Night Vision

Harry had never ridden in a hearse. This one was a shiny black marvel equipped with all the latest gadgets. Buddy popped the hood and shined a flashlight through the blackness and fog. Harry took the flashlight and gave the engine the once over. It was a massive chrome-plated thing. It looked as if it had enough juice to leave even the fastest police car standing in its dust.
“What does this baby top out at?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Buddy said. “I’ve never had it flat out.”
“What do the specs say? How fast does it go from zero to sixty?”
“I don’t know that either.”
Harry opened the passenger side door and rummaged through the glove compartment.
“It’s not in there.”
“What’s not in there?”
“The owner’s manual.”
Harry closed the glove compartment, took a clean rag from a shopping bag he’d brought with him, and strode to the front of the hearse. He shined the flashlight on the dipstick. Then he reached in, and pulled it out.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
“I already checked the oil.”
“I’m checking it again.”
Harry wiped the dipstick clean, then pushed it back in. After a few seconds, he pulled it out again.
“That isn’t necessary,” Buddy said.
“It’s full,” Harry said, pointing to the upper edge of the amber fluid, which rose just above the embossed letters, ‘F-U-L-L’. “In fact, I think you’ve got a little too much in there.”
“What do you want me to do? Drain it?”
Harry replaced the dipstick and took a silver cylinder from his pocket. He knelt beside the front passenger side tire.
“Now what?”
“Checking tire pressure.”
“I already had it checked.”
“I’ve got thirty-two p.s.i.”
“Yeah. Thirty-two p.s.i. in all four tires. That’s what it’s supposed to have.”
“Don’t get yourself in an uproar.”
Harry moved over to the rear passenger side tire.
“I already had all four tires checked at the gas station.”
“How long ago?”
“Yesterday.”
“You trust those guys?”
Buddy knew it was a bad idea to have Harry come along, but his wife, Ann, insisted he take somebody because his night vision was poor. He had already asked all his neighbors and even some guys down at the V.F.W. hall but nobody wanted to go. That’s when Ann asked her sister, Lucille, if Harry could ride along, since Harry liked road trips and was on vacation that week anyway. Buddy knew he couldn’t keep his brother-in-law from performing this pre-travel ritual. He expedited matters by loosening the radiator cap.
“What was that?” Harry asked as he knelt beside the left rear tire.
“Just getting things ready so you can check the radiator.”
After checking the front tire on the driver’s side, Harry got to his feet and announced, “Thirty-two p.s.i. All four tires.”
Buddy scowled and lifted the radiator cap. Harry looked inside. He nodded.
“You want me to take the air cleaner off so you can check that, too?”
“No, I trust you. Just show me where you keep the spare.”
“What for?”
“If we’re going all the way to Columbus and back, we’ll need a good spare tire.”
“It’s underneath the deck in the back of the hearse.”
“Let’s check it out.”
“The stiff’s back there.”
“Well? Move it.”
“Shit,” Buddy said under his breath.
“What?”
“Okay.”
They went to the back of the hearse. Buddy opened the door. “They already checked it at the garage.”
“Did you actually see them check it?”
Buddy took a deep breath. “Watch closely.” He released the catch that held the casket in place. “Get your hands up here with me, so we can guide it out.” Harry grabbed the casket and immediately muscled his side out until the casket was wedged diagonally against the door frame. Buddy frowned. “Listen to me. I know more about this than you do. Push it back, so we can square it up. Then watch and follow my lead.” Harry pushed it back, then looked up into the fog and raised his hands. “Good,” Buddy said. “Now pull it out at the same speed I pull out my side.” Harry watched and copied Buddy’s movements as they drew the casket out. After the casket completely cleared the back of the hearse, the legs of the tubular frame it rested on snapped into their fully extended positions and locked into place.
“Hey, Harry said. “That’s neat.”
“Yeah,” Buddy said. “Definitely not made in Japan.”
“How do you lower it back down?”
