Читать книгу The Somber Side of a Scientific Mind - Christian Tyoder - Страница 8

Chapter One

Fortuitous Encounter

Exhausted after running almost half a mile from the main entrance to the Icelandic airport counter at Boston Logan Airport, Hans was the last passenger who entered the old plane before the baby-faced young male flight attendant closed the front entrance door.

He extricated himself from the carry-on that had been banging on his left hip for the last five minutes. Hans squeezed his leather suitcase and his heavy winter coat into the overhead bin, then slumped into the window seat 28A, panting. The DC-6 was already at least fifteen minutes in the air, yet the rhythmic rattle of the fuselage had not subsided. The copilot announced that the plane was at 16,000 feet altitude at a speed of 250 knots. The rattling sound kept Hans awake even though he had not slept for more than thirteen hours, counting from the time he left Bronx, NY City, early that morning on a sardine-packed Greyhound bus. Hans’s mind was wandering from an ice-cold, wind-swept Reykjavik airport tarmac upon disembarkation, to a three-hour refueling overstay, then the final landing at the snowy Luxembourg Findel International Airport, where he would have no difficulty catching a public bus in the early morning hours, heading for the city railroad station. His imagination ended only at the completion of his six-hour train trip to Buchs, a Swiss town a few miles west of the border; then a twenty-minute bus ride to Vaduz, his hometown.

Even though still suffering of an aching body, tired arms and legs, Hans already rejoiced over the prospect of viewing from the train the snowy landscape that he had been familiar with from the past. The joy of a reunion with his parents and sibling and that of rejoining a childhood friend pervaded his imagination. Three long years in the US for his postgraduate education followed by the two-semester vocational training in the banking business, interrupted by a couple of return Christmas visits, was then regarded as an eternity by people in a tightly knit community like Vaduz.

The plane’s vibration gradually became less perceptible and eventually was replaced by a perpetual humming. Hans’s breathing was getting heavier. The elder lady sitting at the aisle threw him a quick look, expressing her annoyance. Suddenly the lights on the ceiling turned off, leaving the travelers with spot illuminations shining down from the bottom of the overhead luggage bins. Passengers quieted down. The majority of them prepared for a night’s rest, while an elderly man dragged his feet back and forth on the aisle. Otherwise, there was no noticeable human activity. Almost the entire cabin plunged into a light sleep, frequently interrupted by the presence of a quiet female flight attendant walking up and down the aisle. Here and there one still noticed a spotty but bright shining light over an opened book or a magazine. The monotonous engine sound pervaded the cabin. Several resting hours had passed when the wake-up light turned on.

The captain’s rattled voice was heard, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We are approximately forty-five minutes from Reykjavik. The weather there is partially cloudy, and the temperature is thirty-four degrees. The visibility is over two miles, and the wind less than twenty-five miles.” Two blond female flight attendants, each with one hand carrying a tray and the other, forceps, were offering hot facial towels. Human activity slowly resumed in the cabin. The captain announced the preparation for landing. The fuselage front end slightly tipped down. The usual noise of the landing gear was heard, and then the plane made a quick, shallow left turn. Within a few minutes, the plane was on the runway. After the smooth landing, hand clapping, rejoicing, the uneventful flight broke the anxious silence.

Awakened by the commotion, Hans lifted up the porthole cover and looked out into the distance. Everything on the ground was white except for a few ragged mountain peaks toward the north side of the airport. He gathered his two pieces of luggage and his coat and then followed the disembarking crowd. A sensation of cold, numbing fresh air invaded his floundered body as he stepped out onto the movable staircase. He smiled to himself, thinking that the three-hour stay over at the Reykjavik airport shouldn’t be too hard as by now he had regained some badly needed sleep.

Once Hans passed the custom and immigration checkout point, he looked for the sign Connecting Flights guiding him to the in-transit passengers’ waiting room. He sat down at the far corner, stretched his legs, rested his tired body against the leather couch, pulled the pieces of luggage close to his feet, and then fell asleep. Suddenly he was aroused by a loudspeaker announcement that he could not distinctly hear. He was somewhat disoriented, probably because his sleep was at stage 4 of its cycle. The only word he heard was boarding. He dashed to the nearby gate desk where a friendly Icelandic Airlines agent confirmed that was indeed the second call for the reboarding at gate 2B for Luxembourg. He had exited that same gate three hours earlier.

After showing his boarding pass, Hans reoccupied his 28A seat. When he was about to settle down, ready for another nap, a deep voice from a tall, bearded man was addressed to him, “Is this seat taken?” In his half-sleep state, Hans nonchalantly replied no, then slumped back into his seat. The plane was now up in the air, but the same rattle didn’t seem to keep him awake this time. He went into his deep sleep, and once again he skipped the hot meal served by two different female flight attendants. Suddenly the background music stopped. A clear female voice came on, “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain is about to make an announcement.” Within approximately fifteen seconds of total impatient silence, a deep male voice came on, “We were just informed by the ground control tower that a severe snowstorm is presently affecting air and ground travels over South UK, Northeast France, Belgium, Southwest Netherlands, and entire Luxemburg. We are advised to divert our landing to Paris or to London. You will be kept informed of our final decision as soon as we get further instructions from the ground control agent.”

Conversations between passengers resumed, interrupting the silence in the cabin. They noted that the plane was slowly climbing to a higher altitude. Several overhead dim lights calling flight attendants became lit one after another, possibly an indication of passengers’ anxiety. Then the background music stopped, followed by a few seconds of complete silence. The captain’s follow-up announcement was back on loudspeakers: “We have been given instructions to make an early landing in Paris at Orly Airport as we are now almost over London airspace. Please fasten your seatbelts. We might encounter air turbulence soon. Thank you for your patience.”

Flight attendants were seen walking up and down the aisle. Occasionally they bent down listening to questions from passengers while keeping a friendly voice and a pleasant facial appearance while discreetly having their eyes on the seatbelts.

Hans slept through the commotion, then finally opened his eyes, looked around then at the empty seat next to him. Slowly he leaned over it, turning his head in the direction of the gentleman sitting at seat 28C. “Sir, please explain to me what is going on.”

“The captain has announced that a heavy snowstorm is developing over the entire area, including Luxemburg.”

“Thank you.”

Right after Hans’s inquiry, the air turbulence became very noticeable. Some passengers were trying to locate the air sickness bags that were supposed to be kept in the pouch behind the front seat. Hans checked his seatbelt, adjusted it, and abruptly placed his left palm over his mouth, hiding his yawn he often experienced after having a sleep of several hours. After a few minutes of resting his neck over the headrest, he unfastened his seatbelt, stood up, excused himself, got out of his seat, and assumed a stretching position while standing in the aisle for a few seconds. He tightened his loose right shoelace then proceeded to slowly walk toward the back of the carrier.

On his way, he had to stop when facing the brunette ponytail of a female wearing a green flight attendant uniform. The latter turned around when she heard, “Please inform me of what has been going on since the plane left Reykjavik. Sorry, I missed what the captain had said a few minutes ago on loudspeakers.”

Not exactly on purpose, but for sure with this approach, Hans had the chance of taking a glimpse at the face of the young and slim descendant of Norse origin. She gave him the same answer as the one he received a few minutes earlier from the man sitting at seat 28C; but this time he got, in addition, a friendly smile.

“Please return to your seat as soon as possible and be sure to fasten your seatbelt. The turbulence is likely getting worse.”

The plane was coming down fairly fast. Hans heard someone in the next front row saying, “We are in Orly.” At the same time, he looked out the window and saw the words “Orly Airport” on one of several hangars. The landing of the aircraft was relatively smooth despite the low clouds hanging over the region. Once beyond the disembarking gate, Hans looked for the in-transit waiting room. He sat down on an empty seat adjacent to the main walkway, took out the pocket-size address book from his suitcase, turned to section “N,” then marked it by folding back its right upper corner. Hans’s stomach growled. He missed the two meals and the two snacks in the plane. He was hungry. Leaving his belongings on the seat, he walked to the food stand across the walkway, stared a few seconds at the handwritten menu on the wall, and sat down again at an unoccupied table. Now Hans decided not to waste his time waiting for the plane to resume its flight to Luxemburg. He decided to pay a short visit to his old friend Norbert living in Paris, Quartier Latin, then to take ground transportation all the way to Vaduz. He remembered they exchanged Christmas letters last year.

Suddenly he heard someone just pull the chair behind him. He turned around. To his surprise, he saw the same ponytailed brunette he talked to earlier in the plane. She smiled to him. “Well, here you are again. Are you going to continue your flight to Luxemburg once the weather permits?”

“I don’t know yet, and you?”

“I will continue my route to Luxemburg then return to Reykjavik on the next day.”

“Would you like to have something to eat?”

“No, thank you. I am not hungry.”

“How about a cup of coffee or a glass of juice?”

“A glass of apple juice, if they have it.”

She sat down on a seat next to his. He stood up, went to the counter, then came back with a glass of juice and a cup of coffee for himself while discreetly admiring her beautiful young body wrapped in the tight green uniform.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Where is your home?”

“Reykjavik.”

“How long have you been with Icelandic Air?”

“Almost three years.”

