The October Country

Nothing started. They rolled quietly into the filling station at the bottom of the hill, bumping softly on the cobbles, and stopped by the tanks.

She sat there, saying nothing, and when the attendant came from the station her door was locked, the window up, and he had to come around on the husband’s side to make his query.

The mechanic arose from the car engine, scowled at Joseph and they spoke together in Spanish, quietly.

She rolled the window down and listened.

“What’s he say?” she demanded.

The two men talked on.

“What does he say?” she asked.

The dark mechanic waved at the engine. Joseph nodded and they conversed.

“What’s wrong?” Marie wanted to know.

Joseph frowned over at her. “Wait a moment, will you? I can’t listen to both of you.”

The mechanic took Joseph’s elbow. They said many words.

“What’s he saying now?” she asked.

“He says—” said Joseph, and was lost as the Mexican took him over to the engine and bent him down in earnest discovery.

“How much will it cost?” she cried, out the window, around at their bent backs.

The mechanic spoke to Joseph.

“Fifty pesos,” said Joseph.

“How long will it take?” cried his wife.

Joseph asked the mechanic. The man shrugged and they argued for five minutes.

“How long will it take?” said Marie.

The discussion continued.

The sun went down the sky. She looked at the sun upon the trees that stood high by the cemetery yard. The shadows rose and rose until the valley was enclosed and only the sky was clear and untouched and blue.

“Two days, maybe three,” said Joseph, turning to Marie.

“Two days! Can’t he fix it so we can just go on to the next town and have the rest done there?”

Joseph asked the man. The man replied.

Joseph said to his wife, “No, he’ll have to do the entire job.”

“Why, that’s silly, it’s so silly, he doesn’t either, he doesn’t really have to do it all, you tell him that, Joe, tell him that, he can hurry and fix it—”

The two men ignored her. They were talking earnestly again.

This time it was all in very slow motion. The unpacking of the suitcases. He did his own, she left hers by the door.

“I don’t need anything,” she said, leaving it locked.

“You’ll need your nightgown,” he said.

“I’ll sleep naked,” she said.

“Well, it isn’t my fault,” he said. “That damned car.”

“You can go down and watch them work on it, later,” she said. She sat on the edge of the bed. They were in a new room. She had refused to return to their old room. She said she couldn’t stand it. She wanted a new room so it would seem they were in a new hotel in a new city. So this was a new room, with a view of the alley and the sewer system instead of the plaza and the drum-box trees. “You go down and supervise the work, Joe. If you don’t, you know they’ll take weeks!” She looked at him. “You should be down there now, instead of standing around.”

“I’ll go down,” he said.

“I’ll go down with you. I want to buy some magazines.”

“You won’t find any American magazines in a town like this.”

“I can look, can’t I?”

“Besides, we haven’t much money,” he said. “I don’t want to have to wire my bank. It takes a god-awful time and it’s not worth the bother.”

“I can at least have my magazines,” she said.

“Maybe one or two,” he said.

“As many as I want,” she said, feverishly, on the bed.

“For God’s sake, you’ve got a million magazines in the car now, Posts, Collier’s, Mercury, Atlantic Monthlys, Barnaby, Superman! You haven’t read half of the articles.”

“But they’re not new,” she said. “They’re not new, I’ve looked at them and after you’ve looked at a thing, I don’t know—”

“Try reading them instead of looking at them,” he said.

As they came downstairs night was in the plaza.

“Give me a few pesos,” she said, and he gave her some. “Teach me to say about magazines in Spanish,” she said.

“Quiero una publicacion Americano,” he said, walking swiftly.

She repeated it, stumblingly, and laughed. “Thanks.”

He went on ahead to the mechanic’s shop, and she turned in at the nearest Farmacia Botica, and all the magazines racked before her there were alien colors and alien names. She read the titles with swift moves of her eyes and looked at the old man behind the counter. “Do you have American magazine?” she asked in English, embarrassed to use the Spanish words.

The old man stared at her.