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Show 72 the middle of the road. Push, the driver indicated with his hands. "Okay, okay?" Then, affecting confidence, smiling assurances, slogged his way back to his station. The Germans conferenced in the middle of the road before stepping carefully through the mud to join David. Together they lowered their shoulders to the back of the taxi. The tires spun, they pushed, mud splattered over expensive trousers, they pushed, the taxi sank tighter to the wall. David smelled something burning. The only movement the taxi made was down. David watched the bumper reach for the road and considered the machine's sinking chances of making it to Phira. He deserted the Germans. Went around to the side of the taxi. From the running board he climbed to the front fender where he could easily reach Darcy's two bags. He unbuckled the canvas straps, pushed apart ropes and pulled first the brown then the faded yellow bag from the chrome frame of the luggage rack. With one bag under each arm he dropped back to the road. Inside he could see Darcy huddled against the far door, her hands knotted on her lap and her head bent forward. "We're going," he called over the whine of the spinning tires. "Come on." "Going? Going where?" Her voice was distant. She didn't look up. "Now just where might you suppose, Darcy? To the port maybe? To the boat maybe?" David checked himself, softened his tone. |
