Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
'Some minor problem is there,' he replied.
'Where?'
'These roads are too much needing repair.'
I knelt to look beneath the vehicle. It seemed to be held together
by mud and petrified grease. One thing stood out even to a technical
moron like me: a long metal pole running from the engine to the
rear axle was hanging down from the chassis, its front end burred
from crunchy contact with the road. I asked the driver if this was a
driveshaft, and if it was, should it normally be hanging down in this
fashion. He crouched, peered, then wriggled like a fat snake
underneath. At this point the car chose to start slowly rolling
backward. I jumped into the driver's seat, pulling at the hand brake,
which now appeared to be connected to nothing besides the floor. A
scream came from outside. I stomped on the foot brake, leaning
through the open window. The front left wheel had wedged against
the driver's thigh. It looked painful, but not serious. I asked him if
he was all right.
'Put first gear,' came an anguished muffled reply.
The gearshift felt like a wooden spoon standing in a pot of
porridge. Slithering out from underneath, the driver walked over
to a ditch, clutching his right leg, as if searching the ground there
for something he'd lost. Eventually he hefted a head-sized rock and
offered it to me through the window like a gift.
'Thanks,' I told him, wondering if he'd finally lost what few
marbles he might once have possessed.
'Place stone on brake pedal.'
'David!' Esther growled behind me. '
Do
something. I can't sit
here all day.'
'Like what?'
'Like stop being such a fucking
nebbish
.'
I rejoined the driver, standing as men stand with troublesome
machines. 'Shaft has disengaged,' he announced, looking around
perhaps for angels in a tow truck heading to his rescue. 'Big problem.'
I suggested that we'd better set out for a garage. He glanced at me
incredulously.
'Garage not available.'
'Back in Kolhapur?'
