No puedo escuchar los susurros a Díos

I was riding home on some random bus (22 de Julio, Flota Bolivar, Atenas, 10 de Noviembre…) with bright blue, flashing lights and yellow and red seats with blasting merengue, serenading me in the most unromantic manner. This is what I always do, every night at 6:30.

And like there always is, a man stood up in front of the bus, giving a very formal and elaborate speech. The speech, as fantastic as you would imagine the speech would be of a man fighting for democracy or political election, was about little mint candies. Nothing out of the ordinary. I have heard a diverse set of discourses, lasting anywhere from ten to 45 minutes about red, blue and green pens, cereal bars, strawberry candies, ointment to stop aging, medicine against prostate cancer, mints, chocolates, and chewing gum….no speech any more elaborate than the other.

And as I have grown accustomed to doing, I placed his voice as background noise and stared out the window, fascinated by the unusual clarity of Chimborazo and the purples and pinks of the setting sun. Finally it was dark and the man passed by me offering the candies (you always first must hold the candies in your hand and then make your decision of whether or not they are worth buying…). The mundane creates habit and I quickly and easily refused to even take the  little candies in hand because I knew I would not buy them and well I would rather not even look at them and continue to stare out the window. He insisted and I insisted no…but for some reason as he moved on, I felt a little cold that I had insisted so…but nevertheless, I continued to stare out the window.

Usually, after their great sales, they jump off the bus and they are gone forever into millions of more buses (good evening ladies and gentlemen, excuse me for bothering you on this wonderful night…..again and again). But, he sat on the seats across from me…waiting for Guaranda just as I was.

So, for the first time, I saw him. I saw him counting the money he just made. The money he made fit in one hand….coins of 5, 10, and 25. He counted them carefully. And then, he counted how many candies he had left. Maybe 15, 20. He nodded his head in indifference and stored away the money in a pocket inside of his shirt full of dirt. I heard the change on him shake. Everything he made from the day, the week….the month?

And then he tried to sleep… I kept on looking over at him and in his restlessness I saw him speaking to himself. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and he was shaking his head speaking softly but with deep conviction.

Was he asleep and having a nightmare? Or was he awake and simply speaking to himself?

I felt sad and wish I had bought 3 candies for 25 cents. But I wasn´t really sure what that would do and I wasn´t really sure why this man was selling candies on buses…How could I know or even more perplexing, how could I ever understand? Staring out the window in confusion and without the ability to ever really know, I felt very sad and felt wet eyes.

He continued to talk. ¨Or,¨ I thought. ¨Is he he speaking with God?¨  He spoke for a long time…..he spoke for a long time with God. But, unfortunately, I could not hear him.

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