Текст книги "Fear Itself"
Автор книги: Duffy Prendergast
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
8
We approached Louisville Kentucky as the sun was falling fast below the landscape of tobacco fields and barbed-wired cow pastures. The pungent odor of freshly produced fertilizer filled my nostrils. We needed gas and the darkness in my spirit from speculating about Sarah’s tainted soul and the deed she may have done caused me to tingle with fear, my phobia having infected my nerves at the prospect of darkness without shelter. I pulled into the flickering neon labeled Louisville Motel, an obscure one-story hovel of white-washed cinderblock, single-paned checker-board windows and a tin roof patched with tar so many times that there was more exposed tar than tin. A second neon sign the size of a clipboard flashed ‘VACA_CY’ the flickering
‘N’, refusing to fully illuminate. There were two vehicles parked outside of the building: a faded blue mini pickup truck which sat outside a room at the northern-most end of the building and a silver full-size late model SUV which guarded the entrance to the office.
The young girl behind the front desk had piercings in her eyebrow, nose and exposed naval. She sat behind a maple-stained and varnished plywood topped jewelry case. Her rump rested on an uncomfortable looking metal folding chair while she played a hand-held video game. Her hair was brown short and straight. She was not excessively heavy but she wore no braw and her large chest pushed sidelong against her plain white t-shirt (cut short just below her breasts) making her look so. She didn’t bother to look up from her video game.
“Need a room?” She said with a surprisingly northern accent.
“Yes.”
“Single or double bed?” “Twin?”
“How many nights?” “One.”
“Sixty dollars,” She closed her video game, a pink plastic box about the size of a makeup compact, and stood up. She opened a frayed and faded lime-green signature log and pointed to a line. “Sign here; and I need to see your driver’s license.”
“I lost it.” I said almost too quickly, having anticipated her request.
She looked up at me suspiciously,
“Well do you have any other ID?” She sassily shook her head.
“No, my wallet was stolen. All I have is cash.”
“I’ll need your license plate number from your car then.” She said with a sigh.
I peered through the window past the neon sign and then wrote the number from what I assumed to be her SUV on the form and handed the girl sixty dollars. From there I drove to a gas station-convenience store combination less than a mile further down the road. The sun was still a complete sphere above the horizon but it was pressed to the tree– tops and I estimated that we had no more than one-half hour before dark. Sarah stood on the end of the shopping cart while I deposited a pair of scissors, a box of auburn and a box of black hair-dye, a child’s baseball cap and shirt with the Louisville Mud-Hens logo, a pair of low powered reading glasses, a bag of corn– chips, two cans of cola and a pouch of beef– jerky.
At the counter a teenaged girl with brown hair, a blue smock and an innocent looking freckled face crowned with a long pointed nose and thick eyebrows smiled as she scanned our purchases including the nineteen gallons of gasoline. I paid in cash and I stepped toward the front exit when I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. I turned and looked to find a dark skinned black-bearded Arab man holding up a faxed photograph in his free hand. He looked down at Sarah and back up at me.
“Amber Alert.” He said with a stern look. “It is you, this man!”
I looked at the picture and sure enough it was a picture of Sarah and me. There was no denying it. I wondered what my good friend
Tommy Sullivan would have done in that situation. Strange to think of a childhood friend at that moment, I’ll admit, but Tommy was my protector as a child and the only thing I could think to do was to try to imitate him. He was as tough as nails and I wished at that moment that I could have invoked his spirit but instead I was resigned to act as I thought he might act. I smiled at the man and removed his hand from my shoulder with the gentleness of a kitten and I looked down at Sarah and said, “Honey can you wait for me in the car.” I watched as Sarah obediently walked out to the car toting the plastic sack of items we had just bought and climbed into the passenger seat. I turned back to the bearded gentleman whose hand I still held and I twisted his arm behind his back, slowly spinning him around, the power of desperate adrenaline coursing through my capillaries and I reached into the man’s back pants pocket and I removed his wallet. Pulling his body close enough for my lips to touch his ear I whispered to him “If you do anything at all to fuck-up my day I will come to your house and I will kill your family!” I wrenched his arm a little tighter until I heard him grunt, “I have your wallet and I now know where you live!” and then I released his arm and exited through the front door as though I were in no hurry at all.
