Tram 22 Express
By Yoan Bondakov
Fiction » 2022 Issue
Fiction » 2022 Issue
The floor was covered in a dark jam of mud and snow. Jungles had less humidity – it felt like we were bathing in the sneeze of a giant. Greasy drawings of hearts, dicks, and happy faces decorated the sweaty windows. We were at full speed and the tram shook like a wet dog. The screeching of the wheels gave tinnitus to most of the loyal passengers. Tram 22 was the best tram in Sofia.
“More soul than rust,” used to say priest Ivan. Thirty years ago, he sprinkled the tram with holy water right before its launch. He was very fond of the tram and traveled with it every day to the church. We never talked about God, but he was very anxious of the devil. “The devil awaits on the last stop,” he used to say. Priest Ivan was good to me. When my father locked the doors, priest Ivan would let me sleep in the church - the place was cold and the men from the icons had harsh eyes. Still, it was better than father’s house. Why a lightning strike killed priest Ivan was beyond me. Maybe it was the big golden cross hanging from his neck. Ever since I started praying for him, I couldn’t stop thinking what lies beyond the tram’s last stop. Tonight, I had to figure it out.
The doors opened and a girl with a red scarf rushed in. Her name was Irina. I’ve seen her in school. The halls were covered with her lovely paintings of spring animals and still life fruit. I always felt bad for the painted songbirds and quinces overhearing me and my buddies talking about porn and masturbation. I wasn’t sure but I thought I was in love with Irina. After her, a dozen men squeezed in. They were fat and wore pale suits. Some of the faces was familiar, I didn’t know them, but I’ve seen them many times in the second car of the tram. It was unusual for them to change cars – they were men of habit.
“The smell of that guy. Did you smell him?” Said one of the men.
“Fifteen years on this tram and I have never smelled someone as bad,” said the man next to him.
“Jesus, wasn’t he also naked?” A third voice joined.
Irina sat on the seat in front of me. She had a clementine in her hand –one of those thin-skinned, waxy clementines. I hated them so much. They had far too many seeds and were too sweet.
Why on earth would she buy such a fruit?
The smell of wet boots and burnt rubber relaxed me even further. The heaters at the corners of the tram were busy pumping hot air while the passengers kept on coughing, sniffling, and talking. The pleasant cacophony stopped when the doors opened yet again and cold air slapped my face.
“Tickets and cards please,” an awful voice yelled.
That wasn’t good for me. I had no ticket nor card. I had no money to pay the 20 levs fine, nor I had the right shoes to run away. The night had just turned the melting snow into ice.
“Tickets and cards please,” I could finally see the lady screaming those awful words.
She was dressed in the usual fascist conductor uniform – black jacket, black trousers, and black boots. The card reader hung from her neck like a badge of honor. She was good at her job because she had a black eye. I liked it when they gave you no other option but to spit, run, or hit.
“I got one,” said her colleague who somehow had sneaked right next to me.
He was a big fella with a gorilla gut and a flat moon face. Some poor teenage boy trembled under the man’s paws. I would give him 14 but the snot jiggling off his nose made him look younger. The boy had a funny hat and the conductor was bald and red-faced. He was in trouble.
“Tickets and cards please,” she was getting closer.
I knew to stay cool. The conductors would always start from the periphery and end up in the middle, usually sandwiching a small pack of kids without tickets. If it was a short stop, however, you could just walk away before they reach you. That was me. I got up, the doors opened, and I got out. Irina followed me. Behind us, the boy with the funny hat and a few more skinny teenagers jumped out and disappeared into the street crowds. There was laughter and curses.
Irina and I sneaked into the second wagon and immediately the foul smell of what used to be a man hit us. The stench of ammonia and rancid sweat violated all that was pure in me. I was bombarded with images of parasites, corpses, and the gutter. The visual convulsions stopped when I noticed Irina staring at me. Half her face was hidden beneath the red scarf. She could lasso a fruit fly with her long eyelashes. She was awfully pleasant to look at. Her eyes were welcoming and I felt a warm tingling sensation in my balls. Above her head, on the steel wall, someone had carved a swastika.
