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Show "Are you all right?" David asked Darcy. "I guess so. My neck hurts a little. And I think my nose is bleeding." "Open the door. I want to see what's happened." "I can't. We're up against the wall." David turned to the Germans. There was no point in trying to make them understand. He began to climb between their bodies, to get to the other door. "Lover," said one of them, thumping him hard on the back. "Trink?" asked another, uncapping a new bottle of liquor. He stepped out into the gray mud. Not far ahead he could see the lights of Phira, gleaming in the freshly washed air. The road sucked at his sandaled feet as he made his way to the back of the taxi. The moonlight made it easy for him to study the sink in the road, further back, where mud had collected rain by rain and year by year until its accumulated mass had broken the ancient stone fence and like lava drained out over tomato plants. Only the rugged roadbed that had been the taxi's undoing was left. David fingered the tender area on his scalp. The driver appeared to glare at the derailed and tilting taxi and make sad angry noises between his teeth. The night had grown colder. Then, glancing at David, the Greek bent forward and spat twice at the entrenched machine. Don't look at me, David read the message, it wasn't my fault. I was only driving. The Germans too had left their seats and stood watching from |
