The Case on Shelf Nine

The bag room of the bus station is quiet at night. Olwen likes it that way. She sits behind the long counter and counts bags. The station has twelve gates, and all of them are dark.

There are four hundred shelves. Each one holds a suitcase, a box or a sleeping bag. Every item has a paper ticket with a number.

Shelf nine is different. It has no ticket. A long brass case lies on it. A card hangs from the handle. The card says, "Aim at the star that waits."

Olwen found the case on her first night, six years ago. She opened it. Inside lay a telescope. It was small and heavy and cold. It pointed up at the glass roof.

Olwen put her eye to the small glass. She saw a very small star. It was not bright. It was not near the moon. It looked like a grain of salt on a black plate.

She checked her star chart, and the star was not on it. The chart showed a bright star close by. The telescope pointed away from it, at the wrong one.

Olwen turned the tube. The bright star slid into view for a second. Then the tube swung back slowly, like a hand. She let go, and it stayed on the grain of salt.

"Strange," she said to the empty room. Then she closed the case and went back to the counter. She told nobody. Nobody asked about shelf nine.

Tonight is different. At two o'clock, a bus driver comes in. He is tall and tired, and his coat smells of oil. He puts his lunch box on the counter. He wants to leave it for an hour.

"What is in that case?" he asks. He points at shelf nine.

"A telescope."

"Can I look?"

Olwen waits. Then she shrugs. "Be careful. It is old."

The driver lifts the tube and puts it to his eye. He turns it left. He turns it right. He frowns.

"I want to see the bright one," he says. "My wife says it is a lucky star."

"Then turn it to the bright one."

"I try. It does not stay." He tries again. The tube swings back by itself. "It is broken."

"Maybe."

The driver holds out the telescope. He looks at the clock. "I have to go. Someone else can try."

A young man sits on the bench near the counter. He has a folder on his knees. He reads the same page again and again. He looks up.

"Can I try?" he says.

The driver hands him the telescope. "It does not work."

The young man holds the tube in both hands. He looks. His shoulders go down.

"I only see a small gray dot," he says. "I want a star with a name. A strong one. I have a job interview at nine tomorrow. I need luck."

He pushes the tube toward the bright star. It slides back. He pushes harder, and it slides back again.

"Useless," he says. He is not angry. He only sounds tired. "Here."

He gives the telescope to a woman who walks past the bench. She has a mop. She cleans the floor of the station every night. Her cart is old and loud.

"Oh, I do not need that," she says. But she takes it anyway. She holds it up to the glass roof.

She looks for a long time. Her lips move, and Olwen cannot hear the words.

"The star is too small," the woman says at last. "I wish it was bigger. I wish it was gold."

She hands the telescope back to Olwen. Then she goes on with her mop. The driver takes his lunch box and leaves. The young man follows him out.

Olwen sits for a while with the tube across her knees. Three people look through it tonight. Each one wants something bright. Each one gets only a grain of salt.

"Maybe nobody wants you," she says to the telescope. "Maybe you wait for the wrong person."

The telescope does not answer. It only points at the roof.

At half past five, the sky begins to turn pale. The first buses leave. The doors of the station open and close. Olwen puts the telescope back in its case. She sets the case on shelf nine.

Then the street door opens, and a woman steps into the room.

She is about Olwen's age. She wears a green coat. She has no bag and no ticket. She stands by the door for a moment. She seems unsure about the room.

"Good morning," says Olwen. "Can I help you?"

"My name is Dasha." The woman looks around. "I think I left something here. I do not know when."

"What is it?"

"I do not know either." Dasha smiles. It is a shy smile. "But I think I will know it when I see it."

She walks past the counter. She walks past the first shelf and the second. She does not look at the numbers. At shelf nine, she stops.

"There," says Dasha.

Olwen's heart beats fast. She lifts the brass case from the shelf. Dasha opens it with careful fingers.

"A telescope," she says. "It is a good one."

"It points at the wrong star," says Olwen. "Three people try it tonight. They all want the bright one."

"The bright one?" Dasha laughs softly. "Everyone wants that one."

She does not turn the tube. She does not even try to move it. She lifts the small glass to her eye. She looks up at the glass roof.

For a long moment, the room is silent. Olwen hears the clock on the wall. She hears a bus engine far outside.

"Oh," Dasha says. "There you are."

"Which star is it?"

"The one nobody picks." Dasha does not take her eye from the glass. "It is small and it is plain. I always look at that one. It never asks for anything."

Then something happens. Olwen sees it from the counter. A small point of light blinks in the glass roof above them. It blinks once, and then once again.

Dasha lowers the telescope. Her eyes are wet, but she smiles.

"Thank you for keeping it," she says. She closes the case and holds it against her coat.

"Wait," Olwen says. "How do you know it is yours?"

Dasha looks at her for a long time. She does not answer. She nods at the street door.

Outside, at gate nine, a bus waits with its lights off. Olwen does not know the bus. It has no number on the front. Its doors are open, and the inside is dark and warm.

Dasha walks out with the case. Olwen watches the doors close.