***
He woke up on a bus travelling through a city at night. It was dark outside and raining heavily. Through raindrops on the window, the orange glare of streetlights glittered and swam across his vision like silent fireworks, or streaks of paint thrown at a canvas. He’d been
asleep for a long time, or so it seemed to him. His muscles ached from being stuck in the same position for too long, his head throbbed, his lips were dry and swollen.
The very process of waking was slow and painful and at the end of it he found himself in a place he did not recognise. He had no idea where he was, no idea how he had got there or what he was doing. For a long while he sat blinking and yawning, his vision blurred and unfocused, his mind a blank. He wiped his mouth, rubbed his hands vigorously over his eyes and cheeks and tried hard to work himself into wakefulness, to sharpen his senses enough that he could begin to take stock of his surroundings.
Inside the bus, it was warm and stuffy. The cabin was full, the radiators blowing out hot air and moist heat rose from the breath and clothing of the passengers all around him. A constant buzz of noise swirled through the air – the growl of hard-working engines, people chattering and laughing loudly, high pitched, excited voices calling to each other from one end of the bus to the other. There was a strange charge of anticipation in the air. Even without understanding what was happening, he could feel it. It was unmistakable.
‘What an odd thing,’ he said to himself. ‘To wake up in a strange place and not know why.’ He tried hard to think of the last thing he could remember, but nothing came. ‘My name is Solomon,’ he thought. ‘I know this. I remember being called to and I remember replying. But who was doing the calling? And where? I just don’t know.’
To begin with, he remained calm. The situation he found himself in seemed bizarre and ridiculous and his first reaction was to laugh it all off as too unbelievable to take seriously. ‘Something will turn up’, he assured himself. ‘This confusion will pass soon enough. I’ll figure out what’s going on and chuckle at myself for being so foolish.’
He turned his head to glance at the passengers around him. On the seat next to him sat an old man. A tall, grey-haired gentleman in a long, heavy overcoat, which bunched up on the seat between them, and pushed uncomfortably into Solomon’s thigh. He shifted awkwardly in his seat for a moment, trying to find a space in which to position himself and in doing so noticed, for the first time, the rucksack and plastic carrier bags which were bundled on his lap and on the floor around his feet. He opened each of the bags quickly in turn and found all of them to be packed full of books, too many to count in the cramped circumstances he found them in. Paperbacks, hardbacks, oversized folio prints and small, flexible journals; they were all stuffed in beside one another, cramming every spare inch of room available in each bag. He pulled a few volumes out, but they meant nothing to him, their subjects too obscure and esoteric for him to make any sense of – the memoirs of a rural priest, an ancient volume of court records from a parish he’d never heard of, a study of planning regulations pertaining to the development of land owned by the military. He flicked quickly through each one with a raised eyebrow and a confused shake of the head before placing them back inside the bags they came from.
Time passed and still he became no clearer as to what was happening. He stretched out a hand to wipe the window clear of condensation to try and see where he was going, which part of the city the bus was headed towards, but he couldn’t make anything out. None of the streets they were passing through seemed familiar to him. Or rather, there were places he seemed to know and recognise - a church spire or a shop front, a statue or a municipal building - but whose appearance had been altered in some way or whose position seemed oddly out of place. Staring through the rain and condensation streaked window, he concentrated hard on these half-familiar landmarks, as if by sheer effort of will he could force the day to revert to something approaching normality, but nothing about the city seemed to make any sense whatsoever. It was as though the buildings they were passing simply did not belong side by side in the streets as they seemed to be here, as though they had been transported in randomly from entirely different parts of the town or from another city altogether. The whole effect was peculiarly dreamlike and unsettling and added strongly to the atmosphere of unreality he was travelling in.
Yet more strange than the buildings were the crowds of people who milled about in the road outside. Despite the rain and despite the lateness of the hour, the streets were thick with men and women shouting and hurrying along, all moving quickly in the same direction, spilling from the pavements onto the road, filling the spaces between the traffic all of which, again, seemed to be moving steadily together towards the same destination. There was a festive atmosphere among them, an almost tangible sense of excitement that carried through from the people inside the bus to the vast crowds who walked past outside.
The more closely he observed the crowds, the less comfortable Solomon began to feel. Something about the expressions on the faces of the people in the bus beside him he found quietly disconcerting – the way they seemed, in some way he could not quite put his finger on, to be not entirely awake to themselves, the way they giggled and chattered, but without ever seeming to make eye contact or properly notice each other’s presence. There was something feverish and irrational about the way they behaved that left Solomon with a cold, uncomfortable feeling that built upwards from his stomach. Wherever these people were going, whatever it was they were doing, he felt quite sure he would rather not be involved.
He peered around the crowd, trying to figure out the best way to get out, how best to get to the driver and persuade him to stop the bus. As he did so, his eyes caught those of the passenger sitting beside him.
The old man sat with his head turned towards Solomon, his eyebrows raised, his lips curled in quiet amusement. Solomon started on seeing him. His skin crept and his muscles tensed. All of a sudden he felt exposed, as though caught in the act of committing some forbidden crime.
The old man chuckled at his reaction. “No need to look so anxious,” he said, giving a reassuring nod and a smile. “Don’t worry, we’re almost there.”
Solomon nodded and smiled in return, but continued to look around him. He gathered his bags together and tried to stand, but the jolting movements of the bus and the press of the crowd around them pushed him back to his seat.
“You know,” the old man continued, “I don’t think I recognise your face. Have you been with us for long?”
Solomon didn’t know quite how to answer this. “I…don’t think so,” he said, laughing nervously at his own uncertainty. “You must forgive me. I’m finding this all a little disorienting.” He waved a hand in gesture at the people in the bus, the crowds outside.