“Smells like hell,” she said.
She was right. The smell of sulfur and cold ash was overwhelming. I turned around and saw a figure sitting way back in the empty wagon. It was a naked man who had burrowed his gaze into the ground. He was a beastly human with long hair and beard, probably hibernating. The smell certainly came from him. I wasn’t afraid, I sensed that his soul had been castrated. Poor shmuck.
“It’s not me,” I said.
Irina laughed and took a seat.
“What’s your name?” I asked with a voice as deep as I could.
“Irina,” she said.
“That’s a lovely name. It’s awfully familiar to me.”
“Maybe you’ve seen it on the paintings at school, it’s my signature” she smiled under the scarf.
My God, she knew I was in the same school with her? Imagine if she knew my name.
“You’re Boiko, right? People talk about you at school. You used to be friends with that priest,” she said.
“What do people say about me and the priest?” My face turned into a raisin.
“You were friends, right? I’ve heard you were good friends,” she said.
“Yes, we were… It was a shame he died.”
“I always wondered, what happens during the funeral of a priest?” She asked.
“How would I know? I wasn’t there,” I said.
“Well, weren’t you two friends?” She was awfully nosey.
“I’m sorry. I can be a bit nosey sometimes. Come, sit next to me,” Irina said.
I sat next to her. She took out the clementine from the pocket of her pink coat and pierced the fruit’s skin with her thumb. The flesh of the clementine erupted and a fine cloud of sour droplets hit my face. The citrus aroma created a small pocket of fresh air. We looked like junkies sniffing glue.
“Didn’t you miss your stop?” She asked. She knew my name and now this? Is she stalking me? I blushed and got cocky.
“You know, I’m going to the last stop,” I said.
“The last stop? What’s so special about it?” Irina was rubbing the clementine peels between her hands.
“The Devil,” I said.
She froze, looked at me, and laughed.
“The Devil? Why would the Devil be at the last stop of tram 22?” Her eyebrows furrowed.
“Priest Ivan told me and I believe him,” I said. My eye contact was solid.
“So… a man tells you that the Devil is real. The man dies? And now you want to visit the Devil?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, then. Good luck.”
The silence was welcomed by both of us. The tram kept on squeaking and the yellow lights flickered. Black and blue graffiti were smeared all over the walls. Some of the messages were charming while others left you with a bad taste in the mouth. There was dry spit and gum over a Red Cross print ad.
“Do you want to join me to the last stop?” I had no idea how that jumped out of my mouth.
“I have no explanation why I’m not creeped out by your Devil talk but I really can’t join you. I need to get up early and the next stop is me,” she said.
I was disappointed but not surprised. She was kind in her rejection, awfully kind after the gibberish I’d said. Irina put the clementine peels in my hand and stood up next to the door. The handle she grabbed was greasy and putrid. She didn’t flinch. I wondered what kind of soap she would use when she got home. I couldn’t really smell her but my best guess was honey and coconut.
Suddenly, the sound of a snorting boar echoed throughout the tram. The wild man woke up and started gasping for air. His massive brow ridge cast a thick shadow over his eyes so I had no idea what he was looking at. His shoulders were hairy and his beard was infested with dandruff and food particles. The smell of sulfur and sweat intensified.
“Black Hoof Hanzi will punish the children of God,” he laughed.
Irina was trembling. I was paralyzed. I had no idea what to do. The wild man started fighting an invisible swarm of insects. His movements were unnatural – his joints were like rubber and his hands flapped around without resistance. There was something awfully sinister and sexual about all this. The tram stopped and the doors opened. The wild man froze under one of the brighter lamps and stared at me. He had a big scar over his chest. The burnt flesh resembled a cross. Out of it, a root system of deep purple veins pumped black bile and filth along his gut. The man’s eyes were empty but beneath all that rot I felt a familiar warmth.
“Priest Ivan?” I yelled.
He jumped out of the tram before I could get closer to him. I looked around to see if Irina just witnessed all that but she was long gone. The doors closed and the tram yet again drove off. I couldn’t fathom what on earth just happened so I sat and stared through the window. The outside world was blurry and all I could see were car lights and silhouettes of naked trees. Stop after stop I grew closer to my destination.
