Author’s Note: I started with an idea that popped into me on the first page. Then I let the story take me on a journey. Hope you enjoy the journey.
*****
I don’t like puddle jumpers. Unfortunately, they’re a part of my life. When you travel around the world looking for unique products to excite Americans, you have to accept some risks. A small plane with duct tape seats is one of them. Pilots with questionable credentials are another problem. Today I gambled on a twin-engine propeller plane that was in desperate need of a paint job.
The pilot kept smiling and nodding as I boarded the plane. His English is very poor. My knowledge of Azerbaijan is even weaker. Earlier in the morning, I had been separated from my translator because he had not accompanied me to Russia. Hilal has been invaluable when I was looking for a rug manufacturer to suit the tastes of my discerning clients. His ability to convey meaning in translation is rare. Most of the translators I work with can only think in one language, which always leads to misunderstandings. Hilal understands the nuances of both languages and selects words that convey the true intent and meaning, at least in English.
The plane seats eight passengers, four on each side of the aisle. I sat in the back seat, hoping for a private break. My body clock is still messed up with time, and I learned quickly to nap whenever I could. I saw two older gentlemen board the plane. They were dressed in old suits and looked like they were part of Al Capone’s gang. Like everyone else in the country, they smiled at me and I smiled back. Here, it feels like a greeting, although a practiced smile that means nothing. They sat in the front seat which gave me the hope of the privacy I wanted.
The trip was a success. With Hilal’s help, I found a manufacturer of high-quality handmade rugs with intricate designs and densities up to 60 x 60 knots. As far as I know, they only use spring sheared wool, which gives the rugs a softer texture. This makes them even more expensive. One might think that people in far-flung parts of the world would not understand the price Americans are willing to pay for quality. The conversation proved this theory wrong. They also have a good grasp on marketing. They have a small label on the bottom that includes the artist’s embossed signature. The signature includes the family crest passed down from generation to generation, ensuring authenticity. This is highly profitable for their company and for me.
I saw a slender woman board the boat with a small child. She held him tightly to her chest; his legs hadn’t yet reached her hips. He looked like he was sleeping and I wanted him to stay asleep. He had soft black hair that hung down his back in natural waves. I could see the tension in his eyes, a sign that he had had a tough morning. As she sat down in the seat in front of me, she sighed contentedly and confirmed my hypothesis. The slight smell of baby powder wafted back to my seat. So happy.
I was three days away from Kimberly. Seeing my mother in front of me somehow brought this idea to mind. She was about the same size as Kimberly. Her hair wasn’t like Kimberly’s short brown hair, but she was about the same age. If it were Kimberly, she would be holding a baby too.
Kimberly is my secret. She is a joy in town and the embodiment of passion in bed. If that was life I would have married her long ago. She or we have failed miserably at the minuses of life. The parts that make up most of life. I miss her but at the same time I don’t miss her. I loved her for a while.
Four years later, we have grown accustomed to each other and endure silence as atonement for the good times we knew. I couldn’t bear to marry someone I had struggled with all my life. I also couldn’t bear to break up. Then, sitting on the plane, I remembered him.
The pilot, dressed in sleek overalls, closed the door and clenched his fists at his waist. A common international gesture for fastening the seat belt. He smiled and said something in Azerbaijani and looked at me.
The pilot said in thickly accented English, “We are leaving now.” I nodded and he seemed happy that I understood. He turned around, lowered his head and entered the cockpit. This was what his flight safety briefing was all about. The engine struggled to start, coughed, and then let out a loud roar followed by uncomfortable white smoke.
The child woke up startled and raised his head from his mother’s shoulder. He was surprised by his surroundings and fixed his gaze on me. I thought I saw fear, so I smiled. His mother patted him on the back and he quickly hid his face in her shoulder. The plane started flying forward.
Takeoff went more smoothly than I expected. The pilot was obviously very skilled, although he seemed more like a mechanic. We were climbing steadily and I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Now that we are in the air, the engines seem more comfortable and more confident. I let them lull me to sleep.
