Tourists - Short Story

Literary Review, Summer, 2000 by Mildred Verba Morris

At last, drawing herself up, Nicole ventures closer and whispers in her ear. She inscribes a circle in the air with her finger. Pamela pauses. A reasonable explanation has been offered, and Pamela, a not unreasonable person, nods gravely. "It is a wonder to me that you let your husband out alone," she says, sweeping past Susan, Lauren firmly in tow.

Howie shakes his head. "I had no idea ...," he begins.

"We're late. Let's not talk about it now." Susan will write it all down on the bus.

"And now, dear friends, we are finally off to gay Paree," Nicole says when they are again seated. "No more delays, eh?" Susan is determined to get every last detail down on paper. Strange how things work out to suit the needs of the note taker. You provide the space, and the world bleeds into it. She does not look up until she realizes their bus has not moved and Pamela is on hands and knees, groping under the dashboard, peering under seats. Distraught and distracted ..., Susan writes.

Pamela finally whispers something to Nicole, busy taking reservations for a side trip to Versailles. "This I do not believe," Nicole says. She walks up front. "The keys to the bus are lost. Will everybody please search the area beneath you. Pamela and I will investigate the exterior of the bus."

The passengers inside hear Nicole peppering the driver with questions. "Did you leave the bus unlocked? ... Were the keys in the ignition? ... Did you look in all your pockets? ... In your purse? ... Do you have a spare? ... No spare, eh? ... Is that what they taught you in bus driver's school?" If Pamela were not Pamela, Susan could almost feel sorry for her. Suddenly the bus driver pivots, purses her mouth, and says something to Nicole that sounds like a cat spitting. Nicole presses her hand to her brow, and, without another word, turns abruptly and climbs back into the bus, into more animosity. The usually sheeplike tourists are murmuring darkly, "No way to run a tour.... Remember when the driver got lost? ... Remember when she parked the bus so nobody could get out?... You get what you pay for.... Or don't pay for, ha, ha. ... Wait until my travel agent hears about this." The natives are becoming restless.... Susan writes with relish.

"In all my years with Econo, this has never happened before," Nicole swears. Suddenly Bonita rushes up, muttering something that brings smiles to the dour Canadians.

"No, no, I cannot," Nicole says. Bonita presses her palms together prayerfully. A tiny vein at Nicole's temple vibrates. Finally, she shrugs. "The ferry," she announces, "will be returning to Dover in five minutes. If we do not find the key, we will be forced to shuttle back and forth across the channel until the end of time. You do not wish that, do you? You would do anything in your power to prevent that calamity, n'est-ce pas?"

"So whaddaya want, Nicole, a strip search?" rasps an American voice.

Nicole closes her eyes. "Nothing like that," she says when she regains her composure. "I would appreciate it, however, if everyone would please rummage through their tourist bags for the key," adding, "It is completely voluntary." Everybody looks.