Learning to Swear in America (34 page)

“‘Yuri’ means ‘George,’ right?” Lennon said, looking at the paper.

“No, ‘George’ means ‘Yuri.’”

Lennon smiled.

“Is there a nickname?” Dovie said. “For ‘Yuri’?”

“Yura.”

“You’re a?” Lennon said.

“Yura.” He shrugged. “But most people call me Yuri.”

“Yura? Seriously?” Lennon laughed. “Yura nut. Yura gorilla. Ha! It lends itself to so much.”

A horn blared as Dovie strayed into the adjacent lane.

“Sorry,” she muttered under her breath.

“Traffic’s really getting heavy,” Dovie said. “I thought people would still be asleep, that we’d at least beat rush hour, but I guess it starts early.”

She bumped around a curve and they saw a stretch of highway before them, traffic crawling. And they saw the bridge.

The Ambassador Bridge stretched for almost two miles across the Detroit River. It was a suspension bridge with two towers made of crossed blue beams, each stacked three high: XXX marks the spot. The highway became impossibly complex, with exit and entrance ramps shunting traffic on and off, and a major curl of highway veering off to the right as it neared the bridge, as though it had seen Canada, and thought better of it.

Dovie sped along, water hissing under her tires.

“There’s a checkpoint on this side,” Yuri said. “On
this
side, Lennon.”

“Huh. Well, it shouldn’t be any trouble. I mean, Canada will want papers to get in, but you don’t need papers to get out of a country.”

Yuri swiveled to look back at him.

“I do. I need papers to get out.”

“But they don’t know who you are.”

“
That’s why they’ll want papers
. To make sure they’re not letting people out who are supposed to stay in. We talked about this.”

“I think he’s got a point, Len.”

“I didn’t see it on the search, okay? I had limited time.” Lennon tapped his fingers on the window glass. “We just go through like there’s no problem. Act confident. This is one of your strengths.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“Jump out of the car and run like hell for Canada,” Lennon said.

Yuri threw his head back and exhaled. “That big loop, it’s maybe kilometer from bridge. And bridge is another two kilometers easily. You want me to run three, four kilometers into Canada?”

“Look, the rain’s letting up,” Lennon said. “You might not even get wet.”

Dovie took a curve and the line of booths was lost to sight.

“When will they notice you’re gone, anyway?” she asked.

“Probably around six thirty. Maybe seven if I’m lucky.”

“Six thirty?” Dovie turned to look at him, and another horn blared. “Jeez. This is really backed up.”

“They’ll expect shower noise, probably. And I left piece of paper in door. If they look carefully, they’ll see it.”

“It’s already seven,” Dovie said.

Yuri glanced at his watch.

“They won’t know where I am, though. They’ll search all over hotel, then at conference—maybe think I went in early. Russian ambassador might have me on airplane to Moscow by time they broaden search out this far.”

“Not if we can’t get through all these cars,” Dovie said.

Yuri looked out at the clogged artery leading to the bridge.

“Next time I save world, I’m omitting Detroit.”

“I was shocked you didn’t do it this time, man,” Lennon said.

A helicopter flew in, then hovered over the bridge intake with a
whap whap whap
of rotors. They crawled forward, then stopped again. Yuri rolled down the window and sat on the door, craning to see if there was an accident ahead. The rain had dissolved into a fine mist that hung suspended in the air, wetting his face. He flopped back onto the seat, springs creaking in protest beneath him.

“There’s police cars ahead, but I don’t see ambulance. Maybe is not bad accident.”

Dovie bit her lip, concentrating on driving, her hands gripping the top of the steering wheel. The sun broke out and spilled over her, colored reflections scattering off her rings.

Yuri lowered his head and peered through the windshield. A rainbow arched above them. He wiggled his toes. If the Canadians demanded a physical exam before they let him in the country, he was not taking his socks off.

“Oh. I got you both something.”

Yuri bent down to his bag and pulled a book out. He handed it to Lennon. “It’s volume of Pushkin—collected works. I got one for myself, too, to read on plane home. That’s part of gift.”

