The Bonfire of the Vanities (11 page)

“But we don’t want to go in that direction! That’s north!”

“So what, Sherman? At least you know what it is! At least it’s civilization! Let’s get outta here!”

The horn blared. Somebody was back there yelling. Sherman gunned it, while he still had the light. He drove across the five lanes toward the little sign. He was back under the expressway.

“It’s right over there, Sherman!”

“Okay, okay, I see it.”

The ramp looked like a black chute stuck up between the concrete supports. The Mercedes took a hard bounce from a pothole.

“Christ,” said Sherman, “I didn’t even see that.”

He leaned forward over the steering wheel. The headlights shot across the concrete columns in a delirium. He shifted into second gear. He turned left around an abutment and gunned it up the ramp. Bodies!…Bodies in the road!…Two of them curled up!…No, not bodies…ridges in the side…molds…No, containers, some kind of containers…Trash cans…He’d have to squeeze to the left to get around them…He shifted down into first gear and turned to the left…A blur in his headlights…For an instant he thought someone had jumped off the guardrail of the ramp…Not big enough…It was an animal…It was lying in the road, blocking the way…Sherman jammed down on the brake…A piece of luggage hit him in the back of his head…two pieces…

A shriek from Maria. A suitcase was on top of her headrest. The car had stalled. Sherman set the brake and pulled the suitcase off her and shoved it back.

“You okay?”

She wasn’t looking at him. She was staring through the windshield. “What is that?”

Blocking the road—it wasn’t an animal…Treads…It was a wheel…His first thought was that a wheel had come off a car up on the expressway and it had bounced down here onto the ramp. All at once the car was dead quiet, because the engine had stalled out. Sherman started the engine up again. He tested the brake to make sure it was secure. Then he opened the door.

“What are you doing, Sherman?”

“I’m gonna push it out of the way.”

“Be careful. What if a car’s coming?”

“Well.” He shrugged and got out.

He felt strange from the moment he set foot on the ramp. From overhead the tremendous clanging noise of vehicles going over some sort of metal joint or plate in the expressway. He was staring up at the expressway’s black underbelly. He couldn’t see the cars. He could only hear them pounding the road, apparently at great speed, making the clanging noise and creating a field of vibration. The vibration enveloped the great corroded black structure with a hum. But at the same time he could hear his shoes, his $650 New & Lingwood shoes, New & Lingwood of Jermyn Street, London, with their English leather soles and heels, making tiny gritty scraping sounds as he walked up the incline toward the wheel. The tiny gritty scraping sound of his shoes was as sharp as any sound he had ever heard. He leaned over. It wasn’t a wheel, after all, only a tire. Imagine a car losing a tire. He picked it up.

“Sherman!”

He turned around, toward the Mercedes. Two figures!…Two young men—black—on the ramp, coming up behind him
…Boston Celtics!…
The one nearest him had on a silvery basketball warm-up jacket with
CELTICS
written across the chest…He was no more than four or five steps away…powerfully built…His jacket was open…a white T-shirt…tremendous chest muscles…a square face…wide jaws…a wide mouth…What was that look?…Hunter! Predator!…The youth stared Sherman right in the eye…walking slowly…The other one was tall but skinny, with a long neck, a narrow face…a delicate face…eyes wide open…startled…He looked terrified…He wore a big loose sweater…He was a step or two behind the big one…

“Yo!” said the big one. “Need some help?”

Sherman stood there, holding the tire and staring.

“What happen, man? Need some help?”

It was a neighborly voice.
Setting me up! One hand inside his jacket pocket!
But he sounds sincere.
It’s a setup, you idiot!
But suppose he merely wants to help?
What are they doing on this ramp!
Haven’t done anything—haven’t threatened.
But they will!
Just be nice.
Are you insane? Do something! Act!
A sound filled his skull, the sound of rushing steam. He held the tire up in front of his chest.
Now!
Bango—he charged at the big one and shoved the tire at him. It was coming right back at him! The tire was coming right back at him! He threw his arms up. It bounced off his arms. A sprawl—the brute fell over the tire. Silvery
CELTICS
jacket—on the pavement. Sherman’s own momentum carried him forward. He skidded on the New & Lingwood party shoes. He pivoted.

“Sherman!”