I climbed into the car and I saw a flash and a loud echoing-clap, as if a firecracker had been detonated inside a metal drum, and a dull metallic thud, as of a rivet being driven into a steel girder, and I turned to find the bearded man standing in front of the glass doors aiming a pistol at me.
I found, in that moment, that my bodily fluids were gathering and swirling like a toilet that had just been flushed. I clenched my butt cheeks together to hold back the impending conflagration as I dropped the gear-shift into reverse and pressed the accelerator to the floor. I heard the same succession of sounds, clap– thud, twice more. The Mustang fishtailed as the torque of the tires caught up with the friction of the pavement and the engine’s cylinders fired in greater succession than the bullets of the revolver that pursued us.
“Daddy…it hurts.” I heard Sarah say as if from far away.
“Not now baby. In just a minute I’ll look at it.” Though Sarah was holding her head I thoughtlessly dismissed her words.
An Amber alert? She was my own daughter! Or had Uncle Henry come forward and claimed possession of her? Or was it just an excuse, an exploitation of the Amber alert program, the police were using to find me? They obviously knew that I posed no threat to my own daughter. I was mad as hell; my blood was pumping like water through a sprinkler head. My mind was racing. I had wanted to make some kind of splash in Louisville but I had not anticipated bullets and alerts and police. I suddenly heard multiple sirens whining like a host of babies in a hospital nursery somewhere off in the distance. I couldn’t tell if I was heading toward them or away from them. Up ahead in the fast fading light of dusk I saw the dumpy little motel I had just checked into. I shut off my headlights and killed the engine and coasted into the parking lot and around to the rear of the building where I let the car glide to a stop between a heap of rusted metal drums and a patch of woods. It was growing dark outside and I could barely see through the windows in the shadow of the building.
I looked over at Sarah. She was crying and had an incredibly pathetic expression on her face.
“It hurts daddy.”
Then it donned on me: the bullets had struck the car. One of them had hit Sarah. When she first said “It hurts” Sarah’s voice had seemed to come from somewhere far off, as if emanating from the car’s radio speakers. But that was before my scrambled mind could decipher the bombardment of information that had come crashing like a computer virus into my brain. I grabbed Sarah and pulled her to me. It was dark in the car within the cast of the hotel’s shadow. I searched Sarah with my hands; her chest, her legs, her arms: for blood or holes or ripped bone and flesh, but I could find none of these. Without hesitation I turned the dome light on and I searched for blood; for an exit would.
“Tell me where it hurts baby. Are you bleeding?”
I flipped her over onto her stomach and lifted her shirt and felt her back for gushing wounds; torn and severed tissue. I was crying myself now.
“Where does it hurt baby. Tell daddy now.”
“Right here.” Sarah said, pointing to the top of her head.
“Oh my god!” I pulled her back into my lap and gently felt the top of her head.
“I can’t find any blood honey. Show me again!”
“Right here daddy.” She pointed again at the side of her head, “Am I gonna die like mommy did, daddy? Am I gonna die?” She said as the contagion of my panic took hold of Sarah.
“No baby no. You’re not going to die.” I felt again for blood or wounds and I found only a small bump. “Is that it honey, right there?” the thumping strokes of my heart beating against my chest commenced to subside.
“Yes.” She cried, “Am I gonna die daddy?”
“No honey. Is that it? Is that where it hurts?” I turned her head so that I could read her eyes. They were filled with tears and wild with hysterics.
Sarah nodded.
“How did you get that ouchy honey?”
“I bumped my head on the door, am I gonna die?”
“No honey, you’re going to be fine honey. It’s just a bump.” I held her to my chest and squeezed her with a long hug and then kissed the little lump on her head. What had I done? I had exposed my baby to gunfire; how utterly stupid of me. I could have gotten her killed. I should have just walked out. Everything would have been fine if I hadn’t panicked. I should never have threatened that man’s family. The Arabs, they have a different way of thinking. Most men would have stayed out of it. They would have waited, at least, before they called the police. They would not have shot at me.