Buddy pointed to a lever at the head of the frame. “When you depress that, you can raise it or lower it. Whichever you want.” He pressed down with his toe to lock the wheels in place.
“Nice coffin,” Harry said. It was a steel casket finished with a glossy white enamel. The handles and other hardware were gold-plated, and gold-plated angels stood out in relief in all four corners. “That stiff must have been worth a lot of money. What’d he die of?”
“Swimming accident.”
“What’s he look like? Is he purple?” Harry started to open the casket.
Buddy reached down to stop him. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Believe me, I’ve seen all the dead bodies I want to see.”
“What’s his name?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Look at the clipboard on the front seat.”
Harry entered the hearse from the passenger side and grabbed the clipboard. “Leonard Hasegawa,” he read aloud.
“Figures,” Buddy said. “Thirteen years after the war, and the damn Japs are still screwing with my head.”
“How do you know he’s a Jap?”
“He’s not a Chink. Chinks have names like dropping silverware. Ping Pong Ching
Chong.”
“Maybe he was born here. Maybe he’s an American.”
Just then, Ann stuck her head out of the door and called. “Buddy! Can you come in here a second?”
Buddy turned to Harry. “Get everything ready. Do whatever you want. I’m going to see what’s on her mind.”
Harry started rolling up the rubber matting on the deck to get at the spare. After he saw Buddy go into the house, he stopped. He depressed the lever, lowering the casket. He raised the lid. The fabric on the inside was satiny and even whiter than the enamel on the outside. Soft, pillow-like ridges conformed to the curve of the lid’s underside. The pattern was repeated in the casket’s cushioned insides and in the white pillow on which the corpse’s head lay. The corpse was a small boy who couldn’t have been more than nine or ten years old. He looked like a stuffed doll.
Inside the house, Buddy and Ann were arguing. “I don’t need any damn breakfast,” he said. “I already had coffee.”
“Coffee’s not the same as breakfast,” Ann said. “Have some juice. Have some cereal. If you don’t eat, you’ll get a headache. You know you’ve got all the time in the world. He’ll be screwing around out there forever.”
Buddy looked out the window. All he could see was the fog. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “He fixes things that aren’t even broke.”
“Should I feed him, too?”
“You don’t want him in here, do you?” Buddy knew the answer. Harry had been close friends with Ann’s first husband, the one she divorced shortly after she met Buddy. Harry and Ann had always disliked each other. But after the divorce, when he called her an adulteress and a slut to her face, most of the artificial civility between them vanished.
While Buddy ate breakfast, Harry checked the spare. Afterwards, he returned it to its wheel well under the hearse’s deck and rolled the rubber matting back into place. He closed the back door, got into the hearse, leaned back against the seat and fell asleep.
Buddy came out of the house, yelling. “Yes! Yes! Dammit! I’ll be back in plenty of time to be rested up for Charlotte’s visit!”
He was referring to his only child, a sophomore at the University of Michigan.
“Shh!” Ann hissed. “You’ll wake the neighbors!”
“Aw, the hell with the neighbors! They should all be up by now anyway.”
Even with the darkness gone, the fog was so thick that the hearse seemed a vague
rectangular promontory jutting out of the greyness. Buddy walked around to the front, slammed the hood shut and entered on the driver’s side. The slam woke Harry. He listened as Buddy let the engine warm up, then revved it. “Sweet sound,” he said.
“Yep.” They both smiled as Buddy put the hearse in gear.
It didn’t take long for Harry’s smile to fade. He looked down at the shifting console. It was an automatic. Had he traveled three hours through the fog and the darkness all the way from Cummings Corners, Illinois, to South Bend just for a doggy automatic? “I’m not complaining,” he said, “but why did you want me to go along instead of taking someone from your own neighborhood?”
“I don’t know,” Buddy lied. “I just thought of you, that’s all.”
Harry took a small notebook and a pencil from his bag. “Do you have a full tank of gas?”