“Have you frequently encountered this type of weather and the flight had to be diverted away from the destination airport?”

“Rarely, fortunately. And what is your final destination?”

“Vaduz, Liechtenstein. Have you been in Liechtenstein?”

“No, but I heard it’s a charming city with so much history.”

Hans was curious about this attractive young lady. He was thinking that perhaps the unexpected circumstance might give him the opportunity to spend some time with her at the airport while waiting for the resumption of the final leg of his plane trip. He suddenly realized once again that he had finished his schooling, his apprenticeship, and ready to be self-sustainable from now on. As a matter of fact, Hans was awarded the PhD degree in economics last year at New York University and had just completed his internship at Chase Manhattan Bank in the Bronx. He thought he was on vacation, so to speak. He had plenty of leisure time to spend anywhere and at any time. He noted that the flight attendant had no rings on her fingers and she was not accompanied by anybody. He felt quite safe for not infringing on somebody else’s property.

With a smiling face, she glanced at him with an inquisitive expression. “I note you don’t have the Germanic accent.”

“I had my college then postgraduate education in the US.”

“The Yankees must have made you very much an American.”

“Have you known about the American continent?”

“No, I was born and raised in the suburb of Reykjavik, then spent my entire childhood and teenage years there until I was eighteen when I had the first chance to get away from an eight-month-a-year snowy and icy landscape. I spent that three-week vacation in Corsica with my British girlfriend. What are you going to do in Vaduz?”

“I am going to rejoin my parents at least for a few weeks. I haven’t decided where I will eventually make my permanent home, possibly in America, in Liechtenstein, or in another German-speaking European country. I want to take a whole year traveling, being still single and free…would you like to spend a few days next month sometime, visiting Liechtenstein? I’ll be happy to show you around.”

“Thank you. But my boyfriend and I have made plans to go on vacation next month in Tuscany.”

Sensing that the chance of getting to know the gorgeous Icelandic lady had completely dissipated, Hans looked at his wristwatch then at the large wall clock. It was almost noon.

The flight attendant grabbed her luggage handle, stood up, then stretched her right arm to shake Hans’s hand. “Thank you for the juice. I am going to take a rest at the airline flight attendants’ club while waiting for a call to resume the flight to Luxembourg. Good luck with your career.”

Hans reciprocated the same while directing with relish his look at the back of the graciously moving beautiful and sexy female body leaving him. It was a real treat as he had been for the last several months tired of having, day in and day out, to frequently look at overweight customers and employees alike at the bank in New York. A couple of minutes later, Hans went to the nearby public telephone booth. He dialed his friend Norbert’s telephone number he read out of his address book. There was no answer.

Outside the heavy snowstorm was raging; at times sheets of snow noisily lashed at the tall glass-paneled walls facing the deserted snow-covered runways. One could barely discern slow-moving heavy snow-removal equipment and parked planes. Hans left the food stand and returned to the seat occupied by his two pieces of luggage. He slumped back into an adjacent vacant one. With his arms stretched out over the backs of the seats and his eyes staring at the ceiling, Hans tried to figure out what else he was going to do during the next twelve months besides travels and visits with friends and relatives. He had decided to do the job search in the fall. He was looking for opportunities to meet well-dressed, beautiful young European ladies, and who knows…it was time to seriously think about a stable career, a family, and children. He rejoiced at these thoughts while passengers were walking up and down the corridor and incessant loudspeaker announcements kept him in a semi-sleeping state.

A few hours passed. Enough rest by now, Hans stood up, went back to the food stand, and ordered a plate of fish and chips. While enjoying the hot food, his eyes fell on an abandoned local newspaper dated December 12, 1968, left on the next table. He quickly glanced through the business section, stood up, discarded his empty paper plate and cup, and then walked to the public phone booth. He placed another call to his friend Norbert, but again there was no answer. By this time the storm had calmed down substantially. After gathering his two pieces of luggage, Hans walked to the custom and immigration checkpoints, showed his passport, and headed for the main airport exit door. Cold and wet snow flakes were still falling, but not heavy enough to deter Hans from walking to the metro entrance less than a block away. He saw a phone booth a couple of buildings down the street. He stopped at the booth and dialed Norbert’s number the third time. But there was still no answer. He descended the subway entrance and approached the agent at the counter to purchase a one-way ticket for Gare de l’Est station. He gave up the hope of seeing Norbert this time. After a few minutes, a train packed with commuters arrived. He managed to squeeze himself in one of the cars just before the automatic door closed. He got off at Gare de l’Est, stepped down three stairs, and here he was in a huge noisy building with railroad SNCF cars lined up in rows. A large board suspended several feet off the floor and electronically powered with frequent changing train departure and arrival schedules was facing him. Hans looked at the “Arrival” column on the left side of the board. He saw the word Buchs on a horizontal line that read, “19:15, Paris–Basel–Zurich–Buchs–Salzburg–Wien.” He directed his eyes to the railhead posted with the sign Paris–Wien. There was no car on the tracks. The big clock’s handles on the far wall indicated 7:21 p.m. Hans mumbled, “Six minutes late,” then let out a deep sigh.

Exasperated, he walked in the direction of the information desk. A man wearing a black uniform and a hat with embroidered letters SNCF was standing behind the counter talking to a middle-age woman facing him. Their pure Paris French accent impressed Hans, who took three steps forward after the woman left the counter with “Merci, monsieur.” The man heard Hans’s broken French, “Destination Liechtenstein.” He replied with distinct words, “The next train for Buchs will depart from gate 9 at six fifteen tomorrow morning. Be sure to make a connection in Basel. It might be with some delay due to the snowstorm.” Hans thanked the man and then directed his regard toward the opened end of the train station.

Paris was plunged into a dreary day of late December, but the fall of snowflakes had ceased. Now that he was stuck for the rest of the night in an unknown ward of Paris, Hans had to figure out what he would have to do to kill time until the next morning. He remembered having seen a few minutes earlier the sign “Café de la Gare” about half block away from the metro entrance. Hans decided to go there, get a cup of cappuccino, read the remaining business section in the Le Monde newspaper he picked up earlier, and then return to the SNCF building. He stopped under the café’s canopy and wiped the foggy glass-paneled door with his winter coat’s sleeve. There was light inside.

After pulling up the door’s rusty lashing handle, Hans shook off a few snowflakes from his coat, opened the door, and entered the store. Hans was facing a short-statured middle-age man standing behind the counter who looked at him. “Please come in. We are still open.”

Those words in English were spoken almost without the typical French accent. Hans thought it was very likely the bartender had a good number of foreign customers. A second man, in the midsixties, bearded, with gray skin, sunken dark eyes, and sunken bony cheeks, sitting at the counter, slowly turned his head toward Hans. “Hello there. Don’t bring us any more snow.”

Hans approached the counter, sat down two seats away from the man, took his coat off, and then ordered his cappuccino and a cognac. The man continued, “What are you doing here at this time of the day and in this city ward?”

The man’s English had a faint Arabic accent to Hans’s ears. As his hand reached the tiny cup of condensed coffee, Hans gazed at the man. “My plane had to be diverted to Orly. I presumed this unusually heavy snowstorm wouldn’t end for another day or two, so I have decided to get to my destination quicker by train.”

“Where is your final destination?”

“Liechtenstein.”

“Several years ago, my two older boys and I took a vacation trip to Austria. We stopped in Liechtenstein. We stayed at a B&B in Moëliholz bei Vaduz for a few days before heading for Salzburg. I vaguely remember those quaint little towns in that minuscule country.”

“And you? Since you ask me what brings me here, can I ask you the same question?”

“You would be surprised when I tell you that I came to Paris by car. I got lost several times while driving through snowy suburbs. So, I decided to wait until the storm is over, then to hang around in this gem city for a few days before resuming my long and tedious journey.”

“Where will be your final destination?”

“Let me offer you another cognac, and then I will talk about it, okay?” The man extended his right arm to Hans while ordering two cognacs. With his gnarled hand, he gave Hans a tight shake. “My name is Abdulai Rasulov. They call me ‘Abd’ for short. And yours?”

“Hans Reinberg. The Americans call me Hansi.”

The new acquaintances continued their conversation for a while longer. In the meantime, the café owner Louis was cleaning up the place, ready to be closed for the day. “Do you want any more drinks?” Abd handed the owner a ten-frank bill after looking at Hans, who shook his head, saying, “No, thank you. Please keep the change.”

“Thank you. I am about to close the shop earlier today. But from what I overheard, you seem to have no place to go for the night. Have you noted that the heavy snowfall has resumed? If you don’t mind, I will go upstairs and leave you two down here. You are welcome to stay as long as you like. I’ll see you tomorrow if you will still be here by then. But one thing I want to be sure of…no more customers for the day. If you decide to leave, just pull the door tight and make sure it is locked. You may move to the parlor and make yourselves comfortable.” He turned the outside front lights off from the under-the-bar-counter switch and walked toward the back of the room. “Good night, gentlemen.”

“Thank you for letting us stay here for the night. See you tomorrow,” gratefully replied Hans.