I sat there listening as unseen police cars, the strobe of their red and blue lights bouncing off of the buildings, with their sirens streaming, passed us tearing west toward the convenience store and then back east; some going north and south on the interstate, all of them flitting about like a swarm of fireflies in the woods. I kissed Sarah on the forehead and I looked up to the sky and wondered if someone up there were not looking down on me; guiding me, as in back to the hotel instead of risking the exposure of the open road where I surely would have been caught and possibly exposed Sarah to more serious injury; looking down on us, Sarah and I, and giving us the good fortune not to be struck by flying bullets. But I refused to put my faith in the someone who was now looking down on us. I would put my faith only in myself. I would not entrust our lives to fate, or the hope that Catherine was remorsefully lending a hand from someplace beyond. I gathered the items that Sarah and I had purchased at the convenience store and on unsteady legs I walked Sarah over to our hotel room, making haste at our exposed door, to get out of sight.
Once inside I took a closer look at Sarah’s little pink skull buried beneath thin blond strands of hair and I rubbed the knot gently and kissed the little bulge that had grown like a mump on the side of her head.
“All better?” I asked.
Sarah forced a smile and nodded, still a little shaken.
I turned the television on and tuned into a local news channel. A picture of Sarah was captioned at the top right corner of the screen.
“Daddy, it’s a picture of me.” Her eyes were excited and cheerful, “I’m on television!”
“Yeah honey, swell. Be quiet now and let me hear what they’re saying, okay?”
Sarah and I watched intently as the newscaster spoke of me, the villain, who had killed my wife and absconded with my daughter:
“There is concern that Mr. Derrick may be distraught and might harm his daughter.” said a husky black reporter, a stern and dire expression blanketing her face. “And the search will continue well into the night if necessary.”
“Is there any indication, Paula, of the direction they were traveling?” Said a voice from the studio.
“All indications are that they were heading south on interstate sixty-five.”
“What kind of car were they driving?” “Authorities aren’t sure, but they think it was an older model blue Pontiac Firebird. They are not sure yet if it was stolen Katie.”
“Thank you Paula, we’ll check in with you later in the news-hour to see if there have been any new developments.” The television reporter looked apprehensively at her male cohort, a tall, slender dark-haired white man with small ears and an English nose in his late twenties, “Scary stuff there Larry, but is it as scary as the cold front you’re looking at on Doppler radar?”
I turned the television off and I planted Sarah in front of me. I donned my most serious expression, “Do you understand what’s going on?”
“I think so.” She raised her eyebrows, unsure of herself.
“What do you think?”
Sarah placed her finger on her lip as though she were in deep thought, “The police are looking for us cuz they think you made mommy die?”
“Yes, that’s part of it.” I affected a smile, “But the truth is that they are never going to stop looking for us.”
“Do we have to live here forever?” Her eyes surveyed the room and her mouth gaped open and her brow furled in concerned.
“No,” I staved off an impending chuckle at her confusion, “but you know the things we bought at the store?” she nodded, “Well I bought them so that we could change the way we look.”
“You mean like on Halloween?”
“Not quite. You don’t want to be a witch for the rest of your life do you?” I made a sinister face.
“How long do we have to change for?” “I’ll have to change forever. You’ll have to change for just a little while. And you can’t tell anybody ever that we changed or anything else about what has happened to us. You can’t tell anyone about mommy dying or where we used to live. We’ll have to change our names too. Okay?”
“Do I have to wear the same clothes for that long?”
“No, silly.” I poked her belly-button, “But I need you to dress up like a boy for a few days. Is that okay?”
“No!” she placed her hands on her hips. On this point she seemed adamant.
“Do you want me to get caught and go to jail?”
“No.” Sarah’s face became sullen, her jaw slack.
“So you’ll do it? You’ll dress like a boy…just for a few days?”
“Okay.” She relented,” but you owe me for this one…” she sashayed toward the bathroom, “Lover!” she said as she turned and cocked her head toward me and flared her eyebrows.
What could I do but laugh.
* * *
I waited until Sarah was fast asleep, her hair cropped and dyed auburn, mine dyed, from crown to beard, as black as it had been in my younger days, before making a phone call that I suppose I always knew in the back of my mind that I would eventually have to make. Although I knew that Amber had talked and fantasized about our running off together, I knew that she was no more serious than I was when she said it. But I now planned to run to her, or at least towards her. She was the only friend I had who would believe me; who would be willing, possibly, to help me. She was the only person who sincerely believed me when I said those oft repeated words: I didn’t kill my wife. And so she was the only person that I could trust, if I could trust anyone at all, with our lives. I would need someone to help me to start a new life. I would need someone to arrange for a place for Sarah and me to live, at least temporarily.
