Norwegian Wood
This snippet was written in response to a writing group prompt. I plan to come back to it and work it into a full story.
After dark the dorm was hushed, like a ruin. Pablo wondered if the Norwegian would return with the weed, or if he had seen the last of his money. ‘Trust me,’ he had said in his quiet, musical tone. ‘Believe in karma and you will be rewarded.’ How many times had he heard that? There was the Brazilian in Lima, the German doctor in Quito and the Mancunian who had made his home in the back streets of La Paz. Who wouldn’t want to find peace?
Not long after sunrise, a sneeze rocked those who were still asleep. Pablo stretched his legs and felt something shift between his feet. He sat up, lifted the sheet and smiled. The Norwegian had made good on his promise, but he wasn’t in his bed and his bags were gone, along with whatever was left from the fifty dollar note. No breakfast for Pablo, not until he had made some sales. But he hadn’t figured on the popularity of the person who was holding. People who had scowled at him were now grinning and offering him fruit.
The party on the beach ended when the weed ran out, which was far sooner than Pablo had budgeted. He watched the sunrise with a shaggy-haired Londoner who claimed to be on the run. From what? It didn’t do to ask these things, but Pablo felt safe enough. Probably his parents, rather than the Policia.
The hostel manager dumped Pablo’s bags on the sidewalk when he refused him a cut of his profits. On Saturday night he slept behind the shack on the beach, with two stray dogs and, as he discovered when he woke, an army of biting ants. When the Farmacia opened, he pointed to his face and the woman behind the counter shook her head and reached for some ointment.
Twelve hours later he boarded a bus for Santiago. He chose an aisle seat under what he hoped was a cool air vent and lowered his cap over his eyes. A hand gripped his shoulder and he pulled up his visor. The Norwegian shrugged.
‘I spent the finder’s fee.’
‘I noticed.’
‘There was a party.’
‘There’s always a party.’
‘We’re good now, yes?’
Christ knows how many hours they would be on the bus.
‘Of course, no problem.’
The Norwegian offered his hand and they shook. Pablo moved to the window and his travelling companion dropped into the seat under the vent. The driver started the engine and the Norwegian raised his nose. ‘Cool air,’ he sang. ‘Best seat on the bus.’
You couldn’t blame the baby for being hot and bothered, but did it have to cry all night and shut up the moment daylight forced its way through the moth-eaten curtains? The baton was passed to the man at Pablo’s side, as the Norwegian decided now was the time to try out his one-man show: My Adventures in South America. He was paddling up (down?) the Amazon when Pablo decided to get off at Antofagasta. Maybe he could work his passage as far as Mexico and try and sneak back into California.