Learning to Swear in America (35 page)

Yuri stared for a moment at Dovie.

“Go, go!” she yelled, making a motion with her hand. “We’re fine. Go!” He opened the door, but there wasn’t space to get out. The officer was scrambling across his seat, exiting through his passenger door. Yuri launched himself over the seat into the back, landed on Lennon’s folded wheelchair, and kicked the door open. There was just room to squeeze out. He caught a glimpse of Lennon’s smile, his thumbs up, and then Yuri’s soles hit the pavement above the Great Lakes and he ran, dodging past the police officer, arms pumping, lungs already burning. He wasn’t afraid of anything. He was running, and he was free.

“Strelnikov,” he whispered, skipping all the winners since 1915.
Strelnikov
.

The main cable dipped down between the towers, below the edge of the railing, and as Yuri ran past the Canadian flag the cable began to soar upward again, a reverse rainbow. He was more than halfway across the bridge. He was in Canada.

He’d made it.

He would go home and protect his work. Laskov couldn’t claim authorship if he was there to defend it. Yuri would win the Nobel Prize in physics, the ninth winner from Moscow State University. He would make Gregor Kryukov proud. He would make his father immortal.

Brakes squealed and metal ground on metal, electrons shearing. Yuri looked over his shoulder and saw the dark blue sedan bounce away from Dovie’s car and settle at an angle, the hoods in close as though the cars were whispering. Yuri stopped, his features as crumpled as the cars. The driver wouldn’t have been going too fast, would have seen the first wreck unfolding ahead. Surely.

Was Dovie okay?

A woman stumbled out of the sedan, walked around the tangled fronts of the cars and leaned down to talk to Dovie through her passenger window.

He needed to run now while the police officer chasing him was watching the wreck. Yuri needed to run, but he stood, waiting to see if Dovie emerged from the car.

Something was going on in the back of the green car; then she popped out the back door, stumbling around the wheelchair. Probably she hadn’t been able to get the driver’s door open. She
made a shooing motion behind her back. Yuri grinned and started to turn, but something caught his eye.

The back door of the blue sedan opened. A little boy slid out, maybe two years old. He was fine. His mother would have checked on him first, before talking to the other driver. But he wanted his mother and she was talking to Dovie and the police officer on the far side of the crumpled green car. And he was running, arms outstretched, to get to her, and the only way to do it was to run into the right lane.

Traffic was still moving in the right lane.

The police officer turned, saw Yuri, and began to run at him.

The boy ran with the inefficient movement of a toddler, his arms flung out, crying for his mother. Around the crumpled cars, to where there was space. A bus was coming, one of those charters retired people take to waterfalls and casinos, but it was a ways off. It would probably see him and stop in time. Yuri took a couple of steps backward, deeper into Canada.

The exhaust from the bus rose and in his mind turned to steam rising off a bowl of borscht in front of Gregor Kryukov’s face, toward his eyebrows, and Kryukov smiled a little sadly, and then the steam obscured his face and he was gone.

The boy’s mother didn’t see him. Dovie didn’t see him.

The child was low to the ground, but the bus driver would notice and would stop. Surely.

And if not, what was Yuri supposed to do about it? He’d already saved his life once. The kid was on his own from here on out.

Yuri blinked at the savagery of the thought.

Something moved behind Dovie’s tires. It was Lennon, pulling himself on his hands, useless legs dragging behind him, his feet bumping awkwardly. Trying to reach the boy.

Yuri had never really noticed Lennon’s legs before. They were thin and oddly long, and they didn’t match the rest of him, like some kind of animal you’d find in Australia. There was something grotesque in his desperation, horrible to watch, impossible to turn away from.

Lennon was out of his chair after all.

Then Lennon grabbed the boy, and the child shrieked and Yuri thought now, now someone else will fix this, but Dovie and the woman were talking and the police officer was running at him and the bus driver’s eyes flicked for the first time from the wreckage to the people down low in the lane before him. He hadn’t seen. He hadn’t slowed. Yuri saw the man’s face the moment his eyes started to widen.

Distances, angles, forces, velocity. Yuri knew this stuff. He ran forward, toward the United States, and the policeman slowed for a moment, confused, then recovered and dived sideways but missed Yuri as he ran back toward the wreck.

