I drove out of the parking lot early. I didn’t turn on the radio right away. First I had to decide.
Always the same questions. Run out to the airport? With all the arriving flights, I’m sure to pick up some fares. Of course, I have to get in line and wait, which I always find unbearable. Going out there guarantees an unpleasant evening. But in the end, the pay is adequate, and that often makes all the difference.
I could also cruise for fares in the city center. It’s double or nothing. On good nights, I do really well, but the demand is too unpredictable. Sometimes the city’s deserted and I drive around for hours. I’ve always secretly wondered: is there someone who decides for everyone else? “Tonight, boys and girls, we’re staying home.” And why does the decider always forget to inform us?
The best idea, no doubt, would be to trawl around the bars. I can very easily be satisfied with that. A little later in the night, I’ll even wait outside the doors of some of the clubs. It’s risky—passengers have vomited on my nice leather seats—but it brings in a little cash. And besides, young people have some good qualities. They talk, they laugh. They’re never too drunk to make conversation. And that’s always more pleasant than the guy who spends the whole ride hanging on his phone.
I haven’t always done this. Cab-driving, I mean. When I first got here, I hung around the markets. At the time, there was work to be had in the stalls. I made a living unloading merchandise. You had to get there very early to make sure you got hired. Sometimes, weather permitting, I’d sleep out there. I would bring along a sleeping bag and lie down in a covered area of the market. It wasn’t so unpleasant; there were often other young guys with me.
That was how I met François. A super person, always friendly and kind. He’d bring along thermoses of coffee and share them with me. At night, we watched over each other so we wouldn’t get robbed. We’d take turns sleeping. In the morning, the first one who spotted the stallholders would wake the other.
As time passes, people end up trusting you. Two or three times, I filled in for the vendors. It was hard, and I don’t think I was any good. Finally, I put some money aside and got a driver’s permit, because doing that would open doors for me. I became a deliveryman; it was nice, I liked being at the wheel, but in the end I quit that job too. I couldn’t stand my boss. The kind of guy who yells nonstop and sticks you with impossible schedules. I’ve never been one to let people yell at me.
I learned that some taxi drivers were selling their licenses. François found out all about it, and we discussed the opportunity. He’d already borrowed enough money to start as soon as possible. I was tempted, and the plates weren’t all that expensive. There wouldn’t be anyone giving me orders. I let a week go by, and then I took the plunge.
I can still remember the day I got my license. I was so proud. When they handed it over to me, I immediately thought of Pierre. I couldn’t wait to show it to him. He was little, he’d just turned four. During the day, I’d leave him with Madame Alves, an enormous Portuguese babysitter who took in as many as five children at a time. I would pass by to pick him up around six o’clock, at the end of my delivery shift. That evening, I was terribly late. I’d waited a long time to pick up the metal tag, and then I’d had to have it attached.
Night had already fallen when I rang the doorbell at Madame Alves’s house. She opened the door, and the first thing I saw was the relief on her face. I didn’t give her time to bawl me out. I seized her hand and covered it with kisses. “Forgive me, forgive me, Madame.” I kept repeating that, and she didn’t know how to react. Then I saw that Pierre was right behind her. I threw myself on him. His eyes were red—he must have cried a lot. I lifted him up and carried him out to the street. As I ran along the sidewalk, I could feel his little hands tightly clutching my neck. When we got to the car, I put him down and knelt beside him.
“Look, Pierrot. That’s Daddy’s car, that one.”
He didn’t answer, but I could see his eyes open wide. I think he understood. I could feel warmth rising in my chest.
I picked him up and put him on the hood. Now, from where he was standing, he had the roof light right under his nose. He smiled, and I swear I saw the four letters reflected in his shining pupils.
TAXI.
The beginning of a new life.
After that, we spent more time together. I could make my own schedule. During the day I often took him with me in the car. Seeing a kid in the front seat of a cab would amuse the customers. I don’t know if I had the right to bring him along, but it doesn’t matter. I never had the slightest problem. Later, he started going to school, and things became simpler financially.
As he grew older, I was able to leave him alone at night more and more. That was when I started my nocturnal work routine. I’d give our neighbor my keys, and she’d look in to make sure the kid was asleep. Working at night allowed me to see him during the day.
These days, when I get tired of sitting alone in my taxi, I try to remember those.