The Lives of Things Read Online Free PDF Page B

office, better to play safe and have petrol in reserve. This absurd embargo. The panic, the hours of waiting, the endless queues of cars. Industry would almost certainly suffer the consequences. The tank half-full. Other motorists driving around with even less petrol, but if only you could prove it. The car took a sharp bend before climbing up a steep slope without the slightest effort. Nearby was a petrol-pump few people knew existed and he might be lucky. Like a setter following the scent the car dodged in and out of the traffic, turned two corners and took its place in the queue. What a good idea.
    He looked at his watch. There must have been about twenty cars in front of him. Could be worse. But he decided it might be wiser to go to the office first and leave his rounds until the afternoon, when he would have a full tank of petrol and nothing more to worry about. He lowered the window and hailed a passing newsvendor. The weather had turned much colder. But there, inside the car, with the newspaper spread over the wheel, smoking while he waited, he felt a pleasant warmth as if he were back between the sheets. He stretched his back muscles with the voluptuous contortions of a cat at the thought of his wife still snuggled up in bed at that hour, and reclined more comfortably in his seat. The newspaper had nothing good to report. The embargo continued. A cold, gloomy Christmas, read one of the headlines. But he still had half a tank of petrol and it would not be long before it was full. The car in front edged forward a little. Good.
    After an hour and a half he found himself at the head of the queue, and three minutes later he was driving off. A little worried because the pump-attendant had told him, without any particular expression in his voice after repeating the information so often, that there would be no more petrol for a fortnight. On the seat beside him, the newspaper announced severe restrictions. Never mind, at least his tank was full. What should he do? Go straight to the office or first call at a client’s house and see if he could pick up an order. He opted for the client. It was preferable to justify his lateness with a business call rather than say that he had spent an hour and a half queuing for petrol when he still had the tank half-full. The car was doing fine. He had never felt happier driving it. He switched on the radio and caught the news. Things were going from bad to worse. These Arabs. This ridiculous embargo. Suddenly the car gave a lurch and veered towards the road to the right before coming to a halt in a queue of cars smaller than the first one. What had gone wrong? He had a full tank, well, practically full, damn it. He manipulated the gear lever and tried to reverse, but the gear-box refused to obey him. He tried forcing it, but the gears seemed to be blocked. How ludicrous. That something should go wrong now. The car in front advanced. Expecting the worst, he cautiously went into first gear. No problem. He sighed with relief. But how would the reverse gear react when he had to use it again?
    About thirty minutes later he was putting a half-litre of petrol in the tank and feeling foolish beneath the disdainful look of the pump-attendant. He gave him an absurdly big tip and drove off with a screeching of tyres and acceleration. How preposterous. Now for his client otherwise the morning would be lost. The car was running better than ever. It responded to his movements as if it were a mechanical extension of his own body. But this business about reversing bothered him. And now he really did have cause for concern. An enormous lorry had broken down and was blocking the entire street. There had not been enough time to get round it and now he was stuck. Once again he anxiously manipulated the lever and the car went into reverse gear with a gentle sound of suction. He could not recall the gear-box ever having reacted in this way before. He turned the steering wheel to the left, accelerated, and with