Abd reached over to the seat where he was sitting, grabbed his old-looking black beret with his left hand, stood up from the creaking barstool, and trudged over the worn, creased green carpet, bending slightly forward, in the direction of the parlor. “Hans, would you be willing to keep my company until the snowstorm shows some letup? We might well finish the almost empty bottle of cognac Louis purposely left on the counter for us.”

Glancing at Abd’s stiff gait then directing his regard to the streets covered with deep snow, Hans audibly sighed. “Precisely, we both are café house-bound for the moment until at least tomorrow. We are better off staying put for now.”

“It seems that we are reading each other’s mind,” said Abd.

Each man plunged into brown upholstered large chairs, separated by a round glass-topped table on which stood a tall ceramic vase with silk flowers. Hans looked tired and somewhat depressed even though he had taken a few catnaps here and there since he boarded the plane in Boston. Abd, on the other hand, still quite awake, remained fairly talkative. He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out his smoking pipe, filled its bowl with sweet, aromatic tobacco shreds, packed them down with his index finger, and then looked at Hans. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“By all means, please go ahead. I don’t smoke, but I can stand the tobacco smoke a short time until I start to cough.”

“Thank you. It’s a bad habit, but I need to smoke my pipe every night before I doze off.”

Hans was in a half-sleep state. He had no desire to carry on further the conversation; he wanted to be polite to a stranger being about the same age as his father. “You had not finished telling me from where you drove to Paris.”

“I left my home in Tarbes, Midi-Pyrenees region, a week ago. I drove to Toulouse, my favorite university town, then from there to Pays de la Loire, where I stayed overnight with my friends’ family in Nantes. From there I continued my route to Paris through Le Mans, Chartres, and Versailles. I stopped at Chartres to spend a few hours at the cathedral. I had planned to spend a few days leisurely sightseeing Paris, perhaps for the last time. I will be heading for my first destination, which is Vienna, then eventually my second and final stop in Bamyan, Afghanistan, where I was born.”

Hans was somewhat surprised, trying to reconcile the two notions, i.e., a man’s Arabic background and his Christian faith. He found this quite interesting. He promised himself to learn more about this unusual combination. Furthermore, he noted that Abd had not mentioned anything about his wife, even though there was a wedding ring on his left fourth finger, but Hans wanted to remain politely discreet. He refrained from being regarded as a nosy individual; therefore, he listened to Abd with a great deal of interest but without asking questions. “Why two destinations?”

After a dry cough, then what appeared to be a gasp for air or a shortness of breath, Abd proceeded to say, “I don’t know whether I will make it to Afghanistan, but hopefully to Vienna, where one of my brothers lives in exile.”

Hans realized that Abd was definitely not well. He quickly developed a deep sympathy for the old man. Annoyed by the flickering floor lamp, Abd got up from his comfortable stretching position on the chair. He ran his fingers along the electric cord from the lamp socket all the way to the wall. He then firmly pushed the cord’s two prongs into the outlet. The flickering stopped. In the poorly lit parlor, but with the light shining directly over the middle section of Abd’s body, Hans saw bruises with various discolorations from dark red to light green colors on both forearms. For a moment, the thought of being in the company of a drug addict came to his mind, but he acted as if he had not seen these skin marks pending further observation. Abd continued with the story of his last week’s trip by car. His lively description of all what he had seen along the way kept Hans awake. Hans listened attentively to Abd, but he still refrained from asking for details, especially about his new acquaintance’s personal matters even after the latter had spontaneously, and on several occasions, mentioned these to him. Abd continued to talk to his evening companion, who gradually showed no reaction. The latter slowly fell asleep. Abd took two sips from the cognac bottle. Gradually his eyes became dull and finally closed. Complete silence permeated the parlor, occasionally interrupted by the usual rhythmic Hans’s breathing noise. The quietness of the night persisted when suddenly Louis’s heavy footsteps pounding on the wooden stairs just a few minutes before the grandfather clock chirped six o’clock woke the two men up. Outside the snow was tapering off. There was practically no human activity on the snow-covered dark streets. That was a Sunday morning on a dreary day that enticed even the most active person to leisurely stay in bed.

Abd lit his pipe, took two puffs then turned to Hans. “I am hungry. How about you? Should we ask Louis whether he still has some leftover bread? I have two jars of jam in my car. The bakery stores remain closed until eleven on Sunday in Paris.”

Hans nodded his head, showing his approval. As Abd had the intention of going to his car parked on a side street, he opened the entrance door, stepped out onto the platform, but quickly got back inside, shivering. “It’s colder than last evening. I hope I will be able to start my car.”

Through the tiny side window’s glass panel, a barely perceptible quivering moonbeam slowly swept over one of the round tabletops. The outside weather was bleak and cold. The temperature in the room had dropped significantly during the night, forcing Hans to put on his winter coat, lamenting, “It’s too late for me to catch the train for Basel at 6:15 a.m. Perhaps I should go back soon to the railroad station to find out whether there is another later on that has connection in Basel with trains going in the direction of Liechtenstein.”

He was quite astonished when he heard Abd say, “Don’t worry, Hans. Unless you are in a real hurry to rejoin your family, I would be most happy to have you travel with me by car at least to Basel. I prefer to go through large cities before arriving in Vienna anyway.”

Intrigued by Abd’s route preference, Hans remained silent for a brief moment then directed his eyes to Abd. “Thank you for your offer. It’s very kind of you. But I am curious. You must have a definite reason for choosing the heavy traffic of the large European cities.”

Abd heaved a deep sigh. “My health problem is the reason. Specifically, my leukemia is for the moment in remission, but it could flare up at any time, even though I have just finished a full course of chemotherapy plus radiation and I am going through a maintenance treatment plan. Therefore, during my trip I am trying to stay closer to medical centers that have a leukemia treatment protocol.”

Hans’s earlier suspicion of a drug addict had evaporated. He felt very reassured and without hesitation responded, “I would be glad to accompany you if you think I could be of some assistance in case you need an extra set of hands.”

“You certainly could be very helpful to me. I will further explain to you once we are on our way to Basel.”

After their breakfast, consisting of croissants left over from yesterday, marmalade, and coffee, Hans placed in Louis’s hand a twenty-frank and a ten-frank bill folded together, saying, “Thank you very much for your hospitality. This is from both of us and for the cognac you left on the counter last night and the breakfast. Please keep the change if any.”

After retrieving their possessions, the men put on their heavy coats, walked to the door while turning back their heads, and waved goodbye to Louis. They strode out of the café house in the bitter morning cold, heading for Abd’s car. All of a sudden, the wind shear at a street corner blew Abd’s beret away, exposing his bald and shiny vertex. Carefully, step by step, he waded through the wet snow, deep to above his ankles, crossed the narrow cobblestoned street, and freed his head covering stuck between the two twirls of a window wrought iron ornament. Against the forceful glacial penetrating wind blasting his frail body, Abd struggled to reach his Citroën hidden under a thin sheet of snow. The vehicle was parked on Rue Le Favre, half a block away from Café de la Gare. Abd pulled out of his wrinkled shirt pocket the car key, opened the trunk half full with what appeared to be a small camping tent, a transparent plastic bag containing aluminum connecting rods, a medium-size worn-out brown leather suitcase, steel chains, thick coiled ropes, an opened carton box holding half a dozen jars, and a clear plastic four-gallon container two-thirds full with a clear liquid. A large neatly folded green blanket occupied the remaining trunk space. He lifted it up and placed it over the suitcase, making room for Hans’s belongings, and cast a friendly look at his travel companion. “Place your valise and your handbag in the trunk’s empty space, but bring your coat inside and leave it on the back seat. You might need it later.”

Hans gently opened the squeaking door on the passenger side, waiting for Abd to slide over the front seat behind the felt-wrapped steering wheel, before he placed his left leg on the car floor to get himself inside. Abd looked straight ahead and put the key in the ignition. The motor started at once. A dark cloud of smoke ejected from the exhaust pipe. Turning his head toward Hans, Abd uttered, “Are you ready?”

Hans calmly replied, “Yes, Abd. I have a permanent international driver’s license. When you are tired, please don’t hesitate to let me take over, okay?”

The Citroën squeaked and rattled over the cobblestone-paved streets. The dashboard clock time was 7:18 a.m. and the fuel tank less than two-thirds full. Paris was quiet at this time of day on the weekend. Off and on in the suburb Chateau de Vincennes, freshly baked French bread aroma smelled in the air, giving the men an insatiable appetite for an oven-fresh French baguette. But no stores were opened and the men kept driving. At this point, they were out in the countryside. Houses were no longer conglomerated.

Hans cast an inquisitive look at his driving companion. “I am curious. What route are you going to take from here on, and what cities are we going to drive through?”

While keeping his eyes on the roads covered with a thin layer of snow free of vehicle tracks, Abd responded, “From my past experience, the most direct way to Basel is through Troyes and Dijon. The roads, for the most part, are fairly wide, well maintained, and the attractive landscapes are dotted with old churches of all shapes and ages. However, we might encounter some black ice, especially in the vicinity of Dijon. If you are not in a hurry, we can make a stop at Troyes Cathedral to admire the multicentury-old cathedral, ornately decorated with over sixteen thousand square feet of stained glass windows and the flaming gothic facade. After that, if you still want to see one more national monument of France, we can make another stop at Dijon Cathedral, a masterpiece of Romanesque art.”

