Late one Friday Ernesto saw, away in the distance where the Statue of Liberty’s tunic hung down over some storage sheds, a dark brown car with the silhouette of a person inside. He had been watching this car since dusk, his eye drawn by the elastic light inside it, growing brighter and darker without ever growing very bright and without ever altogether going out. He was sure it was the site manager keeping tabs on his crane maneuvers, tipped off no doubt by one of the other dockworkers, and so he did not get his usual container-fish supper but calmly descended the crane ladder, changed clothes inside the hut, put everything in the ATLANTA ’96 bag, and walked by the car on his way to the bus stop. He was all but past the vehicle by the time he realized it was not the manager inside but someone he did not know. And the car was made entirely of wood. Rough, almost Flintstones-esque in finish, it was about the size of a normal car, perhaps slightly longer, and a light was indeed shining from beneath the hood. Inside was a young woman, overweight though well turned out, with fair skin and dark eyes, and she eased open the door and said, Sorry to bother you, but could I ask you a question? Ernesto said nothing, and she continued: The thing is, I’ve seen you fishing these past few days, and I’d like to give it a try. Ernesto didn’t know what to say at first, responding with a simple, Ah, well, followed by, I’m in a hurry just now, how about tomorrow? Words he spoke confidently—no chance this madwoman would come back the next day. But she did come back. As his shift was ending the car came and sat, engine idling, between the storage sheds again, with the same wood grain to the body and the same light coming from inside. He decided to act, to put an end to the prank sooner rather than later, and went over to the car. The woman, her face little more than a maquette in the dark, did not seem upset when he said, What the hell do you want? She got out of the car. Again, she said, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, I just got here from L.A. and I don’t have anywhere to go or anything to eat, so I just wondered if I could maybe take some of the fish. Ernesto apologized and asked if she wanted to go up the crane. I’ll take you over in the car, she said. What’s that light coming from the engine? he asked, getting in and shutting the door. Fire, she said. It’s a wooden car, and it’s also wood-fired, the whole thing is wood—wood on wood and wood against wood. And Ernesto saw that it was true: the wheels, the seats, the steering wheel, the evergreen air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, everything was made of wood. There were shutters instead of windows and under the hood he glimpsed a roaring wood burner. I built it myself, she said as Ernesto dipped the container in the water, I used planks from a building site in L.A., hence all those little lumps of cement and the pencil scribblings from the bricklayers doing their sums … Watch out, she said, pointing at the fish, you’re letting them get away! Wait, said Ernesto, so you’re seriously saying you drove that thing all the way from L.A.? Of course I did! It wasn’t that hard. I had to make a route for myself sticking to forests or places where there would be sawmills, I meandered a fair bit, that’s true, but it wasn’t so hard—this is America! When I got to New York my only thought was to come to the port, you always get pallets in these places, dockers never mind giving you a bit of firewood, but the food thing has been an issue—I ran out of money a few days ago. Ernesto puffed out his cheeks. They climbed down the ladder and made a random selection of fish. He took 2 small specimens and she took three times that, placing them in the trunk of the car. They said goodbye. As Ernesto was leaving, he looked back. She was sitting in the car, gazing into the flames. He shouted, Staying there? Yes! she called back. I sleep in the car, it’s nice and warm!