++++++++++++++++++++++
The alarm clock woke me up rudely. I reached out like at home and found a window instead of a place to nap. I opened my eyes and realized the plane was climbing rapidly. The alarm kept ringing and the plane climbed rapidly. I looked outside and saw nothing but thick white clouds. I heard the pilot yelling. It sounded like encouragement, not instructions. He was yelling at his plane, not at us.
My hands gripped the armrest tightly and the mother in front of me screamed loudly. She got no response and her child kept staring at me over her shoulder. He looked more curious than scared. As soon as we came out of the clouds, I forced a smile at him.
“Fuck!” I yelled when I saw the trees. I could count the branches. Mom screamed, and there was a horrible sound of the left engine breaking into the treetops and violent vibrations in the cabin. For a second, I saw the baby break free from his mother’s arms and fly toward the front of the cabin before his head hit the seat in front of me. I don’t know anything else.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
The cold jolted me awake. I found myself lying on my side in the seat, the seat belt and armrest digging into my hips. The strong smell of freshly cut evergreens was out of place. The breeze made me feel the same way. It was hard to keep my eyes open. The sun, though obscured by clouds, was still too bright for my aching eyes. I spent a lot of time blinking to adjust my vision. The view was surreal.
I lay down in front of the window at the side of the cabin. The other side of the plane was missing, the ceiling and floor were unevenly broken. The seat in front of me was intact. The ceiling was now made of large coniferous trees. Their broken branches lay in my lap. I could not see any trace of the cockpit or the other side of the plane. It was as if parts of my plane had been peeled off and put aside.
I pushed away from the window and unbuckled my seat belt. I slowly moved between the seats, dragging some branches with me, and climbed from the metal onto the cold, hard natural surface. My throat filled with bile as I stood. The world, not completely still, likes to spin in that moment. I grabbed the bottom of my seat and let that feeling take over me.
Strangely, the next thing I notice is silence. I expected fire and explosions, but I only hear the whisper of the wind in the trees. The air is cool and crisp. I stand up straight and vacate my seat. My head hurts. I reach out and find a lump the size of half a golf ball on my right temple. I remember hitting the seat in front of me. Apparently this was the cause of my balance problems.
I turned around and looked at the rest of the plane. I couldn’t see anything but trees, their dense foliage obscuring anything for about twenty feet. I started checking off my list of things I should do. It’ll take a few hours for someone to come get us, maybe a day after they find us. I wonder why I’m not dead.
“Hello,” my voice was strong but hoarse. Gathering everyone was the first thing on the list. “Hey,” I yelled after coughing up some phlegm. The greeting was followed by a moment of silence. A horrible thought came to my mind. “Hello,” I called. Quiet. The cold felt even worse.
I walked forward, towards where the front of the plane once was. The mother had no children, her eyes were closed and there was blood on her face. The memory of the flying boy came back. I quickly looked forward again. Just trees. No boy.
Crawling I reached down to the woman’s neck and tried to check her pulse. Nothing but warm skin. I checked my neck. No pulse. Watching too many movies and not practising. I moved my fingers a few times, gave up and tried my wrist. I felt my pulse and did the same for the woman. She was alive and her heart was beating steadily.
I left the woman in her seat and moved to the seat next to hers. It was as empty as it had been when we took off. The seat in front of me made me gag. I looked at him again, then leaned over, quickly losing the little snack we had eaten before leaving. There’s no reason to check for a pulse. A large portion of the old man’s face is cut off and missing in the car accident. I can only hope it’s instantaneous. I quickly turn away and wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve.
“Hello,” I called again. This time, my despair grew even greater. I prayed I would hear the voice of a little boy, though the memory of him leaving his mother’s arms gave me little hope. Once again, there was no response other than the sound of the wind in the forest.
