Switzerland, 1969
16. THE CAR GLIDES until the earth slopes deeper. It buoys like a boat as the tires squeal and tread and then lock. Bonnie and Marie don’t hear the car stop; they hear instead what emerges in the motor’s absence: the loud squeak of a flapping tin roof, foxes tearing open farm fences, then lunging headfirst into rabbits and hogs.
They are trapped in a ditch. A sheep body deep in the water beside them seems human around the panicked eyes as it struggles to keep its head above water. Bonnie presses hard on the accelerator, but the car won’t go.
“Come on,” Marie says, opening the door.
Bonnie hesitates at first, opening the door and freezing. “Get out here and push!” Marie screams over the wind.
She leaves the car on. Both women get behind it and shove all their weight into it. They cry from the strain, slicing their knees and knuckles, but the car finally moves forward again. Inch by inch, they get it back on the wet road.
They reach the road that leads to Geneva before sunrise. Feverish, the chilly twilight breeze feels damp on Bonnie’s skin. The chill has worsened the tenderness of her breasts, a sting in sync with her pulse. Though the rain has quieted to a patter, abandoned cars and toppled trees block the path forward. There is no other person, no other living thing, on the road. The concrete is wet and the wheels have been slipping. They pull over and agree to wait until the rain stops entirely.
“Whatever happened to that cute white boy?” Marie breaks the silence, almost mocking the dystopian mood of the landscape with her ease as she crosses her legs on the dashboard, ashen white from the mud. “Wouldn’t he know something?”
Bonnie looks out the window. “You’re always talking about some white boy,” she chides.
“Liam!” Marie snaps her fingers as she remembers. “They were like glue. He probably knows everything.”
“I’ve tried. I can’t get him on the phone,” Bonnie replies.
She takes off her glasses to wipe away the sludge. Then the light of the sky is visible. It shows some lingering clouds that seem close enough to touch.
Marie speaks: “After Geneva, maybe we should pay him a visit.”