Returning
The bus is going at breakneck speed around the hairpin bends. Most of the children and teenagers are singing along loudly to the radio which the bus driver has turned up to full volume. The young man sighs and looks out of the window. He had forgotten that the regular bus doubles at midday as a school bus. He’ll have to endure this for another half hour before he can finally get off at the main road of his village, the penultimate stop on the route. His village is so small it doesn’t have a square, just a few scattered houses along the road and a church on a hill. About a third of the houses are empty most of the time now. They haven’t been abandoned completely as their owners occasionally return for Christmas, Easter or the summer. For the most part, the inhabited houses look no different from the empty ones, only a well-tended garden or some flowers in a window set them apart.
When they finally arrive at the village, he has a slight headache and doesn’t say good-bye to the driver as he gets off. He knows this will be remembered, but he’s too angry to care. He asked twice for the volume to be turned down, but the few remaining students just laughed at him and the driver waved him off as if he was one of those tiresome tourists. Now he doesn’t care if they think he is rude, he has only returned to collect a few things before going back to the barracks.
He rings at their neighbour’s house to get the key. Their old neighbour, she must be in her seventies now, opens the door, beams at him and ushers him in. She was expecting him and has already made some coffee. He unwillingly follows her to the living room and sits down. She pours the coffee, offers him cookies and a cake. Despite himself he takes a slice and heartily bites into it while trying to decide which of her many questions he’s going to answer. Yes, his father is fine, no, his back isn’t giving him too much trouble. No, he won’t be returning any time soon. And yes, he had to come back to do his military service and no, he isn’t considering staying on afterwards. He doesn’t say that you would have to be out of your mind to want to return here, but takes another slice. Now they’re getting onto the topic he was dreading. Girlfriends and a prospective marriage. It would be best to lie, but could he get away with it? Would she believe he had a girlfriend if he claimed he had? He has no picture to prove it and everyone has mobiles with pictures now. He takes a third slice and mumbles that he has just broken up with a girl, because she wasn’t the right one. The old woman nods, pats him on the arm and pushes the plate with cookies towards him. “Maybe you’ll find someone while you’re here.” Then she proceeds to tell him the latest news about various family members and the latest gossip from the village. After he has polished off all of the cookies, he abruptly gets up and tells her he needs to hurry, so that he won’t miss the bus back into town. She looks crestfallen and he immediately feels guilty, because he knows full well how little distraction the village has to offer. His coming is probably the biggest event of the week. He promises to come back later and then goes over to his parent’s house.
The neighbour has clearly aired the rooms, but the air in the house is still stale and musty. After all these years abroad, he finds it hard to believe that he ever felt at home here. But, of course, he was small then and his mother still alive. She took care of everything, of him, of his father, of the house. He feels tears rising and tells himself not to be silly. This won’t take long. He takes a warm coat, some socks and two jumpers from his father’s wardrobe and puts them in the empty army rucksack he has brought. He’ll get everything washed before wearing them again. A look at the watch tells him, he needs to hurry. He carefully closes and locks the door. The neighbour wants to embroil him in a conversation again, but they can both hear the bus driving into the village and he quickly says good-bye. He doesn’t get off quite so easily, because she runs after him with a small package of sliced cake and more cookies. “I still miss your mother. She was such a good neighbour,” she says and shoves the package into his hands. The bus driver recognizes him and rolls his eyes, but stops and waits for him in the middle of the street as he gives the neighbour a quick awkward hug. The driver glowers at him as he climbs onto the bus, but gives the old neighbour a friendly wave.
On the way back into the small town on the coast, the radio is still on. Now that most of the passengers are elderly people the volume is bearable though and he almost enjoys the two hour ride. The mountains are mostly bare here but the sun is shining and the view often stunning. He leans back. If he didn’t have to start his military service tomorrow, he might enjoy the views more. He dreads the coming nine months. He is tall and not exactly thin and has always hated sports. If he had known how to get out of this, he would have, but they make it hard for the young men. Either you do your service or you get into trouble. He doesn’t like trouble, that’s why he is here. Before he left, one of his teachers told him he was lucky. Didn’t he come from one of the most beautiful countries in the world? What did she know about small mountain villages like that one where most of the houses look like brown hollow teeth, picturesque, maybe, but he wasn’t trying to take a picture, was he? He wanted a decent job with enough money to get by, he wanted to live and how can you work and live here? The teacher didn’t have a clue. She also didn’t think much of him, although he worked as hard as he could. Every day he sat at home and studied until his father came home from work. He loved his father but he didn’t help him by refusing to speak the language of the country they had now made their home. I need to practice, he told his father who was stubborn and replied he could practice at school. When his father came home after a long day at work, he wanted to relax and speak his mother tongue, not struggle with those guttural sounds and wild grammar.