I climbed onto the edge of the seat, facing my mom. I shook her shoulders, lifted her arms up and mumbled something like, “Are you OK?” No response. I had to get her out of that seat. It felt wrong to leave her there. I found the seat belt and unbuckled it. She slid toward the window, her body swaying with gravity.
I went behind the seat and tried to help him up. After several failed attempts, I realized I had no effect. I had to stand at his window and hold him upright. I moved around carefully, cutting off large branches as I went. I got down on my knees, put my arms under his arms and lifted him up. Half pulling, half lifting, I got back on natural ground and pulled his legs between the seats. I laid him down on the ground and hit him in the head harder than I had intended.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized, even though she was unconscious and unaware of my efforts. I straightened her legs and then sat down near her head and pulled her up to her feet. There was a shallow wound above her hairline that was bleeding. I touched her head carefully and found a large lump behind her right ear. I suspect that’s why she is quiet. I sat there, gently stroking her hair, hoping she would wake up and share the disaster.
The ground slopes gradually. Up behind me, toward the row of seats. My legs were dangling down. If we lay in the wreckage or in what remained of the wreckage, it would be easier for others to find us. If not, going down seemed more reasonable than going up. I looked up at the sky, or where it passed through the trees. I didn’t have high hopes for the effectiveness of an aerial search. Maybe the rest of the plane, wherever it was, was more obvious. It couldn’t be too far away.
I regained my coherent thoughts and pulled my phone out of my pocket. My usual bar was replaced with “no service.”
The cold of the ground and the chill of the air are worrisome. I thought maybe we’d be stuck outside overnight. The temperature only drops once the sun goes down. I had to find a place to block the wind and try to keep our heat. Maybe make a fire. Watching Tom Hanks jump around in “Havoc” brought a smile to my face.
“Ma’am,” I told the patient casually, “we need shelter. I’ll keep you here and see what I can do. I suspect you might smell like air freshener when we’re done. The pine needles will eventually become our mattress. The woman ignored me and didn’t laugh at my humor. That’s a bad sign for us sleeping together.”
“I’ll be right back.” I said, carefully placing his head on the ground. I didn’t want to leave him there, but I couldn’t take him exploring. I walked around the trees, perpendicular to the slope. I turned back to my seat and they were out of sight. I took a deep breath and walked back to the woman. I couldn’t go very far, maybe 100 yards in each direction. Everything looked the same and the chances of getting lost were high. I tried the phone again but no success.
I decided to search in a series of four straight lines. Up, down, both ways. A brief search so I wouldn’t get lost. Soon the climb became steep. It didn’t take me long to decide that crawling wasn’t worth it. The trees seemed to overlook the slope, they were getting so tall I could barely stand up without their help. Where I first searched, I found two suitcases. Neither of these were mine, but they were both in perfect condition and had suffered very little damage other than any scratches they might have received at the airport. I pulled them back into their seats. The woman was still lying unconscious.
The descent brought surprises. A clearing appeared in front of me, which excited me. At first I thought it was a road, maybe a river or a lake. I slowed down because low trees blocked my view. The fear of heights overcame me and I couldn’t reach the edge. I clung to a sturdy tree and stared down into the abyss, not daring to look down. In the vastness of space, miles away, mountains rose just like the one I was standing on now. We probably crashed in the Caucasus.
Thinking about it makes me sick. The chances of a rescue on the ground are slim. Parts of the plane could have crashed into the valley below, making aerial visibility even more limited at our location. I leaned over and tried to see how steep the slope was. I couldn’t see the edge of the cliff, and the slope made further investigation impossible. I made a new rule; no walking around at night.
I turned back to my only friend, sat down and sighed. “We might be in trouble,” I told him, “Looks like it’ll take a while for someone to find us.” I looked at his face and saw no reaction. I hope it’s not as bad for him as I thought. “I did a quick search and found nothing but trees and rocks. I guess we’ll have to sleep under the evergreens tonight and tomorrow I can talk football.”
