by Hill, Roxann
“Did I?”
“You did. I remember it for sure. I hadn’t fallen asleep yet.”
I had to laugh. I unbuckled the worn-out safety belt and knelt on my seat, facing Emma without further ado. “You want a story?”
Emma snuggled up in my ski jacket, which served as a blanket today, too. She beamed at me expectantly.
“Very well,” I said, pretending to be put out. “A long time ago, there was a beautiful princess.” I stopped.
“Aha!” said Emma.
“This princess didn’t have a lot of money, but she looked really good. Tall, slim, great hair, excellent figure. And she was young. One day, when she had to work for the mean witch in order to buy herself something to eat, a very handsome king appeared.”
“A king?” Emma asked.
“And what a king! His name was King Valentin. He was educated, clever, sensitive, and insanely rich.”
“What did he want with the witch?”
“Who?”
“The king. Why didn’t he stay in his castle?”
“He wanted to buy himself another castle. And the witch sold castles.”
Emma opened her eyes wide. “Witches sell castles?”
I laughed again. “You’d be surprised. Some do. The king saw the poor princess—she was copying scrolls for the witch—and he immediately fell in love with her grace and beauty—but mostly with her pure soul, which was just like his.”
“He fell in love with the witch?”
“No. Not with her! He fell in love with the beautiful, poor princess.”
“And then he married her.”
I furrowed my brow. “He wanted to. But wait, let me tell the story properly. The princess had also fallen in love with the king. He was her dream man. The king bought a castle for himself and a small castle high above the clouds for the princess. The witch was so happy about it that she gave the princess even better tasks. And the princess began to earn a lot more money. Also, the king gave the princess clothing, furniture, and a cool carriage as presents. With her new carriage, the princess could flit around as much as she liked.”
Emma clapped her hands. “The princess must have liked that.”
“Boy, did she!” I agreed. “And whenever the king had time, he sent the princess a carrier pigeon, and the princess would run back to her castle in the clouds to await her king.”
“And then he married her.”
“No. Aren’t you listening? I already explained that he wanted to, but there was a problem.”
“A giant? A sorcerer?”
I sighed. “If only it had been that easy. No, the problem was a queen.”
“The king was already married?”
“Yes, but not properly. He didn’t like the queen at all. He only loved his princess. But for governmental reasons, he had to act as though he loved the queen.”
Emma sat up. “What are governmental reasons?”
“Oh, well, that’s complicated. You’re too young to understand,” I said lamely.
“I’m quite clever for my age. Try to explain.”
“The king didn’t want his subjects to know that he didn’t love the queen. He also didn’t want to make the queen sad. For that reason, he intended to gently tell the queen that he would soon marry the princess.”
“Huh!” David’s voice startled me out of my narrative.
“Huh, what?” I said and turned toward him.
He stayed focused on the road. “Don’t believe such nonsense, Emma.”
“What do you mean nonsense?” Anger surged inside me.
“This liar, King Valentin, never even intended to marry the princess.”
“Why, Papa?” Emma said.
I was reduced to silence.
David gave us a quick glance over his shoulder. “The king is a bad guy. He lied to the princess.”
“Why did he lie to her?” asked Emma.
“Because he . . .” David paused to clear his throat. Then he grimaced, apparently at a loss for words. “Because all he really wanted was to kiss her.”
“And why didn’t he kiss the queen?” Emma said.
David laughed. It didn’t sound nice at all. “I’m sure he kissed her, too. And probably others. He was a really big kisser.”
I’d come out of my shocked paralysis. “How can you tell such garbage to your child?” I was incensed.
“Who started this idiotic fairy tale to begin with?” David said just as harshly. “No poor princess with half a brain believes that a king will leave his queen to marry her, when all he wants is to—”
“Kiss!” Emma chimed in. “That stupid king always just wants to kiss every woman he sees.”
“No!” I yelled in despair. “Valentin isn’t like that! He is decent and extremely conscientious!”
David snorted. “And he buys the poor princess a castle in the clouds and a small carriage so that he can secretly visit her? Nobody’s buying your fairy tale, Michelle.”
A thick knot formed in my throat. Everything was swimming before my eyes. I sat back down and hid my face in my hands. Tears rolled down my cheeks.
Emma squeezed between the two front seats and grabbed my hand. “Don’t be sad! It was a beautiful story.”
I sobbed loudly.
“And when the princess finds out that the king is really a dum-dum,” Emma said, “she can look for a real prince. One who really loves her and is also a good kisser.”
That didn’t really console me.
13
The road was beginning to flatten out. The tall mountains stood behind us; the snowfall had subsided. The sun was shining, its rays infinitely refracted by the snow crystals covering the magical winter landscape.
Not a car or a person, far and wide. We seemed to be the only living beings in this enchanted world.
Emma and I were dozing off. My eyes shut. Maybe I even fell asleep for a few minutes. I can’t say for sure. And then the background noise changed. The engine got louder and louder until it was thundering.