Hans did not immediately respond to Abd’s suggestion, as the thought of letting his parents impatiently wonder of his present whereabouts during this snowstorm haunted him. The Citroën passed a couple of small villages with scattered modest snow-roofed houses lined along and on the south side of the road. After a few long minutes of silence, Hans lifted his set of road-watching eyes from the snow-slushed winding pavements and turned his head toward the driving companion. “If there wouldn’t be too much inconvenience, I would like to make a call to my parents at the next public telephone booth. I should allay my folks of their anxiety for not knowing where I am and what mode of transportation I will take to get to Buchs.”

“Of course, I will stop when you want me to. Besides, we need some provisions for the day. I will try to find a corner store within the next couple of hours when stores are opened for business. Any food you don’t care for or you are not supposed to eat? I will look for a two-day supply while you make your phone call.”

Hans took a glance at the dashboard clock. It was almost 10:30 a.m. Due to time zone changes since he boarded the plane in Boston and the lack of a regular sleep pattern, Hans had completely lost his sense of time and space. Bewildered somewhat by the absence of human activities on both sides of the deserted streets, he astonishingly uttered these words, “Is it Sunday today?”

Abd looked at him, amazed. “Yes. As you probably are well aware, in Latin European countries, people take very seriously Sunday as the day of rest, just like the seventh day of the week as the day of worship for Christians. Only food stores are opened and just for a couple of hours on Sunday.”

By this time the two men were about halfway to Troyes. The snowstorm of yesterday minimally affected this region. Plowed wheat fields were bare, dotted here and there by small snow-spangled, gale-spared spots. The sun was playing peekaboo with the dark low clouds to the east. There were hardly any cars on the wet roads, except for rare snow-splashing overtaking semitrailers. About three hours after leaving Porte de Vincennes, the two men saw from a distance the usual red-yellow Shell logo hung high on a tall post.

Abd slowed down the car to a complete halt, right in front of the lonely vintage gas pump carrying a hand-written instruction: “No out-of-town checks. Pay first inside.” Both men got out of the car about the same time. They felt the gusty wind that rattled the loose Cinzano sign over the entrance door. Quickly both put on their winter outerwear, then walked to the store with their hands in their coat pockets. One kilo of ripened bananas, two loaves of French bread, three cans of corned beef, three cans of sardines, and six oranges constituted the twenty-four-hour provision they had in mind earlier. While Abd nonchalantly picked food items from the shelves, Hans got into an outdoor phone booth and made his call to Vaduz. He reappeared from the freezing outdoor call box smiling. Abd returned to his car carrying two heavy plastic bags after paying for the food items and eighteen liters of medium-grade gasoline. He filled the gas tank, opened the hood, and checked the oil level with the bent oil rod.

Hans interrogatively cast a regard at his travel companion. “Sorry, I am of little help to you. The telephone call to my parents was longer than I had anticipated. They worried about my whereabouts. How much do I owe you for food and gas?”

Abd slammed the hood and looked at Hans with his deep-seated eyeballs beneath the frosty eyebrows, smiling. “Don’t worry. I didn’t spend a lot of money. With or without your company, I would have to use some of my savings to get to my destination anyway. But if you insist, I will keep all receipts and we will share the expenses on food. How are they, your parents?”

“Thank you for asking. They are fine and glad that I have decided to finish my homeward trip by car then train and bus. To be expected, they cautioned us about winter driving hazards.”

Abd started the car, turned on the windshield wiper to remove the melting snow, then glanced at his travel companion. “Are you ready?”

Hans replied. “Do you want me to drive?”

Abd added, “Not yet. Will let you know, or ask me again when you see that I am getting sleepy.”

With melancholy Abd sang along with Edith Piaf’s ballad “La vie en rose” he heard on an AM station as the Citroën 1961 model, visibly getting old with areas on the trunk lid showing paint discolorations and bubbles, then they pulled away from the gas pump, going east in the direction of Troyes. Occasionally rare small wet snowflakes fell on the warm glass windshield surface then melted into streaks of water running down to the immobile wiping blades. Abd looked at the dashboard clock and realized that he had been at the steering wheel for over three hours. Even though slowly getting tired, Hans’s heavy breathing kept him fully awake since they left the gas station. Finally, the long-awaited sun came out and the blue sky appeared, spreading westward.

Suddenly Abd yelled, “Ouch.”

Awakened abruptly from his deep sleep, Hans, frightened and bewildered, turned his head to the driver. “What’s the matter?”

With his right hand rubbing his right calf, Abd uttered again, “Ouch, ouch, charley horse in my leg.”

“Pull over, quick.”

“Would you like to take over the wheel for a while?”

“Gladly.”

The shrieking car brakes ended with a full stop on a narrow strip of asphalt shoulder. The two men exchanged their seats. A few yards ahead of them stood a road sign that read “Troyes–Chaumont–Mulhouse (Belfort)–Basel.” Once at the steering wheel, Hans, almost a head taller than Abd, adjusted the rear and side mirrors, the seat, and then released the foot brake, turned on the turn signal, and the Citroën started to slowly go back on the fairly dry intercity road to Troyes. The car was climbing the northeastern plateau. The immense wheat fields to their left, extending to the horizon, were draped with a thin white snow blanket. The northwest wind raged the hill, swaying the fully loaded car. Gusty wind tossed sprinklings of fine snow across the newly asphalt-resurfaced road. Frequently Hans had to forcefully take control of the steering wheel with both hands to keep the car from getting too close to the mushy shoulders. The windshield wipers, in constant motion, scraping the icy snow partially attached to the glass, produced a pulsing noise suggesting that the outside temperature was dropping to the freezing point.

Unable to clear the snow smeared over the glass windshield with the blades, Hans pulled over to a stop, got out of the car, lifted up the ice-frozen blades, and started scraping off the built-up ice sheets, while Abd turned on the defrosting knob, yelling, “Hans, you have been at the wheel almost three and a half hours. Let me take it over. I am no longer tired. I am fully awake. I have been reading the milestones along the road. Chaumont is only about ten kilometers from here. We might be able to find a café still opened on Sunday afternoon. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to grab something to eat, a cup of coffee, get warm, then back on the road. What do you think?”

Getting back to the passenger seat, Hans, looking very tired and exhausted, replied, “Okay with me, but take it easy. We are over the pass, going downhill, and the winding road appears to have several hairpin turns, looking at it from this elevation.”

Abd got back in the driver’s seat. The car slowly rolled down the steep hill. Half an hour or so later, the travelers arrived to a valley with scattered clay-tiled small dwellings.

“It must be the outskirt of Chaumont,” Hans mumbled. Within a few minutes the two men were in the middle of a much denser settlement with chimneys spewing out smoke from dark brown to light gray colors.

Abd pointed to an age-worn metal post with the inscription “Chaumont Centre,” saying joyfully, “We are indeed in town. Let’s look for a café.”

With his searching eyes, Hans announced suddenly, “Look, Abd. To your left is one with the lights still on and some moving human shadows.”

Abd immediately pulled over across the street and right in front of the café. The entry door slowly opened from inside. A bundled-up person strode out into the windy outdoor, slowly walked away, and then disappeared behind the tall courthouse building. Hans crossed the snow-sprinkled narrow street, gently turned the handle of the same entrance door, looked back at the direction of the car, and then waved at Abd to follow him. Once inside, the two men, one after the other, pulled the high chairs out from under the counter and sat down facing a chubby man wearing a white apron and holding two wine glasses. In fluent French with a mild rolling r of the Midi-Pyrenees region, Abd ordered, “Two mochas and two croissants please.” While discreetly looking at two persons sitting at a table adjacent to the foggy window panes, he added, “It is nicely warm here, cold and windy outside.”

Freshly brewed coffee aroma permeated the entire room. A weak winter sunray, penetrating the partial ice-covered window glass panes, shone on the hollow-cheeked face of the dark-haired motor-mouth woman in the white sheath dress. The two travelers finished quickly their coffee break, generously tipped the café owner, and then in a hurry got on the road.

It took Abd three ignition key turns to start the engine. Chaumont’s chimneys, one after another, disappeared from the rear window as the car was going downhill, leaving behind the Sunday afternoon, semi-dormant city. The road became more winding as the Citroën descended the steep hill partially covered with a thin layer of fine snow. Hans abruptly grabbed the dashboard with his two hands and worrisomely uttered, “Watch out! Black ice. Be cautious, Abd.”

Instantaneously, Abd manually locked the low gearbox ratio to better control the car and increase its running smoothness. Suddenly the front wheels slid and the car forcefully swayed to the right, hitting the end post of a low-cabled guardrail and emitting a scraping noise. The rear right side of the car slightly tilted down over the snow-powdered grass of the road shoulder. The two men abruptly got out of the Citroën, put on their winter coats, and then anxiously examined the chassis and all four wheels. Abd sighed. “We are lucky, no visible damage, thank God.”