Lennon looked up and caught his eye. “Seriously? You’re going to read Pushkin?”

“I’m going to try.”

Lennon flipped open the front cover. He read the inscription out loud. “I am not gnome-kisser. Yuri Strelnikov. P.S. I saved your life.” He caught Yuri’s eye. “‘He stood, and dreamt a mighty dream.’ You’re still a gnome-kisser till you find that line.”

Yuri smiled. “Challenge accepted.” He fumbled in his bag for a moment, and turned to Dovie. She accelerated, moved forward a car length, then rocked to a stop on the clogged highway. She blew out in frustration, then turned to him.

Yuri opened his hand to reveal a small rock hammer.

“Wow,” Lennon said. “You are such a romantic.”

“Shut up, Len.”

“Yes’m.”

“It’s to help you break out of rectangles,” Yuri said. “Keep it in your locker. Remember there’s life after high school. Things to paint, people to visit.”

Dovie grabbed it off his palm and threw her arms around him.

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear. “It’s exactly what I needed.”

Her foot slipped off the brake and they jerked forward. She pulled away and slammed her foot down, and they jerked to a stop inches from the bumper of the car ahead of them.

“Something just occurred to me,” Lennon said. “That pair guarding you?”

“Yeah?” Yuri said.

“So what if you’re not the only one good at your job?”

“Whaddya mean?” Dovie said.

“What if they realized he was gone and simply called it in?” Lennon said. “I think that’s a roadblock ahead.”

Yuri bent forward, staring ahead as Dovie drove them through the tangle of highways. A strand of road curled off to the right like frayed wire, taking some of the traffic with it. Dovie took a curve, following signs for the bridge. Blue and red light washed over the hood and was reflected in the wet asphalt. A hundred yards ahead was a line of seven guard booths at the base of a ramp. The guard stood beside it, behind the drip line coming off the booth’s overhang. A uniformed police officer stood next to him. Three police cars sat nearby, one parked, the others idling on the right side of the road, one behind the other.

“We’ll mail you your stuff, if you have to make a run for it,” Lennon said.

“No way I can beat those cars to bridge,” Yuri said.

“Lennon, you idiot. These are just tollbooths,” Dovie said, heading for the middle one.

“How does that make me an idiot?” Lennon said.

Dovie shrugged. “Default setting.”

“They’re tollbooths with lot of police,” Yuri said.

There were five vehicles ahead of them.

“They’re checking everybody’s trunks,” Dovie said.

“They must not have a description of us,” Lennon said. “They don’t know who he’s with.”

“You should pull off somewhere. I’ll go on alone,” Yuri said.

“How far do you think you’ll get?” Dovie said.

“I don’t know, but they’ll measure it on Planck scale.”

A red hybrid pulled through.

Two vehicles to go.

“We’ll tell them you were a hitchhiker,” Lennon said.

Yuri snorted.

“As soon as I talk, they’ll hear accent.”

“Lennon, is your chair strapped in?” Dovie asked.

“It’s wedged in the foot well.”

“Strap it.”

A frazzled woman in a red van was having trouble finding her money. The police officer looked around while they waited for her, taking in the bottleneck at the seven booths, the decreased congestion on the road beyond. Lennon clicked the seat belt around his chair. The woman finally handed over a bill and the cashier took it, handed back change, and waved her on.

One.

A black Camry pulled in. Dovie took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders, then bounced her palms on the top of the wheel.
The Camry driver handed exact change over, and a moment later he was pulling through onto the road ahead, cleared to cross the bridge.

Dovie rolled forward.

She handed the cashier a five-dollar bill. The police officer stepped forward and bent down, peering into the car. He looked at Yuri and with his hand on the car roof, he motioned another cop over from his cruiser on the right margin.

“How did you get that shiner, sir?”

