White Niggers
Chapter 17
Friday, August 30th, 2019, 07:00
Vehicle repair shop, Ausstellungsstraße 71, 2nd district of Vienna
Timur yawns when he unlocks the workshop with the key entrusted to him by the mechanic. In his pocket is a little cardboard box. He waited for it for almost two weeks. It's the new ignition switch.
The workshop is as clean as a young soul not yet stained by sin and globohomo. Timur walks past the portrait of a stern man who reminds him of his father. Maybe that's the source of the mechanic's trouble, hiding in plain sight. Or Timur's.
Timur walks to the workbench and takes a couple of wrenches, a screwdriver, and a bottle of contact cleaner from it.
He opens the hood of the van, locates the battery, and disconnects the wires attached to the negative terminal.
Then he sits down in the driver's seat and begins to unscrew the fasteners around the lower steering column cover. He gently depresses the plastic clips, then pries apart the upper and lower steering column covers.
He disconnects the wires of the turn signal lever and sees a metallic cylinder. He unbolts it with a wrench, disconnects the wires, and puts it on the center console.
Then he takes out the new ignition switch from the cardboard box in his pocket. He connects the wires to the new ignition switch.
He gets out of the cabin and connects the battery wires. Then he returns to the cabin and tests the ignition. The dashboard lights up and stays this way even when he wiggles the key.
He puts the steering column covers back on. Then he inspects the van to make sure that he didn't forget anything.
He hears the lock turn in the door. The mechanic's silhouette is etched against the light invading the darkness of the workshop like a halo.
"Morning," the mechanic says. "You got that ignition switch?"
Timur starts the engine instead of an answer. The mechanic is one of those men who often communicate nonverbally, more with actions than with words.
"Nice, nice," the mechanic says.
He comes closer and strokes the metallic body of the van.
"I owe you," Timur says. "When you need something, just give me a call."
"Is this it?" the mechanic says.
"What do you mean?" Timur says. "The ignition seems to work now."
"Didn't the car have some exhaust pipe problem?" the mechanic says. "Didn't fumes get into the cabin during that test drive? Remember?"
"Well, it hasn't occurred since then," Timur says.
"How much have you been driving?" the mechanic says.
"I don't know, from pizzeria to your workshop…" Timur says.
"I mean, how many hundreds of kilometers?" the mechanic says.
"Haven't looked at it," Timur says. "10 kilometers, maybe."
"That's why the fume problem hasn't occurred yet. It didn't have a chance to occur. You don't drive it enough," The mechanic says. "It's like faulty brakes – they don't matter if the car stands in a garage. The more you drive the more likely that problem is to come back."
"I know what you mean," Timur says.
"Let's do it," the mechanic says. "I can help you."
I can spend the weekend with Lisa or this guy, Timur thinks. The clock is ticking. Right now, hundreds of men all around Vienna are thinking how they can outcompete me in winning Lisa's affections. I already spent three weeks fixing this van.
"I will think about it," Timur says.
In reality it's clear as day, Timur thinks. I conjured up this van out of the thin air of her words. That will show her I push the envelope and come out on top under her influence. Worst case: I will stand out in the crowd of her suitors. Best case: it's a game-changer in our relationship.
Timur looks at the folder with the Ukraine files on the passenger seat. Printouts from various web sites, xeroxed pages from books, and his own notes. It's now over an inch thick and does not fit in the glove compartment any longer. No earth-shaking discoveries there, but it may show Lisa that I care about what she cares, Timur thinks.
"As you wish," the mechanic says. "You can always come back, if you need anything."
"Thanks," Timur says.
The mechanic's facial muscles twitch in a remote semblance to a faint smile.
Timur gets into the van. During the last couple of weeks he hadn't felt lonely one time, he thinks. Was too busy fixing the van to impress Lisa. Whether he succeeds at this or not, it doesn't matter. She already gave him purpose, and he already benefits from his love, whether it is requited or not.
Timur drives out of the workshop and waves at the mechanic who stands there with his coffee mug.
I always wanted to accomplish something, to turn my soul into something physical, something valuable, Timur thinks. I believed all my life that I could do this, and suffered because I didn't. I finally started to do it, and this van is the material proof of love, a proof that you can take to the bank and convince even the harshest skeptics, even my father, maybe, that I am not a complete idiot.
Timur accelerates down the empty Ausstellungsstraße.
He feels as if by fixing this van he healed something inside him. He hasn't felt sad during the last couple of weeks. Nothing has changed on the outside – Vienna is still devoid of humans, and he is still just a friend of Lisa. But he does feel better, so the change must have occurred inside him. Maybe this is what salvation feels like.
He has forged something within himself that he can hold on to, and which doesn't depend on the approval of other people, even that of Lisa and his father. Which doesn't diminish his gratitude and affection towards the woman who made him feel the true power of love. 170 horsepowers of it, to be precise.
The sun is shining, the road is open, and the possibilities limitless.