| OCR Text |
Show taxi began to sway from side to side. "To us, David. What's going to happen to us?" Us? There would be no more us. Didn't she understand that yet? That it was over? "We'll write," he said. "Write?" "Make plans." "What kind of plans?" He hadn't thought about it. Where he might go, alone. There was Africa, he'd always wanted to go to Africa. Later, when the Oia was gone, he would have plenty of time to think about it. That wouldn't be much longer, they should be close to Phira by now. As he turned his head to look for lights the taxi suddenly swerved, began to bounce and rock like an aircraft in a storm. His head hit the roof. There was the sound of breaking glass. A final jolt brought the German across from him down on David's lap. The taxi no longer moved. For a moment there was silence, even the engine was still. Then the Germans began to loudly recover and smooth themselves. A couple of them laughed crazily. One was shouting and pointing at the broken schnapps bottled on the floor, another resumed the halting tempo of a drinking song. David could hear moaning, low and steady, coming from the front. "Okay?" yelled the driver. There was no unison this time, and the response was slow. But still it came: "okay." |