Buddy found the question irritating but he nodded.
“What’s our starting mileage?”
“The hell with that. I’m not paying for the gas. Why should I care?”
“Don’t you want to know how many miles per gallon you’re getting?”
“Actually, I don’t give a rat’s ass. This isn’t my car, and there’s not much I can do about it anyway.”
Harry frowned and put the notebook and pencil back in his bag.
Buddy put the hearse in gear, drove slowly down College, turned onto Lincoln Way and maneuvered cautiously down the street. In the fog, they could barely see the buildings and trees. The ones they could make out seemed devoid of color, like an old sepia-toned photograph. When Buddy took the road that wound its way through the Notre Dame campus, the usually colorful display of autumn leaves manifested themselves in drab shades of ocher, brown, and grey.
Buddy reached the turn-off onto Route 31. Just before he turned, he glanced over at Harry. Harry caught the quick yet subtle movement and returned the glance. Not that I’m bitter, Buddy told himself, but how can this guy possibly know how many breaks he’s been given? Harry had been born into an influential family in LaPorte. He’d never
had to sweat a day in his life. Due to his flat feet, he’d never served, not even for one day, in the armed forces. And even though he was a high school dropout, he’d managed to get into a good apprentice program for steam fitters. Ten years later, he’d been promoted to foreman.
Harry turned his head and looked out the window at the columns of oatmeal-colored corn stalks that stood like sentinels in the mist. He really couldn’t stand to look at Buddy. The guy had never held a steady job in his life. Sure, he could do part-time pick-up work, like packing crates or driving this hearse for the funeral home when asked. But that was about it. He just kept playing his psychologically wounded war vet game for all it was worth. Harry thought that, either Buddy must have been goofy from the start, or he just went nuts over there in the Philippines.
Just before the North Liberty turnoff, Buddy asked him a question. “You know, I was wondering. How did you manage to get that casket back into the hearse by yourself? I’ve never been able to do that.”
“I didn’t put it back. I thought you did.”
Buddy swerved onto the shoulder, hit the brake, and hyperventilated. Then he pulled out and floored it. He hung a right onto Route 4 and attempted a series of abrupt turns to get the hearse pointed east. He floored it again, and at the junction of Highways 4 and 31, he turned north. He’d gone less than a half-mile when he heard the siren.
Immediately, he pulled over. By the time the Indiana State Trooper came up to the driver side door, he already had the window down and his driver’s license and registration in hand.
The trooper nodded. “Thanks for your cooperation.” He took the license and registration and studied them. “Can you tell me why you think I pulled you over?”
Before Buddy could say anything, Harry opened his mouth. “It’s all pretty simple,
officer. He forgot the body.”
Buddy glared at Harry, then turned back to face the trooper. “Were you ever in the
service, officer?”
“Yeah. The Navy. I was at Pearl Harbor on December Seventh.”
“Well, I was in the Philippines. The Army. I know this is highly irregular, but could you, as one veteran to another, allow me to step out of this vehicle and talk to you privately?”
The trooper unsnapped the strap on his holster. “As one veteran to another,” he said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Believe me. I don’t have any weapons, and I’m not looking for any trouble.”
The trooper stood there for a long time. He looked fit, serious, alert. He resembled a recruiting poster Buddy had seen for the Indiana State Patrol. Buddy tried to relax. He smiled and shrugged. Finally the trooper said, “Okay. But if I were you, I’d come out of that car very slow.” Buddy nodded and eased the door away from the hearse’s frame until it was open as far as it would go. Then, in almost a parody of slow motion, he moved himself upward and outward until he was standing just outside the hearse. He walked slowly toward the trooper. The trooper put his hand on his revolver and backed up, matching his backward steps to each of Buddy’s forward steps. They continued this dance until the trooper reached just beyond the left rear fender. Then they stopped and talked in low voices. Harry looked in the rear view mirror and saw Buddy leaning in toward the trooper and gesticulating in his direction.