I still had my cell phone but I knew enough from cop shows that to make a call from my cell phone was tantamount to announcing my location on a bullhorn. So I called from the motel phone and prayed that there was no way for the clerk to listen in to my conversation. The phone rang once, twice…
“Hello.”
“Amber, it’s me.”
“Mathew?” She whispered, “Where are you?” I could hear the springs of her mattress recoil as she got out of bed and the creak of floorboards as she stepped barefoot across a hardwood floor and then I heard her close a door and turn on a faucet in an effort to conceal our conversation.
“I can’t say right now, in case they’re listening.”
“Do you know what a shit storm you’ve started?”
“Yes, I’ve seen the news.”
“It’s not just that.” She sounded as though she were about to cry, “They’ve been here asking questions. They talked to Charlie. He’s been acting kinda weird. I think he knows about us.”
“He can’t know. The police don’t know anything for sure. I told them you were just a client.”
“Well if they’re listening to our telephone conversation they sure as hell know now Mathew!”
“Look, they’re probably not listening. A phone tap is a difficult thing to obtain. But just in case, I need to talk to you somewhere else. I want you to call me from a different number tomorrow. Call my cell phone. I won’t answer but I’ll call you right back. Do you know someone you can trust to let you make a private call?”
“Yes, I can call from…”
“Don’t say it. Just call me tomorrow whenever you can. I’ll get off at the nearest exit after you call and I’ll call you right back.”
“I’m a little scared Mathew. Charlie can be kinda crazy when he gets jealous.”
“He wouldn’t hurt you would he?”
“He never has before, but then I’ve never done this before.”
“Do you still think I have a sexy voice? Or are you sorry we ever met?”
She just sighed. “Well?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry we ever met?”
“We’ve never actually met ya idiot! Yes, I still think you have a sexy voice.”
“Believe it or not you’re my only friend…and I’m glad it’s you.”
“Yeah, yeah lover, me too.”
* * *
I had begun to have erotic dreams. I attributed the events to stress and a lack of sleep, although it is quite possible that I dreamt such dreams on many occasions before and never knew it due to the depth and soundness of my sleep.
One of my erotic dreams, my most recent dream, was the reason why I asked the hotel clerk for separate beds.
Sarah had been quite used to sleeping in my bed all of her life. She would sneak into my room for a half hour before school in the morning and “snuggle”, or she would fall asleep watching television sandwiched between
Catherine and I until Catherine would evoke an “I told you so” after Sarah had fallen asleep where she was not permitted. Also, on the occasions when I was frozen out of Catherine’s company, I would, as I have already confessed, espouse Sarah by spending the night with her cuddling on the couch. And ever since Sarah was an infant up until she was perhaps four or five she would fall asleep on my chest and to be honest I swam in the warm feeling she gave me by being so close to me, our hearts beating just inches apart for hours on end, her utter dependence and helplessness my crack cocaine, fueled my need to be needed, giving me a high like no drug could ever give. Being a father was something that I absolutely enjoyed. And after Catherine died I held Sarah in my arms regularly through the nights to comfort not only her but me as well. In short, I consciously espoused her. And while it clearly was a moral violation to confuse her so, I fully intended to cease espousing her once we overcame our grief. But alas the issue was forced when I had an erotic dream involving Sarah. When I awoke I was so appalled at myself that I was forced to make my way into the bathroom and as I vomited I made my mind up to insure that Sarah and I slept in separate beds from that point on. Not that I was worried that I would violate her. I loved her far too much to do so, but I realized that it was unhealthy for both Sarah and for me to confuse our roles. When Sarah awoke, it was the morning of the day when detective Bergant came to my house to tell me of Catherine’s poisoning; I had a difficult time looking her in the eyes. I felt as though I had actually defiled her. I showered for over half an hour that morning but I couldn’t wash my own self-loathing from my flesh. I couldn’t believe that such a monster lived within me. Perhaps, I supposed, it was just an expression of my unconditional love for her, that somehow, subconsciously, given the inseparable human association of sex with love, that I was demonstrating my love through the ultimate means. Is it possible that Freud skipped a chapter? I took solace in this rationalization regardless of the flaws it posed.
