DRIVER
505
others, for the view one came, as a pilot, to take of things.
In
the
Islands, he remarked, they would be flying their own plane.
My self-respect spoke up: "But you don't even drive a car!"
I never felt it took great perception to tell the drivers from the
rest. All the same, Sandy shouted with delight. "You knew that!
What a beginning! Did you hear him, Anya? He's one of us!"
At my side the Princess started-had she been asleep?-and
spoke in a new gruff voice whose accents were not hers. "The road
first traveled is the longest road," said this voice.
Sandy touched my shoulder. "It's Uncle Sam."
"Who?"
"Our guide. We call him that. She's in a trance."
I looked at her in alarm. Beyond the whipping scarf her jaw
hung open.
"Don't worry," said Sandy.
"It
is
a long and painful road," intoned the Princess. "It will
seem shorter and easier a second time."
"Is this message for us, Uncle Sam?" Sandy inquired.
"For your friend. Wait."
"He's such a darling," said Sandy. "He followed the Princess
to America last year and
loves
it. He wants to be the fifty-first State."
Suddenly from the Princess came a high, plaintive, uncertain
voice: "Walker, have you learned to walk yet?"
I gripped the wheel for dear life.
"I couldn't teach you. Learn to walk, Walker. Learn."
"All right," I said stupidly. "Where are you, Muriel?"
"Here beside you. There's someone else."
"That's the Princess, Muriel."
"Not
her,"
the voice giggled. "Someone
here.
Someone who
loves you."
I could barely whisper, "Who?"
The Princess whimpered excitedly through her nose.
"It's Pal," said Muriel's voice. "Your little dog."
My throat filled with tears. My hands fell from the wheel.
Sandy must have kept us from driving off the road.
We sat there. The Princess was inspecting me with vague, puffy
eyes. She gave me a Kleenex from her purse, and shifted her at–
tention to her own appearance where deeper ravages had been sus–
stained. Into a large oval mirror she peered, touching a fingertip to
