if.thespywholovedme-第13章

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ec。　Then　I　booked　myself　on　the　cheapest　Trans…Canada　flight　to　Montreal；　cabled　Aunt　Florence；　and；　on　a　beautiful　first…of…September　morning；　I　was　off。
　It　was　strange　and　lovely　to　be　back　after　nearly　six　years。　My　aunt　said　she　could　hardly　recognize　me；　and　I　was　certainly　surprised　by　Quebec。　When　I　had　left　it；　the　fortress　had　seemed　vast　and　majestic。　Now　it　seemed　like　a　large　toy　edifice　out　of　Disneyland。　Where　it　had　been　awesome；　I　found；　irreverently；　that　it　looked　made　out　of　papier…maché。　And　the　giant　battles　between　the　faiths；　in　which　I　had　once　thought　myself　to　be　on　the　point　of　being　crushed；　and　the　deep　schisms　between　the　Canadiennes　and　the　rest；　were　now　reduced；　with　my　new　perspective；　to　parish…pump　squabbling。　Half　ashamed；　I　found　myself　contemptuous　of　the　screaming　provincialism　of　the　town；　of　the　dowdy　peasants　who　lived　in　it；　and　of　the　all…pervading　fog　of　snobbery　and　petit　bourgeoisie。　No　wonder；　a　child　of　all　this；　that　I　had　been　ill　equipped　for　the　great　world　outside！　The　marvel　was　that　I　had　survived　at　all。
　I　was　careful　to　keep　these　thoughts　from　my　aunt；　though　1　suspect　that　she　was　just　as　startled　and　perhaps　shocked　by　the　gloss　that　my　〃finishing〃　in　Europe　had　achieved。　She　must　have　found　me　very　much　the　town　mouse；　however　gangling　and　simple　I　might　feel　inside；　and　she　plied　me　with　questions　to　discover　how　the　gloss　went；　how　much　I　had　been　sullied　by　the　fast　life　I　must　have　led。　She　would　have　fainted　at　the　truth；　and　I　was　careful　to　say　that；　while　there　had　been　flirtations；　I　had　returned　unharmed　and　heart…whole　from　the　scarlet　cities　across　the　water。　No；　there　had　not　even　been　a　temporary　engagement。　No　lord；　not　even　a　moner；　I　could　truthfully　say；　had　proposed　to　me；　and　I　had　left　no　boy…friend　behind。　I　don't　think　she　believed　this。　She　was　plimentary　about　my　looks。　I　had　bee　〃une　belle　fille。〃　It　seemed　that　I　had　developed　〃beaucoup　de　tempérament〃…a　French　euphemism　for　〃sex　appeal〃…or　at　any　rate　the　appearance　of　it；　and　it　seemed　incredible　to　her　that　at　twenty…three　there　was　no　man　in　my　life。　She　was　horrified　at　my　plans　and　painted　a　doomful　picture　of　the　dangers　that　awaited　me　on　the　road。　America　was　full　of　gangsters。　I　would　be　knocked　down　on　the　highway　and　〃ravagée。〃　Anyway　it　was　unladylike　to　travel　on　a　scooter。　She　hoped　that　I　would　be　careful　to　ride　sidesaddle。　I　explained　that　my　Vespa　was　a　most　respectable　machine　and；　when　I　went　to　Montreal　and；　thrilling　with　every　mile；　rode　it　back　to　the　house；　in　my　full　regalia；　she　was　slightly　mollified；　while　menting　dubiously　that　I　would　〃faire　sensation。〃
　And　then；　on　September　the　fifteenth；　I　drew　a　thousand　dollars　in　American　Express　travelers'　checks　from　my　small　bank　balance；　scientifically　packed　my　saddlebags　with　what　I　thought　would　be　a　minimum　wardrobe；　kissed　Aunt　Florence　good…by；　and　set　off　down　the　Saint　Lawrence　on　Route　2。
　Route　2　from　Quebec　southward　to　Montreal　could　be　one　of　the　most　beautiful　roads　in　the　world　if　it　weren't　for　the　clutter　of　villas　and　bathing　huts　that　have　mushroomed　along　it　since　the　war。　It　follows　the　great　river　exactly；　clinging　to　the　north　bank；　and　I　knew　it　well　from　bathing　picnics　as　a　child。　But　the　Saint　Lawrence　Seaway　had　been　opened　since　then；　and　the　steady　stream　of　big　ships　with　their　thudding　engines　and　haunting　sirens　and　whistles　were　a　new　thrill。
　The　Vespa　hummed　happily　along　at　about　forty。　I　had　decided　to　stick　to　an　average　daily　run　of　between　a　hundred　and　fifty　and　two　hundred　miles；　or　about　six　hours'　actual　driving；　but　I　had　no　intention　of　being　bound　by　any　schedule。　I　wanted　to　see　everything。　If　there　was　an　intriguing　side　road；　I　would　go　up　it；　and；　if　I　came　to　a　beautiful　or　interesting　place；　I　would　stop　and　look　at　it。