The tram-driver poked me with the stick he used for fixing the tramrail tracks. He was a man with a white hair and his suit was brilliantly ironed. “C’mon kid, this is no place to sleep,” he said. Of course, I wasn’t sleeping. The lights were killing me and my head was heavy. “Is the Devil here?” I asked. He slapped me with his stick. “Get the fuck off my tram!” I ran away like a stray dog. It was cold and dark. I knew I was in a ghetto because the lamps emitted that awful orange light. If a person wanted trouble in the night, all they had to do was stand beneath those cheap street lamps and wait. Suddenly, a small gentle hand grabbed me by the leg. “Black Hoof Hanzi awaits you,” said a little Roma kid. He had big black eyes and ruffled up dumbo ears. I blindly followed the kid through the snowy street. The silence was overwhelming and I had no idea why I was walking towards the Devil. I could see people in the distance. As we approached, it became clear that they were queuing up for something. “Be civil and wait for your turn. Black Hoof Hanzi will accept you,” said the kid and left. What on earth is going on? By God, have I fucked up? There were at least eight people waiting in line. All kinds of people: an old man consisting of bones and veins, a chubby lady in a pink dress and hat, and some awfully similar triplets. We were on the street and one by one each client went to the Devil’s garden and came back smiling. A tall skinny guy welcomed and guided the people. I leaned on the fence; it was rusty and cold. “Black Hoof Hanzi will grant you one wish. All you have to do is whisper it,” said the Devil’s assistant when my turn finally came. His voice was golden and seductive. His face – a complete mess. The yellow teeth and the crooked nose perfectly fit the flashy pimp suit. “Is that the Devil?” I asked. In the mud stood a black ram tied to an inverted cross. Behind the animal, a small tin shack shook from the winter breeze. “Oh yes, that’s Black Hoof Hanzi,” the Devil’s assistant gave me his widest smile. I didn’t know the rules of the game. I knew that making a deal with the Devil was fishy business so I took out 5 levs from my pocket and gave it to the assistant. Maybe if I pay for the wish, I wouldn’t get totally screwed? I approached the ram and kneeled before him. Black Hoof Hanzi’s irises were orange and his pupils looked like coffins. I wanted to touch his marble horns so bad. My head was a mess. So many wishes flirted with me -wealth, love, fame, or even a big penis. I wanted Irina to fall in love with me. I even thought of cursing her to love me unconditionally, but deep down only one question kept on appearing in my mind. “I want to know if you are the Devil?” I whispered in Black Hoof Hanzi’s ear. “Well, your wish will be granted tomorrow!” Abruptly said the assistant. I got up and brushed the mud off my knees. An odd feeling overwhelmed me, that skinned white doves flew above. The sky was clear of both clouds and stars. In the dark the doves sounded like wet butterflies. I wasn’t sure where to look for my soul so I grabbed my chest and checked my pockets. All I found were clementine peels. I left smiling.
The next morning I woke up with the impeccable feeling that I was an idiot. I couldn’t believe that I wasted my night whispering to a goat and willingly getting scammed by a bunch of gypsies. I had a math test for which I didn’t study, and I was already late for school. It was time for the sprint of my life. I saw the tram driving off from my stop. Once again, I was running, this time behind the tram. The number 22 was slowly getting bigger. A sudden flash blinded me. The tram zapped. One of the power cables snapped and whiplashed me in the chest. I felt the high voltage current boiling my bone marrow. I was on the ground, wasps and bees crawled through my veins. “He’s dead! He’s dead!” Yelled the crowd. I felt like I was watching bacteria dancing on a petri dish – the bloody eye floaters in my eyes violently multiplied until I saw nothing but hissing darkness. The sound of the screaming people disappeared. All I could hear were bells and flutes. Their melody sounded awfully beautiful – it was like a sunrise in hell. I couldn’t see but there were men staring at me. They were kind but they were too far away. The darkness got thicker and I got heavier. Suddenly, the smell of roasted clementine peels took over. It smelled good and I felt fine. “Yes, I am.” Whispered an awfully gentle and ashy voice. The ground pulled me down.