Maria was behind the wheel of the car. The engine was roaring. The door on the passenger side was open.

“Get in!”

The other one, the skinny one, was between him and the car…a terrified look on his mug…eyes wide open…Sherman was pure frenzy…Had to get to the car!…He ran for it. He lowered his head. He crashed into him. The boy went spinning back and hit the rear fender of the car but didn’t fall down.

“Henry!”

The big one was getting up. Sherman threw himself into the car.

Maria’s ghastly stricken face: “Get in! Get in!”

The roaring engine…the Panzer-head Mercedes dials…A blur outside the car…Sherman grabbed the door pull and with a tremendous adrenal burst banged it shut. Out of the corner of his eye, the big one—almost to the door on Maria’s side. Sherman hit the lock mechanism.
Rap!
He was yanking on the door handle—
CELTICS
inches from Maria’s head with only the glass in between. Maria shoved the Mercedes into first gear and squealed forward. The youth leaped to one side. The car was heading straight for the trash cans. Maria hit the brakes. Sherman was thrown against the dash. A vanity case landed on top of the gearshift. Sherman pulled it off. Now it was on his lap. Maria threw the car into reverse. It shot backward. He glanced to his right. The skinny one…The skinny boy was standing there staring at him…pure fear on his delicate face…Maria shoved it into first gear again…She was breathing in huge gulps, as if she were drowning…

Sherman yelled, “Look out!”

The big one was coming toward the car. He had the tire up over his head. Maria squealed the car forward, right at him. He lurched out of the way…a blur…a terrific jolt…The tire hit the windshield and bounced off, without breaking the glass…The Krauts!…Maria cut the wheel to the left, to keep from hitting the cans…The skinny one standing right there…The rear end fishtailed
…thok!…
The skinny boy was no longer standing…Maria fought the steering wheel…A clear shot between the guardrail and the trash cans…She floored it…A furious squeal…The Mercedes shot up the ramp…The road rose beneath him…Sherman hung on…The huge tongue of the expressway…Lights rocketing by…Maria braked the car…Sherman and the vanity case were thrown up against the dashboard
…Hahhh hahhhhh hahhhhh hahhhhh…
At first he thought she was laughing. She was only trying to get her breath.

“You okay?”

She gunned the car forward. The blare of a horn—

“For Christ’s sake, Maria!”

The blaring horn swerved and hurtled past, and they were out on the expressway.

His eyes were stinging with perspiration. He took one hand off the vanity case to rub his eyes, but it started shaking so badly he put it back on the case. He could feel his heart beating in his throat. He was soaking wet. His jacket was coming apart. He could feel it. It was ripped in the back seams. His lungs were struggling for more oxygen.

They were barreling along the expressway, much too fast.

“Slow down, Maria! Jesus Christ!”

“Where’s it go, Sherman? Where’s it go?”

“Just follow the signs that say George Washington Bridge, and for Christ’s sake, slow down.”

Maria took one hand off the steering wheel to push back her hair from her forehead. Her entire arm, as well as her hand, was shaking. Sherman wondered if she could control the car, but he didn’t want to break her concentration. His heart was racing along with hollow thuds, as if it had broken loose inside his rib cage.

“Aw shit, my arms are shaking!” said Maria. Aw shit, muh uhms uh shakin’. He had never heard her use the word
shit
before.

“Just take it easy,” said Sherman. “We’re okay now, we’re okay.”

“But where’s it go!”

“Just take it easy! Just follow the signs. George Washington Bridge.”

“Aw shit, Sherman, that’s what we did before!”

“Take it
easy
, for Christ’s sake. I’ll tell you where.”

“Don’t fuck up this time, Sherman.”

Sherman found his hands gripping the vanity case in his lap as if it were a second wheel. He tried to concentrate on the road ahead. Then he stared at a sign over the highway up ahead:
CROSS BRONX GEO. WASH. BRIDGE
.

“Cross Bronx! What’s that?”

“Just take it!”

“Shit, Sherman!”

“Stay on the highway. We’re okay.” The navigator.

He stared at the white line on the roadbed. He stared so hard, they began separating on him…the lines…the signs…the taillights…He couldn’t figure out the pattern any longer…He was concentrating on…fragments!…molecules!…atoms!…Jesus Christ!
…I’ve lost the power to reason!…
His heart went into palpitations…and then a big
…snap!…
it went back into a regular rhythm…

Then, overhead:
MAJOR DEEGAN TRIBORO BRIDGE
.