He sighed again. If only his father was more understanding. He desperately needed to practice, he had learned the new language rather late and still didn’t feel comfortable speaking it, never mind writing in it or passing exams. He didn’t have a choice though. He no longer felt at home here. He needed to make it in the new country.
When they finally arrive at the village, he has a slight headache and doesn’t say good-bye to the driver as he gets off. He knows this will be remembered, but he’s too angry to care. He asked twice for the volume to be turned down, but the few remaining students just laughed at him and the driver waved him off as if he was one of those tiresome tourists. Now he doesn’t care if they think he is rude, he has only returned to collect a few things before going back to the barracks.
He rings at their neighbour’s house to get the key. Their old neighbour, she must be in her seventies now, opens the door, beams at him and ushers him in. She was expecting him and has already made some coffee. He unwillingly follows her to the living room and sits down. She pours the coffee, offers him cookies and a cake. Despite himself he takes a slice and heartily bites into it while trying to decide which of her many questions he’s going to answer. Yes, his father is fine, no, his back isn’t giving him too much trouble. No, he won’t be returning any time soon. And yes, he had to come back to do his military service and no, he isn’t considering staying on afterwards. He doesn’t say that you would have to be out of your mind to want to return here, but takes another slice. Now they’re getting onto the topic he was dreading. Girlfriends and a prospective marriage. It would be best to lie, but could he get away with it? Would she believe he had a girlfriend if he claimed he had? He has no picture to prove it and everyone has mobiles with pictures now. He takes a third slice and mumbles that he has just broken up with a girl, because she wasn’t the right one. The old woman nods, pats him on the arm and pushes the plate with cookies towards him. “Maybe you’ll find someone while you’re here.” Then she proceeds to tell him the latest news about various family members and the latest gossip from the village. After he has polished off all of the cookies, he abruptly gets up and tells her he needs to hurry, so that he won’t miss the bus back into town. She looks crestfallen and he immediately feels guilty, because he knows full well how little distraction the village has to offer. His coming is probably the biggest event of the week. He promises to come back later and then goes over to his parent’s house.
The neighbour has clearly aired the rooms, but the air in the house is still stale and musty. After all these years abroad, he finds it hard to believe that he ever felt at home here. But, of course, he was small then and his mother still alive. She took care of everything, of him, of his father, of the house. He feels tears rising and tells himself not to be silly. This won’t take long. He takes a warm coat, some socks and two jumpers from his father’s wardrobe and puts them in the empty army rucksack he has brought. He’ll get everything washed before wearing them again. A look at the watch tells him, he needs to hurry. He carefully closes and locks the door. The neighbour wants to embroil him in a conversation again, but they can both hear the bus driving into the village and he quickly says good-bye. He doesn’t get off quite so easily, because she runs after him with a small package of sliced cake and more cookies. “I still miss your mother. She was such a good neighbour,” she says and shoves the package into his hands. The bus driver recognizes him and rolls his eyes, but stops and waits for him in the middle of the street as he gives the neighbour a quick awkward hug. The driver glowers at him as he climbs onto the bus, but gives the old neighbour a friendly wave.
On the way back into the small town on the coast, the radio is still on. Now that most of the passengers are elderly people the volume is bearable though and he almost enjoys the two hour ride. The mountains are mostly bare here but the sun is shining and the view often stunning. He leans back. If he didn’t have to start his military service tomorrow, he might enjoy the views more. He dreads the coming nine months. He is tall and not exactly thin and has always hated sports. If he had known how to get out of this, he would have, but they make it hard for the young men. Either you do your service or you get into trouble. He doesn’t like trouble, that’s why he is here. Before he left, one of his teachers told him he was lucky. Didn’t he come from one of the most beautiful countries in the world? What did she know about small mountain villages like that one where most of the houses look like brown hollow teeth, picturesque, maybe, but he wasn’t trying to take a picture, was he? He wanted a decent job with enough money to get by, he wanted to live and how can you work and live here? The teacher didn’t have a clue. She also didn’t think much of him, although he worked as hard as he could. Every day he sat at home and studied until his father came home from work. He loved his father but he didn’t help him by refusing to speak the language of the country they had now made their home. I need to practice, he told his father who was stubborn and replied he could practice at school. When his father came home after a long day at work, he wanted to relax and speak his mother tongue, not struggle with those guttural sounds and wild grammar.
He sighed again. If only his father was more understanding. He desperately needed to practice, he had learned the new language rather late and still didn’t feel comfortable speaking it, never mind writing in it or passing exams. He didn’t have a choice though. He no longer felt at home here. He needed to make it in the new country.