The tram-driver poked me with the stick he used for fixing the tramrail tracks. He was a man with a white hair and his suit was brilliantly ironed. “C’mon kid, this is no place to sleep,” he said. Of course, I wasn’t sleeping. The lights were killing me and my head was heavy. “Is the Devil here?” I asked. He slapped me with his stick. “Get the fuck off my tram!” I ran away like a stray dog. It was cold and dark. I knew I was in a ghetto because the lamps emitted that awful orange light. If a person wanted trouble in the night, all they had to do was stand beneath those cheap street lamps and wait. Suddenly, a small gentle hand grabbed me by the leg. “Black Hoof Hanzi awaits you,” said a little Roma kid. He had big black eyes and ruffled up dumbo ears. I blindly followed the kid through the snowy street. The silence was overwhelming and I had no idea why I was walking towards the Devil. I could see people in the distance. As we approached, it became clear that they were queuing up for something. “Be civil and wait for your turn. Black Hoof Hanzi will accept you,” said the kid and left. What on earth is going on? By God, have I fucked up? There were at least eight people waiting in line. All kinds of people: an old man consisting of bones and veins, a chubby lady in a pink dress and hat, and some awfully similar triplets. We were on the street and one by one each client went to the Devil’s garden and came back smiling. A tall skinny guy welcomed and guided the people. I leaned on the fence; it was rusty and cold. “Black Hoof Hanzi will grant you one wish. All you have to do is whisper it,” said the Devil’s assistant when my turn finally came. His voice was golden and seductive. His face – a complete mess. The yellow teeth and the crooked nose perfectly fit the flashy pimp suit. “Is that the Devil?” I asked. In the mud stood a black ram tied to an inverted cross. Behind the animal, a small tin shack shook from the winter breeze. “Oh yes, that’s Black Hoof Hanzi,” the Devil’s assistant gave me his widest smile. I didn’t know the rules of the game. I knew that making a deal with the Devil was fishy business so I took out 5 levs from my pocket and gave it to the assistant. Maybe if I pay for the wish, I wouldn’t get totally screwed? I approached the ram and kneeled before him. Black Hoof Hanzi’s irises were orange and his pupils looked like coffins. I wanted to touch his marble horns so bad. My head was a mess. So many wishes flirted with me -wealth, love, fame, or even a big penis. I wanted Irina to fall in love with me. I even thought of cursing her to love me unconditionally, but deep down only one question kept on appearing in my mind. “I want to know if you are the Devil?” I whispered in Black Hoof Hanzi’s ear. “Well, your wish will be granted tomorrow!” Abruptly said the assistant. I got up and brushed the mud off my knees. An odd feeling overwhelmed me, that skinned white doves flew above. The sky was clear of both clouds and stars. In the dark the doves sounded like wet butterflies. I wasn’t sure where to look for my soul so I grabbed my chest and checked my pockets. All I found were clementine peels. I left smiling.
The next morning I woke up with the impeccable feeling that I was an idiot. I couldn’t believe that I wasted my night whispering to a goat and willingly getting scammed by a bunch of gypsies. I had a math test for which I didn’t study, and I was already late for school. It was time for the sprint of my life. I saw the tram driving off from my stop. Once again, I was running, this time behind the tram. The number 22 was slowly getting bigger. A sudden flash blinded me. The tram zapped. One of the power cables snapped and whiplashed me in the chest. I felt the high voltage current boiling my bone marrow. I was on the ground, wasps and bees crawled through my veins. “He’s dead! He’s dead!” Yelled the crowd. I felt like I was watching bacteria dancing on a petri dish – the bloody eye floaters in my eyes violently multiplied until I saw nothing but hissing darkness. The sound of the screaming people disappeared. All I could hear were bells and flutes. Their melody sounded awfully beautiful – it was like a sunrise in hell. I couldn’t see but there were men staring at me. They were kind but they were too far away. The darkness got thicker and I got heavier. Suddenly, the smell of roasted clementine peels took over. It smelled good and I felt fine. “Yes, I am.” Whispered an awfully gentle and ashy voice. The ground pulled me down.