“There’s a lot to do,” said the girl.

“That’s true,” he said. “We have to go to the garage to see about the brakes and the lube job. Find out some things about the conquest of the West. Learn how to live. Learn how to love. Buy oranges and food for Chop Suey.”

“And do a laundry,” she said. “We’re out of clean clothes.”

THEY HAD BEEN in the waiting room for an hour, absorbed in Popular Mechanics, Car and Driver and Track and Traffic, when the foreman came and said the mechanic wanted to see them; he showed them to the repair shop.

The mechanic was waiting for them under the Volkswagen, which was kept at the proper height by means of a hydraulic lift. Blond and blue-eyed, solidly built, he appeared to be about fifty. The black cat was perched on his shoulder.

“I found this in the Volkswagen,” he said, handing the cat to the girl.

His voice was soft and he spoke French to her with a slight accent that betrayed his German origin.

“It’s an odd sort of cat,” he said. “He’s got no fear of noise and he wants to watch everything I’m doing. What’s his name?”

“Chop Suey,” said the girl.

“I like cats a lot . . . Your tune-up was just about perfect. I just slowed down the motor a few rpm: that’ll save you a little gas.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Jack walked over and began to peer at the underside of the Volkswagen.

“How’s the Volks?” he asked.

“Depends where you intend to take her,” said the mechanic.

Holding the inspection lamp in his left hand, he aimed the beam at the transverse rod that connected the two front wheels.

“Have a look here,” he said.

He took a wrench from his overalls pocket and tapped the metal part a few times. Scraps of rusty metal came away and fell to the ground.

“It’s rusted,” he said. “Not completely, but it’s half rusted. Now have a look here.”

He moved the lamp toward the back of the vehicle and this time shone it on the chassis, between the two wheels.

“Same thing here,” he said, striking it with his wrench. “You see? The chassis’s half rusted.”

“Is it serious?” asked Jack.

“That depends!”

“And how are the brakes?” asked the girl.

“As a matter of fact that’s one of the things I wanted to show you,” said the mechanic.

He turned the lamp to light the inside of a wheel. Jack and the girl approached.

“Look at this piece,” he said, tapping a plate-shaped part inside which the brake linings were attached. “That’s the backing plate. I don’t know how you say it in French. This part’s supposed to be very rigid, but the rust has weakened it so much that if I took off the wheel and unfastened the springs, the brake linings and the rest, I could easily twist the piece with my fingers.”

The man had huge hands, and Jack looked away when he made a gesture as if he were twisting an imaginary backing plate between his fingers.