Anne Tyler - Breathing Lessons

Apartheid."

"He probably thinks we belong to the Ku Klux Klan," Maggie said. She started chewing her lip the way she always did when she was worried.

"No stops, no detours," Ira said. "If they take any break at all, it's for lunch in some classy old inn. Someplace they researched ahead of time, where they even made reservations."

He was starving, come to think of it. He hadn't eaten a thing at Serena's.

"It was right about here," Maggie said, perking up. "I recognize those silos. It was just before those mesh-looking silos. There he is."

Yes, there he was, not sitting in his car after all but walking around it in a wavery circle-a stoop-shouldered man the color of a rolltop desk, wearing one of those elderly suits that seem longer in front than in back. He was studying the tires of the Chevy, which might have been abandoned years ago; it had a settled, resigned appearance. Ira signaled and make a U-turn, arriving neatly behind so the two cars' bumpers almost touched. He opened the door and stepped out. "Can we help?" he called.

Maggie got out too but seemed willing for once to let Ira do the talking.

"It's my wheel," the old man said. "Lady back up the road a ways pointed out my wheel was falling off."

"That was us," Ira told him. "Or my wife, at least. But you know, I believe she might have been wrong. That wheel seems fine to me."

The old man looked at him directly now. He had a skull-like, deeply lined face, and the whites of his eyes were so yellow they were almost brown.

"Oh, well, surely, seems fine," he said. "When the car is setting stark still like it is."

"But I mean even before," Ira told him. "Back when you were still on the road."

The old man appeared unconvinced. He prodded the tire with the toe of his shoe. "Anyhow," he said. "Mighty nice of you folks to stop."

Maggie said, "Nice! It's the least we could do." She stepped forward.

"I'm Maggie Moran," she said. "This is my husband, Ira."

"My name's Mr. Daniel Otis," the old man said, touching the brim of his hat.

"Mr. Otis, see, I had this sort of, like, mirage as we were driving past your car," Maggie said. "I thought I noticed your wheel wobbling. But then the very next instant I said, 'No, I believe I imagined it.' Didn't I, Ira? Just ask Ira. 'I believe I made that driver stop for no good reason,' I told him."

"They's all kindly explanations why you might have seen it wobble," Mr.

Otis said.

"Why, certainly!" Maggie cried. "Heat waves, maybe, rippling above the pavement. Or maybe, I don't know-"

"Might have been a sign, too," Mr. Otis said.

"Sign?"

"Might have been the-Lord was trying to warn me."

"Warn you about what?"

"Warn me my left front wheel was fixing to drop off."

Maggie said, "Well, but-"

"Mr. Otis," Ira said. "I think it's more likely my wife just made a mistake."

"Now, you can't know that."

"An understandable mistake," Ira said, "but all the same, a mistake. So what we ought to do is, you get into your car and drive it just a few yards down the shoulder. Maggie and I will watch. If your wheel's not loose, you're free and clear. If it is, we'll take you to a service station."

"Oh, why, I appreciate that," Mr. Otis said. "Maybe Buford, if it ain't too much trouble."

"Pardon?"

"Buford Texaco. It's up ahead a piece; my nephew works there."

"Sure, anywhere," Ira said, "but I'm willing to bet-"

"In fact, if it ain't too much trouble you might just go on and carry me there right now," Mr. Otis said.

"Now?"

"I don't relish driving a car with a wheel about to drop off."

"Mr. Otis," Ira said. "We'll test the wheel. That's what I've been telling you."

"I'll test it," Maggie said.

"Yes, Maggie will test it. Maggie? Honey, maybe I should be the one."

"Shoot, yes; it's way too risky for a lady," Mr. Otis told her.

Ira had been thinking of the risk to the Chevy, but he said, "Right. You and Mr. Otis watch; I'll drive."

"No, sir, I can't allow you to do that," Mr. Otis said. "I appreciate it, but I can't allow it. Too much danger. You folks just carry me to the Texaco, please, and my nephew will come fetch the car with the tow truck.''

Ira looked at Maggie. Maggie looked back at him helplessly. The sounds of traffic whizzing past reminded him of those TV thrillers where spies rendezvoused in modern wastelands, on the edges of superhighways or roaring industrial complexes.

"Listen," Ira said. "I'll just come right out with this-"

"Or don't carry me! Don't," Mr. Otis cried. "I already inconvenienced you-all enough, I know that."

"The fact is, we feel responsible," Ira told him. "What we said about your wheel wasn't so much a mistake as a plain and simple, um, exaggeration."

"Yes, we made it up," Maggie said.

"Aw, no,"'Mr. Otis said, shaking his head, "you just trying to stop me from worrying."

"A while back you kind of, like, more or less, slowed down too suddenly in front of us," Maggie said, "and caused us to run off the road. Not intending to, I realize, but-"

"I did that?"

"Not intending to," Maggie assured him.

"And besides," Ira said, "you probably slowed because we accidentally honked. So it's not as if-"

"Oh, I declare. Florence, that's my niece, she is all the time after me to turn in my driver's license, but I surely never expected-"

"Anyhow, I did a very inconsiderate thing," Maggie told him. "I said your wheel was falling off when really it was fine."

"Why, I call that a very Christian thing," Mr. Otis said. "When I had caused you to run off the road! You folks been awful nice about this."

"No, see, really the wheel was-"

"Many would've let me ride on to my death," Mr. Otis said.

"The wheel was fine!" Maggie told him. "It wasn't wobbling in the slightest."

Mr. Otis tipped his head back and studied her. His lowered eyelids gave him such a haughty, hooded expression that it seemed he might finally have grasped her meaning. But then he said, "Naw, that can't be right.

Can it? Naw. I tell you: Now that I recollect, that car was driving funny all this morning. I knew it and yet didn't know it, you know? And I reckon it must've hit you-all the same way-kindly like you half glimpsed it out of the comer of your vision so you were moved to say what you did, not understanding just why."

That settled it; Ira took action. "Well, then," he said, "nothing to do but test it. Keys inside?" And he strode briskly to the Chevy and opened the door and slid in.

"Aw, now!" Mr. Otis cried. "Don't you go risking your neck for me, mister!"

"He'll be all right," Maggie told him.

Ira gave Mr. Otis a reassuring wave.

Even though the window was open, the Chevy was pulsing with heat. The clear plastic seat cover seemed to have partially melted, and there was a strong smell of overripe banana. No wonder: The remains of a bag lunch sat on the passenger seat-a crumpled sack, a banana peel, and a screw of cellophane.

Ira turned the key in the ignition. When the engine roared up he leaned out toward Maggie and Mr. Otis and said, "Watch carefully."

They said nothing. For two people who looked so little alike, they wore oddly similar expressions: wary and guarded, as if braced for the worst.

Ira put the car in gear and started rolling along the shoulder. He felt he was driving something that stood out too far on all sides-a double bed, for instance. Also, there was a rattle in the exhaust system.

After a few yards, he braked and cocked his head out the window. The others had not moved from where they stood; they'd merely turned their faces in his direction.

"Well?" he called.

There was a pause. Then Mr. Otis said, "Yessir, seem like I did see a bit of jiggling motion to it."

"You did?" Ira asked.