***
I awoke briefly as the Slipstream Green jet fell into a holding pattern several thousand feet above Madrid, circling for almost an hour before Captain Cadieux announced he had given up any hope of landing. We would push onto Casablanca and leave those on the ground to their own traveling devices. Ethelene prattled on about her fundraising work in Southeast Asia, occasionally applying a sharp elbow to my ribcage. I, on the other hand, allowed my subconscious mind to process Final drive! Carthage links. The possibilities considered were plentiful and a few of keen interest. Tunis might very well serve as the arena for the Bridgework solution.
The jolt of touchdown in Casablanca a little over an hour later blew out two -- if not three -- of the jet's massive rubber tires, evoking a stream of laughter from behind the cockpit door and dissolving my pleasant reverie of conquering the stage alongside Barrymore. The plane screeched and bucked, careening wildly as it skidded along the runway until dropping off the pavement and imbedding its smoldering landing gear into the soft muck and reeds a half mile from the terminal.
"Way to go, team!" The silence was broken by an applauding flight attendant, exuberant in her cheering as she kicked items of strewn luggage down the aisle. "How to bring it home! Now, collect your belongings and get off of here!"
"How?" I made the mistake of asking the question those around me were too stunned to put forward. "Where?"
Within an instant of grasping my valise and attaché I was being guided headfirst down the inflatable evacuation slide with a forceful shove, ending up in a thicket of cattails. Before rising to my senses and removing myself as a blockage, Ethelene plowed into my exposed backside and tumbled over my shoulders. Knowing who was next in line, I scrambled quickly to avoid the strapping Aundybach, rolling on my side while pulling Ethelene from harm's way. The able Pat indeed appeared, in full war cry, gaining the upper hand on the officious attendant with a complicated, yet effective, stepover toehold facelock. Riding the momentum of the pitch, he held his kneeling position intact until the final second before releasing her into the wetlands.
"I told you, keep your hands off Baron!"
"Thanks, Pat," I tendered, yanking the suddenly reticent Ethelene into an upright position, her hair, face and dress smattered with filth. "Let me check the situation with the flight crew. Be back in a moment."
With Ethelene in tow, I selected a good size rock and squarely nailed the cockpit window broadside on my first attempt. A smiling Captain Cadieux slid open the main side panel.
"Yes? What is it, valued customer?"
"Captain, what's the likelihood of our reaching Tunis on schedule?"
"Who's the trollop on your arm, sir?"
"This, my good man," I said, searching Ethelene's dazed expression for a believable explanation, "this is my mother."
"My apologies, valued sir. I mistook her for a floozy."
"Not to worry. It happens more often than I'd like." I gripped Ethelene's cheek between my thumb and forefinger, giving her a good shake so that some color began to show. "Now, capable aviator, about Tunis."
"Much disappointment there, sir customer."
"How so?"
"We have one problem. Out of fuel. We stay in Casablanca."
"What? Out of fuel? That's it?" I slipped my hands under Ethelene's arms, bolting her to attention with a hearty jiggle. "What about the tires? And being stuck in the mud?"
"No concern. Been there, done that. All the time." He paused to light a cigar. "Fuel's a different animal of another color. A whole other mindset. Keeps us in the air like birds."
"Very well, then. Any additional flights to Tunis?"
"Sorry. Can't help you there, valued consumer. This window's closed."
And so it was. I gathered the collapsible Ethelene and made our way back to the evacuation area where Pat waited for us. "Out of fuel," I said, watching the remaining passengers issue from the open door like preprinted diplomas from a life-skills online degree mill.
"That'll do it."
"Grab my gear?" Thankfully, Pat traveled as lightly as I did. "I'll escort Ethelene until she comes to her senses."
"Not a problem."
Joining a string of our fellow travelers, we tread nomadically across the muck, sand and hot-top to the terminal that seemed, given our weary and beaten condition, to be nothing but a watery mirage floating on the horizon.
Baril de Singes [Barrel of Monkeys] Page 41
