Trolleybus. Dedicated to the unknown driver of KP "Kyivpastrans"

/ Urbanism /

It was a warm early yellow autumn.

- What to do? How to get to the Center? - people asked each other at the trolleybus stop on Vynogradare. Trolleybuses did not run, there was a huge landslide on the Podolsk slope, and traffic from the northern residential areas to the Center was blocked.

I was returning to work from a women's consultation - I was expecting a child. "Yes, such a City, our Kiev mountains are crawling, washed by streams and underground rivers..." I thought, "loess species..." - the voice of school geography teacher Tamara Andreevna suddenly came to mind.

Suddenly, a trolleybus came to the stop. There was neither a number plate nor a sign with a route on it. The trolleybus was of a "new generation" — with wide windows, doors, a huge "screen" for the driver's window and large side mirrors. The trolley bus stopped carefully and buzzed like a huge insect. The front doors opened.

Anna Cooper

- Where are you going? On which route? I shouted to the driver.

- Yes, there is no route as such, - the driver answered me and smiled, bending in half in my direction.

"I wonder how it is - there is no route? After all, a trolleybus is not a minibus that "goes where I want, there I go"... The horns need to be attached to the wires. Wires, obviously, are not strung throughout the City, only along the routes.

There must be some route..." I thought.

- Will you take it to the Center?

- I'll bring it. Sit down. True, we will go for a long time. Gardens.

- Nothing. thank you — I entered the trolleybus.

Since childhood, I have loved trolleybuses more than trams, and, of course, more than buses. The tram is noisy, the bus is smelly, but the trolleybus is stealing softly with its tires on the asphalt, it brakes softly and hums pleasantly. I went through school in a trolleybus - we lived on Kurenivka, and I studied in the Center, in Verkhny Horod, opposite the St. Andrew's Church. I was glad that I had an opportunity to ride the trolley bus again.

Entering the salon, I felt something strange. The trolleybus was unusual. The seats were arranged in an unusual way, the upholstery of the chairs was also non-standard. Passengers huddled at the entrances, there were many free seats.

"Something is wrong," I thought, "but what?"

The conductor approached me.

— Tickets! We expose the passengers! Buy a ticket! What a nice weather, huh? - shouted the young man. A slight inferiority crept into the ego's appearance. Too thin for his age, like a child, a wide smile on his face, no rudeness. It was nice.

- I have one. thank you

- Take it. You can compost it, and then, before exiting, give it to someone else, - the strange conductor handed me a ticket and walked with a dancing gait further along the trolleybus interior.

— Tickets! We expose the passengers! Buy a ticket!

"What's wrong here?..." - a question ran through his head. And suddenly I realized that something was wrong, or rather, I heard it. Music was playing in the cabin of the trolleybus: an absolutely amazing selection of all times and peoples. Queen, Madonna, Nirvana were interspersed with the music of Strauss, Louis Armstrong and soundtracks to Quentin Tarantino's films. Music poured into the cabin from the driver's cabin.

The trolleybus was unusual. The seats were arranged in an atypical way, the seat upholstery was also non-standard.

The trolleybus was not really following the route. He meandered through the streets of the Windy Mountains, finding his way where wires were laid. People went in and out, not knowing where the next stop would be. But all the residential areas on the outskirts of Kurenevka were cut off from the center of the city, so it was better to go somewhere than not to go at all. People united in this uncertainty and helped each other orient themselves. "Oh, I turned onto the 16th route... Is this Syrets, like?" — "Yes, soon Lukyanovka will be..."

- Don't you know where the trolleybus is going? - asked the incoming.

"No, but they promise to take you to the Center," answered the community of traveling passengers with a smile, somehow unusually politely. No one was in a hurry anymore. New passengers entered, sat down, or stood and listened to music. Quiet pleasant joy was felt in the air, a feeling of help and mutual understanding.

"I wonder what a driver who has selected such a high-quality playlist looks like?" - I thought, but I continued to stand in the second car of the trolleybus, knowing that the Center is still far away and I will have time to look at the driver - he will definitely not come out!

- Sit down! - an elderly man suggested to me, looking at my stomach.

— No, thanks, I stay up, I sit a lot at work...

The conductor danced in the salon to the music: "Tickets! To whom tickets! Buy one - give to another!". The faces of the entering passengers were gradually immersed in thoughts and dreams.

At the next stop, an old man entered the salon.

- Where is the trolleybus going? he asked in a croaking voice, putting his foot on the footstool.

"To the Center," the young girl answered him politely.

— On what route, I ask?! - the old man began to start.

"There is no route, we're just going to the Center," a man in a hat interceded for the girl.

- How is it - there is no route? Disorder! — the old man finally got on the footboard and rolled into the salon. - Who allowed the music to be turned on? AND? What do they allow themselves here? - the conductor approached the old man. - Ticket? What ticket? I am a beneficiary! The ticket offers. They have already gone crazy! Turn off the music! Turn it off! I will complain!..

Illustration by Valeria Yudyna

The passengers carefully surrounded the old man, pressed him against the seat and pushed out the negotiator. The young woman gently suggested:

- Please sit down!

The old man looked at the group of people with bewilderment, who looked at him with pleasant smiles and offered to sit down so that he would feel comfortable.

- I can stand! - the old man squirmed again.

- Sit down, sit down, please...

The old man had to sit down - the group consisted of seven people. The old man sat down, but continued to say: "Did you all agree here? What kind of route is strange?.. And the conductor is actually dancing a waltz here! Where is the world going? Branded everything... What? What is he saying there? do you hear "Pass to a friend!" I will complain about all of you!" But gradually the old man's speech became quieter and eventually turned into a cozy growl by the wide window.

"What does the driver look like? I have to go see it," I thought and headed for the driver's seat.

After entering the front part of the cabin, I saw a large windshield. Long "wipers" with slow, sweeping movements brushed away drops of rare rain and yellow autumn leaves stuck to the glass.

The City opened in my window. Houses, streets, roads rushed by, citizens in a hurry hid under umbrellas. The music in the cabin of the trolleybus was softly enveloping. The trolleybus was rushing through the raging passions of the City like a capsule of happiness, inside which pulsated love and safety. "That's how I would travel all my life..." a thought flashed, "in this trolleybus..."

When I woke up, I looked at the driver. Short, fifty years old, wearing a cap, he looked more like a mechanic than a driver. "A random person here," I thought, "a kind face, smiling all the time." How did he manage to make such a musical selection?" — the driver looked at me and smiled again:

— You would sit down, there are free seats in the cabin...

"Thank you, I'll wait..."

"That's how I would travel all my life..." the thought flashed, "in this trolleybus..."

So I stood at the window in Horod to Khreschatyk itself. The trolley no longer seemed strange to me, everything else outside the trolley seemed strange. Cars, signals, signs, at home, running, busy, lonely people with stern faces...

- I will complain! - suddenly heard the voice of an old man coming out of the salon. The voice was no longer so confident. "I said more out of habit than out of necessity," I thought. The people in the salon smiled gently at the old man.

We all got off the trolleybus at Khreschatyk. In the city. Without music. To work.

... Five years have passed since then, and I understand that I am still riding in the trolleybus of like-minded people who are changing our City for the better, fortunately. But I keep dreaming of the time when the whole City will be a capsule of happiness, dissecting the raging sea of ​​human civilization, pulsating with love, care and trust.


/October 2018/

Illustrations: Valery Yudina

Posted in #10 volume Pragmatika, April 2019