Meeting God

 

I’m sitting in the bus-station just across the Tribunal, slightly bored. The heat is unbearable and here and there a dizzy old lady rushes towards a place with shadow. The pavement is dusty, the few strands of grass that broke through the pavement wilt under the scorching Sun and the street washing car is nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t find a place on the bench so I’m sitting on the railing near the bush. My dossier on my lap and the service phone in my pocket. The 32 is nowhere to be found. I think to myself what a great feeling would it be to lazily swim somewhere in the sea and not wait in a 40o heat for a bus to take me back to the office. Time is almost still…

Suddenly my nose picks up a disturbing and repulsing smell. I look up and a bagger is standing in front of me, with long hair that probably hadn’t been washed for weeks. A couple of messy clusters of hair dangle on his shoulders. A dirty face, on his forehead amongst the wrinkles the strains of black dust are visible and his beard probably hadn’t seen a raiser for a while. 40 degrees heat on the thermometers and the guy is standing in fornt of me with a long green and tattered coat. Two scruffy old clujana boots decorate his legs. One of his toes just broke out from this infernally hot dungeon. “Can I sit down?” – he asks me in a hoarse but slightly soft voice. “Why not…” ­– I answer, what could he possibly do to me? In the worst case I’ll fall on my back because of the smell, but my nose is not that sensitive. “Who are you?” ­– he asks me. “A simple student who instead of partying somewhere is sitting here for a couple of bucks and dying under the Sun”. – I answer in a slightly bored voice, ‘cause in times like this I’m not that sociable. “I’m asking you one more time. Who are you?” – he repeats his previous question with a stronger tone. “What do you care? Hadn’t I just told you, that I’m a student? Don’t you want an account of my life? And just who are you?” – and my veins started rising near my forehead, because in this infernal hit a nosy bagger was just what I asked for. “Well I’m God” ­– he simply tells me and an unusually childish smile appears on his face. “Dear Saint Virgin Mary” ­– I say to myself. “Not only does he stink like hell, but probably in a couple of minutes to strong guys will take him back to the nuthouse”- “Why do you think I’m crazy?” – he asks me a lil’bit frightened. “Who, me? Oh no, did I say anything?” – and I felt that the situation is starting to get uncomfortable. “Then why did you think that two strong chaps will have to take me back to the nuthouse” – he asks me with that same childish smile “Whaaatt…” and the words got stuck in my throat. “Who are you once again?” ­– asking me for the third time. ‘’Maaann. Just a man” – I stutter slightly shaken. “Then hiyya man, I’m God” – he says it with a huge smile and puts out his wrinkled hand towards me. I do the same, hold out my hand when suddenly the 32 arrived. I get my dossier and jump on the bus. I heard a voice and never saw him again … “We’ll meet again man…”

Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca) 3rd of August 2007

 

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