A few minutes later, Buddy came back and got in on the driver’s side. Following directly behind him, the trooper approached the window and handed Buddy his license and registration. “Okay, Sarge,” he said. “I’ll let you off this time. But drive more carefully, okay?” He tried to suppress a smile as he added, “And don’t go forgetting any more bodies, hear?”
Buddy couldn’t keep himself from smiling as he looked straight ahead at the dashboard and nodded. “Thanks, officer.”
On the way back, neither man spoke. Harry decided it was best to let Buddy speak first. Buddy knew any attempt by either of them to communicate would just feed his rage. He tried to keep his mind busy, twice glancing down at Harry’s bag and wondering what devilish surprises might be tucked away in there. In the meantime, Harry peered out of the window, looking for signs that the fog might lift.
When Buddy pulled up in front of the house, the casket was still standing by the curb. He got out of the hearse and bolted for the front door. Harry could hear them inside, having a heated discussion, the only words of which he understood were, “what will the neighbors think?” and “that son-of-a-bitch!”
Five minutes later, Buddy emerged from the house and tapped on the passenger side
window. “Help me put the stiff back.”
Harry got out. He went to the back of the hearse and waited. Buddy opened up the back, then he walked over to the casket, bent over and grabbed the frame on one side. He motioned for Harry to do the same. He released the brake with his foot, and they rolled the casket to a spot just behind the hearse. When Buddy nodded, they lifted it onto the deck in one smooth motion and rolled it back against the forward wall. Buddy reset the catch to secure it in place.
Buddy motioned for Harry to get back into the hearse, then walked over and re-entered on the driver’s side. He started the hearse and put it in gear. He drove down College Street and onto Lincoln Way, negotiating a phalanx of brown and tan Studebakers drifting in the same direction. All the while, he kept thinking the same words over and over: “Stay calm. Stay calm. Don’t let this asshole get to you.”
As the hearse turned onto Route 31, Harry removed a map of Indiana from his paper bag. He studied it carefully. As pleased as Buddy was with the silence, the impending threat of Harry speaking again felt like water torture. He knew he had to do something. He reached in front of Harry and took what appeared to be a flat plastic box out of the glove compartment. He popped it into a slot under the dashboard. The box made a click sound, and a few seconds later, a cowboy crooner began wheezing through his nose that he was little but loud, poor but proud.
Harry’s eyes grew larger. “What’s that?”
“Eight tracks,” Buddy said. “Haven’t you seen these before?”
“No.”
Neither man said anything else until after they passed Plymouth. Then Buddy looked
over at his passenger. He popped out the eight track and handed it to Harry. “I can tell you didn’t like this one,” he said. “Want to hand me another?”
Harry peered inside the glove compartment and saw only country artists. “I’m okay,” he said. “I don’t need to listen to any more.”
“Aw come on,” Buddy said. “Find one you like. I’ll play it for you.”
“Actually, I like big band stuff. The Dorsey brothers. Harry James. Got any of that?”
Buddy grimaced. “I see your point.”
Harry went back to studying his map.
“What are you figuring out now?” Buddy asked.
“Not much,” Harry said, glancing back and forth between the map and the fog outside. “I can’t see anything.”
“It should burn off in a couple hours.”
Harry reached into his bag and took out an apple and a banana. “Want something to eat?”
“Not really.”
Harry bit into the apple and put the banana back. He shook the map, then reached up and turned on the overhead map light. “I was hoping to find something interesting,” he said. “Maybe some flea-markets or museums along the way.”
“I’m going to be pretty busy tomorrow,” Buddy said. “I don’t want to stop.”
“We ought to be able to stop for a little while. After all, I was an hour early getting to your place.”
Buddy ignored the comment and concentrated on the road ahead.
“There ought to be some Amish or Mennonite places we can visit. I wonder what’s up
ahead in Rochester?”