Lennon rolled onto his hip for leverage and tossed the child to the edge of the bridge by the railing, and for a mad second Yuri thought the boy would fall through. But he bumped against the barrier, sat down hard, and wailed. His mother turned and screamed.

The bus’s brakes screeched.

Yuri ran toward Lennon, who had swiveled to pull himself
back to the shelter of the tangle of cars. Lennon realized he wasn’t going to make it and spun in panic back toward the railing. He threw his hands out as though he were swimming, clawing the pavement with his fingers, dragging himself toward the edge of the bridge. In front of the bus.

The bus started a long, hard slide, pale faces staring out the black-glass windows, mouths opening into Os. Maybe three seconds to impact.

Yuri leaned down, grabbing Lennon under the armpits.

Two seconds.

He jerked up, pulling Lennon’s chest out of the big tires’ path. The bus driver threw his hands up, crossing his arms over his face.

Yuri heaved and Lennon’s hips cleared the lane.

One second to impact.

Lennon’s legs followed easily, his mass unequally distributed, and they fell backward, Yuri scraping his cheek on the roadway, the toddler screaming in general outrage, the bus tires squealing past, leaving rubber on the pavement and lingering, acrid, in the air.

Yuri lay, holding Lennon, the sky clearing above him. Rainwater soaked through his suit jacket, and he didn’t care.

The boy’s mother reached them, grabbed her child up and rocked him back and forth, weeping. Dovie appeared above him, panting, her bangs standing at attention. The police officer ran up, breathless, and then settled for resting the heels of his hands on his belt as he waited for the other squad cars to wind through traffic to the wreck at the first blue tower.

“People are gonna get the wrong idea about us,” Lennon said.

Yuri threw a hand up and Dovie grabbed it, helping him sit up. Lennon’s butt rested on the road, his legs stretched out, but Yuri kept an arm wrapped around Lennon’s chest.

“We’re not lovers,” Lennon told the cop. “I don’t go for blonds.”

“That was close,” Yuri said, his eyes suddenly wet. “That was really close.”

Lennon
thunk
ed him awkwardly on the back with his fist.

“You would have made it if it wasn’t for me,” Lennon said.

“Thank you,” Dovie said to Yuri, stroking her brother’s hair.

She began to cry.

“Don’t let him eat those muffins,” Yuri said. “I don’t want my sacrifice to be wasted.”

Dovie laughed and wiped her eyes, then sat down and leaned against him, her purple Keds tapping the wet asphalt.

Two more police cars pulled up and their officers spilled out, rushed over, and consulted with the cop securing the scene. One of them began to talk to the boy’s mother, another got on his radio. No one approached them.

“I realized something,” Dovie said. “The asteroid only landed on you. You’re the only one who lost your life. Your old life, I mean.”

Yuri nodded. “Ironic, isn’t it? And maybe is fair.”

She looked at him. “You know, Kant would be proud of you.”

“He better be,” Yuri said. “My world just perished.”

“He lives to impress dead Germans,” Lennon explained to the police officer standing a few feet away.

Dovie kissed Yuri’s neck.

“Rebuild,” she whispered.

Yuri looked over, saw Decker and Linares getting out of their car, wearing matching black Windbreakers and walking fast.

Dovie blinked back tears. “You didn’t carve your name on the sash.”

“No,” he said. “It was more important to do good work than to get honor for it. I learned that.” She nodded. “It would be beautiful day to hang in air over Great Lakes, under rainbow, kissing girl with green bangs.”

“Hmm,” Dovie said. She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.

“Help!” Lennon called. “Officer, this is cruel and unusual.”

The police officer threw a strong arm around Lennon’s chest and lifted him gently, moving him out of Yuri’s arms, then walked to the car to get his wheelchair.

“You know why rainbow is beautiful?” Yuri said. “Because it has all its colors.”

Dovie put a palm on the back of his head and kissed him again, chewing gently on his lower lip.

“Keep all your colors, Dovie.”

She threw her arms around him, kissing him and knocking him backward, and rode him down to the pavement. She rolled off and they lay side by side, backs on the wet asphalt, holding hands and looking into the sky.

