Sumsar
A constant rumbling sound made it hard to sleep. The only thing otherwise noticeable was a loud *thump* — like a big truck running over a small animal. Every ten seconds or so the sound emerged through the monotone rumbling; *thump*, ’thump*, *thump*, like a woodpecker of leviathan-proportions knocking on a hollow tree. Knocking on the whole world.
Removing my leather jacket — that had served as something resembling a blanket for my upper body— I slowly opened my eyes. Reality was more simple than so; there was no giant Picidae, wreaking havoc on the world as we knew it. It was nothing but the big old rusty bus; going over holes in the bad roads that were leading me out of southwestern France. I was going to the northern part of Spain, the Basque country.
I rubbed some sleep out of my eyes and sipped from a hip flask, even though I didn’t quite feel like it. The flask was silver plated and the light reflected off of it and hit my eyes. On it, it said; “Liberté, égalité, fraternité”, which I probably assumed meant something like ”Love, Engage, Fuck” — But, I hadn’t stopped to double-check since I bought it in some little touristy shop in Paris, three weeks ago.
The French countryside passed me by outside the window. I tried spotting as many vineyards as possible in the sunny mountain environment, and they never ceased to bore me. Maybe it was due to having been told so much about how beautiful the french vineyards were. Perhaps, I expected more than was fair of them. Behind the vague veil of romanticism. a vineyard was nothing but someone’s workplace.
As the bus moved on, my head was bobbing slowly up and down, my eyes slowly but surely being drowned in the avalanche of my tired eyelids. Sleep was slowly overpowering me, but every time my eyes closed and I started to drift away, the sensation of falling woke me up with a jolt. I aggressively switched my position in the uncomfortable polyester-covered seat, and halfway laying down I tried to fall asleep again.
I had been traveling for a few months now, constantly moving from place to place, and the missing sleep I had accumulated was starting to catch up with me.
Not for lack of trying, I realized that I couldn’t sleep. Looking around the plain old bus; the hope of spotting something that would entertain me faded quickly.
I was sitting up front close to the chauffeur; a rough-looking gentleman who made small noises, indicating he was in some kind of irritating- but tolerable pain. The narrow corridor of the bus reminded me of some of the cheap hostels I had been staying at throughout the trip, the carpeting, the dim dirty lighting, and even the people. The young backpacker-type people I had come to know quite well, but still never seemed to fully associate with. There were some Spanish people on board that I recognized as well. They got on the bus with me in Bordeaux, and they were probably all going to San Sebastian or Bilbao, same as me.
One Spanish guy in particular I recognized — and really felt quite sorry for. Which made sense as I was almost at fault for burning his magnificent beard off. His lifework, his masterpiece.
He had asked me for a lighter to ignite his cigarette to which I happily complied and handed him my zippo; one that I had just refilled. Everyone reading this who has filled a Zippo lighter to the brim before — and I mean to the point that it essentially drips with lighter fluid — is now curling their toes; knowing exactly which kind of eruption it can produce. The bearded Spanish guy? He didn’t. Before managing to warn him in my broken Spanish (”El fuego, El fuego” one imagines I could’ve managed to yell), he had already flicked the flint and I heard the big resounding *Swoosh*, seeing the spark ignite the fluid in slow motion and the big flame spawning. The flame grabbed hold of his big black beard - viciously trying to destroy it hair by hair. I could do nothing but stand witness to the immolation.
Luckily for him, it didn’t do a lot of damage as he quickly pinched the flame in his beard. A little smoke came off it though, and the smell of burned hair was undeniable. This was why Prometheus was punished for giving humans the power of fire, I thought.
-Oh wow, he said with huge flabbergasted eyes — holding his beard to see if some had come off. The rapid pace of the situation had me lost for words. I just stood there perplexed.
-Grande, was all I managed to say while motioning panicky with my hand -checking for signs in his face as to whether or not he would hit me. He handed back the lighter and took the cigarette to his mouth
-Gracias, he said in a gratifying voice; and took a big drag of the cigarette before walking back to where he had first stood — put in his earpods — and stood bopping his head to the music. I watched him standing there, unfaced — running his hands through his beard once again. I seemed to be in a greater shock than he was, and I thought that was very Spanish of him. Dios mio.
Next to the guy I almost incinerated sat a Spanish lady in navy blue uniform. I recognized her as well. But how? Then it struck me, she was the one who had sold me the bus tickets from Bordeaux to Bilbao! I had always thought visually — in pictures — and for this reason, I was unbelievably good at remembering people’s faces; something I had always been a little too proud of. That aside, the realization was quite peculiar to me. Why would the lady that sold me the bus tickets also be sitting on the same bus as me?
Something was just a little uncanny about the whole situation, and on a second viewing, all the people sitting on the bus looked familiar to me. They were my friends and family. I hadn’t seen most of them for a while, having deliberately left home to get away from that life after my mom had passed. My initial feeling was one of safety. I felt safe knowing I had these people with me, and that this was a chance to talk to them again. Tell them sorry for leaving on such short notice — sorry for making it unclear if I would ever return — and to never tell them why I left in the first place. They probably knew why, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t deserve clarification and reassurance. Everyone does.