Slowly, imperceptibly at first, the fog began to pull away from itself like strands of thick taffy. In between the strands, weathered signs pointed the way to various lakes while herds of black and white cattle breathed frosty exhalations that mingled with the mists that surrounded them. An ad for Mail Pouch chewing tobacco appeared on the side of an old, dilapidated barn. Harry reached into his bag, brought out his own Mail Pouch, grabbed a few strands and stuffed these into his mouth. Every five minutes or so, he rolled down the window and spit.
They traveled in silence for several miles. Just before Rochester, a row of old Burma Shave signs emerged: ‘Don’t take a curve/At 60 per/We’d hate to lose/A customer.’
“Burma Shave,” Buddy said as he switched off the map light. “Do you think they
actually sell any of that stuff?”
Harry shrugged. “Say, you get tired of driving, just let me know.”
“I’m fine. As long as it’s daylight, I’m okay.”
Buddy clicked on the radio. Elvis Presley came on, singing about his nervous condition. Buddy reached over and snapped it off. “Damn hillbilly! Shaking himself around in public like he’s screwing some woman in mid-air!”
Harry smirked.
“That’s not one you like, is it?”
“Not a bit.”
“Well, at least that’s something we agree on.”
Neither of them spoke again until after they passed Kokomo.
“You mind if I ask you a question?” Harry said.
“If you must.”
“How come you never talk about the war?”
“If I ever feel the need to talk about it, I’ll go down to the V.F.W. ”
“How come you don’t want to talk about it with anybody else?”
Buddy didn’t say anything for a while. Then he said, “It’s like the Grand Canyon. When you go there, it just overwhelms you. But there’s no way to explain it to anybody who wasn’t there.”
Harry reached into the glove compartment, selecting a Ferlin Husky tape. He popped it into the slot under the dashboard, then leaned back and closed his eyes as Ferlin sang about God’s love and a snow white dove.
Buddy was glad Harry didn’t press him for details about his wartime experience. He had no desire to rehash any of it. Even now, sensations flickered in his mind like an old, grainy black-and-white newsreel. He could still feel the starvation, the oppressive heat, and stale sweat clinging to his body. He could still taste the tiny handfuls of fish heads and rice, smell the putrescence of decaying bodies. He couldn’t shut out the memory of those bloated corpses, covered with flies and turning black while carrion birds landed, tore off bits of rotting flesh, and flew away. He would spend the rest of his life trying to forget those things.
Halfway between Kokomo and Indianapolis, the fog cleared. As it dissipated, a pale, blue sky emerged, and the white sun, half-hidden by remnants of haze, looked more like a moon.
“Did you know Wilbur Wright was born in Indiana?”
“I thought the Wright brothers were from Ohio.”
“Yeah. That’s what the Ohio Chamber of Commerce wants you to think.”
“We’re not going to any Wright Brothers’ museum.”
After they passed the Lafayette turnoff, Buddy pulled the hearse onto the shoulder and gotout.
“What’s up?” Harry asked. “Gotta take a leak?”
“No,” Buddy said. “It’s time to change drivers.” They got out and re-entered on opposite sides. Harry adjusted the mirrors and the front seat, then put the hearse in gear and eased it back onto the road.
Twenty miles north of Indianapolis, Buddy rolled up his field jacket, stuck it next to his face, and leaned his lanky body against the passenger side door.
“We’re getting pretty close to Indianapolis,” Harry said. “Want to stop and get something to eat?”
“A quick bite, maybe.”
“I was thinking of taking more time than that. The Indy 500 museum’s pretty close. I thought we should drop in and check out some of the exhibits.”
“I don’t think so, Harry. My daughter’s coming to visit in the morning. I want to be rested for her.”
“But we’re making great time. We can afford to kill a couple hours.”
“Maybe on the way back.”
A glistening red pickup truck, so shiny it looked as if it had been painted with fingernail polish, emerged from the fog and whizzed by.