　A　good　invention　in　Canada　and　the　northern　part　of　the　States　is　the　〃picnic　area〃…clearings　carved　out　of　the　forest　or　beside　a　lake　or　river；　with　plenty　of　isolated　rough…hewn　benches　and　tables　tucked　away　among　the　trees　for　privacy。　I　proposed　to　use　these　for　luncheon　every　day　when　it　wasn't　raining；　not　buying　expensive　foods　at　stores；　but　making　egg…and…bacon　sandwiches　on　toast　before　I　left　each　night's　motel。　They；　with　fruit　and　a　Thermos　of　coffee；　would　be　my　midday　meal　and　I　would　make　up　each　evening　with　a　good　dinner。　I　budgeted　for　a　daily　expenditure　of　fifteen　dollars。　Most　motels　cost　eight　dollars　single；　but　there　are　state　taxes　added；　so　I　made　it　nine　plus　coffee　and　a　roll　for　breakfast。　Gas　would　not　be　more　than　a　dollar　a　day；　and　that　left　five　for　luncheon　and　dinner；　an　occasional　drink；　and　the　few　cigarettes　I　smoked。　I　wanted　to　try　and　keep　inside　this。　The　Esso　map　and　route　I　had；　and　the　A。A。A。　literature；　listed　countless　sights　to　see　after　I　had　crossed　the　border…I　would　be　going　right　through　the　Indian　country　of　Fennimore　Cooper；　and　then　across　some　of　the　great　battlefields　of　the　American　Revolution；　for　instance…and　many　of　them　cost　around　a　dollar　entrance　fee。　But　I　thought　I　would　get　by；　and　if　on　some　days　I　didn't；　I　would　eat　less　on　others。
　The　Vespa　was　far　more　stable　than　I　had　expected　and　wonderfully　easy　to　run。　As　I　got　better　at　the　twist…grip　gears；　I　began　really　to　drive　the　little　machine　instead　of　just　riding　on　it。　The　acceleration…up　to　fifty　in　twenty　seconds…was　good　enough　to　give　the　ordinary　American　sedan　quite　a　shock；　and　I　soared　up　hills　like　a　bird　with　the　exhaust　purring　sweetly　under　my　tail。　Of　course　I　had　to　put　up　with　a　good　deal　of　wolf…whistling　from　the　young；　and　grinning　and　handwaving　from　the　old；　but　I'm　afraid　I　rather　enjoyed　being　something　of　the　sensation　my　aunt　had　predicted；　and　I　smiled　with　varying　sweetness　at　all　and　sundry。　The　shoulders　of　most　North　American　roads　are　bad；　and　I　had　been　afraid　that　people　would　crowd　my　tiny　machine　and　that　I　would　be　in　constant　trouble　with　potholes；　but　I　suppose　I　looked　such　a　fragile　little　outfit　that　other　drivers　gave　me　a　wide　berth；　and　I　usually　had　the　whole　of　the　inside　lane　of　the　highway　to　myself。
　Things　went　so　well　that　first　day　that　I　managed　to　get　through　Montreal　before　nightfall　and　twenty　miles　on　down　Route　9　that　would　take　me　over　the　border　into　New　York　State　the　next　morning。　I　put　up　at　a　place　called　The　Southern　Trail　Motel；　where　I　was　treated　as　if　I　was　Amelia　Earhart　or　Amy　Mollison…a　rather　pleasurable　routine　that　I　became　accustomed　to…and；　after　a　square　meal　in　the　cafeteria　and　the　shy　acceptance　of　one　drink　with　the　proprietor；　I　retired　to　bed　feeling　excited　and　happy。　It　had　been　a　long　and　wonderful　day。　The　Vespa　was　a　dream；　and　my　whole　plan　was　working　out　fine。
　I　had　taken　one　day　to　do　the　first　two　hundred　miles。　I　took　nearly　two　weeks　to　cover　the　next　two　hundred　and　fifty。　There　was　no　mystery　about　it。　Once　over　the　American　border；　I　began　to　wander　around　the　Adirondacks　as　if　I　was　on　a　late　summer　holiday。　I　won't　go　into　details　since　this　is　not　a　travelogue；　but　there　was　hardly　an　old　fort；　museum；　waterfall；　cave；　or　high　mountain　I　didn't　visit…not　to　mention　the　dreadful　〃Storylands；〃　〃Adventure　Towns；〃　and　mock　〃Indian　Reservations〃　that　got　my　dollar。　I　just　went　on　a　kind　of　sightseeing　splurge　that　was　part　genuine　curiosity　but　mostly　wanting　to　put　off　the　day　when　I　would　have　to　leave　these　lakes　and　rivers　and　forests　and　hurry　on　south　to　the　harsh　Eldollarado　of　the　superhighways；　the　hot…dog　stands；　and　the　ribboning　lights　of　neon。
　It　was　at　the　end　of　these　two　weeks　that　I　found　myself　at　Lake　George；　the　dreadful　hub　of　tourism　in　the　Adirondacks　that　has　somehow　managed　to　turn　the　history　and　the　forests　and　the　wildlife　into　honkytonk。　Apart　from　the　rather　imposing　stockade　fort　and　the　harmless　steamers　that　ply　up　to　Fort　Ticonderoga　and　back；　the　rest　is　a　gimcrack　nightmare　of　concrete　gnomes；　Bambi　deer　and　toadstools；　shoddy　food　stalls　selling　〃Big　Chief　Hamburgers〃　and　〃Minnehaha　Candy　Floss；〃　and　〃Attractions〃　such　as　〃Animal　Land〃　（〃Visitors　may　hold　and　photograph　costumed　chimps〃）；　〃Gaslight　Village〃　（〃Genuine　1890　gas…lighting）；　and　〃Storytown　USA　〃　a　terrify