Adverbs (23 page)

“I am,” Joe said, “certainly sure of myself. I am certain.”

“So you want to go to the Black Elephant?”

“I never want to go anywhere else in my whole life.”

A squawk on the taxi radio distracted the lady from maybe realizing anything more about Joe for the moment. She picked up the speaker device and spoke into it, saying “Yes” and “No” and “No” and “The Black Elephant” and “The Black Elephant” and “Down near Wyatt” and “No” and “No” “Eleven” and “Nowhere near there” and “No” in a voice curdled with talking to someone she didn’t like. Joe loved the listen of it, the beat of her annoyance, and realized he was syncing it up with the song he was thinking about anyway. The song is called “Lady Cab Driver” and the real lyrics are like this:

and that’s it. Those are the whole lyrics. “Did you hear that guy?” the lady asked. “That’s Drecko. He tried to fire me last night and now he wants me to do him a favor.”

“He’s a terrible person,” Joe said. “I challenge him to a swordfight and anybody else who tries to fire you.”

“I like you,” the lady said and laughed with her hair needing combing.

“I like you and I like taxis,” Joe said. “Taxis are the best way to travel. I’m only going to take taxis from now on.”

“That’ll be expensive,” the lady said.

“I should be earning twelve times my current salary,” Joe said. “I’m doing the most important work on Earth. People are dying every day and people are still stupid about it. Those people—it’s a long story—are the worst people on Earth. Drecko is one of them.”

“He sure is,” the lady agreed. “You know, I’m not sure the Black Elephant is even open now.”

“Sure it is,” Joe said. “An impressive hand is carrying me through all seemingly locked doors.”

“You’re acting kinda kooky,” the lady said. “Are you drunk? A religious nut?”

“I guess I’m feeling religious,” Joe said. “I guess I’m starting a religion that believes taxis are better than buses and tipping you fifty dollars is a religious sacrament. Why can’t I start a religion? Lots of people did it a long time ago, and where are they now?”

“Dead,” the lady said.

“When you were talking to Drecko,” Joe said, “I was thinking of that song ‘Lady Cab Driver,’ do you know that song?”

“Everybody sings it to me,” the lady said.

“It’s the best song on Earth,” Joe said. “I’ll buy it for you on CD. It’s my new hymn. It’s the best song there is and it makes me happy just to think about it. How many happy people do you think there are in the world? Twelve?”

“I don’t know,” the lady said. She shrugged and the two of them watched someone very old and very short walk slowly in front of them. Character description: Chinese. Old woman. Not lonely. Has groceries she paid for herself, Joe would judge. Anyone normal would judge. This is it, the job we are given, to form some specific and inexplicable judgment, to prefer the delicious food that is offered to the selfish money we might otherwise keep. Even that bird there, ignoring the Chinese woman in favor of something to eat or make into a nest, could tell you that in chirp language. Love is a preference, and Joe found one as he was summoned to do. He found the love story he preferred, although he didn’t render this judgment officially until three years
later when he and this cabdriver right here lay laughing and naked over how giddy he was during the miracle, during the blatant afternoon they met. “My friends sure aren’t happy,” the lady said, thinking about what was said instead of what was walking which was her right as a citizen. “My friend Joe used to be happy I guess, but then he got heartbroken.”

“I got heartbroken myself,” Joe said. “At the time we said it wasn’t anybody’s fault but it was mine. I’m guilty of that most certainly. But at least she got happy again. I’m happy to say she got happy again although it makes me sad to admit it, if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean and what can you do?” the lady said. “My old boyfriend got sued by his own mother.”

“I rule that the mother is at fault,” Joe said. “She’s a terrible criminal, that mother, and so is your old boyfriend unless you don’t think so and have evidence to the contrary. What are we thinking? A volcano could destroy this town tomorrow, or guys with guns. Or both. Of course there’s going to be another catastrophe.”

“Of course,” the lady agreed, “but both? I don’t think that’s likely.”

“Likely?” Joe said. “What are the odds that I’m in this cab?”

The lady smiled the same smile, but Joe wasn’t tired of it. No one ever got tired of this kind of smile, this smile of recognition but pretending not to recognize one another, to keep it strung along, to make the story more interesting as everything happens. Like a song on the radio, if you know what I mean and who
doesn’t. The right song, hitting your ears from the shuffle of everything else they play out there. The world could end waiting for it, just some song on the radio, but then one day you click the button and it’s on, and all the traffic in the world can’t matter. Nothing can drown out this song, and look! Out the window the two of them could see it: finally finally finally, a truck was pulling up in front of a café and unloading a mountain of potatoes, shiny with plastic wrap, so some wondrous chef could cook everyone breakfast. “From where I sit,” she said, “the odds are one hundred percent.”

Joe leaned back in his seat. “You’re the best person I met today and I am going to the Black Elephant and I’m going to be happy every day beginning at eight-thirty sharp. It’s my job.”

The street stopped whizzing by and the lady cabdriver turned around and pointed at a number showing on the meter in red electric lights. Electricity was invented in the United States if you believe such things but you don’t have to. Nobody has to. The lady pointed at Joe’s number and held out her beautiful, beautiful open palm. Never seen anything so beautiful, never never, Joe and the taxi in the middle of a big fat blessing.

“You’ve arrived,” she said.