Earthly Possessions - Anne Tyler [28]
“Wheat,” I said, though to be honest I couldn’t tell one from the other. I squinted out the window at the yellow weeds. I saw the man in the cap driving toward us on a little green tractor, while Cade walked beside him swinging a few loops of rope. “Watch, now,” Jake said. “That baby’ll get us out quick as a cricket, wait and see. I been in lots worse spots than this.” He rolled down his window and shouted, “Hitch her up, guys, then take her nice and easy. Don’t pull too sudden.”
The men ignored him and went about their work. Jake didn’t know how to deal with them, I thought. I was ashamed to be found in his company and I scrunched down lower in my seat, so I didn’t see them hitching us. I felt it, though. I had been in this car so long it was like a second skin to me. I felt, or thought I felt, their knotty hands fumbling at the bumper, running a raspy rope through and tying it. Then Cade came up to Jake’s window. “You going to let the lady out?” he asked.
Jake thought a minute. “Naw,” he said.
“Give you a mite less weight.”
“Her door is busted,” said Jake. “Never mind all that.” He turned the key in the ignition. Cade stepped back, and the tractor increased the sound of its motor to a high, complaining hum. I felt the rope go tight. Our tires whizzed. We moved ahead a foot or two. Then we jerked and I heard a ping! and the car came to a halt. I sat up straighter and looked out the window, just in time to see our front bumper go trundling across the field. “Jesus,” Jake said.
The tractor stopped and the driver slid off. The two men returned, scratching their heads. Jake got out of the car and went to join them. Now all three were scratching their heads, and frowning at where the bumper used to be. “This here is a genuine, nineteen fifty-three Woolworth’s,” said Jake. The men nodded, as if making notes. “And look at these tires, slick as a garden hose.” He kicked one. I felt the jarring. There was a long, solemn silence.
Then: “Well, I tell you,” the tractor driver said. “I feel real bad about your bumper.”
“Wasn’t your fault,” said Jake.
“But I’m wondering could we push her now. See, she’s out of that slant some, you notice? Nose ain’t pointed to the ground so. Maybe the lady could take the wheel and then us three could push.”
Jake came back and stuck his head in the window. “I don’t drive,” I said before he could ask. “You know where the gas pedal is.”
“No, I don’t, and what’s worse I have no notion where the brake is.”
“Sure you do,” Jake said. He got in and started the engine again. He pointed to the floor: gas, brake. “But lay off of the brake,” he told me, “till you get to that there road up ahead. See it? You can’t see it. Little farm road. Gravel. We’re going to push her over there instead of the highway. There’s no way she can climb that bank to the highway. Okay, slide over.”
He got out. I slid over. “She ain’t too much of a driver,” Jake said, and the men grunted. I saw now that they got along fine; the three of them stood shoulder to shoulder, resigned, watching my white-knuckled hands on the wheel. Cade said, “Don’t be scared, lady, just give it to her slow.”
“All right,” I said.
“Won’t do to have her spin herself a rut.”
“Of course not.”
They walked off to the rear, out of sight. I felt them settling behind the car. “Okay,” Jake called, “got your foot on the brake?”
I nodded.
“What?”
“Yes.”
“Shift to Drive. D.”
I shifted. The motor changed its tone.
“Now the gas.”
I pressed the gas pedal. The men threw their weight against the fender. The wheels whined and spun. Then slowly, bumpily, the car inched ahead. It picked up speed. It got free of the men, it bounded over ruts and boulders, scratching its way through the weeds, leaving a flattened yellow ribbon behind. I looked in the mirror and