Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

“Well, this isn’t so bad,” she said aloud, almost cheerfully.

Millie did not answer.

The closer they came to the top and the pass, the colder it got. Millie pulled her shawl around her and insisted that Julia put on a coat. Julia wanted nothing less than a coat. The turns were sharp and steep and closer together now, and she fought the wheel like a truck driver.

It was Millie who heard the sound first.

“What’s that?” she said. She sat erect on the seat and stared through the windshield.

“I don’t know,” Julia said.

“A rockslide!” Millie announced.

“No. No, it isn’t.”

“It sounds like—”

“Shh. Shhh, darling, it’s not a rockslide.”

They continued driving. She was not at all sure it wasn’t a rockslide. She kept listening to the sound over the steady clicking of the wipers.

“It’s water,” she said.

“Water? What kind of...?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure it’s all right, though.”

“What’s that?” Millie said, and again she leaned closer to the windshield. “Up there.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s it.”

“That’s what? ”

“It’s a dam, Millie. Don’t you think so? Doesn’t it look like a dam?”

“How do I know what a damn dam looks like?” Millie said.

“Yes, it is,” Julia said. “And look, there’s a place to park in front of it. We can get out and stretch our legs.”

“I’m not getting out of this car,” Millie said.

“Well, I’d like to rest a bit. Do you mind?”

“Do what you like,” Millie said. “We should have put the car on a train.”

“Don’t be silly, darling. It’s been a wonderful ride so far.”

“So far,” Millie said ominously.

They parked in the area beside the cement wall fronting the dam. Another car was parked there, carrying French plates. A man and a woman were eating lunch inside the car. They smiled at Julia when she got out of the car and hastily shrugged into her trench coat.

“ Bon jour ,” the woman said.

“ Bon jour, madame ,” Julia answered, and then walked to the other side of the road and stood in the rain with her hands on her hips and the trench coat belted tight about her slender waist, the collar hugging the back of her neck, looking up at the dam and smiling. She heard the frightening sudden bleat of an approaching bus and ran across the road quickly, just as it rumbled past.

She rapped on the window of the car and shouted, “Come on out, Millie. The air is wonderful.”

“No, thank you,” Millie answered.

Julia shrugged and walked a little way up the road. She felt oddly fulfilled. She was still smiling when she got into the car again. She threw the trench coat into the back seat with the luggage and said, “There’s a sign out there, Millie. We’re very close to the top.”

“Thank God.”

“There’s something called Hospiz up there, which I gather is a rest station of some sort. Maybe we can get some tea.”

“I’d love some.”

“And then through the pass and down into the Rhone. The German officers said it was a beautiful drive.”

“The German officers said this was a beautiful drive, too.”

“Millie, stop being such a fuss-budget.”

“I’m cold.”

“We’ll stop for tea soon, dear,” Julia said. “It hasn’t been so bad. Really, Millie, it hasn’t.”

She started the car and backed away from the cement wall. The French couple waved again and shouted something, which Julia missed. She drove for a few yards in the lowest gear, snapped the gearshift lever into second, and left it there. She concentrated entirely on the curving road now, almost forgetting that anyone was in the car with her. The turns had become hairpin curves, a turn, a steep rising stretch, another turn, another sharp grade, another turn. She watched the road, heard Millie cough beside her, heard another cough, not Millie’s, realized it had come from the stuttering engine, reached for the gearshift lever and the brake simultaneously, rammed the lever down into first, but too late. The car stalled.

“Damn,” Julia said.

“What is it?”

“We’ve stalled. Don’t worry.”

She put the car in neutral and stepped on the starter. The engine whined, but did not turn over. She tried it again.

“What is it?” Millie asked.

“It won’t start. It’s probably flooded.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I want to get off this curve first,” Julia said.

“How are you going to do that?”

“I’ll back up.”

“Not with me in the car!” Millie said. She seemed ready to cry. Julia touched her arm gently and smiled.

“It would help me if you went around the curve and made sure I wasn’t backing into any buses.”

“In the rain?” Millie said.

“Millie, dear...”

“All right,” Millie answered, and nodded her head curtly. She opened the door on her side and stepped into the rain. Julia, behind the wheel, sighed heavily.

“Anyone coming?” she shouted.

“No, it’s clear,” Millie said. “Hurry up! And watch the edge of the road, Julia. You’ll be on the outside, once you back around the curve.”

“All right,” Julia shouted. “Here I come!”

She took a deep breath, put her foot on the brake pedal, and released the hand brake. Slowly, she raised her foot. The car began rolling backward.

“Turn!” Millie shouted. “You’re heading for the edge! Turn! Oh my God, Julia, turn!”

She yanked at the wheel sharply, her foot poised above the brake pedal, her neck craning out the window, trying to see the white boulders through the driving rain. When she heard the sound of the horn, her heart lurched and she felt suddenly ill.

“A bus!” Millie shouted. “Julia, a bus...”

She rammed her foot onto the brake and then realized she was in the center of the road. In the same instant, she knew that the bus was coming from Millie’s direction, around the curve, or Millie would not have seen it. She heard the rising wail of the bus horn as it approached, the warning bleat sounding over the sloping mountain road. Her first instinct was to get out of the car. The hell with it, she thought, we’re going to Italy! She took her foot off the brake and prayed the car would gain speed rapidly, prayed she would not roll over the edge, prayed she had not misjudged the turn. She rounded the curve and saw the bus bearing down on the opposite side of the road. She cut the wheel sharply and the bus went past on her right, its horn blasting in righteous outrage. She watched the white boulders, coming as close to them as she possibly dared, until the car was on the straightaway again. She pulled up the emergency brake, put the car in gear, and let out her breath. Millie came back to the car and collapsed heavily on the front seat.

They sat for ten minutes and then Julia tried to start the car again. The engine would not turn over.

“We’re so close to the top!” Julia said angrily. “Why did it have to stall?”

“I’m limp,” Millie said.

“I’ll try it again in a little while. I’m sure it’s only flooded.”

“What does that mean? When it’s flooded?”

Julia began laughing. “I don’t know. It’s what Arthur always says when the car won’t start.”

“Someone’s coming,” Millie said, turning.

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know. A man on a motorcycle. Maybe he’s a policeman.”

“In the Alps?”

“I’m sure there are policemen in the Alps, Julia.”

The motorcycle approached. The man on it was not a policeman. His bike bore military markings, and he wore a black helmet with an insignia painted into a white circle, and a wide black rubberized poncho. He stopped his motorcycle near the car, got off, and moved toward Millie’s window, seeming to float inside the wide-hanging black cape. The cape was wet and shining. The rain lashed about his face and shoulders. Millie rolled down the window, and he squinted through the rain at her.