Page 14 - Contrast1977Aprilv20n2

TF£ 1-lELL

by

Stephen R. Kepple

n the bus station, ring of
lights, round dock for blunt
beasts. Circles. Of chairs, plastic and gaudy and beat. Of
cups, held by hands and full of t.hat;dark warmth. Of smoke
upon the sheltered, cycled air. Okay the old clock was un-
pinned and dumped; now something "digital" blinked our
minutes down into the mechanics of the thing, wherever in
hell they went. But ~~e human faces that watched it were
still round. Or so I hoped. Dull orbs, whose eyelashes
reached for time.
r spoke to the figure at my side: "Leslie, wi.Ll,you
buy my ticket for me? Here's the money." But of course
Leslie would not grant so desperate a request ..r;. small
rebuff.
So I went to the window myself and waited for the
customer ahead to complete her transaction. As she turned
to move off r glanced and saw she had no teeth, no lips.
Just a rip with something inside it, black and curdled __
her tongue, I supposed, or a length of liquorice upon it.
Then I advanced and tried to get the attention of the
teller. He was standing just inside t.'1ewindow, very still
and with the framing effect looked like some portrait
fastened to a wall. From its guarded vantage, the portrait
regarded anything but me. Tapping a quarter on the sill
had no effect other than to direct its eyes downward to
the sounding sill. Irritated, I guessed the only solution
lay in addressing directly this painted creature in its
frame.
"Get me a ticket for Westminster, will you!" !
nearly shouted. "One way!"