The Somber Side of a Scientific Mind. Christian Tyoder

The Somber Side of a Scientific Mind - Christian Tyoder


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any cars on the wet roads, except for rare snow-splashing overtaking semitrailers. About three hours after leaving Porte de Vincennes, the two men saw from a distance the usual red-yellow Shell logo hung high on a tall post.

      Abd slowed down the car to a complete halt, right in front of the lonely vintage gas pump carrying a hand-written instruction: “No out-of-town checks. Pay first inside.” Both men got out of the car about the same time. They felt the gusty wind that rattled the loose Cinzano sign over the entrance door. Quickly both put on their winter outerwear, then walked to the store with their hands in their coat pockets. One kilo of ripened bananas, two loaves of French bread, three cans of corned beef, three cans of sardines, and six oranges constituted the twenty-four-hour provision they had in mind earlier. While Abd nonchalantly picked food items from the shelves, Hans got into an outdoor phone booth and made his call to Vaduz. He reappeared from the freezing outdoor call box smiling. Abd returned to his car carrying two heavy plastic bags after paying for the food items and eighteen liters of medium-grade gasoline. He filled the gas tank, opened the hood, and checked the oil level with the bent oil rod.

      Hans interrogatively cast a regard at his travel companion. “Sorry, I am of little help to you. The telephone call to my parents was longer than I had anticipated. They worried about my whereabouts. How much do I owe you for food and gas?”

      Abd slammed the hood and looked at Hans with his deep-seated eyeballs beneath the frosty eyebrows, smiling. “Don’t worry. I didn’t spend a lot of money. With or without your company, I would have to use some of my savings to get to my destination anyway. But if you insist, I will keep all receipts and we will share the expenses on food. How are they, your parents?”

      “Thank you for asking. They are fine and glad that I have decided to finish my homeward trip by car then train and bus. To be expected, they cautioned us about winter driving hazards.”

      Abd started the car, turned on the windshield wiper to remove the melting snow, then glanced at his travel companion. “Are you ready?”

      Hans replied. “Do you want me to drive?”

      Abd added, “Not yet. Will let you know, or ask me again when you see that I am getting sleepy.”

      With melancholy Abd sang along with Edith Piaf’s ballad “La vie en rose” he heard on an AM station as the Citroën 1961 model, visibly getting old with areas on the trunk lid showing paint discolorations and bubbles, then they pulled away from the gas pump, going east in the direction of Troyes. Occasionally rare small wet snowflakes fell on the warm glass windshield surface then melted into streaks of water running down to the immobile wiping blades. Abd looked at the dashboard clock and realized that he had been at the steering wheel for over three hours. Even though slowly getting tired, Hans’s heavy breathing kept him fully awake since they left the gas station. Finally, the long-awaited sun came out and the blue sky appeared, spreading westward.

      Suddenly Abd yelled, “Ouch.”

      Awakened abruptly from his deep sleep, Hans, frightened and bewildered, turned his head to the driver. “What’s the matter?”

      With his right hand rubbing his right calf, Abd uttered again, “Ouch, ouch, charley horse in my leg.”

      “Pull over, quick.”

      “Would you like to take over the wheel for a while?”

      “Gladly.”

      The shrieking car brakes ended with a full stop on a narrow strip of asphalt shoulder. The two men exchanged their seats. A few yards ahead of them stood a road sign that read “Troyes–Chaumont–Mulhouse (Belfort)–Basel.” Once at the steering wheel, Hans, almost a head taller than Abd, adjusted the rear and side mirrors, the seat, and then released the foot brake, turned on the turn signal, and the Citroën started to slowly go back on the fairly dry intercity road to Troyes. The car was climbing the northeastern plateau. The immense wheat fields to their left, extending to the horizon, were draped with a thin white snow blanket. The northwest wind raged the hill, swaying the fully loaded car. Gusty wind tossed sprinklings of fine snow across the newly asphalt-resurfaced road. Frequently Hans had to forcefully take control of the steering wheel with both hands to keep the car from getting too close to the mushy shoulders. The windshield wipers, in constant motion, scraping the icy snow partially attached to the glass, produced a pulsing noise suggesting that the outside temperature was dropping to the freezing point.

      Unable to clear the snow smeared over the glass windshield with the blades, Hans pulled over to a stop, got out of the car, lifted up the ice-frozen blades, and started scraping off the built-up ice sheets, while Abd turned on the defrosting knob, yelling, “Hans, you have been at the wheel almost three and a half hours. Let me take it over. I am no longer tired. I am fully awake. I have been reading the milestones along the road. Chaumont is only about ten kilometers from here. We might be able to find a café still opened on Sunday afternoon. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to grab something to eat, a cup of coffee, get warm, then back on the road. What do you think?”

      Getting back to the passenger seat, Hans, looking very tired and exhausted, replied, “Okay with me, but take it easy. We are over the pass, going downhill, and the winding road appears to have several hairpin turns, looking at it from this elevation.”

      Abd got back in the driver’s seat. The car slowly rolled down the steep hill. Half an hour or so later, the travelers arrived to a valley with scattered clay-tiled small dwellings.

      “It must be the outskirt of Chaumont,” Hans mumbled. Within a few minutes the two men were in the middle of a much denser settlement with chimneys spewing out smoke from dark brown to light gray colors.

      Abd pointed to an age-worn metal post with the inscription “Chaumont Centre,” saying joyfully, “We are indeed in town. Let’s look for a café.”

      With his searching eyes, Hans announced suddenly, “Look, Abd. To your left is one with the lights still on and some moving human shadows.”

      Abd immediately pulled over across the street and right in front of the café. The entry door slowly opened from inside. A bundled-up person strode out into the windy outdoor, slowly walked away, and then disappeared behind the tall courthouse building. Hans crossed the snow-sprinkled narrow street, gently turned the handle of the same entrance door, looked back at the direction of the car, and then waved at Abd to follow him. Once inside, the two men, one after the other, pulled the high chairs out from under the counter and sat down facing a chubby man wearing a white apron and holding two wine glasses. In fluent French with a mild rolling r of the Midi-Pyrenees region, Abd ordered, “Two mochas and two croissants please.” While discreetly looking at two persons sitting at a table adjacent to the foggy window panes, he added, “It is nicely warm here, cold and windy outside.”

      Freshly brewed coffee aroma permeated the entire room. A weak winter sunray, penetrating the partial ice-covered window glass panes, shone on the hollow-cheeked face of the dark-haired motor-mouth woman in the white sheath dress. The two travelers finished quickly their coffee break, generously tipped the café owner, and then in a hurry got on the road.

      It took Abd three ignition key turns to start the engine. Chaumont’s chimneys, one after another, disappeared from the rear window as the car was going downhill, leaving behind the Sunday afternoon, semi-dormant city. The road became more winding as the Citroën descended the steep hill partially covered with a thin layer of fine snow. Hans abruptly grabbed the dashboard with his two hands and worrisomely uttered, “Watch out! Black ice. Be cautious, Abd.”

      Instantaneously, Abd manually locked the low gearbox ratio to better control the car and increase its running smoothness. Suddenly the front wheels slid and the car forcefully swayed to the right, hitting the end post of a low-cabled guardrail and emitting a scraping noise. The rear right side of the car slightly tilted down over the snow-powdered grass of the road shoulder. The two men abruptly got out of the Citroën, put on their winter coats, and then anxiously examined the chassis and all four wheels. Abd sighed. “We are lucky, no visible damage, thank God.”

      With their gloved hands applied to the right end of the front bumper, they tried to move the front wheels back on the


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