Celan eyes his father's profile, gauging. Robert adds, half-turning in his seat, slipping in a quick wink: It's even kind of fun. Like making your own 7-Up. Nadi says: Gross! Robert laughs. With great caution, clutching the water bottle, Celan begins maneuvering over the backseat into the tight cargo space with the treasure-trove suitcase for a little privacy. You make a move to pass a slower car ahead of you and the change in momentum takes Celan's legs out from under him. Ack! he grunts, going down. Sorry! you call. You okay, sweetie? Robert says: Not to worry, sport! It's just like playing a game. You're the Green Berets behind enemy lines. You're on a top-secret mission. Unsettled, Celan slowly regains his equilibrium, carefully wedges himself into a corner for support, squats daintily. In the middle of this process, he catches your eye in the rearview mirror. Mah-ahmmm! You say: Sorry, pumpkin! You're doing super! You think about how bad he will be at some things in life. Robert says: Take your time, buddy. Take all the time you need. Nadi says: How come I can't pee-pee in a bottle? You say: We're almost out of gas. We're going to have to stop soon. Nayomi says: We'll be fine. Robert says: How, exactly, will we be fine? I'm just wondering. How, exactly, will we be fine? Nadi says: I have to go. Nayomi says: I thought my princess didn't have to. Nadi says: I didn't, but now I do. Nayomi says: Just think of something else, munchkin. Celan says: What are you guys talking about? You shout back: Nothing, sweetie! You just do what you've got to do. Nadi says: I have to go. Nayomi says: My little princess can wait a little longer, can't she? Robert says: My daughter has to pee, for godsakes. Give us a break. Nadi says: How come Cel gets to go and I don't? Nayomi repeats, almost under her breath: They don't have to know about any of this. Less softly, Robert says: Fuck you. Nadi cries out gleefully: Daddy used the F-word! You say: Daddy ALWAYS uses the F-word — even though he knows Mommy doesn't like it. Celan calls out from the cargo space: I spilled a little. I didn't mean to. You say: That's fine, honey. We'll clean it up later. Celan says: It's on the rug. Robert says: That's what rental cars are for. Spill some more. Go ahead. Laughing, Nayomi says: Now you're getting it. And to Nadi: When I was a little girl? Know what I used to do? Celan says: But it's on the rug. You say: Just do the best you can. Nayomi says: I used to see how many cars I could count while holding my breath. Let's do that. Shall we? Nadi shakes her head yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. She sucks in a lungful of air, commences. You see Nayomi pop something into her mouth. This time a whole handful of pills, like a handful of M&Ms, some the color of water in Californian swimming pools, some the color of cotton candy. Celan calls out: I'm done! Robert says: Thatta boy! Now screw the top back on and just leave it there. We'll get it later. Celan says: Just leave it? You say: Just leave it, Cel. Celan says: But it'll roll around. To Nayomi, you say: Please. You don't think about saying it beforehand. You simply find yourself in the middle of saying it. Robert looks over at you. You stare straight ahead and say: I don't know how to say this except to say this. But please. Think about what you're doing. You know what you have to say will have zero effect. You always wondered why people even bothered with such gestures in the movies. Now you know. Nayomi says: It wasn't Munich, exactly. Robert says: What? Nayomi says: Where I grew up. It wasn't Munich. I lied. It was Köln. Cologne. I don't know why I said Munich. Maybe I just like big cities. You say: It doesn't matter. Just… Nayomi says: My parents are VERY upper middleclass, you know? They have everything a pair of overachieving reactionaries could want. Nice flat in the city. Summer house in Provence. BMW. Stupid little schnauzer that farts too much because they feed it fancy salami. But they wouldn't even help me pay for university. They wouldn't even do that much for their daughter. You say: Let's pull over. Just long enough to let the kids out. That's all I'm asking. Nayomi says: Daddy's an investment banker. A good Catholic investment banker. You know, the kind that collaborated with the Nazis. You say: What do you have to gain? Nayomi says: He told me I needed to learn to appreciate the value of money. So I ended up working in this used bookstore in Düsseldorf. He could have paid. It would have been loose change for him. But he refused. You say: Please. Nayomi. Nayomi says: It was a groovy place. Don't get me wrong. Wall-to-wall books, this amazing smell of knowledge, lots of people who cared about ideas rather than things. But the hours were killing me. That's when I met Renato That guy who just walked in one day? He really did just walk in and everything, only not into a café, not in Munich, and he wasn't wearing a suit. You say: Nayomi… Nayomi says: I dropped out and moved down here to be with him. He has this fantastic apartment in Travestere. Very quaint. Very Italian. It instantly felt like where I should be. You say: Nayomi, please. Just listen. Nayomi says: He was the guy pumping gas on the other side of the island from where you were pumping gas. The light green Fiat? Remember? Robert glances at you. You glance at Robert. You feel beaten. Nayomi goes on: You see how handsome he was? He's almost thirty. Mega geil. And he cares about the future. Most people don't, but Renato does. Your eyes begin filling with tears. Nayomi says: Maybe you can see him behind us. He's somewhere back there, following to make sure things go off okay. I love him so much. He made me think about things the university was scared to make me think about. He showed me how almost everybody is content to go around complaining about how things never change, but they never lift a finger to fix them. Complaining is always easier than doing. But you know something? Just a few people with conviction can make a difference. They can. Really. You probably don't believe me. You think I'm naïve. You think I'm an idealist. But think of Lenin. Trotsky. You feel the first tear slip down your cheek, catch on the corner of your mouth. Your nose begins running. The highway begins liquefying. You try to stop, but you can't. Down deep, Nayomi says, everyone wants to be free, nicht wahr? Everyone wants to determine their own destiny. Only most people don't even know it. Or maybe they just don't want to bother. They want others to tell them what to do so they can spend their lives kvetching about it and buying all that Scheiße they see on TV. It's going to take time. Time and action. But at some point you've got to stop kvetching. You've got to start just doing. I know you think I sound like everyone under thirty sounds. Hippie romantics, nicht? But you're wrong, like they were about Lenin. It's going to be different. Like Renato says… Hey, up there! Up there! You see it?