DERRICK DUSAVA
An entry in the Crocodile Prize
PNG Government Award for Short Stories
AAAH, screw it. It was four o’clock and I needed to be on campus by six for the start of moots at the law school. But right now the joint in Hubert’s hand seemed more appealing.
“Bro, you wanna hit?”
“Ok, just one and I’m out.”
“Where you going?”
“Uni.”
“What for? I thought you graduated last year”
“Dude, I dropped out last year….”
“How come?”
“I dunno, too much dope?”
And we both started giggling. Damn we must’ve looked a real pair; him in his pinkish pin-striped Bank of Papua New Guinea uniform (the guy was on probation but acted like he was the governor)and me in my law student’s black and whites.
No one would suspect we were breaking the law. Soon my one puff became two and then three and, before I knew it, we were almost done and my best mate whom I’d known since high school asked me if I had a kina to score another pack.
I knew that if I stayed any longer, I’d be too stoned to make any sort of coherent legal argument at the Supreme Court of Just Us at the University of Papua New Guinea. With that in mind, I gathered what was left of my senses and bid my mate goodbye.
Ordinarily I had to jostle and rush to get a seat on a bus at this time. What with all the workers from downtown crowding the bus before it even reached Koki, but, as luck would have it, an empty bus idle at the bus stop decided to start its afternoon shift.
I was the first on. I turned left and took the seat across from the driver. Like many bus drivers, he had a beard. As the bus started to fill up with passengers, he called to one of the many betel nut and cigarette vendors who seemed to be everywhere despite the ban on nuts.
The driver started chewing and I noticed that each time he opened his mouth he seemed to get most of the red stuff on his beard.
I looked out of the window, studied the 285 shades of red on the bitumen that any tourist could mistake for blood and, two betel nuts and two cigarettes later, the bus was full and finally departed.
I fished out my phone, swiped my playlist until I found something I felt like. Yes, yes, this should do, good old Rain Dance Maggie by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Headphones on. World off.
By the time we got to Boroko, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to rush for the Number 9 to Gerehu. Placing myself at the point where the 9s came in from down the hospital road, I tried to appear cooler than I really was because that really beautiful girl from environmental science was also there with her friend.
No doubt we would all be going to the same place. Perhaps, even on the same bus.
What to do?
Well first, cover the three metres between us and state the obvious. “Hi, you guys going back to campus?” And as soon as they replied, I answered, “Well obviously ” and rolled my eyes.
The girl from environmental science smiled. I smiled back, and then at her friend. Then I realised I had nothing else to say.
Shit dude, you suck!
At that moment a bus turned the corner and stopped at an angle so the girl from environmental science only had to step in. Naturally she sat with her friend, towards the middle rows, so I made way to the back right corner.
To this day I do not know if it was just bad luck or the PNG gods way of testing my tolerance.
I had taken my seat and tried to make the most of it. Port Moresby buses aren’t renowned for their upholstery and, if you’re really fortunate, you get to sit on plywood where you can read badly spelt graffiti.
There I was, headphones on and staring at the back of Miss environmental sciences neck, willing her to feel damp between the legs and give me her phone number. Then this big woman sat next to me. She smelt wrong. I put my head through the window and watched Moresby roll by. Now I had Iron Maiden for company.
At the traffic lights where Waigani Drive meets Wards Road. I sensed movement; big woman was rummaging in her hand bag for something. I tried to pay no attention but, when she took it out, I thought, ‘What the hell?’
Anyway, she broke open betel nut, lime and mustard and started chewing like there was no tomorrow before lighting one of those disgusting Pall Malls. It was like the universe had conspired to annoy me and spoil my high. Her phone rang.
The high pitched conversation went gone something like this.
“Oh my god, Hi.”
“Blah blahblahblahblablah.”
“Honestly? I’m just fine”
“Blahblablablabla.”
Really? Aiya…….disla em best yaaaaa
“Blahblahblahblah..”
“Ok, I’m in the bus….love you byeeeeeeee.”
I looked out the window, the Vision City Mega Mall, tribute to our lost rainforests, rolled by.
Dear Lord, how much longer must I endure this smell? I turned up the volume on my mobile and was going to scroll to some Metallica hoping Kirk Hammet’s guitars would make the body odour fade to black …. and that’s when I saw it.
Right there, on my left sleeve. The sleeve of the white shirt I had washed and ironed this morning. There was a red speck the size of a teardrop. Like a scarlet accusation against my cleanliness. A big extended middle finger saying, hahahahaha you will never stop me, I’m everywhere. Your children will be late to school in my name.
I looked at big woman. She was still chewing, her cigarette had dropped to the floor and any minute now she would try to lean across me to spit. So I did what any self respecting Papua New Guinean would do. I pulled that window shut. Ignored her and waited for the inevitable.
From such a big woman, it came with the lightest of taps.
“Bro excuse….”
“Huh……what.”
“Bro, I want to spit.”
“Do you mind? I’m sitting here, and I’m not your Bro”.
So she turned to Tok Pisin.
“Raitman, plis mi laik spet.”
“Wissss, mi sidaun stap ya…yu gat manners tu o?”
She looked around for support, perhaps a relative to press her cause. But no, so continued slightly irritated.
“Wisssssss, maski acting, yu wanem kain man ya”. She frowned and reached across to open the window.
I pushed back her arm at the elbow and raised my voice.
“Oi!”
“Yu olsem wanem ya? Plis buai bagarapim mi ya.” I could see tears of frustration gathering.
“Yu ken lukim ol man sidaun stap lo bus tu or? Em wanem? Buai market blo yu lo kam spet nating nating? hul yu, daunim spet blo yu.”
She was sweating now, her lips trembled as she tried to stem the red tide. She’d obviously swallowed some of the juice and I was laughing inside….this was glorious.
We were at the Waigani traffic lights now and her discomfort was absolute. The lights were red.
She pleaded with me to open the window and it was hilarious because she was trying to beg with her mouth shut . I looked away and said with a straight face, “Wait , bustop klostu nau, relax.”
The bus stopped at Waigani and she was up on her feet across to the other side of the bus and an open window from where she let out a torrent onto the pavement. Then she regained her composure and, just before getting off the bus, turned around and stared at me for a while as if I had just slapped her first born.
Then she disappeared outside the moment and became quickly irrelevant. Because Miss environmental science just turned around and smiled at me.