Tourists - Short Story

Literary Review, Summer, 2000 by Mildred Verba Morris

"Plenty of time," Howie says, stirring his coffee.

"Right," Susan says, getting up, her mouth twitching. "It's only time. So you take your time. I'm going downstairs to the bus."

The bus door is open, and no one else is on it, not even Nicole, who is so fussy about security and promptness. This makes Susan madder yet. She dreams of revenge against all who would put her down or keep her waiting. Ten minutes later, the bus fills up, but no Howie, no Pamela, no Lauren. "Three missing," The Boy announces.

"Delays, delays," says Nicole. "Would someone please accompany me to round up the stragglers?" Susan does not have to look at Nicole to know she means her. They always do. Well, she will put forth no more energy in Howie's direction. He's forced her into the role of a nag, a clock watcher, a truly boring person. And now who could tell her from one? "OK, OK, I'll go," she says.

In front of silverware, they find Pamela gesturing at the cafeteria manager, yelling words like pervert, pedophile, husband. "Oh, there you are," Pamela says, spotting Susan. "Your husband, walked off with Lauren. For all I know, he is The Tourist."

"The Tourist?" Susan asks idiotically. "But how could that be? Howie gets lost just walking around the block." All around, last-minute diners pause, forks frozen in midair. "I mean he's harmless." Then she pauses. What does she mean? Might there be some basic perversity in men, and when the mind cracks, the inner molester crawls out? "He must be in the game room. I'll look."

He is not there. Think. Think like a molester, she tells herself. Where do perverts hang out? Not the tax-free store. Not the ladies room. Maybe the men's. Of course. She clenches her fists, gathering courage as she does so. Then she knocks on the door. No answer. She has never been in a men's room, and opens the door warily as if entering an abattoir. A foreign-looking man stands before the mirror arranging a few wet strands of hair across his bald dome. Susan breathes deeply. "Avez vous vu un homme et une petite fille?" she says in her high school French. "Nien," the man growls and Susan flees, convinced for the moment she has narrowly escaped ravishment and death.

Back at the cafeteria Pamela pounces on Susan. "Find him? It's been ten minutes. He could have her ground up by now." The woman is deranged, yet she drives the bus.

Nicole lays a calming hand on Pamela's shoulder. She and Susan will conduct another search. They must be on board. Just then Pamela screams, "Thank God." Howie and Lauren have entered the cafeteria hand in hand. Pamela rushes up to Lauren, hugs her, then grips her arm. "What made you go off with the man?"

"We were looking for Spinney. He ran away again."

"Spinney? I'll give you Spinney," Pamela yells, swiping with an open palm at Lauren, who in a rare display of karate skill, ducks. She runs back to Howie, saying, "Didn't Mum say, 'yes I could go?' Didn't she?"

Pamela grabs her arm and pulls her back "Don't you go near that man again." She holds her daughter by the shoulders and looks her over, as if checking for subtle damage. Lauren's chin is textured in grease and salt. "Bought you chips, did he?" Pamela yells, shaking her. All around people, with carefully arranged faces, make a serious show of eating. Nicole shuts her eyes as if dropping a curtain over the entire miserable scene.