Read by Louisa Gummer
She has no memory of the accident itself. She remembers flicking her left turn signal and glancing in her rearview mirror, and then nothing until she found herself in a stopped car, sideways at the edge of the road to Lake Titicaca. I must get my daughter out, she thought.
Not until she stepped out onto the dried grass did she notice the smoking minibus. It had rolled over several times and was still regurgitating screaming passengers onto the shoulder of the road. Bolivians don’t wear seatbelts. Parents drive with babies on their laps and minibus drivers rip the belts from their seats so they can squeeze in more passengers. Foreigners tend to follow the laws of their home countries, which is why she and her family were relatively unhurt.
Only when she reached her them and lifted an arm to touch her daughter’s dark head, to make sure of her wholeness, did she see the blood on her own hand. Shards of glass clung to her sweater and hair. She was bleeding from everywhere, but superficially. She did not feel it. What she felt was her head. It suddenly occurred to her why there was no glass in her window. Her daughter was crying. “There is a boy bleeding,” she said, pointing back toward the minibus. She has always taken on the pain of those around her.
“He’ll be okay,” she answered, as if she could make it so. She turned to her husband, trembling. “Was it my fault?” No, he told her firmly. “Tell me the truth. I couldn’t bear it if it were my fault.” It was not your fault, he said again, and walked off to find the police.
The police found her first. “You were the driver?” they asked. Holding tightly to her daughter’s hand, she nodded. “So this was your fault.”
“No—” she began.
“Come with us.” The policeman gestured toward his car. Her daughter clung to her leg. “Where are you taking my mummy?”
Her husband reappeared. “No one is taking your mother anywhere.” He turned to the police. “First of all, you can’t arrest her because we’re diplomats. Second of all, she needs to get to a hospital.”
The policeman did not know what diplomats were. He conferred with his colleague, who shrugged his shoulders. They were in a small town, more than three hours from La Paz. They’d probably let her go if she offered a bribe. But she couldn’t do that, even had she wanted to. Which she did not. It was important to her that she be legitimately cleared of guilt. If there was any legitimacy in a country with a thoroughly corrupted judicial system. Her husband produced their diplomatic IDs, made phone calls, and arranged for a car to fetch them. The police disappeared with her driving licence.
She sat down on the ground to hide her shaking legs from her daughter and opened a book. Though her hands rattled the pages and her teeth chattered as she read, her daughter made no comment. She listened, as though the words could save her.
*
This was months ago. All of the minibus passengers survived and got better. They sued their driver. It really hadn’t been her fault. She reported her licence stolen and got a new one.
Her daughter slept in their bed that night and every night for two months. At school she was chastised for shoving other children. She wasn’t allowed to dance in her year-end ballet pageant because she refused to do the steps properly. But three months later she too got better. She made friends in her class and slept through the night. She quit ballet and took up piano.
She herself is better now, except for the tinnitus, which doctors say she will keep. She is better except for her marriage, which she won’t. Her husband only did exactly what she would have done. What she would have wanted him to do. She would have said, had she been conscious, Take her and get as far away as possible, fast. Yet she cannot forgive him. She keeps seeing the two of them, walking swiftly away, leaving her trapped. It might be different if he had once looked back. Just once.
(c) Jennifer Steil, 2015
Jennifer Steil is an American author and journalist living in Bolivia. Her first book, The Woman Who Fell From the Sky (Broadway Books, 2010) is a memoir about running the Yemen Observer newspaper in Sana’a. Her novel The Ambassador’s Wife is published by Doubleday. Her work has appeared in Vogue UK, World Policy Journal, and the Washington Times.
Louisa Gummer (right) is a Liars' League regular. Her recent voiceover work includes the "Vine in 1914" strand on BBC Radio 2, seducing Harry Enfield on a radio ad, guiding visitors around Stockholm's Moderna Museet, and giving instructions inside an MRI scanner.
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