Greyhound Bus

from trevor's encyclopedia of beautiful things

The Greyhound bus chugged out of the Charleston station into the South Carolina night.

There were 4,000 miles between Charleston and Point Hope.

"That's how far blue whales migrate from Mexico to Alaska," thought Hilcias. "If they can make it, maybe I can make it, too."

This first part of the journey would take four days.

He closed his eyes.

He felt the tires of the bus thump against the road, listened to the soft snore of a soldier in the seat behind him, and swayed gently from side to side as the driver moved from lane to lane around late night traffic.

He drifted off to sleep and became a blue whale.

The thump of his giant fluke in the deep waters moved him along at 14 miles per hour.

The songs from other blue whales from different waters touched his great heart.

His giant body swayed from side to side in the Pacific Ocean waters.

He woke to the hand of a frail, old woman on his shoulder.

"'Scuse me," she whispered, "I hate to wake you up but my ticket says I'm 'sposed to sit here beside you."

Hilcias rubbed his eyes with his fists and looked up into the face of the woman glowing in the soft lights of the bus.

There were deep wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and across her forehead.

The wrinkles didn't seem to be wrinkles of worry that he'd seen form on his mother's and abuelo’s faces as they worked farms and fields and lived among strangers in small Southern towns.

No, they seemed to be wrinkles of kindness that might have come from years and years of loving and hoping, the kind of wrinkles you get when you cradle a baby in your arms and rock it deep into the night, the kind that come when you study the small, quiet things in the world and wonder why so few people see or hear the beauty they hold.

She tried to keep her eyes open, but they stayed closed a bit longer with each blink, and her head nodded to each passing mile along the highway.

Her breathing came into rhythm with the wheels of the bus on the road.

The bus moved around a curve and she slid ever so slightly against Hilcias’ body.

His small shoulder sank into her tired, withered breast and his smooth cheek rested on the folds of skin on her thin, bony neck.

Her gentle breaths made a soft whistle through her nose, so soft that no one but Hilcias could hear it.

Hilcias not only heard it but also understood the story the whistles told.

- When my chi'ren were yo age, they walked to school 'long a dirt road.

'Bout haf way dere, a school bus'd pass dem by, ev'ry day.

It'd stir up mo dust'n you evah seen'n yo life and dat dust'd swirl 'round my chi'ren, cling to dey skin, and turn de water in dey eyes to mud.

"Why won't dat bus stop and pick us up, momma?" dey asked me.

Well, I knew dey'd come a day when I'd haf to sit wid'em at de table and tell'em 'bout de way things was, 'bout how a school bus wit white chi'ren on it couldn't haf black chi'ren on it, too, 'cause dats de laws of men's hearts.

But I know'd dat day hadn't come quite yet.

I hoped so much in my own heart dat 'fore dat day came, a new day'd come when de laws of God's heart'd overcome de laws of men's hearts and dat bus'd stop, op'n it's doors, and welcome my chi'ren on board.

"Don't you all worry 'bout dat bus now, you hear?" I answered.

"Lissen now.

When dat bus passes you by, you stop for a minit and think 'bout dat dust all 'round you.

Breathe deep and let it come into yo lungs 'till you breathe it out wit yo breath.

You think 'bout dat dust, you hear?

You 'member dat dust is made up'a tiny little particles, so small you cain't see 'em 'less dey all together.

And you 'member dat dust is what we all made of, all of us, folks inside de bus n outside de bus, and one kind'a dust ain't superior to another kind'a dust.

It's de stuff God made us out of.

'Member dat, my loves.

'Member dat."

Hilcias listened to her sleeping, listened to the soft whistles of her breathing, listened to her story, and loved her.

"A blue whale's heart is as big as a Volkswagon Beetle," he thought.

"It must feel love very deeply and very widely, because its heart is so deep and wide.

My heart is just the size of my fist.

I don't think it can hold as much love as a blue whale's heart.

But I surely feel a deep and wide love for her.

I wonder where this love came from.

I don't know.

Maybe it's because we're both small, quiet ones who no one sees or hears.

I hope I'm as beautiful as her.

I hope I whistle the same beautiful song as her."

He put his tiny hand on top of hers.

You've heard of the narwhal whale, haven't you?

Along with the bowhead and beluga whales, it is an Arctic whale, living all of its life in the icy waters of the Arctic ocean.

It's called the unicorn of the sea because it has a single horn that protrudes up to nine feet out of its forehead.

In ancient times, its horn was given to the kings and queens of Europe to use as scepters, for many thought there was great power and magic in it.

It's not really a horn, though.

It's a tooth.

Like a human tooth, it is very, very sensitive.

If a narwhal tooth breaks, it causes the poor narwhal a sharp and abiding pain.

When that break happens, an amazing thing happens in the life of narwhals.

Another narwhal will place its tooth into the broken tooth of the hurting narwhal.

That act of kindness assuages the pain.

He hoped his hand might somehow assuage her pain, and her hand might assuage his pain, too.