CHAPTER ELEVEN

A NEW DRIVER

Marie had been training two nurses to help Irène and so the day came when Marie and I left for Paris.

Marie continued to set up x-ray stations at the war front. Alfred drove the “petites Curies” and the young women Irène had trained as technicians to take the x-rays.

But Marie wanted to treat people with radium as Pierre had planned. Obstacles piled up. First, of course, was that her supply of radium was in Bordeaux. She was the only person who could sign for it from the vault and there was no one to drive her to Bordeaux. Anyone she could enlist was already driving a “petite Curie” to the war front.

So Marie, being Marie, said to me, “How hard can it be, Lexi?”, and set about teaching herself how to drive!

Just before Alfred left for the front with a technician and the x-ray equipment, Marie pointed to a knob on the dashboard.

“Why do you use this knob to start the car?” she asked.

“That’s the choke. These cars all run on an internal combustion engine that uses both petrol and air to ignite. When I start the engine I pull out the knob a little to be sure there’s not too much air, but plenty of petrol. It enriches the fuel mixture. Too much petrol and it floods; with too much air, the engine stalls.”

Meow! My keen kitty ears picked up the word “petrol” and I quickly figured that “petrol” was Alfred’s British word for gas.

“What do you do then?” asked Marie.

“Wait.”

“How long?”

“Maybe five minutes. Maybe twenty. It depends.”

Alfred seemed proud that Marie was asking him. He knew his engines.

“What are those pedals?” Marie asked.

“That’s the petrol pedal and that’s the clutch.”

“What does the clutch do?”

“When I start the engine I make sure the clutch is pushed all the way down. No matter how much I push the accelerator – the pedal that controls the petrol – the car won’t move but the engine roars. But when I gradually let up the clutch the car goes forward.”

“How do you stop?”

“I take my foot off the accelerator, push in the clutch and step on the brake at the same time.”

“Seems simple enough,” said Marie.

“Right-O,” said Alfred. “Any bloke can do it.” The technician climbed into the passenger seat. Alfred started the engine and Marie waved good-bye to them. Then she turned to the other car parked at the Institute and said to herself, “Or any woman.” She climbed into the car and proceeded to start the engine.

But she couldn’t reach the pedals. She was a small woman.

“I wonder if they ever make vehicles for short men? I’ll have to improvise.”

Meow! It took two pillows and three blocks of wood glued and wired onto the pedals before she could operate the controls! Excuse me, three pillows. Marie thoughtfully put a pillow on the passenger’s side of the bench for me.

Starting the vehicle took a little time and when she let out the clutch we went backwards into the garden. Marie pushed the brake hard and the car stalled.

“At least I now know where the shift stick has to be to go backwards!”

“Yow!” I agreed as I leapt back onto the pillow.

Marie found neutral and started the car again. Then she shifted into first gear and we moved out of the garden and down the street very slowly. Watching for people on foot, animals, and other cars, Marie neglected to shift and the engine noise increased. She started to shift and the engine screeched before she pushed in the clutch.

“It’s all right, Lexi, I’m beginning to understand.” She drove to the town hall, stopped the car, and went in and applied for her driver’s license.

Everywhere in Paris people were busy and distracted with the war, and it was no exception at the license bureau. The clerk was dealing with a long lineup, and he took Marie’s application and money and stamped her license paper without even looking up to see that he’d just approved a driver’s license for a woman.

We left hastily. “Now that’s done, Lexi, we can go to Bordeaux.”

The next day Marie packed us food and we only stopped to eat and stretch our legs. Marie consulted a map and drove right to the bank. She signed out her suitcase and we started our return to Paris.

“This time, Lexi, we managed to keep our activity a secret! And now I can begin a radium therapy service.”

Waiting for us in Paris was a letter from Irène.