“What in the hell was that?” Buddy said.
“A Ford,” Harry said. “I’m guessing a fifty-eight.”
“It’s in beautiful condition. I wouldn’t mind having a truck like that.”
“Must be something wrong with it. He’s got a for-sale sign in the back window.”
The pale, blue sky was turning into a dull wash of black and grey clouds.
Buddy raised up and put the field jacket on his lap. “I think you should pull over here and let me drive. Then you can get some rest.”
“No, I’m fine. Honest.”
“You’ll be driving tonight when I can’t see. You need to rest while you can.”
Reluctantly, Harry pulled over and traded places with Buddy. He took the folded-up field jacket, put it next to his ear, and scrunched himself up against the passenger side door. “I have trouble sleeping in cars,” he said. “But you’re right. I should probably give it a try.” Fifteen minutes later, he was asleep.
Although it had started raining, Buddy made excellent time getting into Columbus.
When he pulled into the parking lot behind the funeral home, Harry woke up. “What’s up?” he
said.
“We’re in Columbus. Help me get the stiff out.”
Harry stepped out into the rain, walked to the back of the hearse and waited. Buddy took his time putting on his field jacket. Slowly, he opened the door of the hearse, got out, walked around to the back, opened the door and released the catch. He grabbed the back of the casket and gestured for Harry to do the same. They pulled together until the casket cleared the back of the hearse and the legs extended and snapped into place. Harry looked down at the asphalt surface of the parking lot, where rainwater was collecting in pools. They guided the casket through the water and up to the edge of the concrete steps. “Okay, lift,” Buddy ordered. They hoisted the casket up the steps and onto the loading dock, where a metal roof provided shelter from the hard driving rain. Buddy rolled the casket up to the door and set the brakes with his toe. Carefully, he and Harry transferred it from its rolling frame to a frame that stood near the door
He rang the bell and pulled his own frame down the steps.
“Wait a minute,” Harry said. “Aren’t you gonna wait for someone to come?”
“They’ll be here.”
“How do you know?”
“Who’s been doing this longer? You or me?”
As they walked away, the door opened. A pleasant looking, white-haired man in a dark grey business suit stepped out and waved. “You made good time, Buddy.”
“Yeah. Hi, Ray. How’s business?”
“People are dying to get in,” Ray said. He chuckled at his own joke.
Buddy put the rolling frame in the back of the hearse and closed the door. Then he got into the hearse and unlocked the passenger side door. Harry slid in and pulled the door shut. He took some paper towels out of his bag and toweled the rain from his face. He was about to offer a paper towel to Buddy when he changed his mind. Buddy started the hearse and pointed it toward Indiana.
By four o’clock, the rain had stopped and the wind had chased the clouds away. Now the sky was a solid battleship grey. The only sounds were vehicles passing and the hum of the hearse’s tires on the pavement. Gradually, the bottom of the sky turned an intense rose color, as if it were a huge cyclorama lit by red footlights while an orange sun projected onto to it retreated below the stage floor. “I won’t be able to see the road too well after this,” Buddy said. “You’d better take over now.”
Buddy pulled the hearse onto the shoulder and applied the brake. He and Harry got out of the hearse, stretched, and looked at the horizon. Tall trees stood out in relief. Some, which had already lost their leaves, looked like huge black skeletons’ hands with long, bony fingers pointing skyward. A few mostly-bald oaks still held onto small clusters of chestnut-colored leaves like modest souls trying to cover their nakedness. Half-naked sycamores and ash trees stood next to the oaks. In the distance, they could see golden sprays of willow leaves still clinging to branches. After the men traded sides, they continued on in silence. When the sun finally set, a soft haze shrouded the sky and slowly metamorphosed into gauzy grey clouds.
Harry glanced in the rear mirror. “This guy behind me’s following way too close.”
Buddy looked into his side view mirror and saw a shiny red pick-up following within
inches of the hearse’s bumper. “Isn’t that the same guy we saw on the way to Columbus?”
