Z Political Science

Fortis boarded Bus 139 near his home. He showed his monthly travel
card to the driver and headed for a seat.

"Just a minute. Let me see that," the driver said.

Fortis displayed his travel card to the driver, holding it a few inches
from the partition, and started towards the seats.

"Come back here! Show me that again!"

Again Fortis displayed his travel card, this time pressing it against
the clear plastic partition separating the passengers from the driver
in his cage.

"Give it to me!"

Fortis was accustomed to this kind of thing. It was standard procedure
in London, where a little random abuse keeps the passengers in line. He
slipped the yellow plastic holder through the change slot. The driver
opened it and studied the travel card closely. He removed the card,
turned it upside down, replaced it, examined it again, then closed the
plastic folder and flipped it through the change slot at Fortis.

"You have to be more careful. It was upside down. How do you expect me
to read something upside down? Next time make sure your picture card
and your travel card are facing the same way."

Fortis retrieved his travel card, returned it to his coat pocket and
moved on in silence. "It would not be nice to tease the animals in
their cages," he thought. "Or feed them."

Had you been standing just behind Fortis at the driver's cage, looking
into the bus, you would have seen two elevated seats on the driver's
side of the bus just behind the driver's cage. There was a small
plastic bag in the little parcel storage area between the two seats.
Had you faced the two seats, you would have seen Foont sitting on the
right.

You would also have observed that Foont was, shall we say, not quite
right. From the looks of him, Foont was about sixty years old, tall and
bony, wearing a tweed jacket and clashing tweed cap. It was July. He
had the blotchy-red face of a petty functionary on a personal mission
to sort everyone out. In short, Foont was a failure looking for a
target.

Fortis headed for the bench just behind Foont on the driver's side of
the bus. Foont addressed him as follows:

"YOU SHOULD SHOW MORE CONSIDERATION FOR THE REST OF THE PASSENGERS! GET
YOUR MONEY READY AND DON'T HOLD US ALL UP NEXT TIME!"

Fortis looked up in surprise, noticing Foont's worm-like face and
clenched teeth for the first time.
Fortis looked into Foont's eyes, said, "Shut up!" and sat down.

"SHUT UP IS IT? YOU WANT TO HAVE A GO WITH ME? I'LL SHOW YOU A THING OR
TWO!"

Foont rose from his seat during this speech, shaking, spit flying from
his mouth, eyes bulging. Realizing midstream that Fortis could easily
pound him senseless in five seconds, Foont twirled around and sat back
down, sputtering:

"TELL ME TO SHUT UP WILL YOU, YOU BLOODY USELESS LAYABOUT!"

Fortis simply stared at the old man during all of this. At the word
"layabout," even Foont realized he'd crossed a bridge too far and at
last shut his mouth.

Fortis continued to stare at Foont all the way to Baker Street. They
both exited the bus, Foont then Fortis. Fortis looked around for a
policeman, even going inside the tube stop in the hopes of finding one.
No police to be found, Fortis gave up and walked to the stop for Bus 30
to continue his journey to Islington. There sat Foont.

Fortis waited for his bus and stared at Foont for at least 10 minutes.
Foont said nothing and did nothing, except try to avoid eye contact
with Fortis.

Bus 30 arrived. They both boarded, first Foont then Fortis. Foont took
a bench seat. Fortis took a bench seat directly behind Foont and stared
at the back of Foont's head for the next thirty minutes.

Foont was uncomfortable with this. He fidgeted. Several times he took
out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face. From time to time
he turned sideways and caught a glimpse of Fortis staring directly at
him. Foont's face flushed red, then drained white, then back to red. It
was a pleasing display, a real Kodak moment.

Foont got off the bus in Islington, one stop before Fortis. Foont was
visibly cowed. His shoulders slumped. His gait showed no signs of
swagger. He tried to look forward, but he could not keep from glancing
back at the bus, where Fortis still stared at him as the bus pulled
away.

Fortis made an important decision that day. Henceforth he would always
carry an umbrella, regardless of the weather. He already owned the
perfect model, one with a sturdy one-piece wooden shaft that bends into
a U-shaped handle at one end and concludes with a brass cap at the
other. You know the kind.

That was one year ago. Fortis has noticed how polite everyone has been
to him since that first encounter with Foont. Perhaps the umbrella has
something to do with it.