As it turned out, as I lay awake at five in the morning staring at the cracking yellowed plaster above my hotel bed in Louisville Kentucky in the din of the bathroom light, separate beds were not necessary, nor any bed at all for me. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. How could I? In less than an hour I would have to venture out into the dark and face my phobia, and then I would have to navigate some turbulent waters in avoiding the police and possibly risking Sarah’s safety in the process. But what choice did I have? If I had left Sarah behind with Catherine’s parents she would have been mentally scarred for life. And truthfully what would the point have been in running without her. My life without Sarah had no meaning. If I had left her behind I might just as well have turned myself in to the authorities.
So I rose from my bed and brushed my teeth and then packed our things into the overnight bag. I applied my disguise: a thin application of self-tanning agent and a pair of low powered reading glasses. With my black hair and beard I thought that I looked quite different. I laid out Sarah’s disguise, the baseball-cap and shirt and a pair of blue-jeans. I dressed her in her sleep and then laid her back down upon the bed before I grabbed our bag and then I slipped out through the front door and made my way into the night. To my surprise, with the sleep deprivation I had incurred that night; my level of alertness was actually heightened. It was no blessing. Every creak of a branch, every rustle of leaves or wind blown whistle through empty metal drum sent my fear-factor souring. I jumped and started at infinitesimal flash images of demons as real to me as my own heart that pounded so heavily against my chest that I could see and feel the thump of my pectoral push out against my shirt in violent throbs.
I crept around to the back of the building jumping out of my skin at every sound. Once at the corner of the building I hid in the shadows and surveyed the street for any sign of the police and I nearly urinated in my trousers when a cat meowed as it passed between my legs and rubbed against my ankle. I slinked to the car and tossed my bag into the back seat and left the car door slightly ajar. I moved along the side of the car and slid my hand across the cold tin skin of the cars body looking for the holes where the bullets had pierced. Finding the first of the three holes I knew of, I dug into the cold wet clay at my feet with my fingers and I scooped up a clump of mud and I pressed it into the cavity of the cars body to hide the wound. I felt and found the final two holes just below the driver side door and packed them with clay before I crept back to my room for Sarah. Once inside it took every bit of my will to garner the courage to pick Sarah up and carry her out into the dark. “Its okay baby,” I said to her as I buckled her in and peered into the back seat to make sure that nothing scary lurked there.
The engine disrupted the quiet of the darkness and I was wary that it might awaken the few other motel guests that lay sleeping, but there were no windows on the rear of the building and I saw no sign that I had disturbed anyone’s slumber. I crept onto the grey asphalt of the two lane highway and I throttled the engine as I turned the headlights on and headed west toward the freeway. I passed long patches of woods divided by the occasional driveway along the unlit two lane highway but there was no sign of life; no light; no sound; no police.
As I approached the on-ramp to the highway from seemingly out of nowhere a flash of blue light pierced my rear window. I was dead meat. If I ran then a swarm of police cruisers would corral me. If I pulled over then I would be going away in handcuffs. But at least by pulling over, I thought, Sarah would not be harmed. I cruised to the berm and I took a deep breath before reaching into my pocket and finding my wallet missing. I had packed it in the bag in the rear seat. Not wanting any shooting to get started I waited for the grim– reaper of law-and-order to tap at my window before I rolled it down. The officer wore the traditional grey collared shirt of the highway patrol along with a wide-rimmed ranger’s hat. She had her back hand on her revolver and she stood behind me so that my only view of her was through the side-view mirror. She wore a stern expression and compensated for her small stature with a deep raspy voice.
“License and registration.”
“I…I seem to have misplaced my wallet. My driver license is in it.”
She drew a deep sigh, “I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the car sir.” Her voice broke and I could tell that she was a little nervous.
I lifted the handle on the door and started to open it.
“Is that your wallet sir?” She pointed with her flashlight to a brown leather billfold on the passenger-side floor. It was the wallet of the black bearded Arab who had shot at me. I froze for a moment, and then I reached down and retrieved the wallet and handed it to the officer.
“Please remove your license.”
I opened the wallet and handed the drivers license to her. She shined her flashlight into my face and I shielded my eyes. She then shined the flashlight down at the license.
“It says that you wear corrective lenses. Where are your glasses?”
I reached into my pocket and removed the pair of reading glasses I had purchased and I put them on, “I’m sorry, I forgot to put them on after I left the rest stop.” I feigned the least hint of an Arab accent that I was sure she would find unconvincing. I looked up at her to read her face to see if she was actually buying that I was this Arab fellow. I had died my hair and beard black but my beard was just beginning to grow in. It wasn’t much more than stubble. “I’m sorry; I won’t let it happen again.” And just for good measure I added, “Was I speeding? I didn’t think that I was going very fast.”
