His stomach and legs were cold where they touched the fender of the car. Leaning over the car fender with his head and shoulders under the hood Tom Davis was beginning to ache. The backs of his legs felt ready to tear. “God damn fen belt!” He slowly backed out from under the hood and straightened up. He rolled his head back and rocked it from side to side to ease the ache in his neck. He glance back along the road he had just come along. The embankment at the side of the road hid the road from the setting sun and washed the road blue. A man waded toward Tom, waist deep in blue shadows. The upper half of the man flickered in the stringy light of the sun.
Tom looked back to the car. Probably just a bum; probably will want a ride or a handout, he mused. I better stay under the hood till he goes by. The cold of the fender made him wince as he leaned over. “Damn cars always pick the most inopportune time to break down.” He fumbled with the wrench to tighten the nut. His cold hands made working difficult. The wrench slipped and made cold sounds as it bounced down through the engine compartment to land in the dust of the road. “Damnit!” Tom jerked from under the hood to retrieve the wrench.
He stopped with his hands on the fender of the car, remembering he had not wanted to come out from under the hood. He turned his head He turned his head to see where the man was. The man was next to the rear fender, walking quickly. When Tom looked at the man he stopped. The man was old; he had a full black beard salted with gray hairs; the skin on his face was dry and drawn together in ridges like strips of leather.
“Howdy.” The words jumped from the back of the old man's mouth.
Tom hesitated, then slowly answered, “Hello,” trying to keep his tone flat and impersonal. A rolled army blanket hung from the old man's right shoulder, he wore a leather jacket and black pants, neither had holes or patches.
“Trouble, eh?” the quick words drew Tom's eyes up the those of the old man.
“Yes,” Tom looked down to the old man's chin to see the tobacco stains he new must be there. The neatly trimmed beard had no stains. “I seem to have broken a fan belt.” The old man's boots stuck out from his black trousers; they were covered with the dust of the roadside.
“Well, I won't be much good to you on that count.” The words came fast, “I gave up machines years ago. Didn't know much about 'em then; know less now.”
The extra fan belt was on already; all there was left to do was adjust and tighten it. “I don't know if I will be able to fix it; I will probably have to get a ride into town and get a tow truck”. Tom always told the down-and-outers that he didn't have any change when they asked him for a handout.
The old man lifted his hand and rested it on the rolled blanket. Tom looked to see if the fingernails were clogged with dirt. They were trimmed short, not clogged.
“You ain't likely to get a ride on this road; ain't many cars this time of year.” When he spoke the gray in his beard stirred, “Sides, people ain't exactly overhappy to stop and give a feller a ride.” Tom felt himself waiting for the old man to continue, waiting to watch the restless gray hairs; they were still. Tom had started growing a beard once; he had shaved it off though and told all of his friends that it itched too much. His boss had told him to shave it off. “I'm not worried; if I stand by my car they will see that I am reputable.” Tom looked quickly into the stare of the old man then looked down the road. He tried to say it differently, “I mean if I stand by my car thew will see that I am broken---down.” He finished slowly, feeling he had made it worse.
“I know what you mean.” Tom stiffened, then realized the tone didn't sound resentful. He started thinking 'Who does he think he is?' but stopped. Tom was beginning to feel uneasy.
“Your gonna get cold in them clothes though. Them's city clothes, not much good out here. Gets down below freezing.” The cold in Tom's legs and stomach now seemed to have seeped into the small of his back; he shivered. The old man's voice slowed for the first time, “Go off the side of the road over there,” he pointed, “and get sand in a can, or if you don't have a can use a hubcap, and drain you some gas out and pour it in the sand. Makes a dandy fire; it will let someone know you are here and if you get too cold you can warm yourself by it.” His words came faster again, “Gonna get pretty cold tonight; you don't want to freeze.”
“Thanks, but I will probably just stay in my car.”