“Something’s not right,” David replied to my questioning look.
He slowed down, pulled over on the right, and turned off the engine. He looked worried.
“I’m sure it’s nothing bad,” I said, trying to cheer him up.
“We’ll see.” He stepped out of the car and opened the hood.
“Papa can fix it,” Emma said from the back.
“I’m sure of it,” I said.
“Papa has his own workshop in his garage.”
“That must be useful.” My tone wasn’t very convincing. The noise hadn’t sounded good. Not good at all.
David removed his jacket and hung it over a guardrail, so he could bend far into the engine.
This will take a while, I thought.
“Do you want to get out and stretch our legs?” I asked Emma, who was raring to go.
I helped her button up her jacket and put on her pom-pom hat and gloves, and together we got out of the car. Once outside, I slipped into my ski jacket. It was already warm.
“OK,” I said. “While David mucks around, we’ll take a walk.”
We made our way through the deep snow a short distance from the car, and Emma began making snowballs—which she proceeded to throw at me with impressive skill. I retaliated as best I could, but my aim wasn’t as precise as hers. In any event, we quickly forgot David, the car, and the noisy engine.
“Michelle, Emma!” David called to us after awhile. We looked around and spotted him standing at the rear end of the Citroën, looking helplessly at the ground.
Once we made our way over to him, I noticed his considerable distress.
“Were you able to fix it?” I asked him anyway.
He shook his head and pointed to the muffler. It was no longer hanging in place, but was in between the rear tir
es on the ground.
“Is it completely broken?” I asked.
“No, but the mount is broken and rusted.”
“Is that bad?”
“Without it we won’t even make it two kilometers before the engine dies.”
I knelt down to get a closer look. “Couldn’t we tighten the part that holds it up? At least in a makeshift way. So that it holds until we get to a garage?”
“I’d need a thick wire for that. Strong enough to fix the muffler to the bottom surface. With that provisional fix we could drive for a few kilometers. But where would I get a wire in the middle of nowhere?”
“Can’t you just use a piece of cloth?”
“Impossible. The muffler will get too hot. The cloth would turn to coal after a few meters. And then we’d be in the exact same place we are now.”
I thought about it and suddenly got an idea. “One moment!” I said, standing back up. “Turn around.”
David looked at me, annoyed.
“I’m serious. Turn around! Emma, make sure that Papa doesn’t cheat.”
Emma ran to David and grabbed both of his hands. “You’d better do what Michelle tells you. When she looks like this, you have to obey or she’ll get awfully angry.”
“I don’t understand why,” he said, “but OK.” He turned his back to me, resigned to his fate.
I took off my jacket and threw it in the car. Then I reached under my sweater and unclasped the back of my push-up bra. I pulled the strap over my left shoulder and maneuvered my arm out of it. I did the same for the other side and held the bra in my hand.
I tapped David’s shoulder. “Here,” I said.
He stared blankly at the black garment from Victoria’s Secret. Then he grinned. “You’ll find this hard to believe, but I’m quite familiar with these things.”
“I sure hope so,” I replied. “But what you perhaps don’t know is that this particular specimen has hidden wires.”
“Wire?” he repeated.
“Precisely. Under the cups.”
He immediately grabbed the bra out of my hand and inspected it. Then he went to the driver’s side door, opened it and searched for something in the glove compartment. Emma and I stood where we could watch what he was doing. He brought out a multipurpose tool, opened a knife blade, and got to work. A few cuts later, he was holding two sturdy wires. He got out of the car, handed me the tool, and returned to the rear of the car where he lay down underneath it.
“Pliers, please,” he called out from below.
After fumbling around with the tools and breaking another fingernail, I found the tiny but strong pliers, and handed them to him.
It took a good ten minutes and some hefty swearing on David’s part before he resurfaced. He got up, and Emma and I beat the snow off his sweater.
“Did it work?” I asked.
“The thing will hold for a while.” He seemed spent, but satisfied. “Those are some really strong wires.”
“They need to be, if they’re going to serve their purpose,” I said, and added too hastily, “Not that they’re necessary for me.”
David looked at my face, and then allowed his eyes to wander to my upper body. I crossed my arms.
He grinned. “You’re right. You really don’t need that thing.”
My cheeks flamed.
14
The next town is Besançon,” David said. “It’s a comparatively big city. We’ll definitely be able to find a service station there.”
The Citroën seemed happy to have us sitting in it again. The engine started right away and sounded only slightly louder than normal.
So as not to overtax it, David drove a bit slower than usual. But that didn’t bother us. We were completely content from managing to get the muffler problem under control.
“Thanks,” David said after a while.
“For what?”
“For the idea with the wires.”
“Don’t mention it,” I said, waving my hand. “It was just a random thought.”
David smiled. He really looked charming when he did that.