Harry took a good look in the rear view mirror. “Could be.” He cut his speed. Thirty seconds later, the pick-up flew by on a gentle up-slope and pulled back into its own lane just in time to miss a head-on collision with an old black Buick meandering down in the opposite direction.
“I’d like to get my hands on that guy,” Harry said. “The son-of-a-bitch could’ve killed somebody.”
“A guy’d have to be drunk to pull a stunt like that,” Buddy said. He put his folded up field jacket against the passenger side window, leaned into it and tried to asleep.
Twenty miles down the road, Buddy wasn’t sure whether he was dreaming or awake. For a brief second, he thought he was back in the Philippines. He heard Harry say, “This damn guy’s trying to eat my bumper!”
Buddy shook his head to clear it, looked into the side view mirror, and saw the same red pick-up following so close it created the illusion that the hearse was towing it. “I thought he was in front of us.”
“Me, too,” Harry said. He cut his speed, and ten seconds later, the pick-up flew by on the up-slope, then pulled back into the right lane, but not before forcing the oncoming car—a grey Hudson Jet—off the road. “That-son-of-a-bitch!” Harry said. He looked in his side view mirror. To keep from hitting the pickup, the Hudson had veered off onto the soft shoulder. When it hit the slippery edge, it seemed to go airborne like a shiny grey porpoise breeching the surface of the ocean and twisting in the air.
Harry pulled the hearse over onto the right shoulder and stopped.
“What happened?” Buddy asked.
“He’s forced those people off the road. They rolled their car.”
Harry looked to see if any traffic was coming. He tried to execute a u-turn, but the size of the hearse forced him to make a fractured y-turn. Once pointed in the right direction, he drove back to where he’d seen the car leave the highway.
They jumped out, scrambled down the bank and sprinted through rows of dried yellow
corn stalks. The stalks and their long, pointed leaves reminded Buddy of Japanese soldiers with their bayonets fixed. As he ran, he flailed his arms, causing the tops of the stalks to make wet cracking noises as they snapped away.
They ran up to the grey beast, which was now lying, driver’s side down, in the mud,
clumps of wet black dirt clinging to its side like barnacles. Deep dents and creases marked the passenger side doors. Inside, a man and a woman lay unconscious in the front seat. In the back, a girl who was maybe eight or nine was trying to crawl up near the passenger side window. “Stay on the other side!” Buddy yelled.
“What’s your problem?” Harry said. “Can’t you see how scared she is?”
“Keep her back,” Buddy said. He picked up a large rock. “She’s got to stay down on the other side.”
Harry leaned over and asked the girl what her name was. Between cries and sniffles, she said her name was Effie.
“Well look, Effie,” Harry said. “If you want us to help, you have to get away from this window and cover your face.”
The girl dropped into a sitting position, resting her head on her knees and covering it with her arms. Buddy took the rock and smashed it against the window several times until the spider webs in the Isinglass converged into a splintering network of shards and fell away. He cleared the residual shards around the window frame with the flat side of the rock. He reached inside. “Grab onto my hands,” he said. Effie grabbed on. With his long arms, he swept her out of the car then dropped her unceremoniously onto the ground.
The mother, whose body was pressed down on top of the unconscious driver’s, moaned
softly. As she turned her face toward Buddy, he could see a big knot on her forehead and blood trickling down the side of her face. “You’re daughter’s safe,” he told her. “She’s out here with us.” He and Harry exchanged glances, then he looked at the mother again. “Can you open the door on your side?” he asked.
Grimacing, the woman reached up, turned the handle and tried to push the door away
from the frame. She succeeded in budging it just a crack. Buddy and Harry exchanged another glance, then they both leaped onto the car’s frame, wedging their fingers into the void space between the door and the frame, and strained to open the door wider. The door refused to budge at first, but it finally let out a loud groan and sprang completely open
Frantically, the woman tried to scramble out, but Buddy stopped her. “Where do you
hurt?” he asked.
