The Fire Witness

23

The rain is beginning to beat against his windshield. Mads Jensen, a Danish long-haul trucker, sees a woman standing in the middle of the road barely two hundred yards in front of him. He swears and blows the horn. The woman seems to come alive at the sound of the horn, but instead of moving, she stays in the middle of the road. The trucker honks the horn again and the woman takes a step toward him, lifting her chin to look right at him.

Mads has already put on the brakes and feels the weight of the semitrailer press against the old Fliegel cab. He has to brake harder while gearing down. The transmission is bad and there’s knocking in the steering axle. A shudder goes through the trailer before he manages to bring the vehicle to a full stop.

The woman is just standing there, barely three yards from the headlights. Now Jensen can see that she’s wearing the dress of a Lutheran pastor beneath her jean jacket. The little white rectangle at her collar shines against the black backdrop of her shirt. The woman’s face is devoid of color. When their eyes meet through the windshield, tears begin to stream down her face.

Mads turns on his warning lights and leaves the cab. Heat and the smell of diesel stream from the motor. As he walks around the cab, he sees that the woman is now leaning on a headlight and is having trouble breathing.

“What is all this?” asks Mads.

She turns to look at him. Her eyes are wide open.

“Do you need help?”

She nods and he leads her to the side of the cab. The rain is getting heavier and the skies are darkening.

“Has someone done something bad to you?”

At first she hesitates, but then she climbs into the passenger seat. He closes the door behind her, hurries around the cab, and gets into the driver’s seat.

“I can’t keep blocking the road,” he says. “Do you mind if I get going again?”

She doesn’t answer, so he starts the motor and the tractor-trailer moves forward. He turns on the windshield wipers.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

She shakes her head and holds her hand in front of her mouth.

“My son,” she whispers. “My son…”

“What did you say? What happened?”

“She took my child…”

“Would you like me to call the police?” he asks. “Let me call the police.”

“Oh God!” the woman moans.