ABOUT TWENTY KILOMETERS before Brno, Adam stopped for gas at the rest area Devět křížů. He then found a parking space not far from the cafeteria. He made for the men’s toilet, his bag slung over his shoulder and containing his shaving gear, camera, and a fresh shirt. The washroom seemed designed for people like him, there was soap and a shelf mounted below the mirror. The water stayed cold, though. He carefully began to shave. He almost cut himself when a hefty man who was shaking water from his hands bumped his elbow. Their eyes met briefly in the mirror. The man, his forearm tattooed with a busty mermaid, grumbled something that Adam took for an apology. He washed his armpits, put on his fresh shirt, tied the old one around his hips.
As he entered the restaurant sultry with kitchen steam, he started to sweat. Cigarette smoke hung above people’s heads, it smelled of beer. Adam reached for a tray. Although it was wet, he laid his utensils on it and waited for the line to edge forward. Standing amid occupied tables, a family rotated helplessly in a circle, overloaded trays in hand. The babble of voices was repeatedly broken by bursts of laughter, as if this were some sort of party. Adam ordered pork and dumplings, took the last two rolls with salami decorated with a blob of mayonnaise, a slice of cream cake, and a bottle of green soda. He pulled back an empty seat he found at a window table and asked, “Možno?” When no one replied, he sat down. Holding his tray on his lap, he pushed a few glasses to one side and arranged his plates one by one on the table. The soda was obnoxiously sweet.
“Could you give me a lift?” A young woman with short hair and bright brown eyes was looking at him. “It’s pretty urgent.” She set a blue backpack in a frame down beside him.
“And where to?”
“Prague?”
“I’m driving in the other direction.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Two tables away a bull of a man in a beige fake leather vest shouted something to her. He held up a handbag. She walked over to him. As she reached for it, he pulled the handbag away, but on the second try she snatched it out of his hand. He bellowed a laugh.
“Can you give me that lift?”
Adam nodded.
“Thanks,” she said and simply stood there.
It was embarrassing just to go on eating. “You want some?” he asked, holding up the plate with the salami.
“Love it,” she said and stuffed a salami roll into her mouth. Adam also offered her the green soda and slid a little to one side of his chair.
“Aren’t you going to finish the dumplings?”
She sat down, sharing his chair, and began to eat. In relation to her athletic body, her head seemed small to him.
Suddenly the man in the vest was standing next to them. He spoke loudly, his index finger bouncing up and down, as if explaining something. Adam could feel the young woman press against him, even though she went on eating and pretended to hear and see nothing. When the man finally shut up, Adam had the sense that a hush had fallen over the whole room. He laid his right arm across the back of the chair. The vest guy asked a question, repeated it. While Adam was still hesitating whether he should lay his arm around her shoulder, the man beside them laughed, pulled out his wallet, slapped a bill down beside the empty plate, and walked back to his seat.
“Thank god,” she whispered, pocketing the money.
Adam carried her heavy backpack to the car and stowed it on the backseat.
“Thanks. I’m Katja.” They shook hands.
“Adam,” he said, holding the passenger door open and waiting as she sat down, after first banging her hiking boots together to get rid of the worst of the mud from the soles.
“Ah,” Katja cried when she saw the turtle. “There are three of us on this trip.”
As people watched from the rest-stop windows, Adam started the engine and had no trouble putting it into reverse.
“Thanks again so much,” Katja said.
“What was with the lumberjack?”
“They’d given me a ride.” She coughed. “The usual misunderstanding.”
“And where are you coming from?”
“Somewhere up ahead,” Katja said, pointing out through the windshield.
“And where are you headed?”
“Don’t know yet,” Katja said, coughed, turned as best she could to one side, crammed her handbag up against the door to cushion her head, and closed her eyes.
Adam would have enjoyed a conversation with her. All the same he was happy no longer to be alone. If only for that he was willing to put up with the odor of unwashed clothes that she gave off.