Fascinating City [original page 38] We would press our noses against the display windows to watch animated and stationary toys, saturating our eyes and minds with sights we had never before seen or heard of. From fascination, the sights would lead to a trance. In front of one window, then another, possibly for hours, never tiring, never a thought of the village we had left behind, never hungry. And we were in a peaceful environment.
Thus the days passed, and when darkness came it was always too soon for us. But the glitter of lights of moving objects in the darkness displayed yet another form of enchantment. Every evening we had a full day of fascinating visions to convey to Mother-the wonders that filled each moment during the day. Mother did not venture out of our rented room, and our return in the evenings after our days of exploring were a great relief to her as well as exciting.
On the particular day that I am about to describe, four little Tenenbaum children, in a strange wonderland, walked from our family's rented room to the main street, less than two blocks away. Our hands were clasped together, our eyes were full of wonderment, our minds full of new anticipations, [and] our stomachs full of chicken schmaltz with hot water (called soup) eaten with dried bread, good teeth, and excellent appetites.
Upon our arrival at our favorite place on [the] main street, we sat down on a curb and contemplated, “What to do?” For days we had watched crowds of people getting on and off double-decker buses. A sudden thought entered my mind [and was] unanimously approved. We placed ourselves among other people who were waiting for the bus to stop.
A Liverpool city bus with four Tenenbaum children waiting to board. [original page 39]
When the bus did stop, we were practically pushed into it. We headed in single file, hands clenched together, toward the curved stairs leading to the upper deck. In an empty seat the four of us sat together to view the fascinating passing panorama and to appreciate the vast difference between the springless straw-filled wooden wagon that had transported us out of Visoko, Litovsk, and this self-propelled vehicle in which we were seated. Our eyes were aglow, and our minds filled with uncertain pleasant expectations.
The bus started. From our high seat, the speed [made it seem] as if we were flying. Our joyous moments were cut short. A man wearing a brass-buttoned uniform, lacquered cap, and a badge approached our seat. We smiled at him. He spoke in words of a language we could not understand. We looked at him in amazement while he spoke and gestured to us. . . . [W]e had no idea what he was saying, since we did not speak English, and we did not know we had to pay a fare. So we just sat there and smiled, awaiting an interpreter.
[original page 40] The conductor quickly realized the situation. He gently took my hand and motioned as if to say, “Come with me.” Again with our hands clasped together, we were escorted down the stairs and onto the pavement about four blocks from where we had boarded the bus. We just stood there for a while, not knowing what to do next. We sat down on the curb, failing to see any just reason why we should be denied that which others were enjoying. Was it because of the way we were dressed? Or was it because we could have gotten lost in a city so vast in size compared to our village? I dread to think of what could have happened had the conductor, as an act of kindness (or, the other way around, to be mean) ...