As soon as we reached the plain, the city appeared before us. Thanks to an imposing stone bridge, we were able to cross a wide, half-frozen river. On the other side, we encountered an area of the city with a string of low buildings featuring an ornamental facade. A clear-blue sky soared above us.
Apparently, our Citroën could hardly wait to get to the service station. The engine got increasingly louder, and its deafening thunder resounded through the narrow streets. Pedestrians stopped in their tracks, looking for the source of the noise, and stared at us with partially incredulous and partially amused expressions. Of course, Emma noticed this and interpreted the locals’ behavior in her own way. She rolled down her window, poked out her pom-pom-hat-covered head, and waved happily at the townsfolk, calling out “Bonjour” to them in a perfect French accent. Coupled with the fact that the muffler was now emitting thick, black clouds behind us, it was no surprise that we drew a certain amount of attention.
I pulled my ski cap farther down onto my face, crouched in my seat, and hoped no one would recognize me here. I didn’t even want to think of a picture of me in this junker ending up on Facebook, Twitter, and who knows where else.
“We need a service station now!” I hissed at David.
“What do you think I’m searching for?”
“Searching is not enough!” I shot back. “You need to actually find one. When I go to a foreign city, I immediately know where to find the boutiques and jewelry stores. You, as an ordinary man—”
“Ordinary man?”
“Well, I mean, as a man who works with his hands,” I attempted to clarify.
David no longer seemed to be amused by my taunting him. “Look for a sign that says ‘Garage Automobile.’ ” He pronounced the words painfully slowly and clearly in a German way, as though I had the IQ of a carrot.
“You can just as easily say that in the proper way,” I said. “After all, we’re in France, aren’t we?”
“Of course, but since you’re a German poet and thinker, not an ordinary—”
“There!” I screamed, grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it toward the right. The car screeched, slid, and skidded around the narrow curve.
“Have you lost your marbles?” David yelled.
“There was a sign.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“Right. You were too busy insulting me.”
“I was insulting you? I thought you didn’t want to speak any French because it’s beneath you and German is a superior language.”
“How can one language be better than another?” I said, infuriated. “That’s complete nonsense. I’d never say something like that!”
“Then why don’t you speak any French?”
I bent forward and strained to find another sign that would point the way to the service station. “I don’t speak French because I can’t,” I said quietly. David acted as though he hadn’t heard me.
“There’s another billboard with a car on it!” Emma said.
This time the black arrow under “Garage Automobile” pointed to an entrance ramp. David braked abruptly and turned in perhaps a bit too fast. We made it about two meters, then experienced such a loud bang that I thought that our car had split in two. An ear-piercing screech bored into my eardrum as the muffler dragged across the cobblestone pavement.
David stepped hard on the brakes. The engine died with an explosion.
The Citroën edged forward a bit, and then stopped moving altogether.
The car silenced, and I became aware of another sound—unexpected but familiar. The last time I’d heard it was at the Wagner Festival in Bayreuth. Valentin and I had treated ourselves to a seven-hour opera extravaganza, interrupted by two intermissions with champagne and exotic finger
foods—and, consequently, a very urgent trip to the restroom. Some small sacrifices were worth the culture that one was able to enjoy there.
And here, in this courtyard, I again encountered that king of composers, that master of sounds who represents the apex of musical evolution. In short: Richard Wagner.
“Ride of the Valkyries” surged triumphantly from several speakers. Compared to that, our banging engine sounded more like a lame champagne cork.
We stepped out of the Citroën and beheld three car hoists—two of which held cars—countless tools, and a plethora of replacement parts. At the front of the courtyard was a mechanic in blue overalls, his back to us. His gray hair reached his shoulders. He’d stretched out his arms and was holding monkey wrenches in both hands. He was the conductor, the wrenches his batons.
His movements were short, precise, and frighteningly professional. With the swelling of the crescendo he became increasingly enveloped in a state of creative ecstasy. The monkey wrenches swished through the air, and his short, fat body hopped with every movement he made.
The music stopped. Frenetic applause could be heard from the recording. The man lowered the wrenches and bowed deeply.
“Bravo!” called Emma. “Bravo! Bravo!” She clapped frantically with her small hands.
I shot David a questioning, concerned look, which he acknowledged with a shrug.
The mechanic turned around, swept aside his gray mane, and granted us a friendly smile. “Merci,” he said. That French word I knew.
David relaxed. He approached the man, and the two immediately began speaking very quickly in French, making their discussion incomprehensible to me.
The mechanic grasped one of the monkey wrenches and went over to the Citroën with David. He knelt down and inspected the damage while they continued their detailed discussion. After a bit, the maestro got up and nodded to me. David came to my side.
“What’s the verdict?” I asked. “Can he fix it?”
“This car has been discontinued for decades. So, of course, it’s almost impossible to find replacement parts for it.”
“Does that mean that our trip ends here?”
“No, luckily. This mechanic possesses many varied talents and the ability to weld.” David grinned. “He’s going to figure a way to fix the muffler. It’ll hold until we get home.”