The Complete Collection. William Wharton

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СКАЧАТЬ I pull over and stop. It’s the worst accident I’ve ever seen and it’s just happened. The front wheel of an upside-down car is still spinning. There’s only the one car and it’s slammed against an embankment where the highway cut through a small hill.

      A whole family is spread along the road. The father is farthest forward, farthest west. He’s about Dad’s age, husky with a little pot like Dad’s. He must’ve slid over forty yards on the asphalt and is half sanded away. He’s not bleeding much but you can see the bones in his shoulder and arms. His shirt’s torn off and his pants are in rags with the belt pulled down over the top of his butt; he’s bare-foot and his toes are worn off. He looks more like somebody from a motorcycle than a car accident. Two men are on their knees beside him but he’s not moving.

      There’s a woman about his age and she’s bent against the dirt embankment with one leg twisted the wrong way under her. She’s on her back and one arm is half ripped off. She’s covered with blood and still bleeding. Three people are trying to stop the blood. From the way she’s twisted, her back must be broken.

      Trailing behind, going east, are three little kids and a dog. The dog is up on two legs spinning in circles, like that dog we hit, only this one’s not barking or growling, just spinning and whining.

      One of the kids is a skinny little boy, maybe Jacky’s age. His guts are spilled over the road in circles as if he stood up and they all poured out. The guts look plastic in the sunlight. He’s wearing shorts with a striped shirt and is covered with blood. He’s spread out on his back so you can see the edges of his ribs where they’ve been cracked in. His eyes are open and somebody covers him while I’m watching.

      There’s a little girl and she doesn’t look hurt much. There’s no blood. People are standing around, but she isn’t moving. I get closer and there’s a deep dent in the side of her head just above her right eye.

      Farthest east is a tiny kid still standing up. He can’t be four years old. Just about all his skin is scraped off. He’s red, raw and bleeding. He’s crying and yelling for his mother. People are kneeling around him, trying to hold him, staunching blood in the worst places.

      I turn away and vomit up that chicken, dumplings and mothballs. Dad’s white and running around checking if anybody’s called an ambulance. On the ground, I see I’m not the only one who’s lost his cookies. Dad comes back.

      ‘Are you all right, Billy?’

      I nod my head. He’s all hyped up.

      ‘I’m not sure anybody’s called an ambulance. Let’s head down the road till we find a place with a phone. That little one might make it if they get him to a hospital fast.’

      I see somebody’s taking the kid with them in a car but I don’t say anything. I just want to get away. They’ll need an ambulance anyway, even if it’s only to settle for sure all those people really are dead. I climb in the passenger seat and stare out of the window. How can such a rotten mess be happening under such a beautiful sky?

      Dad’s driving like a crazy. Now he has a mission, there’s no stopping him. He pushes this crate to almost ninety. In about three miles, we come to a group of stores. He skids to a stop, jumps out, runs into a liquor store. I wait in the car. Three minutes later he comes out.

      ‘Somebody’s already called and they’re on the way. I told them I thought there were five people critically injured, probably fatal.’

      He climbs in the car. He sits and doesn’t start the engine. I look at him; he’s white and breathing shallowly. He looks awful, pale, face all over shining wet.

      We start hearing a siren. It’s barreling out of the east and goes past us with that heehhoouuughhh sound a siren makes when you’re sitting still. A minute later, another one screams by. Dad watches till they disappear. He turns on the motor.

      ‘Well, Bill, I guess there’s nothing more we can do.’

      He puts her in gear and waits till the highway is empty end to end before he pulls out. Now he’s driving all of thirty-five miles an hour; but I’m not fighting. I’m considering walking the rest of the way.

      We stop at the next gas station and tank up. There’s a small snack place there, so we go in for a cup of coffee. My stomach’s so empty now the back’s hitting the front. I buy a piece of blueberry pie. I’m beginning to feel better, but Dad’s still white.

      ‘Billy, would you drive for a while?’

      I nod.

      ‘And take it easy, please, I’ve about had it.’

      He takes out a bottle of Valium from the glove compartment and pops one.

      ‘Boy, Bill, I can feel the blood pumping through my heart like a hydraulic press.’

      I keep it at fifty-five and the old man lies back in the seat the way I left it. He isn’t watching the road at all, just lying back staring at the headlining. It’s the first time he hasn’t had his eyes glued on the road. It’s spooky, as if he’s given up running things.

      ‘What do you think happened, Bill? There wasn’t any other car. It’s the middle of the day; I can’t see the guy falling asleep. I checked the tires; there wasn’t any blowout. What the hell could’ve gone wrong so this guy ruins everything, his wife, his children, even his dog? What the hell did he do wrong?’

      He gives a big sigh and I look over at him. There are tears in his eyes. He really is about ready to crack, but he’s not finished.

      ‘Maybe his kids were bugging him and he leaned back to give them a whack and lost control. God, I hope not, that’d be an awful thought to have at the last minute. Maybe the steering wheel cracked or the brakes gave out. So many things can go wrong, no matter how careful you are.

      ‘I only hope he never had a chance to look back and see it all, wife twisted like a pretzel against the dirt, his son gutted, his daughter poleaxed and his baby standing there like a walking piece of hamburger on the road crying, surrounded by strangers. It’s enough to make you hope there isn’t any life after death. How the hell could you live any kind of life, anywhere, doing anything, if you had to live with that?’

      Oh, God, I wish he’d only shut up. I’ll be upchucking that blueberry pie and coffee if he keeps on with this.

      ‘And damn it, Bill, there’s no way to get out of driving. It scares the hell out of me. I hate getting into one of these metal boxes and I’m glad every time I step out alive. I know I’m too tense when I drive but I keep seeing that kind of thing, only it’s us. It’s us, publicly dying on hot, or wet, or icy asphalt with strangers pawing over what’s left.’

      Jesus, you think he’s the iron man, getting things done, carrying through; then he collapses. I’ve slowed down to forty-five! I juice her back to sixty. He doesn’t even notice; only stares some more at that headlining.

      ‘It’s just destiny, Dad. Accidents are a question of bad luck. You can only do so much. There’s no sense sweating it; you can worry yourself straight past any fun in life.’

      He doesn’t move. Maybe he isn’t listening. It’s getting dark so I switch on the lights. It’s not that late but some big black clouds have blown up between us and the sun. I’m hoping we can make it to the other side of Indianapolis and find a motel. I’m pooped. We slept last night but it wasn’t real sleep. СКАЧАТЬ