With their gloved hands applied to the right end of the front bumper, they tried to move the front wheels back on the asphalt surface. Because of the lack of strength caused by his illness, Abd was not able to effectively assist Hans in pushing the wheels toward the center of the road. Their feet kept sliding over the wet grass of the road shoulder. Finally, with Hans’s feet applied to the guardrail’s end post, they managed on their third pushing attempt to move the front of the Citroën in the right direction. The sun reappeared but with its lower half hidden behind the darkening horizon. Both men got back into the car. Abd, at the wheel, let the vehicle smoothly run downhill in the “N” gear. Before it reached the bottom of the pass, a sharp snapping sound was heard toward the back and under the trunk of the car. Within a couple of seconds, the rear of the car dropped lower on the passenger’s side. This was immediately followed by a grinding, chattering, teeth-grinding rasp that appeared to be generated by the scraping of a metal object over a rough and hard surface. Abd applied the brake and then pulled the car over to a complete stop.

Hurriedly, the men, without putting on their winter coats, jumped out of the vehicle. Almost simultaneously they ran toward the rear of it. Horrified, they saw the right rear wheel leaning against the inside of the splashboard and the right end of the rear axle, broken off from the wheel, resting in a slanting position. Abd reached into the glove compartment and took out a black marking pen, opened the car trunk, tore a cover off from one of the two used cardboard boxes, then placed it on top of the car hood. A few small snowflakes landed then melted on the dorsum of his left trembling hand while he was writing “Voiture en panne” (disabled car).

After inserting the sign between the blades and the glass windshield, Abd looked at Hans. “I am sorry for putting you through all these inconveniences.” By this time the sun had completely disappeared, projecting upwardly its last golden haze of the day over the shadows of faraway bluish flat-topped hills. Farther to the east and from a distance, houses appeared as dark dots on a blanket of white snow left behind by yesterday’s snowstorm. Abd heaved another deep sigh. “The rear axle, I believe.”

“I think you are right. The axle is broken,” Hans replied.

“It is getting late and colder. What do you think we should do next?”

“I am afraid we have to try, first of all, to find a place to overnight in the middle of nowhere until tomorrow. The next hurdle to overcome will be the task of finding a mechanic who can replace the axle.”

The travelers grabbed from the car trunk enough loads to carry on their shoulders, and they started cautiously walking along the icy road in the direction of these faraway houses that, one after another, straggled along their passage. They were getting nearer. After a long, exhausting good hour, the two companions were in front of an old square brick dwelling, standing alone a few yards from the main road. The men searched for the walkway to the house with their eyes, as the ground around it was covered with at least a foot of undisturbed fresh snow. Hans trudged through the deep snow, approached the entrance platform, wiped off the wet glass door panel with the right sleeve of his coat, and looked in. Suddenly the light that indicated earlier the house was inhabited turned off, plunging the inside of it in darkness. Timidly Hans knocked at the glass doorframe then silently listened. The light turned on again. The inner paneled wooden door was opened just enough for a man’s head to stick out halfway. Then slowly a wraith-thin body, with its back facing the dim light of a wrought iron rustic chandelier, showed up, face-to-face with a stranger. His wilted and mussed gray hair over a tired-looking visage indicated that the man was about to quit for the day. Toward the back of the room, the wall clock chirped nine o’clock.

With a quivering voice, Hans glanced at the forwarding head. “Our car broke down. It had to be left at the roadside a couple of kilometers up the road. Would you please inform us whether one will be able to find an inn, a B&B, or even a private home in town where we can stay for the night.”

The man pushed the door wide open, making a quick sign with his hand. “Please step in. It’s too cold to stand outside.” Hans and his companion shook off the snowflakes from their winter coats and then entered the house. The tenant of the dwelling closed the door behind the unexpected but reassuring visitors while adding, “There is no commercial lodging around here, but there is an old lady living alone in a three-bedroom house just a couple of hundred meters behind our house. Occasionally, she rents out a spare room to tourists when her son is not in town visiting her.” The man glanced at his wristwatch then stared at Abd. “Let me make a quick call to find out whether the room is available for rent. In the meantime, please warm yourselves up at the fireplace and help yourselves with a cup of hot cider if you wish.” The man trudged forward, picked up the wall-mounted phone handset, and then dialed. A rattling voice answered. He listened and then said a few words that were almost inaudible. Less than a minute later, he returned to the fireplace where the two visitors were soaking themselves in the warmth of the dying embers. He smiled. “Yes, the lady is willing to rent the vacant room to you. She will leave the porch door light on for you to see her house from a distance.”

The man proceeded to show the travelers how to get to the pedestrian bridge bringing them to the other side of the river where the lady’s house was located. Pleased with the unexpected arrangement, the two companions put their coats back on, thanked the host, and then cautiously stepped down from the doorsteps into the darkness of the night. The two men were gradually adjusting their sight to the pitch dark outside. Unlike the ships that keep a certain distance from the lighthouse, Abd and Hans walked directly toward the only dim spot of light that appeared off and on behind a clump of densely grown trees. It was getting brighter as the men were getting closer to the house’s silhouette. The chimney smoke swirls illuminated by the porch light could now be seen.

Abd loudly sighed. “It must be the house!”

Exhausted after trudging through the deep snow on the path, he was at some distance behind his companion. Short of breath, he suddenly stopped walking and let Hans approach the house first. As the latter reached the doorsteps, a five-foot-tall lady with a slouched posture was standing at the door. With the same rattling voice the men had heard earlier, she friendly greeted them as Abd was now a few feet behind Hans. “If you are the folks who are looking for a place to stay overnight, this is it.”

Hans politely replied, “Yes, ma’am, we are the stranded travelers.”

“Come in please, but be careful with the slippery doorsteps. My name is Louise Bojeau, but they call me ‘Madame Jo’ in the area.”

The men took off their heavy outer coats, wiped their shoes, and then entered the living room. The hand of the circular thermometer hung next to the outside window frame was at two degrees Fahrenheit (−16.7 Celsius). The old lady continued, “Please pull that couch closer to the fireplace and warm yourselves up quickly while I am going to heat some cider for you.”

Hans looked at her hospitable face. “Yes, lovely. Thank you.”

A few minutes later Madame Jo returned, carrying a tray with two large cups and a thermos. After pouring the steaming liquid into the cups, she showed a glass jar of cinnamon powder to the guests. “Yes, or no?”

Both men said yes. They also looked at each other, very content and satisfied with the outcome that followed the unlucky event of the day.

Still standing near the left side of the fireplace’s brick mantel, Madame Jo glanced at the wall clock. “It’s getting late. You must be very tired. Let me show you your room upstairs with a private bath.”

Abd replied with a weak voice, “Indeed, I am very tired. We left Chateau de Vincennes almost fourteen hours ago.” He surely looked pale and exhausted, ready to lie down for a rest. The men followed Madame Jo, climbing up a steep squeaking wooden staircase. Once on the stair platform, the lady opened the door of the room with two double beds and turned on the ceiling light. “Here is your room with the window shades already pulled down. Two glasses and a water bottle on the night table in case you are thirsty. Please don’t hesitate to knock at my door if you need something during the night. Sleep as long as you wish. I presume you know how the chain-operated shower works. Breakfast will be ready for you when you are up for the day. Good night.”

Abd, very fatigued and weak, slumped into one of the beds. Hans came down to the living room to retrieve Abd’s belongings as well as his. Both slept like the bears in hibernation. Hans’s heavy breathing didn’t seem to disturb his companion. Toward the morning of that Monday, occasional cocks’ crows from a distance woke them up. Looking through the partially foggy windowpanes to the west, Abd and Hans saw shadows of neighboring houses projected on sparkling bright snow-covered backyards and realized that they started out the week with a sunny day. Slowly the men got out of their cozy, warm beds, took turns to wash themselves up, and quickly got dressed. One after the other, the travelers came downstairs and sat at the dining table.

Madame Jo came out of the kitchen wearing her usual apron made in Normandy. “Today is Monday. Local convenient stores will open only at noon. Can I offer you an omelet with mushroom, salted butter, strawberry jam, slices of bread, and coffee this morning?”

The two hungry men, having not eaten for over eighteen hours, gladly looked at Madame Jo. “Thank you. That is more than we can bargain for.”

Before finishing his first cup of steamy coffee, Abd turned to the old lady. “Do you know any auto mechanic in town?”

“Yes, Monsieur Langvin is a very popular mechanic in this area. His shop is on the other side of the river. Every year and about this time, he takes a couple of weeks off and goes to Provence to visit his daughter. Let me make a quick call to see whether he is still here at the moment.” Mrs. Bojeau walked to her antique oak bureau placed against the wainscoting kitchen wall, picked the white phone handset, and dialed while the two men were looking at her anxiously. She returned to the dining table with a chirpy voice. “You are lucky. Mr. Langvin is still in town until the coming Sunday.”

Looking at Hans, Abd’s facial expression instantly changed from anxious to relief.

“I think both of us will take a walk to his shop in a few minutes. May we temporarily leave our travel gear with you until we know exactly when we might be able to get our car repaired?”