“Suit yourself.” the old man looked toward the hills. Tom looked also. The sun, almost behind the peaks threw claws on the flat country stretching up to the hills. The hills near the sun were filled with the orange sky. They stood, silent, Tom uneasy, the old man staring toward the hills. “Nice time of night;” the old man's voice was soft, the words came slowly, “light makes the hills blue, softens 'em. Pretty soon it will be hard to tell there the hills end and the sky begins; then the stars will start coming out.”
The sunsets were always colorful in San Francisco, but it seemed suddenly to Tom that he was always glimpsing them out his car window during his hour and half commute from work to home. The hills were soft and blue. A fleck of light focused Tom's mind, it drew his eyes up. It was the evening star already beginning to flicker. He blurted, “There --” but trailed off cursing himself, if I don't watch out this old fart will never leave.
“Unh-hunh,” the old man did not look away from the hill, “where you headed Sonny?”
Tom tried to resent 'Sonny' but couldn't. “Well unless I get this car fixed I am not going anywhere.”
“Didn't mean to be nosy, wasn't prying; just asking.”
“I'm from San –,” I should have said L.A., Tom thought, “Francisco.”
“That's a town,” the old man nodded his head, “I lived there in the thirties.”
It was getting dark fast now, so dark that Tom would have difficulty finishing the repairs. “Well I am going to have one last try at fixing this thing.” He turned toward the car again, “Been nice talking to you.” He picked up a tool.
The old man faced tom, Tom didn't look up from the car. The old man sighed, “Town up ahead about eight or ten miles; want me to send somebody?”
Tom picked up a rag from the fender and started wiping his hands, “No, I'll be alright.” He didn't look up from wiping his hands as the old man walked past him and started up the road.
“Good luck Sonny.”
“Thanks,” there was a smudge of grease that would need soap and water. Tom's eyes followed the road until they rested on the rapidly retreating figure. The old man was already blurring into the haze of the evening. Tom knew he should be back under the hood while there was still some light but he could not draw his eyes from the retreating figure. The blurring figure flickered slowly out of sight. Tom stretched his neck slightly to try to bring the old man back into view; the old man was gone.
Tom felt the cold of the fender under his hand and remembered the wrench. He dropped down, groped for the wrench, and retrieved it. Back under the hood he had to work slowly, feeling rather than seeing what he was doing. He worked slowly in spite of the cold; when he finished he carefully wiped each tool before replacing it into the plastic pouch. He could feel the grime on his hands; he wiped them, trying to clean under the fingernails. He got into the car and started it and let it run for a few minutes to warm up. He didn't normally warm the car up for more than a few seconds.
A figure seemed to shimmer in the glass of the windshield, “Good luck Sonny” funneled into his mind. The smell of the night coming in with the cold night air contrasted with the smell of the interior of the car. Quite a few stars were out now.
Tom rolled up the window, turned on the heater and radio, and started up the road. He drove with his headlights on low beam, maybe that way he wouldn't see the old man till the last instant before he passed him. It would be easier that way. One blanket won't do much good tonight. He pushed the accelerator pedal down farther. The road blurred by, illuminated by his headlights. He pushed the pedal down farther. A curve bent the road; Tom jerked the wheel to keep from going off the road. Another curve bent the road; Tom jerked the wheel again and kicked the dimmer switch. The road exploded into view for hundreds of feet ahead. There was the figure. He felt cheated and pushed the accelerator down farther. The speedometer was indicating almost eighty; beads of sweat had formed on tom's brow. Tom jerked a hand from the wheel and rubbed the back of it across his brow. Some of the grime left on his hand rasped off onto his forehead.
Neat trim on the chin, no tobacco stains. Fingernails clean and cut. Tom felt the grime on his hands. The old man's hands resting on the blanket swung before his eyes. Tom was gripping the wheel very tightly; he knew white must be showing in his knuckles; his hands suddenly ached. “Good luck Sonny” the restless gray surged before Tom's eyes. Thin blanket.
The figure blurred by; Tom could feel the eyes of the old man following the car. He eased his foot off the accelerator pedal, “Good luck Sonny,” The brake lights pulled the car to a stop. Tom turned off the radio rolled his window down and inhaled heavily the cold night air. He took out his handkerchief, wiped his brow, and waited.