The old man laughed brightly. “I know what you mean,” he said. “I can hardly believe it myself. I’ve been waiting for this day for so long. It doesn’t seem possible that it’s actually happening.”
He turned in his seat a little to face towards Solomon. “Ever since I was a small boy,” he continued, “as far back as I can remember they’ve been talking about this day. I didn’t really think I’d ever live to see it. My Father didn’t – and he was the most devout, the most committed man you could ever hope to meet. My Mother didn’t, God rest her soul. Why would I expect to? Why would you?”
“And yet,” he smiled broadly, raising his arms to indicate all the people around them. “Here we all are. We are the lucky ones. We get to see it happen.”
Solomon nodded again and forced another smile. Just as with the buildings outside, there was something about the old man that seemed familiar, but nothing he could place precisely. The pitch to his voice, the strange charisma in the way he spoke, all of these things triggered a memory locked somewhere in the back of Solomon’s mind, something that warned him to beware, to tread carefully.
“You’re nervous,” the old man went on, placing a hand gently on Solomon’s arm. “I
can understand that. You’re still a young man; you’ll be full of questions, full of uncertainty. There’s nothing wrong with that. I was the same way at your age. Take it from me, though - what’s happening here today is going to make everything better again. Everything that’s turned this city into the desperate mess it has become these past few years, all of that will be washed away.
“He’s here. Just as he said he would be. Just as they always told me he would be. He has a plan for all of us and today is the day we find it out. This is the day that will make sense of it all.”
His words came soft and calm. Unlike the others on the bus, whose excitement seemed fanatical and unreasoned, the old man had an air of tranquillity about him. His eyes were bright, to be sure, but with an excitement borne of anticipation, of the knowledge that a long awaited prize was finally ready to be won. Despite his wariness, Solomon began to feel that this was a man he could talk to. The only person on the bus, perhaps, who would know what was happening and could explain it all to him.
He gathered up his courage and leaned forward to speak quietly in the old man’s ear. “Can you help me, please?” He whispered. “I don’t know where I am. I woke up here a few minutes ago, but I don’t know how I got here or what I’m supposed to be doing. This place is so strange. It’s familiar to me, but I don’t think I’ve ever been here before. Is there somewhere I can get off so that I can find my way home?”
The old man frowned upon hearing this and looked Solomon up and down. He was serious now and thoughtful and a series of confused expressions passed over his face.
“You’ve never been here before, you say?” He whispered back, leaning conspiratorially in towards Solomon, as though keen that no one else should overhear.
“No.”
“And you don’t recognise me or any of these people around us?”
Solomon shook his head.
This seemed to cause some consternation in the old man and he rested back in his seat, staring straight ahead of him his lips pursed in thought. He turned his head back to Solomon again and took a deep breath before laughing gently and relaxing again.
“I wouldn’t worry, if I were you,” he said. “It’ll all make sense soon, I’m sure of it. Just stay close to me. Trust in the city. It’ll all be ok, I promise.”
As he spoke a commotion broke out in the bus. All around them people rose from their seats and gathered towards the front of the carriage. Outside a cheer arose among the crowds filling the streets and over on the horizon in the distance ahead of them a great light began to shine, a warm glow that shone through the rain-spattered windows and reflected strangely off the dark clouds that hung overhead. The source or meaning of this light wasn’t clear to Solomon, but it seemed of great significance to the others in the bus and the hundreds clamouring outside.
“It’s now!” He heard a voice cry. “It’s happening!”
Other voices rose in agreement and the crush of passengers began to move towards the exits of the bus which had, by now, ground to a sudden halt. Solomon remained in his seat, not quite sure what to do, not wanting to miss the chance of talking with the old man but neither wanting to become too caught up in whatever was happening.
Without saying a word, the old man stood and left purposefully with the rest of the crowd and before Solomon could decide what to do next, he felt a tug on his collar as another passenger pulled him from his seat. “Come on, my friend”, a voice said. “Now’s no time to hang around!” Solomon stumbled behind him, only just managing to keep his feet as he struggled to hold a firm grasp on the rucksack and bags of books he was burdened with and which, for some reason, he seemed reluctant to part with.
Outside in the streets the crowds pressed forward ever more quickly. Stepping out from the bus, Solomon found himself immediately caught up in the flow of bodies. There was no room for independent thought or movement anymore. Even if he had wanted to it would have been impossible for him to move off in any direction other than that one set by the rest of the pushing, heaving crowd.
Overhead the lights on the horizon continued to flicker and flash, casting weird shadows across the tops of the buildings that lined the city streets they were walking along, each new peak of intensity bringing gasps and cheers from the crowd around him.
Up ahead, Solomon could see the old man from the bus, but it was hopeless to think he’d ever be able to catch up with him. Slowed down, as he was, by the rucksack and the bags of books he clung to in each hand, Solomon was unable to quite keep pace with the others around him and the white head of the old man seemed to creep further away into the distance with every step.
Struggling to keep his feet amidst the bumping and pushing of the crowd, Solomon suddenly felt a rise of panic swell in his chest and a prickle of tears begin around his eyes. Very quickly he felt a powerful need to free himself from this crowd, to find a place to cool his head and gather his emotions. “Please,” he shouted. “I need to stop! Can you let me stop, please?” He tried to push himself against the flow, to move towards the buildings at the side of the pavement, but as he did so he stumbled and fell to the ground. Nobody stopped to help him. Shoved and kicked by the people rushing past him, he crawled and dragged his way to a clear space in an empty doorway sheltered from the passing crowds. So protected, he pulled his coat around him and gathered his bags together. He rested his head down on the cold, stone steps of the doorway and, overcome by weariness and hurting from the kicks and blows he’d received on the way there, he passed out into unconsciousness.