“See that, Maria? Triborough Bridge! Take that!”

“Jesus Christ, Sherman, George Washington Bridge!”

“No! We want the Triborough, Maria! That’ll take us right back into Manhattan!”

So they took that expressway. Presently, overhead:
WILLIS AVE
.

“What’s Willis Avenue?”

“I think it’s the Bronx,” said Sherman.

“Shit!”

“Just stay to your left! We’re okay!”

“Shit, Sherman!”

Over the highway a big sign:
TRIBORO
.

“There it is, Maria! You see that!”

“Yeah.”

“Bear to your right up there. You exit to the right!” Now Sherman was gripping the vanity case and giving it the body English for a right turn. He was holding a vanity case and giving it body English. Maria had on an Avenue Foch royal-blue jacket with shoulder pads…out to
here…
a tense little animal writhing under royal-blue shoulder pads from Paris…the two of them in a $48,000 Mercedes with spiffy airplane dials…desperate to escape the Bronx…

They reached the exit. He held on for dear life, as if a tornado were going to rise up at any moment and blow them out of the proper groove and
—back to the Bronx!

They made it. Now they were on the long incline that led to the bridge and to Manhattan.

Hahhhhh hahhhhhh hahhhhhh hahhhhh
. “Sherman!”

He stared at her. She was sighing and taking in huge gulps of air.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.”

“Sherman, he threw it…right at me!”

“Threw what?”

“That…wheel, Sherman!”

The tire had hit the windshield right in front of her eyes. But something else flashed into Sherman’s mind
…thok!…
the sound of the rear fender hitting something and the skinny boy disappearing from view…Maria let out a sob.

“Get a grip on yourself! We’ve only got a little farther!”

She snuffled back her tears. “God…”

Sherman reached over and massaged the back of her neck with his left hand.

“You’re okay, honey. You’re doing swell.”

“Oh, Sherman.”

The odd thing was—and it struck him as odd in that very moment—he wanted to smile. I saved her! I am her protector! He kept rubbing her neck.

“It was only a tire,” said the protector, savoring the luxury of calming the weak. “Otherwise it would’ve broken the windshield.”

“He threw it…right…at me.”

“I know, I know. It’s okay. It’s all over.”

But he could hear it again. The little
thok
. And the skinny boy was gone.

“Maria, I think you—I think we hit one of them.”

You—we—
already a deep instinct was summoning up the clammy patriarch, blame.

Maria didn’t say anything.

“You know when we skidded. There was this kind of a…this kind of a…little sound, a little
thok
.”

Maria remained silent. Sherman was staring at her. Finally she said, “Yeah—I—I don’t know. I don’t give a shit, Sherman. All I care is, we got outta there.”

“Well, that’s the main thing, but—”

“Oh, God, Sherman, like—the worst nightmare!” She started choking back sobs, all the while hunched forward and staring straight ahead, through the windshield, concentrating on the traffic.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re okay now.” He rubbed her neck some more. The skinny boy was standing there.
Thok
. He wasn’t standing there anymore.

The traffic was getting heavier. The tide of red taillights ahead of them ran under an overpass and turned up an incline. They weren’t far from the bridge. Maria slowed down. In the darkness, the toll plaza was a great smear of concrete turned yellowish by the lights above. Out front, the red lights became a swarm closing in on the tollbooths. In the distance Sherman could see the dense black of Manhattan.

Such gravity…so many lights…so many people…so many souls sharing this yellow smear of concrete with him…and all of them oblivious of what he had just been through!

Sherman waited until they were rolling down the FDR Drive, along the East River, back in White Manhattan and Maria was calmer, before he brought the subject up again.

“Well, what do you think, Maria? I guess we ought to report this to the police.”

She didn’t say anything. He looked at her. She stared grimly at the roadway.

“What do you think?”

“What for?”

“Well, I just think—”

“Sherman, shut up.” She said it softly, gently. “Just let me drive this goddamn car.”

The familiar 1920s Gothic palisades of New York Hospital were just up ahead. White Manhattan! They took the Seventy-first Street exit off the drive.