Under the Blue by Oana Aristide

Author:Oana Aristide
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Profile
Published: 2021-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

4

The night is difficult. The intimacy of the car makes him self-conscious about his breathing. The car, though huge, is not so big as to allow him to stretch out properly. Jessie next to him lies on her stomach, Superman-style, one hand on the rifle, and he hasn’t heard Ash move since she curled up on the back seat. He registers the momentary absence of sexual tension with surprise, a note of sadness. Protectiveness is what he feels, an extension of the self to include the souls next to him. More dog than man.

The noises outside the car – what would have been harmless noises in daylight, not even noticed – keep him in a semi-awake, watchful state. The sound of crickets, the cracking of a twig. Whenever he opens his eyes, there is enough light from the star-studded sky to tempt him to try to see, but he can’t, not really.

At six, the sun is up and baking the car. Another lesson learned: park the car so there’s shade in the morning.

The girls wake up, stumble out on to the road. Jessie scans the fields for a place to pee. They look like they’ve had a drunken night out, he realises; crumpled faces, their colouring faded. He can only imagine what he looks like.

They make a fire in the middle of the road, away from any vegetation.

After the forced closeness of the night the three of them keep their distance from one another, even while eating, but then Ash asks for the map, wants to find a river or lake where they can wash, and he notices her left forearm: two scratches, two welts with a red line in the middle, from the crook of her arm almost down to her wrist.

‘Christ, how did that happen?’ he says.

Jessie comes over, grabs Ash’s wrist with a doctor’s carelessness.

‘Yeah, how did that happen?’

Ash shrugs, a surprised look on her face, as though she never accepted responsibility for that arm. They don’t get an answer.

Jessie rummages in her IKEA medicine bag and disinfects the cuts. He can’t watch that, has to turn away, but before they leave he gets on all fours in the back seat and runs his hands over the leather and the car doors, looking for any wires or suchlike that might have snagged her arm. ‘What now?’ Jessie asks, looming over the door, impatient to get out of the sun, but when he explains she looks at him as though he were a slow-witted child.

‘Sis had a nightmare,’ she says. ‘It’s cool. Let’s go.’ Nightmare, he thinks, what nightmares are there left for anyone to possibly have?

Before they set off, Jessie studies the map. Then she throws it in his lap.

‘We’ve got to do better,’ she says. ‘Eighty miles yesterday. At this rate, it’ll take us four weeks just to get out of Europe. We’ll be toast.’

His driving is erratic first thing in the morning. He enters curves too fast, brushing against railings. Random things catch his eye, distracting him from the road.

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