Harold and Maude by Colin Higgins

Author:Colin Higgins
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, pdf
Publisher: Chicago Review Press
Published: 1971-09-16T04:00:00+00:00

THEY DROVE HOME in the late afternoon, taking the same roads as they took before. Maude drove at her usual pace and talked happily to Harold about children’s games and how she had taught Frederick to play marbles when they were in hiding after the Anschluss. Neither she nor Harold noticed the motorcycle cop giving out a ticket to a car parked by the side of the road.

“What happened to your husband?” asked Harold.

“He was captured,” she said, “and shot. Trying to escape. At least that’s what they told me later. I guess I never will know the real story.”

“Was that in France or Austria?”

Maude did not get the chance to answer. The motorcycle cop, his lights flashing and siren wailing, drew alongside and frantically gestured for her to pull over. She did, and he parked behind her. He got off his bike and with large steps walked to the truck.

“Okay, lady. Out!” he said.

“Hello,” said Maude, not quite recognizing him. “Haven’t we met before?”

“None of that, lady. Out.” He opened the door.

“Oh, well. It must have been your brother.”

“Out!”

Maude stepped out. “But there is a family resemblance,” she insisted.

“You too, buster,” the policeman said to Harold. “Stand over here.”

Harold came around the truck and stood by Maude. The cop hitched up his gun belt and took out his citation book.

“Lady,” he said. “You’re in a heap of trouble. I have you down here for several violations: speeding, resisting arrest, driving without a license, driving a stolen vehicle, possession of a stolen tree—where’s the tree?”

“We planted it,” said Maude.

The cop glared at her through his sunglasses. He looked in the back of the truck. “Is this your shovel?” he asked.

“No,” said Maude.

The cop threw down the shovel. “Possession of a stolen shovel,” he noted.

“Officer,” said Maude, “I can explain. You see—”

“Lady, you don’t seem to realize. Resisting arrest is a serious criminal offense. Under the state penal code, section one forty-eight, paragraph ten—”

“Oh, don’t get officious,” said Maude, interrupting him. “You’re not yourself when you’re officious. But then, that’s the curse of a government job.”

The cop stared at her for a long count. He adjusted his stance. “Lady,” he said patiently, “is it true you are driving without a license?”

“Check,” said Maude, equally patiently.

“And that truck. Is it registered in your name?”

“Oh! Not in my name.”

“Then whose name is it registered in?”

“Well, I don’t know. Do you know, Harold?”

Harold didn’t know.

“Where are the papers?” asked the cop.

“I suppose they are in the truck. Uh, are you going to take a lot of time with this?”

“Wait here,” said the cop, and climbed into the front seat.

“Because if you are—”

“Lady! For Pete’s sake. Be quiet.”

The cop opened the glove compartment and began looking through the papers. Suddenly he heard the start of an engine. He looked up. Maude was on the motorcycle, revving it up and motioning Harold to jump on behind her.

“Get the shovel!” she cried.

Harold hesitated. The cop was sliding himself out of the front seat. Harold grabbed the shovel, climbed on the bike, and Maude shot off down the road in a cloud of dust.

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