The Tram
Two strangers meet on the Number 5 tram in the center of
Brno. Within six stops they discover
that although they don’t have much in common, there are reasons to continue the
conversation.
The
Tram
This
is where it started. On the Number 5
tram, the one that runs through the middle of the city to the western edge near
the cemetery. It actually started in the
third row of seats on the left side toward the front. Nothing particular about
the day would cause you to note it as anything special. Just the Number 5 tram
that stopped nearVeviri Street and then went on past the red brick church and
down the hill towards the bridge. When I
got on at Veviri, there was only that seat available near the front that I managed
to fall into before the tram rumbled round the corner.
The
man was in his late sixties with gray hair, cut by someone who wasn’t a
barber. Nondescript pants with subtle stains
and a faded green jacket. One of those jackets that might have been designed
for the military but which so many people wear, you suspect they are mass
produced in China. He was looking out
the window and holding a boxed videocassette on his lap
It
always feels a bit awkward to look out the window on a tram if you are not
sitting next to the window. Sitting on the aisle seat, I did not want to look
past the man’s profile in case he felt I was studying him. To my other side people were crowded in the
aisle so looking to my right meant I would stare at someone’s crotch. One has to look somewhere so I looked at the
video in his hand.
My
initial surprise was that he was holding a videocassette. We are in a time when most people watch
DVDs. So that he was holding a video
with its box covered by gaudy colors caught my attention as the tram swung pass
the church. The second surprise was the
title was in English. In fact the short synopsis on the video package was also
in English. My mind was sorting through this
series of surprises and juggling the moral recognition that I judged this man
to be a retired bricklayer or equivalent and now it would seem he watched films
in English.
I
turned slightly to read the synopsis, as I was curious to see what the film was
about. One might assume from the graphics
that it was action packed but I was trying to be cautious about rash judgments.
When I leaned in a tad closer to read the small print, the man turned his head
and looked directly at me.
I
nodded in what I hoped would appear to be a strong impersonation of someone not
interested in anything other than which groceries to get for supper. He nodded, said something in Czech and I was
at an impasse. I could nod and turn away with a
I-certainly-don’t-talk-to-strangers air. I could smile slightly and hold up my
hands to indicate I was deaf. Or I could
explain I spoke English and didn’t really understand Czech.
Already
feeling abashed by my initial judgment and then the rather intrusive act of
examining his video, I explained in fractured Czech that I spoke English. This
turned out to be the correct choice as in about three seconds he smiled, shook
hands with me, and explained in English that he had attended the University of
Ohio in the late1960s.
It
was a brief as he was only there a few years having been sent by the government
to learn something and then return. I
was trying to register this man in Ohio in the sixties and the confidence the
government had that he would come back and then why he did. He explained that Ohio was where John Glenn
was from and of course, he knew I must know who John Glenn was. He liked watching films in English to maintain
his language skills because now that he was retired there really wasn’t anyone
to speak with in English. He was
fortunate to have this opportunity to talk with me and by the way might he ask what
I was doing in this city.
I
could feel the downward inclination of the hill. I normally got off at the stop closest to the
bridge but this seemed a conversation one might continue. Being a curious person when I wasn’t making
ill-based judgments, I stayed on the tram as I had a bit of extra time to talk
with him. I explained I taught at the university and because my work was in the
English department, I had been very lazy learning Czech. He brushed aside my excuse saying Czech was a
difficult language I shouldn’t bother with, and then politely asked why I was
carrying a portable typewriter.
It
was not a surprise someone who watched videos in the age of DVDs would
recognize a typewriter by its case. I said
I was a writer who used teaching to support my habit. I preferred the
physicality of the typewriter to a computer when doing initial drafts. He smiled knowingly although I was clueless
as to what he might understand from all this. By now the tram had crossed the
bridge and was passing toward the outer edge of the city. The man holding the
video asked if I would like to get a coffee as there was a café near the next
stop. We got off and walked half a block into a small nondescript café
appropriately dim and smoke filled.
The
tables were designed with barely enough surface for two espresso cups on tiny
saucers and an ashtray. As one didn’t
presume to use two tables in an establishment like this and yet hesitated to
put anything down as the floor had been nether swept nor mopped in some time,
we had the typewriter and the video balanced on the table which left a fraction
of the space for our coffees.
I
certainly don’t want to give the impression I routinely go for coffee with strangers
I meet on trams. Actually this was the first time. I was tempted to ask if he frequently
invited strangers out but somehow sitting close over the table inhibited my
curiosity. Instead I asked him why he
came back from Ohio.
He
pursed his lips slightly and with what I assumed was practiced nonchalance said
he had family and returned to be with them, a wife and a young son. I nodded as though this explained everything,
which of course it didn’t. Then with a
gaze that appeared less practiced, he said if he had known how things would
turn out, he might have remained in Ohio.
As
a seasoned teacher, I know to give someone space when they are about to say
something new so I stirred my coffee. His
wife left him shortly after he returned from his time abroad. He managed to stay in contact with his son
who eventually grew up as sons do, married, took a job in some incomprehensible
technology outside of Boston. He raised
his hands in a what can one do gesture and said, “So here I am an old man
watching shoot ‘em up videos in English.”
I
nodded, stirring the coffee that was nearly gone. His story required a moment
of silence at the very least. I gave it that and was about to inquire if he had
actually met John Glenn when he tapped on the typewriter case and asked what I
wrote. While a teacher knows the best
strategy is to give ample space to someone speaking, a writer knows to fill any
expanse no matter how small with words.
With a practiced spiel, I rambled on about starting in college, winning
a few insignificant competitions and now working on a debut novel that I hoped
to get to a publisher or at the very least a literary agent by summer, October
at the latest.
In
his previous work, which I still hadn’t determined, he must have learned to
wait for the person to move from the cover of the tome to denser pages. After a
pause, I mumbled that although quite gifted at carrying the typewriter back and
forth from the university to my flat, I wasn’t able to get past the first few
pages of the novel I envisioned writing.
He
gave his appropriate moment of silence. The waiter walked by to see if we
wanted to order another coffee, but didn’t linger long enough to encourage us
to do so. The silence might have felt
awkward except we didn’t know each other well enough to be uncomfortable. Starting
again with the pursed lips and a gaze that revealed nothing, he asked if we
might meet occasionally for coffee as a way for him to use English. I began to point out that with teaching and
my writing there wasn’t time but realized we had discussed my unused typewriter
so obviously there was time, if I wanted to use some for talking with him.
He
sensed my hesitation and casually, portrayed as an after thought, mentioned
perhaps he could help get my writing going.
After all, all one needed was a decent story told in a compelling
way. We stood up, paying the
waiter. As we walked out the door, he
nodded back towards the café.
“Same time next
week?”
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