“That’s the best thing to do,” she said. “It’ll give the engine time to cool down. We’ll be taking care of two things at once and we’ll be sure we’ve done them right.”

“Have you ever cleaned a gas pump filter before?”

“Go get my tools,” she said by way of reply, then added, “please.”

The man went to get the tool kit from behind the passenger seat. The girl took out a vise grip and slid under the Volkswagen; she pinched off the rubber pipe that went from the tank to the engine to block the gas intake. She explained to Jack what she had just done. Then she unfastened the gas line which led to the pump and began to take apart the pump itself.

She worked methodically, explaining everything she did, and the man tried to anticipate her needs and to place the tools that she would need within reach.

As she was working in the sun, he made a sort of awning for her with the flannel blanket. So she wouldn’t have to remain crouching, he brought the little yellow vinyl stool from the Volks. He had poured some cold water into a big dish, and from time to time he wiped her brow with a damp towel.

It took the girl about half an hour to take the pump apart; to prepare for reversing the procedure, she arranged all the pieces in the right order on a newspaper beside her. After she had cleaned the filter, which was very dirty (she showed it to Jack with a certain satisfaction), she spent twenty minutes reassembling the pump and putting everything back in place.

As the work proceeded, the man found it harder and harder to conceal his admiration and to contain his enthusiasm. And when everything was done and the engine turned over like new after a few times, he gave free rein to his feelings. He told the girl, whose face was smeared with grease and whose hands and arms were black to the elbow, “You’re the most beautiful mechanic I’ve ever seen! I adore you!”

Then he indulged in all sorts of linguistic excesses. He declared, for example, that mechanics was the science of the future; that it was more important than literature and philosophy.

And so forth.

The girl smiled and said nothing. Finally the man took the towel and a big bar of Sunlight soap and washed her face, then her hands and arms. Both of them were smiling blissfully.

XXVII. Old French Songs

XXVII

Old French Songs

They were travelling through Nevada, along Interstate 80, and they had been listening to the radio for some time.

It was very hot inside the Volkswagen, even with the windows open; one western song followed another, melting into the silver-grey colour of the asphalt that stretched endlessly before them.