Prism - By Rachel Moschell Page 0,27
took off for La Paz. Wara would need to get to La Paz first, then take another bus to Cochabamba. At the moment, the street was dark and empty under the glowing street lamps.
The pharmacy where he knew they sometimes sold bus tickets when the agency was closed on Sundays still had its door open, and Noah could see that a man in a white lab coat was rearranging bottles behind the counter. He jogged over and burst in, gasping, “Buenas noches! Are there any buses to La Paz tonight?”
“No, no buses tonight,” the elderly man answered his inquiry. The scent of mint pomade and syrupy orange made Noah’s head buzz. “The agencies don’t want to take passengers out this late, you know. Not safe on that road.”
Oh yeah. The Road of Death.
“But buses do leave at night sometimes, don’t they?” Noah really hoped he could help Wara out. “I think I rode a bus to La Paz after dark one time.”
“There is that one bus, parked down there by the store.” When Noah looked lost, the man came around the glass display counter and walked with Noah over to the door, pointing a block to the north. “That’s a chartered bus that some group is going back to La Paz in tonight. The driver is over there, smoking, just outside the door. Maybe you could talk with him.”
“Thank you very much.” Noah shook the man’s leathery hand, and backed out of the pharmacy, destination medium-sized bus near the store.
Just like the pharmacy guy said, the driver was sitting on a rubber step of the bus, smoking, wearing a cheap brown sweater and scuffed leather shoes. “Can we buy a ride on this bus?” Noah asked him, trying not to appear crazed and breathless after so much running around. “For me and one other person. Do you have room?”
The man took a drag of his cigarette and sized Noah up. “We have lots of room. This bus was hired to take a certain group of people back to La Paz tonight. But the tickets would be expensive, so we don’t have many other passengers.”
“That’s fine,” Noah said, willing to shell out the few dollars more. He couldn’t forget Wara’s white face when Lázaro had said all that crap. “How much?”
“Eighty bolivianos,” the driver said, after a pause. “Each.” Noah peeled the bills out of an outer pocket of his backpack that was still dry.
“What time does it leave?” he realized he should have asked first.
“Right now,” the man said, though no one else seemed to be around. The bus driver shuffled up the stairs into the bus and reappeared with a ticket book, where he made Noah print the two passengers’ names and identification numbers. He scribbled his passport number, and then totally made up a number for Wara, since he had no idea what her passport number was and at the moment really didn’t care.
“Eight o’clock. En punto,” the driver said, carefully ripping the tickets off and passing them to Noah. “On the dot.”
“Sure,” Noah replied distractedly, wondering if Wara would show up by then. What if she didn’t come?
He should get back to the plaza so he wouldn’t miss her.
Noah walked back to the plaza, ignoring the tempting aroma of frying hamburgers from a silver food cart on the corner. A group of well-dressed people, laughing together in muted tones, passed him, headed towards the bus. Noah felt a moment of panic. What if the last bus out tonight left without them?
Right then, like magic, Wara came towards him across the plaza, nearly flying. She was wearing jeans instead of that beautiful skirt and Noah would have recognized that light blue alpaca sweater anywhere. How long had Wara had it, three, four years? Noah slid down onto an empty bench right in her path, feet planted on the ground, really hoping she wouldn’t be angry.
“Hey,” he said, as Wara stopped cold in front of him. She looked devastated, red eyes visible even in the dim lighting of the plaza. “Please don’t be mad, but I got some bus tickets for us. It wasn’t easy, cause, like, no buses were going out tonight, but I found a special one that I think will be really nice. It’s leaving right now.”
Wara’s mouth opened and then snapped shut. She stared at the two tickets Noah clutched in his hand. “I’m gonna go back to Cochabamba with you,” he added, just in case he had forgotten to mention that part of his