Yuri stared straight ahead. An American border guard was staring at his face from a hand span away. Yuri wondered suddenly if an escape attempt was the kind of thing he could go to jail for. They wouldn’t do that, would they? But what if it was illegal? He felt a surge of panic, and an intense desire to move. He tensed, but stayed still.
Röntgen, Lorentz, Zeeman, Becquerel, Curie, Curie, Rayleigh, von Lenard, Thomson …

“Oh, he’s deaf,” Dovie said. “He’s our deaf cousin.”

“I’m going to ask you to step out of the car, sir,” the officer said to Yuri.

The approaching cop was weaving his way past the right three tollbooths, heading for Yuri’s door.

Dovie stomped on the gas pedal.

Yuri ducked, throwing his hands over his head, as the red-and-white barrier bar shattered the windshield.

“Jesus, Dovie!” Lennon shouted.

…
Michelson, Lippmann, Marconi, Braun
…

Round nuggets of glass cascaded into the car and scattered
over the asphalt. Dovie wove around the black Camry, then floored the accelerator. For a moment it didn’t respond, then the engine shrugged and clanged and they rocketed past two police cars at the side of the road. The one in front flipped its siren on and nosed out, falling in behind them. The helicopter tilted and swooped around to follow.

Yuri held tight to the door handle.

“I think I’m gonna have to tell them you had a gun to my head,” Dovie said, weaving around a pickup. “So be sure you make it across the bridge.”

He stared at her.

“Oh, boy,” she said, jerking right on the wheel.

…
van der Waals, Wien, Compton
…

They were on the giant loop of highway, which wrapped around a duty-free shop and a gas station before rising for a second pass on pylons, then stretching out straight to the stacked blue Xs of the Ambassador Bridge.

Yuri sank his head in his hands. “We are going to die,” he said.

The tires squealed in agreement.

“Yeah,” Dovie said. “But not today. You’re gonna be okay, Science Boy.”

“You need to pull off.”

They flew past the duty-free shop, Dovie keeping the wheel jacked to the right to make the loop. The helicopter centered itself in the circle within the road, its rotors beating a steady
whap whap whap
, the battered car pulsating with the rhythm. Yuri could feel his blood rushing in his ears, and it seemed to synchronize with
the helicopter. Ahead of them, two parked police cars flicked on lights and sirens and nosed onto the road ahead of them, right before it rose on the pylons.

“We’re almost there,” Dovie said as the car began to rise, its empty window frame vibrating.

The police cars drove abreast, slowing, forcing them to reduce speed.

“They’re gonna make us stop,” Dovie said. “Unless …”

She eased up on the wheel, letting the car straighten from the big right curve and whip to the left. She passed on the left shoulder, a line of sparks flying between the cars where she scraped the police car in passing. The officer looked over at Yuri, his face contorted with rage, their heads a foot apart. He mouthed, “Pull over.” Yuri raised his hands in a helpless gesture. There was no way to explain that this was pretty normal driving for Dovie.

They nudged past one squad car, but the other stayed even with them, finishing the rising curve and keeping pace as they hit the straightaway. The Ambassador Bridge lay ahead. Yuri felt a surge of exhilaration, and beat his fist on the dashboard. It was going to work.

…
Dalén, Onnes, von Laue, Bragg, Bragg
…

Dovie wove through traffic. One moment the bridge was directly ahead of them, and then they were on it. Lennon pumped his fist and shouted, and Yuri turned to grin at him. One of the towers with the crossed blue beams flashed by. Two flags hung at the center of the bridge, one American and the other Canadian. They were maybe a third of a mile away. The police car slowed
beside them, boxing them in behind a dark blue sedan. Dovie pulled left and sped around the car.

“This is for other direction!” Yuri shouted. “Is not lane for passing!”

“Yeah, but hardly anybody was coming,” Dovie said, cutting in tight in front of the blue car.

The cruiser sped up, opening space between them, then braked hard and pulled sideways, blocking the road ahead. A semi chugged in the left lane of oncoming traffic, an SUV was to their right. No place to go. Dovie slammed her brake and yanked the wheel left, spinning the car, bald tires grabbing at wet asphalt. For a moment the semi’s huge tires rolled by, filling the window, then the truck was past and they crashed sideways into the police car and rocked to a stop.