My barely used cell phone told me it was three in the afternoon. I decided to get started. I chose a large tree with low-hanging branches near my seat. Underneath, I found a thick layer of pine needles. I don’t know where I got the idea that they would be comfortable. They were all dried up and often stung me. Still, it’s the only ingredient I have.
The wind picked up as I backed out of the tree, breaking a few twigs to make room. Rip is the right word. The plants were so green they snapped and then broke, leaving little marks of bare wood and sticky sap.
“I need to gather some branches to shelter from the wind,” I told my silent companion. I don’t know why I informed him. I knew I didn’t want to be out there alone, and it was better than talking to myself. Small trees provide easily accessible branches and strong needles. These needles are softer and less brittle. They can form the basis of a future bed if necessary.
I used loose branches, laid them on live branches, and wove them together. I made the walls and roof of a small hut big enough for two people and about three feet high. It took about two hours and left my hands soaked with sticky sap. I decided to use a suitcase as a door.
When I was done I went back to the woman. She didn’t move. I lowered my head to make sure she was still breathing. I smiled as I heard her slow, steady breathing. It sounded like she was asleep rather than unconscious. No labored breathing, just light breaths.
“Well, honey,” I said, laughing, “this is the first time in my life that I’ve dragged a woman into my bed unwillingly.” I thought about it for a moment. “Of course, I’ll have to tell you a name. I can’t imagine sleeping with someone who doesn’t at least know the name.” I looked at her silent face, so calm even in the face of danger. Her skin looked soft, but paler than I expected. I put the back of my hand on her cheek. She was much colder than I thought.
“Dorothy,” I said, standing up, “this is certainly closer to Oz than anywhere else, so unless you say otherwise, your name is Dorothy.” I turned her on her side and returned her to a nearly sitting position. I hooked my arm underneath her from behind and lifted her up. I tried to keep a moderate grip and stay away from her breasts, but gravity stopped me. “I’m sorry, Dorothy,” I whispered, walking backward toward the makeshift cabin.
Getting him in was harder than I thought. It was better to put him in first and then build the structure around him. I damaged the right wall that let him in, but it was easy to rebuild. I put his head on the pine needles, wishing I had thought of a pillow first. I broke free and crawled backwards.
The first suitcase was locked, and I was not yet ready to open the lock. As far as I know the owner is doing the same thing as us. The second suitcase opened wide and contained a man’s clothes. I hope it is the one I left on the chair because he no longer needs it. A set of cardigans makes the most sense. I folded one, climbed back into the cabin and put it under Dorothy’s head. I left the other on myself. I got out and checked the rest of my clothes.
Nothing of value suddenly attracted me. Pants and shirts cannot be used as blankets. I would prefer not to wear underwear. If it is really cold, socks as well as gloves can come in handy. I crumpled both pairs into a ball and threw them inside. It would be nice to find a blanket or a big coat. I closed the suitcase and left the rest of my clothes inside.
More time was wasted looking for what was left in the seats and cabin. I couldn’t find anything that could be used as a blanket. I thought about opening the suitcase lock first. I shook my head and decided that if it was a second night, the lock would be gone. For now, I’ll let the lock do its job.
It was dark as I gathered more fresh branches covered with soft needles. I would create a natural blanket to keep us warm, and I’m sure it would make us sticky. I crawled back into our little home and pulled the branch in. I closed one end of the suitcase and spread the makeshift blanket as far as I could. If either of us rolled over, the thermal properties would disappear.
“Goodnight, Dorothy,” I whispered, resting my head on the woolen pillow. Dorothy didn’t reply, so I drew my ear closer to hear her breathing. The reassurance that she was alive made me braver than I really was. I want her to stay like this. I’m not sure I could handle it on my own. Saving her gave me the mission I needed and kept my head in an even position.
I woke up when it was still dark. My chest and arms were shaking. It was colder than I expected. I put my hands under my arms and tried to warm them. The wind blew through the walls and blew away our heat. Thinking of socks, I reached under the needle rug and dug around until I found them. I quickly put on a pair for myself to warm my hands.