“Certainly.” Perhaps at the moment she was thinking of her only son Jacque, a sales rep of Nestlé Company, who traveled by car all year round, covering almost the entire eastern third territory of France. If so, she must be imagining that similar misfortune could happen to him at any day. The two men stood up from the table, gathered the empty plates, cups, saucers, and dirty silverware, and then carried them to the kitchen sink while Mrs. Bojeau looked on. “You don’t have to help me clean the table. I am used to doing it myself to show to my son each time he comes for a visit that his mother is still capable of taking good care of him. Thank you anyway. Go to see Mr. Langvin. I will be here for the rest of the morning.” A couple seconds after, she added, “If you don’t mind the deep packed snow, I’ll show you the shortest and easiest way to get to his shop. The footpath starts behind my neighbor’s house to the right. It crosses the frozen creek, over a narrow ten-meter rusty steel bridge, then veers slightly to the left. Keep walking straight ahead until you approach a Virgin Mother shrine on your right. Make a quick stop there for a few seconds. Look slightly to your right, at about one o’clock on the watch dial. You will see a junkyard full of rusty automobile bodies and parts. This is Mr. Langvin’s property.”

The men thanked Mrs. Bojeau then got on the road. Twenty minutes or so, they were at the shop after wading through the deep snow that caused some shortness of breath to Abd. The only human in the large shed presumably was Mr. Langvin, they thought. He was in the middle of getting the woodstove going.

In a shivering voice, Hans asked, “Are you Mr. Langvin?”

“Yes, I am the person Mrs. Bojeau talked to on the phone earlier. What can I do for you? But first please take a seat on that bench. You will quickly warm yourselves up once the stove burns efficiently.”

The travelers replied almost in duet. “Thank you.” Abd clearly described to Mr. Langvin what had happened to his Citroën. He meticulously and sequentially went over in detail the various events leading to the automobile being out of commission.

The mechanic listened to him attentively. Not able to control his yawn revealing wide-gapped, malaligned teeth that he tried to hide by placing his hand nonchalantly over his care-neglected mustache, he cautiously uttered, “I have to see your car in order to know whether it has to be towed to a Citroën dealership or alternatively I could repair it myself.”

Mr. Langvin got up from his squatted position in front of the stove and signaled the visitors to follow him. They got into an old half-rusty and hastily repainted open-back truck and managed to navigate through the deep snow-covered unplowed roads, heading toward the Chaumont direction. Suddenly, Hans pointed to a lonely snow heap off the road on the driver’s side. He barely recognized that the Citroën was completely covered with fresh snow since they left it at the roadside last night.

Mr. Langvin parked his truck behind the abandoned vehicle, walked back to the rear of his truck, and picked up two shovels. He handed one of the two tools to Hans while keeping a calm face. “Would you mind giving me a hand? We will take turns to dig out at least the rear of the car before we can determine the problem.”

Approximately half hour later, the back of the Citroën was freed of the white stuff, but the bottom end still needed to be cleaned out in order for the mechanic to thoroughly examine the axle and the attached wheels. This was accomplished without much trouble by the youngest of the three, Hans. With his bare hands, Mr. Langvin wiped off the remaining thin snow layer on the axle and pointed out to the two men the abnormal position of the right rear wheel in relation to the axle. He asked Abd to try starting the engine. After a couple of key turns of the ignition, the motor started. Mr. Langvin attentively listened to the motor noise and took a deep sigh. “You are lucky. Only the axle and the right strut are broken. I can handle the problem without difficulty. But let’s get back to the shop. It is too cold here to discuss about the repair process.”

Once back at the shop, the three men warmed themselves up in front of the stove, now burning hot with glowing embers. Mr. Langvin reached over a small desk to get his fingerprint-oil-stained Rolodex. He found the telephone number he was looking for and made the call. He talked with someone for a few minutes then returned to the anxiously waiting visitors with the following explanation. “I have showed you the problem with your automobile that you are fully aware of. In order for you to safely get back on the road, the rear axle and the two struts, also known as lower control arm toe rods, need to be replaced. The car is an old model of Citroën sedan. I just got in touch with a junkyard owner. He agreed with me, it wouldn’t be easy to find a used axle and two compatible strut rods, but he will call back to let me know where he might be able to locate these parts, used but still usable. It might take a day or two to get a definitive answer, especially because the snow covering the parts needs to melt out a little before they can search for these suitable ones. Excuse me for a moment. I will be back in a few minutes and then you let me know whether you will opt to wait for the call or you would prefer to have the car towed to a dealership. The closest one is in Troyes. As you probably know, the towing is not cheap, and the repair cost at a dealership is more expensive. I have no problem repairing your Citroën as long as I have the right parts. Please think it over. Either way is fine with me. I realize that you need to have the car running as soon as possible.” Then he walked to the car he was working on yesterday afternoon.

In the meantime, Hans leaned his head toward Abd and murmured, “It looks as if he knows how to repair and service French vehicles of all ages and models. Hopefully, he will live up to his local reputation.”

“It is fine with me. I don’t think we have another choice.”

While waiting for further discussion with Mr. Langvin, the two large color frameless posters stapled to the sidewall near the shed’s entrance attracted Hans’s attention. He smiled when he recognized that he had seen identical posters in a New York car repair shop. The only difference was that these subtitled in French. One depicted a brunette girl in a bikini sitting on a Harley-Davidson motorcycle and the other in her high heels, also in a bikini, leaning to the driver’s side door of a Chevrolet Impala coupe.

As the mechanic was walking back to the stove, Abd looked at him, settled in his decision. “We talked over the situation and have decided to wait until we hear from the junkyard’s owner before we decide on another option.”

Mr. Langvin poured a freshly brewed cup of coffee to Abd and Hans, who patiently were waiting for the phone call. A complete quietness reigned inside and outside of the shed. Abd slowly dozed off while Hans was doing mental planning with his pocket calendar. Suddenly the phone rang. Mr. Langvin picked up the handset, listened, smiling. “Are you serious, Henry? What? I can hardly believe it. Are you really hopeful in finding the third piece? Is it too late to get these two pieces on this afternoon courier? Thanks so much for your effort, and my best to you and Olivia.”

The mechanic went back to sit near the stove, facing the two travelers. “The junkyard’s owner that I mentioned to you earlier has successfully located the axle and one of the two strut rods we are searching for. The second one remains to be found, but Henri reassured me that, one way or another, he should be able to find it, very likely from the yard of steel scrap one of his friends owns. The first two components will arrive here in two days at the most, and if the second rod could be located within a couple of days, you two should be able to get back on the road by Thursday or Friday this week.”

Abd immediately replied, “Thank you very much for all the troubles. We would prefer that you do the repair.”

“Fine, I will be able to give you the final figure once I receive all the parts. My guess is that the total cost would be less than 80 FF [the exchange rate was $1.00 US for 4 French francs approximately]. Is it acceptable to you?”

“Certainly, it is very reasonable.” Abd knew he still had plenty of cash to pay Mr. Langvin. But the next urgent step was to find a place to stay until the car was repaired. He asked the mechanic the permission to use his phone. He called Mrs. Bojeau, who told him that both of them were welcome to stay at her place until her son’s monthly visit in two weeks. He informed the mechanic that they were going to stay at Mrs. Bojeau’s place.

Hans and Abd stood up, ready to leave, when Mr. Langvin reassured them, “I will give you a call as soon as the first two parts arrive. You are welcome to come and see how I will start the repair process, but I want first to know whether you want me to tow your car myself.”

“Of course! Please go ahead at your convenience. Is there a bank in town? I want to cash a check to pay you for the parts.”

“No rush! The local branch of Banque de Lyon is located on the south side of town. If you don’t need cash right away, I will take you there in a couple of days when I’ll go there myself to make a deposit of my customers’ checks.”

Abd and Hans left the shop, returning to Mrs. Bojeau’s house. At the door, Abd looked back and said, “Please give us a call when you get the news on the second strut rod.”

Walking back on the same path, the two visitors were shivering in the cold gusty wind but very content with what had been accomplished so far. Mrs. Bojeau brought to them two steamy cups of freshly brewed coffee then turned to Abd. “Well, any luck with Mr. Langvin?”

“Yes, we are very lucky indeed. He seems to know how to solve our problem. With a little more luck, we should be able to get back on the road by the end of this week.”

Hans asked Mrs. Bojeau about the daily meals. Since there was no restaurant within walking distance, she explained to the men that she only cooked twice a day for herself, and if they didn’t mind to have only two simplified hot dishes each day, they were welcome to be at the dining table with her until they would be back on the road. The men accepted her offer to cook their meals with pleasure.

While waiting for the men to return from Mr. Langvin, she called her daughter-in-law Natalie, with whom she got along very well. She found out that her son Jacque might not be able to stop by her house in two weeks. He was sent to New York City for business by his company and would not be back until the first week of next month. As a matter of fact, three days ago, Natalie drove him to Le Havre where he boarded the Transatlantic Crossing Queen Elizabeth of Cunard Line that took five days to get to the destination instead of less than a day by propeller planes. Jacque had flight phobia.

After finishing their coffee, Abd slowly climbed up to their rented room. He showed evidence of exhaustion and had to lie down. Just at the moment when Hans was about to go upstairs, Mrs. Bojeau, with napkins and silverware in her hands, gently called out, “It’s already five to one. Would you like to have lunch in about thirty minutes?”

“Yes, thank you. Abd told me on our way back from Mr. Langvin that he was also hungry.”