“Where are you coming from?” “Cleveland. I just went there to pick up this car. I bought it on line from a Mr. Bonjiovoni.”
She shined the flashlight at Sarah. “Please, he is sleeping.”
She handed me back my driver’s license and broke her first smile of the affair, “I have a boy about that age. I’m sure he’s sleeping too. You have a nice day Mr. Assad.”
And just like that I was free again.
We drove all morning, afternoon and into the evening stopping only for gasoline and fast-food. The few police cars I saw watched me pass uneventfully and I started to relax the least bit as I listened to jazz music on the radio to calm my nerves. What I really needed was a tall scotch, but I settled for the soothing jazz music of Herbie Hancock and Johnny Legend and Nora Jones; the snappy beat of the drums leading the soothing pluck of the guitars the haunting wail of the horns and the soulful plunk of the ivories and the raspy vocal chords of their voices.
When we got to within a mile of St. Louis Amber finally called my cell phone. I exited the freeway and found a gas station with a pay-phone and I fueled the car while I called Amber.
“Charlie knows.” Amber said with a bit of a southern pout.
“What does he know?”
“He knows that you and I have a relationship…that we have phone sex.” She sighed, “I think he already knew even before the police talked to him. They suggested that we had spent a lot of time on the phone together. They asked him if I had taken any trips lately, as if he’d give me enough money to come see you!”
“Amber,” I paused, trying to gather my thoughts, “what exactly did you tell him.”
“I got mad when he started getting all holier-than-thou on me, so I just told him everything, how we would get all steamy on the phone and how we would, you know…fuck!”
I desperately needed Amber’s help and I was grieving at the thought that she might have royally mucked things up, and the last thing I could afford was for her husband to follow her around and have her lead him to me. He’d do everything he could to get me thrown into the hoosegow. But I also needed to be sympathetic to her or she would break off what can only be considered a loose connection, given that we had never actually met; however, I also didn’t want to be saddled with her if her husband was about to throw her out on the street. I had my hands full taking care of Sarah and I certainly didn’t need another mouth to feed.
“Amber, where does that leave you? Are you getting a divorce?”
“Oh no! We talked things out last night and afterwards we went to bed and he asked me to talk dirty to him, like I did with you, and we balled like newlyweds until four in the morning. That’s why I didn’t call you until now. I slept all day. I was exhausted.”
“I’m glad to hear that you got a good thrashing. Really, I am. But I’m going to need your help. I need you to find me a place to stay…somewhere not too close to you, at least a half hour away. Farther would be better though. I just can’t put anything in my name.”
“How soon do you need it?” “Tomorrow.” I said dejectedly.
“I can find you a house to rent out by my sisters. She lives in Wichita. I’ve heard of people getting lost in Wichita and never being found.”
“That would be swell.”
“But it’ll take more than a day.” I sighed. “How long?”
“I have an idea. I’ll have a place for you to stay by Thursday. Will that work?”
“Sure. I’ll get us a hotel in the meantime. What did your husband say about you talking to me?”
“Well, I’m not allowed to talk to you anymore, of course silly,” her southern accent made the word course a two syllable word, “but not being allowed never stopped me before. And now that I might get to finally meet you,” her voice got low and raspy, “and feel you…inside of me, I’ve got goose-bumps all over just thinking about it. So I finally get to meet you lover?”
“I can’t wait.”
* * *
We stayed on Interstate sixty-four all the way to St. Louis Missouri taking leave of the mountains of Kentucky and the hills of Indiana, behind us now forever, for the vast flat brown and beige plains with endless fields of tobacco and corn and wheat and acres of
Holsteins and Herefords and the occasional longhorn. The wind on the open plain seemed to have sandblasted the color from the landscape and it was as if we had been transported to the screen of a black and white movie except for the pastel of cars traveling the highway. Everything that wasn’t a shade of beige was grey or black or white. But what the panorama lacked in color it made up for with the rich smells of flowering wheat and the sweat of tobacco being dried in large weathered drying bins and the perfume of wildflowers mixed with the fermenting dung left behind by farm animals. The air was warmer and no longer smelled of autumn.
