There are two older men sitting in the row ahead of me. The one on the left is making a grand spectacle of buckling his seat-belt. He fumbles with it as if it were the most critical task in the world, displaying his struggle in a way that practically demands an audience, or maybe just an offer of assistance.
The man on the right finally relents, leaning out of his seat to help. The man on the left keeps gesturing wildly with one hand, mumbling words that maybe were in German, maybe not.
“Hier,” says the man on the right, the moment the buckle finally clicks into place.
“Danke,” the first man replies. “Eine Hand geht nicht. Danke.”
After sitting quietly for a bit, he announces to the vehicle at large:
“Drei Minuten noch.”
Nobody replies. We all know the driver will start the engine when everyone is accounted for and when he deems it appropriate. Time isn’t a constraint for anyone here, certainly not down to the minute.
A moment later, he pivots toward his reluctant neighbor.
“Schon verheiratet?”
The man on the right stares at him for a long, heavy moment.
“Ja,” he replies, his annoyance already audible.
“Gut, gut.”
Seconds tick by.
“Schon viele Male, ja,” the chatty man continues, making wide, sweeping circles with his hands and pointing toward the street ahead. From what I can gather, he is trying to explain how many times he has made this trip to the clinic. But the lingering ghost of his previous question makes it sound almost as though he is bragging about having been married many times.
His neighbor offers no response.
“Um acht viele Autos. Viele Autos auf die Straße,” he points out.
His observations drown in the silence of the cabin.
Eventually, the driver climbs in, and shortly after, the shuttle eases into motion. Undeterred by the quiet, the man on the left shifts his attention, casting his line toward the front.
“Wie lange schon?”
“Fahren?” the driver tries to clarify.
“Ja, genau.”
“Einundzwanzig, zweiundzwanzig Jahren.”
“Sehr gut! Sehr gut!”
The shuttle takes a turn, then another, finally settling onto the road leading toward the highway and slowly gathering speed.
I watch the man on the left. He is now staring out the window, looking at the passing streets like an uncommon tourist, entirely alone in a world he doesn’t quite understand.