I wanted to go join them but it seemed impossible, as my feet weren’t working. My feet aren’t working? My fucking feet aren’t working! — Am I having a stroke? I don’t want to die of a stroke - please God, please, anything but a stroke.
I was rooted in my seat. I tried yelling; “Mom! DAD! Help me, I’m stuck!”, but nothing worked. My face felt heavy, my cheeks shaking, I wanted to cry out of helplessness. All I could do was just sit there and watch, hoping that they’d eventually come to me.
I could turn my head. It was the only movement possible for me. I looked to my immediate right and to my surprise I saw — sitting on the seat next to me, with his little black fury legs crossed — Sumsar reading his newspaper. Sumsar was a grey male cat. A “Businesscat and, architect”; as he had once shown it written on his official card.
Sumsar checked his wristwatch and held onto his little black tophat that almost came off when the bus hit another hard bump on the road.
Sumsar was always late for work. Every time I ran into him, he told me he had some meeting that was starting in half an hour, or that he had to have lunch with a client, and that he was supposed to have been there 10 minutes ago - no matter the consultation, he was always late. I sometimes wondered how he had any business at all, being late all the time.
-Finally, you’re awake, he said with a sharp voice, not breaking his focus on the newspaper to look at me.
I didn’t answer, because, well… I couldn’t. Sumsar realized this — laughing like it was all just a silly joke. He clapped his small paws together, twice; Tap Tap — and just like that, I was unmuted.
-Hey Sumsar.
-Morning pal. I hate to hurry on you and all, but I’m starting to run quite late here. I have to get this show started.
-Which show?
-The show that makes it possible for me to get this bus moving. You know I have to send you back, in order for me to proceed.
-But...
-We’ve been over this, he said firmly. He always talked like he had the upper hand — like he had just closed a deal, and was just waiting for the paperwork to be signed.
-I know, but... I still don’t quite understand how...
-Shh, Here they come! Sumsar said and leaned back in the bus seat and continued reading the newspaper. I watched his face, his small round glasses that had slid down on his little nose, his whiskers popping out wildly on his face - white long hairs, which he rolled between his paws quite gentlemanly. He was thinking hard about the intriguing article he was reading in the newspaper called “Cats In Our Time”, abbreviated on the front page to “CIOT - The world of cats, every day”.
I watched him for a while, wanting to further question him and try to understand, but not only had my legs ceased to function, I had also been muted once again. I couldn’t open my mouth if I wanted to. Sumsar could do that sort of thing to you on command. He “didn’t follow the same sets of rules″ as you and I, he had explained to me not long ago.
Once again frozen in place, there was no other choice but to look around silently, waiting for Sumsar’s vision to play out.
Once again I cast my eyes down towards the bus corridor and this time I saw all the people on the bus standing up, looking back at me with great vigor. Sumsar didn’t seem to notice or care for that matter. He was still — quite content — reading his newspaper.
They, my family and friend - all stood and stared with longing eyes. They had great gaps for mouths, and the sound of air escaped the black empty holes in their countenances. It gave the impression that they were lacking air - respiring desperately not to choke.
Switching the focus of my eyes between them and Sumsar, I started shaking nervously. It reminded me of holding a speech, or doing some kind of presentation; everyone attentively and eagerly waiting for me to say something — perhaps of some value. With my voice taken from me, Sumsar had made that impossible. I was just… There. Like a passenger on an airplane experiencing turbulence, no control over the situation whatsoever.
Suddenly they all started moving - advancing uniformly as one large living unit towards my immobile body. Each marching-like step they took up the bus corridor I wanted to distance myself further. If possible, I would’ve thrown myself out of the bus window. Terror spread like metastasis in my bones as It seemed I’d be trampled by this wild horde of faces from the past — coming still closer. My sister, best friend I had lived with for a few years before leaving for this trip, an ex-girlfriend who I never really said goodbye to, and even my mom who I had recently lost, forever — they were all there.
I felt on trial as they corralled me into a corner. They looked about 4 meters tall as they stood looking over me; staring me down into a dark pit. The sound of them gasping for air made it seem like they were about to swallow me whole.
I closed my eyes with force. I felt them almost touching me now. I was ready to meet my maker — but then Sumsar intervened.
He snapped his paws with a great resounding “Click”, and the *Thump*, *Thump*, *Thump* sound that I had heard earlier came back. *Thump* Thump* *Thump* — furious as thunder. Like war drums sounding the alarms on the world.
I saw in a flash the great forges that created the universe, being worked relentlessly. For each loud *thump*, the people of my past disappeared further and further away. Time reversed itself until they were all finally gone — back to where they belonged. Sumsar took one last look at me, like he took a mental photograph, winked at me, and tipped his hat. In a flash, I woke to a man putting his hand on my shoulder:
“Bilbao, sir”, he spoke with a deep voice — it was the chauffeur of the bus waking me up from my sleep, to get off at the last stop.
