boarded the train shortly after I did. A pair of lovebirds who had been behind me, immediately moved through the automatic doors into the next carriage. So there he was, - a strongly built man with brutal demeanor, fresh scars on his head and arms over scrappy black ink tattoos, leaning a little too far forward - & me in a white shirt-jack & dark gray cap with calligraphic stitching seated too squarely opposite him thinking: He would make a good portrait with his tattoos & face with the river through the glass when this damn train goes over the bridge.
Though such things mean little as they are mainly exterior the unsettled mood of his gaze did give me concern; staring me out as if to say: you give me the smallest fucking reason buddy & I WILL BE THERE IN A FLASH!! Needless to say the air between us was as warm and thick as jelly blood in an electric frying pan.
Now anything unstable - a table, a building, a man like this, could bring about a lot of regretful silliness & harm & despite my secret lifelong desire to never lose my cool on public transport I was starting to think carefully, asessing little details like the way I was seated, how he was likely to come at me when the moment broke & the disadvantage of this was he could sense it and reciprocated it by adding more of that invisible mean pressure on the space between us. Then a fly blew in, buzzing loudly around the cabin before checking on my companion's plight, repeatedly alighting for a quick scurry on his forehead. This of course set him to cursing & swinging blindly, part of him already intent on mangling the first thing to bring him grievance, which before the fly, had more than likely been me. This went on for a small eternity and though I felt blessed by the distraction I was also imagining it was just the thing to snuff all regard of reason from him & set him on a rampage that would put me on the evening news.
The fly was too small & agile though & after a while, probably disenchanted with such brute mindlessness it flew over to my side of the carriage & crawled into my ear humming something unbearably trivial. Of course a part of me didnt want to move too suddenly and add to the man's agitation. There is some manner of explanation provided for this in treatises concerning the art of bullfighting. Or so I think. I kept looking out the window of the train, watching my fellow passenger in my peripheral and trying to track the fly's buzzing, slowly brushing my hand through the air to wave it away when I felt it hit and drop inside my hand. I automatically crushed it with the empty headed grace of a renegade Buddhist saint and dropped its shattered wings between my shoes. I beamed politely at the man across the aisle who looked at me as if I'd just skated on two paper boats over a blood-colored whirlpool & quietly turned his gaze away. Needless to say the rest of the afternoon was uneventful, just the way I like it. Thats all. I could probably add that when I got to the city I dropped into a bar known to be the hang out of gangsters and murderers and bought a quick shot of single malt in honor of the fly before going about the rest of my business but of course, I'd simply be making it up. And you know, what reason have I got in the world to do such a crazy thing?
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