Once in the room, Hans noted that his travel companion had a gray facial look with his eyes closed. He worried about Abd’s overall health. “Are you okay, Abd?”

“I am very tired, possibly because my red blood cell level has come down to below the normal count or simply because I am hypoglycemic.”

Hans could not hide his worry about Abd’s health, as he knew of Abd’s serious illness. The idea of taking Abd to the hospital for an urgent evaluation came to his mind. He slowly and gently closed the door behind him and tiptoed down the staircase. Mrs. Bojeau, hearing the wooden squeaking sound, reappeared at the end of the dining table then looked up. “The dejeuner [lunch] is not quite ready yet. I will call you in about fifteen minutes.”

“I am not trying to rush you. I just want to ask you whether I can use your phone to make a long-distance call to my parents in Liechtenstein.”

“Absolutely, Hans. By the way, can I call you by your first name?”

“Of course! How do I know how much the call will cost?”

“Very simple, dial zero. The local operator in Baumont will come on, and you dial the number you want to call. At the end of the call, she will tell you the total cost with federal and departmental taxes included. She will also ask whether she could bill our telephone number. It’s that easy. I will close the kitchen door so that you would have some privacy.”

Hans did exactly what Mrs. Bojeau had told him. He informed his parents where he was staying and the reason why his trip with Abd had to be temporarily suspended. He was reassured that his parents were fine, even after shoveling the deep snow for hours. He reopened the kitchen door to thank her for letting him use her phone and to let her know that everything was okay with his parents. By this time their look at each other inspired reciprocal trust and good feeling.

After lunch, Abd thanked Mrs. Bojeau for the nice meal then excused himself and went back to their room for a nap, while Hans remained downstairs to help the host clear the table and clean the dishes. While working side by side at the kitchen counter, Mrs. Bojeau and Hans exchanged information on their family, background, hobbies. At the end of their conversation, she thanked him and then, with utmost discretion, she softly uttered, “Is your friend well? He looks pale to me.”

Without going into details about Abd’s general health, Hans, in a discreet manner and with his regard vaguely directed to the kitchen floor, responded, “Abd is not used to a long walk in the snow, especially when the gusting wind was strong enough to blow a frail body away.”

Abd woke up a couple of hours later feeling somewhat better. The two men spent the most part of that afternoon in their room mapping their travel route on a Michelin road map. They decided to enter Switzerland at the Basel border checkpoint. Since Hans knew fairly well the international trade and circulation agreements between European states, he asked Abd whether he was a French citizen. Showing a sad facial expression, Abd informed Hans that he was a legal war refugee and had been living more than twelve years in France; but because of his personal family problem, that he was going to explain later, and his illness, he had not come around to apply for the French citizenship. However, as a law-abiding person, Abd had carefully prepared his trip. It took him more than two months to obtain passport visas of all the countries he had anticipated to drive through until he reached Kabul. Being a citizen of Liechtenstein, Hans could freely travel between Western European countries with his driver’s license. He was not required to have a visa.

Hans continued to be concerned about Abd’s health. With utmost discretion, he found out that his companion was going to have a “repeat blood count” once they arrived in Basel. Sensing that Hans was a trustworthy individual, Abd started to gradually confide in him his illness, his boyish secrets, his successful career, his personal sentimental past, and then eventually his family problems. The two men continued their conversation on many personal matters such as ethnicity, religion, family, education, health, and job. Remarkably, Hans noted that Abd seemed to dwell on subjects dealing with his spouse and his children.

Hans quietly listened with sympathy to his companion, who seemed choked at times when the latter went over the events that occurred during the years after his divorce. On one occasion, just a few minutes before Mrs. Bojeau announced that dinner was ready that evening, Hans was the witness to a great sob that rose in Abd’s throat. He quickly placed his arms around his friend for sympathy and consolation.

It was getting dark outside. The grandfather clock in the living room chimed at the stroke of six. Mrs. Bojeau called out from the foot of the staircase, “Gentlemen, dinner is ready in a few minutes.”

“Do you need help to set the table, Mrs. Bojeau?”

“No, thanks, Hans.”

Abd hurriedly got dressed. The two men then joined Mrs. Bojeau for supper. Abd complained that he was still tired. He ate very little, excused himself, and then went back to his room for an early night’s sleep. Mrs. Bojeau’s earlier observation was now confirmed. Abd was definitely ill. She quickly cleared the table and then suggested to Hans while unwrapping a thermometer she took out from the dining table drawer. “You should take his temperature and his pulse.”

Hans went upstairs and found Abd dressed in pajamas, sleeping. He did not want to disturb his companion. Occasionally the latter’s raspy cough broke the silence of the night. Abd woke up a couple of times to take his medicine and to go to the bathroom.

After more than eight hours of sleep, Hans slowly got up. He found his friend sitting in the upholstered chair with his drooping head between two sunken shoulders. Hearing the squeaky noise of the bed, Abd slowly directed his look at Hans. “Did you have a good sleep last night? I am feeling much better. My cough is subsiding. It is an indication that I don’t have anything wrong with my lungs. Probably it was caused by the cold air I breathed while walking to and from Mr. Langvin’s shop.”

Being a doctor, Abd was aware that his asthmatic diathesis predisposed him to develop reactive airway disease when he subjected himself to strenuous physical activities or a lengthy inhalation of cold air. After a long yawn, Hans replied, “I am glad you are feeling better. Mrs. Bojeau and I were worrying that you were getting sick.”

It was still quiet downstairs. Only the monotonous sound of water dripping from melting icicles hanging on the roof edges was heard. The sun was just over the hills. The packed snow surface was sparkling in Mrs. Bojeau’s backyard. In soft words, Abd continued, “During the night I heard footsteps downstairs, and the living room light was on for a while. Off and on a barely audible recitation of Hail Mary caught my ears. I presume Mrs. Bojeau was up and saying her nightly prayer.”

Quite surprised, Hans was asking himself whether Abd was a Christian Arab, as the latter seemed very familiar with the Catholic Hail Mary prayer. “Good guess, Abd. Last evening, before I went to bed, I noted that a worn-out black leather-covered Bible was on the kitchen table next to a half-empty cup of coffee. She must be devotedly religious. Do you note that she is not only trusting but also motherly in dealing with us? She lives alone and has no nearby relatives. Her only son and his family are almost six hours away by car.”

Abd finished his routine morning washing and shaving. He emptied the soapy washbowl water into the toilet and then looked at Hans still sitting at the foot of the bed. “Your turn, Hans. By the way, how old are you? I was sixty-nine last July.”

“I just turned twenty-eight this past month.”

“At your age, I completed my residency in internal medicine specialty. But I didn’t want to set up a private practice. So, I decided to stay in academic medicine.”

“Where?”

“At Karolinska University Hospital.” Thinking of his thirty-seven-year-old son, Emal, who didn’t want to go on past his bachelor’s degree, Abd went on to say, “I would like to hear more about your education and your professional achievement.”

“I didn’t have as much education as you did. Briefly, I finished my high school and then college in Vaduz, completed my postgraduate in economics at Ecole Des Hautes Etudes Commerciales du Nord in Paris [a top-ranking business school in France], where I received my PhD in business. From there, I went to Brussels where I had my internship in banking. My last two years were spent in Brooklyn, New York, as a junior executive banker.”

As the conversation on their life became more intense, the men stayed up into the early morning hours of the following days. Due to the subfreezing outdoor temperature and the all-day-long gusty wind, they stayed in their room after each meal. Religion was another subject Abd spent a lot of time on, besides the social issues that covered not only Europe but also the entire world. Much of the religious topic was centered on Islam versus Judeo-Christian culture, even though Abd was brought up in a Buddhist environment.

On the fourth morning at Mrs. Bojeau’s house, the penetrating freezing wind had died down and the sky was cloudless. The two men decided to take a walk to Mr. Langvin’s shop.

The latter, well bundled-up, was sitting at the doorsteps with an unlit cigarette hanging from his mustache-embellished mouth. With a smile, he looked at the returned visitors. “The axle and one of the strut rods were delivered a few minutes ago. I carefully examined them. They are in good condition. My contact still has not been able to locate the second strut rod. I have known him for years, and I am confident that, one way or another, this man will find the remaining part through one of his many connections. Just give him a couple more days.” All three men went inside. Mr. Langvin showed Abd and Hans the parts he received that morning.

Anxious to breathe the outdoor fresh air, the travelers bade goodbye and then went out for a continuing walk. The wind was calm. The bright but cool sunlight shone on Abd’s hollow face that looked to have a better color this late morning. Walking side by side on a partially snow-melting path leading to a denser conglomeration of dwellings, the two travel companions continued their intense conversation, interrupted occasionally by Abd’s dry cough. Due to his young age with an uneventful youth, highlighted only by his delivery of the valedictory high school address at the commencement exercises and a brief sentimental relationship with a young American lady in the Brooklyn bank last year, Hans didn’t have much to tell his friend about his life. On the other hand, Abd’s life story went all the way back to his mother’s home birth sixty-nine years ago in a small village located in central Afghanistan. He went on and on, talking about the civil war affecting his childhood and his youth. This period was followed by the separation from his parents at an early age then his relocation as a war refugee in another country, his education and professional achievement, and finally his family. At times the recount of each phase of his life appeared to be unending.

