The Little Driver by Martin Wagner
On the road again, Joe immediately felt better. He had found the junction with the three petrol stations quite depressing, but as he drove more and more confidently, he began to enjoy himself. Driving through the town, he looked at the pedestrians with pity. Yes, he thought, everyone should have a car. That would be much fairer.
He was beginning to feel a little hungry and looked around for a shop to buy something, but they all seemed to be closed. Before he knew it he had reached the other end of the town and was driving through countryside again. He was about to give up hope when he saw a shopping centre appear in the distance. He decided to try it. There had to be something to eat there.
Having taken the motorway exit, Joe was surprised at how many cars there were in the car park. No one lived near here, but still there must be thousands of people using the shopping centre, even if there was only one person per car, and he supposed that there would be at least two or three people in each car to make best use of it.
He found a parking space right at the end of the car park, then, climbing out of the car and taking good care to lock it, he wished that someone could give him a lift to the shopping centre. Walking was beginning to get on his nerves. What was the point of a car if you still had to walk to get where you wanted?
This was where the old man should live, Joe thought, as he entered the main door through the stream of hot air that kept the cold weather outside. Here he could get everything he wanted: milk, newspapers – he could even go to the cinema. Joe noticed that The Matrix VII was playing and wondered whether the cinema manager would think he was eight or 18. He decided not to risk it and began to look for food instead.
He decided to try one of the small takeaways on the first floor. He grabbed a double-decker hamburger, a muffin and a packet of crisps and stood eating at the railing, looking at the shoppers on the floor below. This is just like a little village, he thought, just without family houses or cars. Strange to build it all in the middle of nowhere. All the little shops in the high street which had closed seemed to have been reassembled here. Some were even made to look like they were part of a real high street, but Joe supposed that they weren’t owned by the same people. His father had once explained that to make money you had to buy up things. Keep moving, otherwise you die, just like a shark. Joe supposed his father must be right.
He was just about to embark on another deep thought when a young girl tugged at his shirt.
‘Mister,’ she said, and at first Joe didn’t realize she was talking to him. ‘I want a ride. Do you have any change?’
The young girl – she couldn’t have been much older than him – was pulling him in the direction of a toy car that stood in a row of other rides for kids: a horse, a helicopter and a motorbike. Joe had some change left and reluctantly decided to give the little girl a treat.
‘Where’s your mum?’ he asked.
‘She’s up a tree.’
‘What do you mean? Crazy?’
‘You could say that.’ The girl left it at that. ‘So are you going to give me some money or not?’
Joe rummaged through his pocket and produced some change. He put it into the slot, which was just where the key would go on a real car. The little girl got in and pressed the start button. As the car started to move, the girl squealed with delight, but Joe could feel only pity for her. After all, he had his real car waiting outside. If only she knew! But she must have assumed that he had a car anyway, how else would he have been able to get here?
Finally, the electric car finished its distanceless journey and the girl got out. ‘Thanks,’ she said and Joe could feel that her attention was already drifting to other matters.
‘That’s OK,’ Joe said, but if truth be told, he was sorry to have wasted the money. He had only a few coins left and he didn’t know what else to expect on his journey. He could have used it for more petrol, if he needed it.
‘My mum would never have let me.’
‘What? Get on one of these things?’
‘She’d go crazy.’
‘Why?’
‘She doesn’t like cars. Or roads. Especially not roads. That’s why she’s up a tree.’ Joe looked at her, puzzled, and finally the girl elaborated. ‘She’s a protester. They’re trying to build a new road to ease the traffic.’
Joe guessed the little girl had heard this on television, not from her mother, who probably thought that just because you had a new road there would be more cars on it. He had heard about these people. They spent weeks and months in trees waiting for the bulldozers to arrive, just to cause trouble for his dad’s friends. Joe wondered how they went to the toilet. He felt like asking but thought better of it.
‘Does she know you’re here?’ Joe didn’t know why, but he felt he should take care of the little girl. Maybe that sense of responsibility came with having a car.
‘Not exactly.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘Down the road. Where they’re building the motorway.’
‘I’ll give you a lift.’
‘She won’t like it.’
‘She won’t like you being here either, talking to strangers.’
The young girl shrugged her shoulders. ‘OK. I was beginning to get bored anyway.’ She took another look around. ‘These places are no fun without money.’
© Martin Wagner. All rights reserved.
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