Monday, August 22, 2005

The Lundrigans and the Coffeys will Render Assistance

About ten years ago I camped
on the beach at Angels Cove. So I
drive down there again. But the
road is washed out, so I back
it up and try to pull over to
the grass beside the steep incline.
I lurch the car into the ditch.
It's a brand new rentacar and, in the
insurance-refusal box I've
read these words: FULL VALUE.
Three kids come up from the beach.
A girl of nine looks at me as
I'm feeding slate under
the front wheel for purchase.
That's not a good place to get
stuck, she says.
She returns with her grandfather
on a red quad. He looks at the
front of the car. She's brought up,
Gus Lundrigan says. I'll get
the young feller in his four by four.
The young feller arrives
in the pick up. And they winch me
up. They are careful with plastic
bumpers and brakelines and they
shout at the fact they make new
cars now with nothing to hook onto.
Even the nine year old girl is
distainful of the new automobiles.
They are wearing white shirts and
with the rocking and spinning tires
and the winching, I've got them
covered in mud. But I'm out of the
ditch. Now park that, Gus Lundrigan
says, up by mother.
And it's the great-grandmother,
Mrs Coffey. Four generations
of the Coffeys and the Lundrigans
have pulled out this foolish
traveller who wanted to camp on
the beach of Angels Cove. Not a
scratch on the car. I thank you.


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