The Man on the Number 71 Bus

Wadih (24) from Beirut

The bus he takes on his way from the centre to his apartment has the number 71. Usually, he gets in at De Brouckère, it is the bus stop right in the centre. Then he will stay on for about half an hour, leaving the bus just before it reaches the university. Sometimes he gets on the bus at another stop. The route leads the bus everywhere, to all the important places in Brussels.

It takes people in at one of the main train stations, La Gare Centrale, who come to visit the city for a weekend or who return home after being away for a while. The bus with the number 71 carries them to their hotels and apartments, safely most of the time.

It stops at Bozar. Taking in all the people, sophisticated enough to visit the opera, not well-off enough in actual monetary means, which makes them use the bus after an evening out. They sit down in their thrifted suits and wrinkled dresses. When it gets dark outside, there will be some free seats. Unless it is the weekend.

When the bus crosses the square in front of Le Palais Royal it gets quite bumpy for the passengers inside bus 71. The street would need to be repaired, but in Brussels people are used to perforated roads. The bus driver wants to win a race again. Passengers take care not to fall.

Finally, the bus arrives at Flagey. On a Saturday, people celebrate until late at night. They are happy when they see the bus coming since it will take them home on the fastest route. Soon he will be getting off the bus as well.

For a few months, he has been using this bus regularly and does not notice the turns it takes anymore. He knows how to better spend the time on the bus. When watching people, time passes faster. It always does. But bus number 71 has something special to offer.

He first recognised the man a few weeks ago. What strikes him about the man’s appearance is the slightly outdated neutral-coloured garments he is wearing that seem to be taken out of another century. The man always carries around a black umbrella, holding it in the same way upwards, but closed, hiding the hand that is holding it. The look on his face is serious, and the one time I myself used the bus 71 and saw the man, it frightened me.

Once I asked him why he would not go and talk to the man. The theory he has about his presence: intriguing, although with a high probability not true. He thinks the man with the umbrella is on a mission recruiting people for a terrorist organisation. When he first told me about it, I could not help but burst out laughing. The more I thought about it, the more I thought there could be some truth in it. Is it not always what we least expect that has some truth to itself?

The man with the umbrella brings a dash of mystery into his life whenever he enters the bus. The man never gets in and out at the same stop. He never talks to anyone. He just stands there holding his black umbrella up into the air. Upwards, but closed.