Heaven Has No Favourites [antikvár]

Clerfayt pulled in at a petrol station where the snow had been cleared away, and blew the horn. Crows were cawing noisily around the telephone poles, and in the small workshop behind the pumps someone was hammering away at sheet metál. The hammering stopped, and a boy of sixteen emerged. He wore a red sweater and steel-rimmed glasses. cFill her up,' Clerfayt said, getting out. 'High-test?5 'Yes. Anywhere to eat here?5 The boy jerked his thumb towards the other side of the road. 'Over there. They were serving Bemer Platté for lunch. Want me to take off the chains?5 'Why?5 'The road is even icier farther up.5 'All the way up the pass ?5 'You can't drive over the pass. It5s been closed again since yesterday. Report from the automobilé club. With a low sports car like this one, you5d never make it anyhow.5 'Really ?5 Clerfayt said. 'You arouse my curiosity.5 'And you arouse mine,5 the boy replied. The air in the restaurant was stale, smelling of old beer and a long winter. Clerfayt ordered Bündner Fleisch, bread, cheese, and a carafe of Aigle. He had the girl bring his meal out to the terrace. It was not very cold outside. The sky was vast and gentian blue. 'Want me to hose down the buggy?5 the boy called across from the service station. 'It damn well needs it.5 'Never mind. Just clean the windscreen.5 The car had not been washed for a long time, and showed it. A torrential rain beyond Aix had caked the red dust of the