by Roger Elwood
“It’s the same as slowing down, Father,” said Marc, “but just keep pushing on the brake pedal.”
“I know, I know, and shut up. Leah, what’s with you? You’re not serious about this land person thing are you? Just as you get big enough to help with the driving . . . and do you know how your mother and I would worry? Gees!”
“I want out, Father, so stop the car.”
“No way. Forget it,” said Albert, who then listened incredulously as Leah radioed the police. Albert and Mary exchanged glances.
“This is European Precinct Car Nine to Gregg VW. Acknowledge, please,” said the radio.
“Gregg here,” muttered Albert.
“Look, mister, we sympathize one-hundred, but the kid’s right. You gotta let her out,” said the radio. “Now follow my instructions and you should be all right. Ever stopped a car before?”
“No,” said Albert.
“Doesn’t matter,” said the radio. “Work your way over to the right-hand lane.”
“But I’ve been in Lane Four for six years,” said Albert. “I don’t like to change lanes.” Why must a man be asked to do so many things at once that he is unprepared to do, that he never thought he would have to do?
“Move on over, Mister Gregg.”
Albert craned his neck and squinted through the tiny rear window, waited for a Mercedes to pass, then darted over two lanes causing a pick-up truck to slow violently and a bead of sweat to pop out at the base of Albert’s skull. “Little rusty,” said Albert. Mary patted his hand. Albert used the mirror the next time and found himself safe and sound in the curb lane.
"Pull off onto the apron,” said the radio, and Albert, like a robot now, bumped the VW over the low curb and up onto the narrow emergency apron. "Apply brakes,” said the radio. "More . . . more . , . just like reducing speed for Morning Rush, isn’t it? . . . more . . . more . . .”
Albert’s fists were tight about the steering wheel and the back of his head throbbed with tension.
"Engage the clutch,” said the radio. "Now, more brakes , . . more brakes . . . more . . . that’s it . . . that’s it ... a little more .. . and you’ve got it!”
Albert closed his eyes and stood up on the brake pedal and for the first time in his life the only motion Albert Gregg had was that he shared with the planet as it carved its tunnel through space. Before Albert could deal with this new sensation Leah was through the sun-roof, the one luxury they had permitted themselves on the new car, and Mary said "Look,” as their daughter stumbled away as fast as she could on legs that had never walked but on the family exerciser.
“Goddamn,” said Albert. "My little girl, my Leah.”
“Aw, we’ll have more room without her,” said Marc, somewhere between ecstasy and tears.
Mary said nothing, but put a fist to the corner of her mouth and stared out the side window and a circuit was somewhere closed that told Albert that Mary had known all along. The whispered mother-daughter talks half heard during Albert’s turn to sleep, and Mary had let Leah sleep rather than take her shift at the wheel. . . . Albert looked out in the direction Leah had taken but saw only a few feet of cement with oil stains, litter, and a crusty sprig of grass. Beyond that was the roaring, moving wall of cars and vans and cab-overs and semis and wreckers and pick-ups of every make or model or size or year or condition.
"Move it, VW,” said the voice of the Traffic Director on the radio.
"Huh?” said Albert. “Oh, yes.” He had never started from a standing stop before, but Traffic was slowing down to look at him, so he awkwardly dropped the clutch and
jerked out into the curb lane, activated his signal and headed for Lane Four. It felt good to go through the gears, to match speeds with the living, moving world of the road, and to take one’s proper place in. the cosmic scheme of things. A land person, long-haired and dirty, skipped nimbly in front of the VW and Albert slowed briefly, a courtesy he had never before extended. Somewhere on a filthy piece of dirt was Leah, maybe alone, maybe already with a pack of the jackal-like land people. Eleven years old.
"Can I watch television instead of plugging in School Hookup for the rest of the day, Mom?” said Marc.
"Yes, Marc, you may.”
You’re too damned permissive, thought Albert. Just look how Leah turned out. But Albert couldn’t find a voice to say it.
"I gave her an emergency re-call device,” said Mary. "She can call us if she needs us.”
"Yeah,” said Albert, forcing words around an obstruction in his throat. "She’ll activate it in Milano, and we’ll be through Caracas. Besides, she’ll throw it away or somebody will take it off her to decoy suckers into traps. Forget her. She’s gone.”
"Reduce speed to ten kilometers per hour,” said the radio. Time for Noon Rush already? Albert released the accelerator and clicked down the hand throttle. Overhead a chopper was delivering a new car, a Buick, to a new owner on an adjacent freeway, and eight lanes over a cigar pennant on the antenna of a Ford signaled the birth of a baby.
"I need to use the blue bag, Mommy,” said Marc. Mary handed the device over the back of the seat. "Boy, do I haye a lot of room back here without old Leah. Boy, this is great!” Marc used the bag, sealed and shook it, then handed it back to his mother.
"Appropriate,” said Albert, aloud.
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