If he was going to live in America, he was going to have to buy a cowboy hat. And a pickup truck. He would play volleyball with
a large group of friends in front of an open cooler of beer, and girls in bikinis would wash his truck. He had seen the pictures; he knew how these people lived. And it wouldn’t be so bad. But how exactly did you get the girls to do that?

“Dovie, if I buy pickup truck, will you wash it?”

“No. Besides, you don’t know how to drive.”

“True. Then will you at least tell me where to buy cowboy hat?”

She turned her head to look at him. “Sure thing, Tex.”

When Decker and Linares approached, the police backed away, watching. The agents stood looking down at Yuri and Dovie, Windbreakers flapping, blue sky behind their faces.

“Hi,” Yuri said.

“Heard what happened,” Linares said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Yuri said. “Actually, I am.”

Linares crouched beside him.

“I take it you learned that your stay in the United States has been extended?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, there will be some exciting opportunities for you here. You’ll have your choice of positions.”

Dovie sat up, pulling Yuri with her. She hugged him.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you didn’t make it.”

“No, it’s okay. It was my choice. I chose to come back.” He smiled, kissed her lightly on the lips, and rose. Linares stood with him and nodded to the police officer.

“This all looks like an accident, don’t you think, officer?”

The cop hesitated for a moment, looking at the wreckage.

“Yeah. Hey, is it true this is the meteor kid?”

Decker nodded.

“Asteroid,” Yuri muttered.

Lennon reached a hand up and Yuri shook it, then walked backward between Decker and Linares, back through the blue Xs, with Michigan beyond. He raised a hand to Dovie, then turned and faced the United States.

“Did you see me running in suit, like Matt Damon? Pretty good, huh?”

“Yeah,” Decker said. “You did okay.”

“Damn, shit, hell, yeah.”

A few disclaimers are in order. First, an asteroid's name begins with the year in which it was discovered. Since the events in this book occurred the year that the BR1019 was found, I named the asteroid differently so as not to date the book. I used my daughter's birth date, because she's the brightest, fastest thing in my sky.

The acronyms get confusing. The Near Earth Object Program (NEO) is housed at the Jet Propulsion Lab (JPL) on the California Institute of Technology (CIT) campus, and is a part of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA). None of this is my fault.

I'm aware that Strelnikov should be transliterated as Strel'nikov, but it seemed cumbersome, and I didn't want to change Yuri's last name because I liked the meaning. No, I'm not telling you. Learn Russian.

We don't know the size of the Persian force at Marathon, just that the invaders greatly outnumbered the Greeks. Estimates of the Persian force range from about 20,000 to 1.7 million. Lennon is entitled to his own estimate.

Also, Immanuel Kant argued in favor of the maxim, “Do what is right though the world should perish,” but he was quoting an earlier, obscure Latin line. We associate the saying with Kant, however, and I thought it was reasonable for Dovie to attribute it to him.

I did a lot of research to write this book, but if you're trying to stop an asteroid, you probably shouldn't use it as a guide.

Finally, if you do notice an incoming asteroid, please give the nearest astrophysicist a heads-up because there really are only about a hundred people in the world looking for them. And it really is a big sky.

One of the best parts of writing a book is getting to acknowledge the people who helped along the way.

This book was greatly improved by Dr. Robert A. August Jr., who explained many things to me, including that the marker would be orange and that you can’t stop an asteroid without pizza. Thanks, Bob.

Dr. Pablo Muchnik was both generous and speedy in sharing his expertise on Immanuel Kant.

Larissa Hill and Diana Murray checked my Russian profanity. Much hilarity ensued.
Bol’shoye spasibo!

Many thanks to Dan Martin, who was thoughtful enough to live in California.

Michael Adam checked my math problems. Bruce Aaron Bilgreen set me straight on high school percussion. Kira Vermond drove the Ambassador Bridge and gave me a full report. I’m grateful to all of them.

Thanks also to Judy Palermo, who read and wanted to know what kind of boy doesn’t call his mother to tell her that he landed safely. Fixed it, Judy. Shelley Seely and Amy Jomantas read some late-addition scenes. Dave Wright, Adia Molloy, Jenny Mundy-Castle, Katrina S. Forest, Miriam Spitzer Franklin, and Lindsay Eagar read the first draft, and that can’t have been fun. Christine McMahon read on short notice. Thank you all.