Boswell by Stanley Elkin Read Free Book Online Page A

go far.
    I went outside. The movies were letting out. Right in front of me people were coming out of the theater and heading for their cars. I ducked down a side street and looked for a car with no snow on it. When I spotted one I went around to the trunk and, stooping, lifted it by its frame. I moved carefully sideways toward the curb and settled the rear of the car into as fluffy a snow bank as you ever saw. Then I stepped into a doorway to wait.
    In five minutes there they were—some fat-throated, deep-voiced guy and his juicy wife. I swear I could see the wild sports coat beneath his overcoat, his wife’s blond hair under the babushka. They had just seen David Niven and she was telling him what a cute picture it was. They were laughing and he opened the car for her and then went around to the driver’s side. He got in and started the motor. It was a beautiful thing to hear. It purred like a dream and David Niven was a good actor and Detroit made swell cars and in a few minutes the heater would be blowing out hot air like a blast furnace and when he got home he was going to thump Blondie. Only—only the bottom fell out of his world. The rear wheels were spinning nine hundred miles an hour. The car was a slush- maker, an ice machine. He got out to see what was wrong, then came around behind the car and moved his fedora professionally back on his brow.
    “What is it? Let’s go, I’m cold,” his wife said.
    “Yeah, well, I’m in a damned snowdrift.”
    “Well, get out of it. I don’t want to freeze to death out here.”
    “I’ll have to rock it.”
    He got back into the car and heaved it forward an inch and backwards an inch. The car settled down into the snow until spring. He gave it more gas and stalled the motor. He tried it in first, in second, in high, in reverse. In neutral. He got out of the car again.
    “Will you have to call the motor club?”
    “Shut up.”
    “Maybe if you rocked it some more,” she said.
    “It needs traction. It’s got no damned traction.”
    “That’s too bad,” she said. “It’s so cold.”
    “It needs more traction.” He stooped down and patted some snow into the ruts.
    “You’ll get a heart attack,” his wife said.
    “Get behind the wheel and put it in first. I’ll push.”
    “Call the motor club already.”
    “Just put it in first, will you!”
    “It’s so cold,” she said. She lowered her voice. “It’s not a safe neighborhood.”
    They tried it once his way and then she came out of the car. “You’ll get a heart attack and freeze to death in the street,” she said. “Let me push.”
    “Get back in the car,” he shouted. “Get back in the god-damned car.”
    It was time. I came out of the doorway and walked past them. The man looked at me and his wife whispered something to him. “Maybe if two people push,” he said loudly.
    “Are you having car trouble, sir?” I asked.
    “Yes,” he said. “I seem to be stuck in a drift. I figured if we both pushed while my wife tried to drive we might get out.”
    I walked over to the car. “It’s in pretty deep, isn’t it?”
    “One solid shove and I think we could move it,” he said hopefully.
    “That’s a two-dollar shove,” I said.
    He looked at me. He hated me, but he understood me. I think he may even have admired me.
    “All right,” he said. “You get me out of here and I’ll give you two dollars.”
    “Get in the car,” I said.
    “You can’t do it by yourself.”
    “Get in the car and turn off the motor.”
    “Turn it off?”
    “I’m going to lift your car.”
    I bent down over the car and pressed my face against the cold trunk. I placed my hands underneath the frame and lifted. “Because my heart is pure,” I said, and heaved the car out of the snow bank.
    The wife gasped. . The husband coughed nervously.
    “Two dollars,” I said.
    “Certainly,” he said. He turned his back to take his wallet out, then handed me two dollars. “You’re pretty strong,” he said.
    “Thank