sleep. I can't drive around with the flag up at this hour of the night, that's all." He stepped up into the cab, and she went around and got behind the wheel.
As they pulled away from the curb and moved toward Third Avenue he stared out at the sceneâfamiliar and yet transformed by the dark
stillness, oddly ominous. She drove downtown, and after a while he lost track of where they were. He dozed off, his head resting lightly on the back of the seat.
He woke up as she parked, on a crosstown street at the corner of an avenue. She turned off the headlights and the engine, but left the meter running.
"Where are we?"
"Downtown," she said. "I've got a couple of special pickups. We'll wait. We're early. When he comes I want you to get up front here with me." He could sense a subtle tension in her voice, a controlled excitement.
Every few minutes the meter would click as the cylinder rolled up, five cents at a time. A dollar ten. A dollar fifteen. His mind wandered. A dollar sixty-five. A dollar seventy. They sat in silence.
"Oh, shit," she said, and he sat up straight.
From the avenue, three people were approaching the cab. Two young men in tuxedos and open black topcoats, and a woman in a long dress and fur stole. The taller of the young men waved in an exaggerated manner, his coat flapping.
"Just sit tight and keep quiet," his mother said, rolling down her window. "The cab's taken," she said as the young man reached for the rear door.
"I don't see..." Claude saw the flushed face, the sandy hair falling over the forehead, as the man bent over to look inside. "Oh. Yes."
"Sorry," she said, and began to roll up the window.
"It's taken," the man said, turning back to his companions while at the same time putting his hand on the rising window, stopping it. "A woman driver! How extraordinary. Perhaps you could just take us along to Sixty-ninth Street. Plenty of room back there. Ten dollars?"
The woman in the stole was laughing at something with the shorter man, who stumbled against the front fender.
"Sorry," Claude's mother said, her right hand clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel. "The Hack Bureau. Rules."
The tall man still held the window. "I offered ten dollars," he said to his friends, his tone aggrieved.
The short man lurched forward, putting his face in the window. "Twenty! Twenty bucks and let's go." His wet lips shone in the dim streetlight. The tall man had removed his hand and now she rolled the window shut with a violent motion of her arm.
The tall man and the woman drifted back toward the avenue, but
the shorter man remained, standing now by the front fender, staring through the windshield. Claude's mother kept both hands on the wheel. The man took one step backward, opened his fly, and began to piss on the front tire.
Claude heard a kind of
oof
sound from somewhere deep in his mother's throat, as if she'd been punched. "Stop him," he said, "stop him."
"I can't get into anything," she whispered.
The man finished, shook his penisâall the while staring into the cabâand smiled as he zipped up and turned away.
There was a sharp snapping sound, like the crack of a whip.
"What? What was that?" Claude asked.
"Jesus," she said. "I broke the wheel." She bent over and examined it, running her fingers over the hairline fracture. "It's okay. I can still drive."
"Why did he do that?"
"Ah, Christ." She slumped back in her seat, the whole cab jolting slightly.
Fifteen minutes later the meter read two dollars and thirty cents. A small, stocky figure in a navy pea jacket came around the corner, and Claude felt his mother's sudden alertness. He came directly to the cab and she rolled down the window.
"The cab's taken," she said.
"May first?" he said. He wore odd-looking glasses, perfectly round with steel rims.
"Get in, please. Claude, come up front."
Claude took his blanket and got in the front seat. The man sat in back. She pulled away from the curb and turned uptown on the avenue.
As they pulled away from the curb and moved toward Third Avenue he stared out at the sceneâfamiliar and yet transformed by the dark
stillness, oddly ominous. She drove downtown, and after a while he lost track of where they were. He dozed off, his head resting lightly on the back of the seat.
He woke up as she parked, on a crosstown street at the corner of an avenue. She turned off the headlights and the engine, but left the meter running.
"Where are we?"
"Downtown," she said. "I've got a couple of special pickups. We'll wait. We're early. When he comes I want you to get up front here with me." He could sense a subtle tension in her voice, a controlled excitement.
Every few minutes the meter would click as the cylinder rolled up, five cents at a time. A dollar ten. A dollar fifteen. His mind wandered. A dollar sixty-five. A dollar seventy. They sat in silence.
"Oh, shit," she said, and he sat up straight.
From the avenue, three people were approaching the cab. Two young men in tuxedos and open black topcoats, and a woman in a long dress and fur stole. The taller of the young men waved in an exaggerated manner, his coat flapping.
"Just sit tight and keep quiet," his mother said, rolling down her window. "The cab's taken," she said as the young man reached for the rear door.
"I don't see..." Claude saw the flushed face, the sandy hair falling over the forehead, as the man bent over to look inside. "Oh. Yes."
"Sorry," she said, and began to roll up the window.
"It's taken," the man said, turning back to his companions while at the same time putting his hand on the rising window, stopping it. "A woman driver! How extraordinary. Perhaps you could just take us along to Sixty-ninth Street. Plenty of room back there. Ten dollars?"
The woman in the stole was laughing at something with the shorter man, who stumbled against the front fender.
"Sorry," Claude's mother said, her right hand clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel. "The Hack Bureau. Rules."
The tall man still held the window. "I offered ten dollars," he said to his friends, his tone aggrieved.
The short man lurched forward, putting his face in the window. "Twenty! Twenty bucks and let's go." His wet lips shone in the dim streetlight. The tall man had removed his hand and now she rolled the window shut with a violent motion of her arm.
The tall man and the woman drifted back toward the avenue, but
the shorter man remained, standing now by the front fender, staring through the windshield. Claude's mother kept both hands on the wheel. The man took one step backward, opened his fly, and began to piss on the front tire.
Claude heard a kind of
oof
sound from somewhere deep in his mother's throat, as if she'd been punched. "Stop him," he said, "stop him."
"I can't get into anything," she whispered.
The man finished, shook his penisâall the while staring into the cabâand smiled as he zipped up and turned away.
There was a sharp snapping sound, like the crack of a whip.
"What? What was that?" Claude asked.
"Jesus," she said. "I broke the wheel." She bent over and examined it, running her fingers over the hairline fracture. "It's okay. I can still drive."
"Why did he do that?"
"Ah, Christ." She slumped back in her seat, the whole cab jolting slightly.
Fifteen minutes later the meter read two dollars and thirty cents. A small, stocky figure in a navy pea jacket came around the corner, and Claude felt his mother's sudden alertness. He came directly to the cab and she rolled down the window.
"The cab's taken," she said.
"May first?" he said. He wore odd-looking glasses, perfectly round with steel rims.
"Get in, please. Claude, come up front."
Claude took his blanket and got in the front seat. The man sat in back. She pulled away from the curb and turned uptown on the avenue.
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