Hans’s first thought was that Abd, due to his current illness that could cause mental depression, just wanted to get off his chest the hardship of the life he had endured for seven decades. Frequently, Abd repeated the same details about his life, narrated the same events, raised the same questions at least twice within a day of conversation. Eventually, Hans started to suspect that Abd’s tendency of repetition must have a special purpose and therefore he didn’t mind to patiently listen. Occasionally Abd choked on giving an account of quite remarkable events of his life. This indicated to Hans that his friend was genuine in his storytelling. They became more trustful and more intimate by the fifth day of their stay at Mrs. Bojeau’s home. That evening, before saying good night to his friend, Abd revealed that he was married twice and explained to Hans the reason for his current trip to Istanbul.

On the next morning, the phone rang when all three were having breakfast. Mr. Langvin announced that the second strut had finally arrived and the travelers should be able to get back on the road no later than tomorrow midmorning. Bundled up warmly, Abd and Hans went to the local branch of Credit Lyonais Bank in town and had a check of eighty French francs made out to Mr. Langvin. They also got additional cash to pay Mrs. Bojeau for lodging and meals. Upon their return, Mrs. Bojeau served her guests an elaborate dinner comparable to a sumptuous small-scaled banquet. The meal was not complete until she opened a bottle of robust, sturdy, and earthy red wine, from France’s Languedoc region, that played well at the dinner table. After the “adieu dinner” (as Mrs. Bojeau called it), the men went upstairs. One could hear them conversing for a few more hours until the host turned off the lights on the first floor. Hans gradually realized that Abd was not only beset by his chronic granulocytic leukemia but also by some sort of family feud. Abd remained very discreet in telling his story, and Hans, in trying to understand his companion’s state of mind, not through delicate questions but rather through mind reading. Bit by bit Abd revealed to his, by now, intimate friend numerous remarkable experiences of his life, while Hans patiently and considerately listened to his companion with compassion. The two men had spent time together for only seven days, yet their friendship appeared as if it was decades long. They carried their conversation into the late part of the night. The response to Abd’s last word about his two sons was the usual Hans’s heavy breathing. A complete silence pervaded the entire house.

Next morning, before the sun shone its first rays on the convex silo top, the two travelers were already up and about. They had their breakfast in a hurry. They paid Mrs. Bojeau and then Hans asked her whether they could leave their possessions in the living room until they returned with the Citroën. At the entrance of the Langvins’ property, they noted that the freshly washed car was parked a few feet from the shop’s main door, waiting to be picked up.

Handing the car key to Abd, Mr. Langvin took a puff from his cigarette. “Please go ahead and make a test run. Pay attention to the repetitive uneven tire rubbing sound against the smooth asphalt surface. I didn’t hear any such a noise this morning when I drove for more than ten minutes.”

Abd and Hans were able to start the motor within a fraction of a second and drove toward the main road, heading for the direction of Mrs. Bojeau’s house. Abd accelerated and then decelerated the vehicle on purpose, carefully listening, but the noise described by Mr. Langvin wasn’t there. They turned around and slowly reentered the driveway littered on both sides with rusty large auto parts. They parked the car again at the same place and then entered the shop. Abd took out the eighty-eight FF bank check from his shirt pocket and handed it to Mr. Langvin. “Thank you very much for your outstanding service. The car ran smoothly. We didn’t hear a single abnormal noise.”

“You are welcome. I am glad I was able to help you. If you ever come back this way, please stop in to have a drink.”

The travelers bade goodbye and then drove back to Mrs. Bojeau’s house to pick up their belongings, which were orderly rearranged in the trunk and the back seat of the car. They both leaned toward Mrs. Bojeau and deposited a kiss on each of her cheeks to express their thanks and say adieu. As soon as they got into the Citroën, Mrs. Bojeau ran out with a large bag in her left hand, waving at the men when the car started moving. “Wait, wait. Here is your provision for the day.”

Hans rolled down the window glass, grabbed the bag, then said thanks to the old lady. He could barely hide his emotion. Slowly the car got back on the main road in the direction of Basel. It was a sunny but cold day. By then it was a couple of minutes before 9:30 a.m. on Hans’s wristwatch. Abd increased the speed once the car passed the last house in Chaumont. The Citroën continued to perform flawlessly. Abd resumed his unfinished personal story. Hans patiently listened to his travel companion. To be sure that he understood correctly what Abd meant to say, he occasionally raised a question. Otherwise, he was rather quiet but attentive to each of Abd’s words.

In the early afternoon, they arrived in Mulhouse. They stopped for a break and filled the gas tank after eating the sandwich Mrs. Bojeau had sent along. Abd drove to Mulhouse regional hospital, showed to the receptionist his oncologist’s instruction letter, and then went to the hospital’s lab for the blood tests recommended. The travelers almost fell asleep in the emergency department’s waiting room. Finally, the lab technician who drew his blood earlier came out with the results, which were within the expected ranges one month after he received his first blood transfusion.

The two men arrived to the outskirts of Basel in the late afternoon of that day. After going through the Swiss border’s custom and immigration station, they headed for Basel’s main railroad station.

They parked the Citroën just a few hundred meters from the main entrance, entered the building, and looked at the train departure board. Hans mumbled, “Basel–Olten–Zurich–St. Gallen–Vaduz–Feldkirche 19:30.” With a facial expression of sadness, he snuffled discreetly then tendered Abd a ten-Swiss-franc bill. “It has been a great pleasure to be your travel partner during the past week. I hate to see you by yourself from now on until you arrive in Vienna. You had promised to let me help you partially defray some of the travel expenses. Please drop me a note once you reach Kabul.”

“Thank you for being so helpful during the entire trip and for putting up with all inconveniences.”

They embraced, and they were at the brink of shedding tears. Hans cast a somber regard at Abd, turned around, and walked to the exit door. Just at that moment, one by one the century-old, gas-powered street lamps lit up. Quickly he reentered the hall where Abd, woebegone by the inevitable separation from his companion, was slowly heading back to his car. Facing his friend, Hans emotionally uttered, “It’s getting late. You are not going to drive through the night, are you? I come to think that it would be very late in the night when I arrive in Vaduz with the next train and I don’t want to disturb my parents unnecessarily. Why don’t we stay here in Basel for the night?”

“It’s a good idea. I am tired too.”

They approached the station information counter and got the address of an inexpensive hotel located a few blocks from the station. Afterward, the two men had their fast dinner at a food stand next door. They returned to the car, drove a few minutes, and then checked into the hotel. After taking their showers, Hans sat on one of the two double beds with his back against the headboard and Abd on the only upholstered chair. They slowly drank the still very hot tea Abd had just finished preparing using the portable electric water boiler. Both men were thinking of the next day’s personal activities but remained quiet for the moment. Suddenly Abd somberly looked at Hans. “Can I still say a few more words to you about my future plan after we separate tomorrow?” Concomitantly he thought about his two estranged grown-up sons and silently wept.

“Of course, Abd. You should know by now, I am good at listening, but clumsy and shy at expressing.”

“As you probably have correctly guessed, I don’t have too many months left to live. With my rapidly declining health, realistically I wouldn’t be able to leave behind any written chapters of my life for my beloved ones. Now that I have confided to you during the last few days my true story, would you be willing to write my own memoir after my death? I am asking you to do me this big favor. I realize this is a colossal undertaking. You may write it in any form you choose, as fiction based on a real story or as a deceased’s memoir. If you accept to do it, please take time to do it leisurely. It doesn’t matter when you start writing, before or after you have a family with a loving wife and well-mannered children.”

Hans got off his comfortable bed, came to sit next to Abd, and gently stroked his back as a gesture of consolation. “I’ll do it with pleasure, as long as you are aware, I am not born to write, but rather to play with numbers. I cannot promise you the exact date when the book will be completed, but you can be reassured that it will be written in your honor.”

“Thank you very much for accepting this time-consuming task. Once arrived in Vienna, I will drop you a note giving you my home address in France where my wife Martine lives. I will instruct her to let you know of my whereabouts during the next few months if I will still be alive that long.”

Next morning after a light breakfast at the hotel, the men drove back to the railroad station. The next train for Buchs via Sargans was about to leave in a few minutes. From Buchs, Liechtenstein buses go to Vaduz. Hans took this route many times in the past. In a hurry, he bade a tearful farewell to his travel companion. “Be reassured, Abd. I will complete your memoir in a published book form. Future generations will learn a great deal of your life so rich with teaching experiences.” Those words, trembling with emotion, were heard on Abd’s left shoulder as Hans tightly embraced his friend for the last time. In a hurry, he climbed onto the platform with his luggage. The train started to move. Abd slowly walked in the same direction while directing his sad regard to Hans. Suddenly Hans, while descending one step from the platform and with his right hand holding on the opened door’s handlebar, yelled, “I almost forget to give you my business card.” Abd quickly grabbed the card from Hans’s outstretched left arm. They waved to each other as the train sped up. Hans went inside of the passenger car, sat down, then looked at his wristwatch. It was Sunday, January 8, 1969, the day he saw his affectionate friend for the last time.