“I think—I got—some busted ribs,” she said. “I can’t—breathe—too good.”
The girl heard her mother’s voice and let out a yelp. Harry jumped down. “Your
mommy’s going to be just fine,” he said. “You wait here with me.”
Buddy gently eased the mother out of the car. Once outside, she took in shallow, painful breaths and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. With the mother hanging onto Buddy and the daughter clinging to Harry, the two of them made eye contact. Buddy said, “Go back to the hearse and radio the State Patrol. I’ll get the driver out.” Harry nodded and let the girl run to her mother’s side as he ran through the corn field and up the grassy bank.
Buddy left the mother propped up against the Hudson’s fender while he extracted the
half-conscious driver from the wreck. As the man cleared the door frame, he crawled out,
collapsed onto the ground, and rolled over on his back. Buddy looked down at the girl, who
stood nearby with her arms crossed over her chest, her hands holding her sides. “You okay,
kid?” She nodded timidly.
Harry ran back from the hearse. “I couldn’t get through to anybody. Couldn’t we just put them in the back and take them to a hospital?”
Buddy nodded, and they sprang into action. In what seemed like forever but was really only ten minutes, they hoisted the two injured adults up the muddy slope, deposited them on top of an air mattress in the back of the hearse, and covered them with blankets.
“Let me drive,” Harry said. “I know Indianapolis better than you do.”
Buddy nodded and took Effie by the hand. “Come with us,” he said. Effie pulled away. Buddy knelt beside her. “Look, Effie,” he said. “We’ve got to get your parents to a hospital right away. There’s no room back there. You have to sit up front with us.” Effie examined the back of the hearse then put her hand in his. They walked to the open passenger side door. Buddy picked her up and slid her onto the seat beside Harry. As he slid in beside her, she grabbed his hand again. “Can you smile for me?” he said. She looked up and smiled weakly. “Your folks are going to be okay,” he said. Through the window in the back of the passenger compartment, he watched her injured parents.
While Harry drove, Buddy stayed on the radio, talking to a police dispatcher who gave directions to the hospital. Ten blocks from the hospital, two squad cars intercepted them. Then, with red lights flashing, they escorted the hearse to the emergency entrance. After Effie’s parents were wheeled off on stretchers and Effie was left in the care of a nurse, they headed back toward the highway.
Buddy turned to Harry, “You tired?”
Harry laughed. “I’ve got so much adrenaline pumping in me right now, I could drive all the way to San Francisco before I felt anything.”
“What about hungry?”
“Definitely,” Harry said.
They drove around Indianapolis, looking for an all-night restaurant. They found a steak house near the off-ramp that looked as if it might have good food. Harry parked the hearse in the lot, and they went inside. They sat in a booth by the window and ordered beers and steaks.
Buddy smiled. “We made a pretty good team out there tonight.”
Harry thought about it. “Yeah. I guess we did, didn’t we?”
Without another words, they raised their glasses and drank.
“You think that couple is going to be all right?” Harry asked.
“I hope so for that little girls’s sake,” Buddy said.
“Cute kid, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
Then Harry said, “That girl couldn’t have been much younger than that Japanese kid we took to Columbus.”
“How the hell do you know that? Did you peek inside the casket?”
“Yep,” Harry said.
Buddy stopped chewing his steak, but his mouth stayed open.
“That kid was the saddest sight I ever saw,” Harry said. “I’m telling you, Buddy, the kid didn’t look Japanese at all”
“What do you mean, he didn’t look Japanese?”
Harry shook his head “I mean he just looked like any other kid. Except he was dead.”
Neither one of them said anything for a while. Then Buddy said, “I need to spend more time with my daughter. Here she’s almost out of our house for good, and I don’t even know who she is.”
They both looked outside. The cloud cover had vanished, and the entire sky was black, except for a million shining stars.