On the Way Back

by Montague Kobbé

  Don’ take it personally, nuh, we all been too stressy-stressy dem last few weeks. I get the feeling Sheila is no longer talking about SamB. Is she talking about herself? Is she talking about her relationship with Nathe? I don’t want to think about Nathe tonight. I just don’t want to think.

  What have you been stressed about, Sheila? I didn’t want to meet Sheila here tonight, but now that she’s here we might as well make the most of the situation. She talks about routes, about prospects, about pieces of luggage left behind in some island or another.

  You really don’ t’ink we should buy dem big planes? Oh God, let me forget, please let me forget, just leave me alone and stop talking about this stupid airline.

  “Dem big planes,” Sheila, will be the end of us. You can mark my words. I shake my head, eyes fixed on the empty glass in front of me, and ask for another rum-and-Coke.

  Sheila grabs Angie by the wrist amicably, gives her an affectionate look, asks for a daiquiri. Christ, this woman is beautiful! She knows it as well, she just cannot help it. But Sheila is not teasing me tonight. As a matter of fact, I don’t think Sheila is any happier to see me here than I was when I first saw her walk through the door. Why is she uneasy? Was she hoping to meet someone else here tonight? Maybe that someone else will still show up. Maybe she doesn’t want me to see her with that other person.

  Let’s not talk about business, Sheila, okay? Let’s just talk about something else.

  She’s startled by my comment. I’ve interrupted her midsentence and the silence that follows gives away the fact that we only have two things in common, and I don’t want to think about one of them or talk about the other.

  I’m drinking these too quickly. Are you alright, Dragon?

  Am I alright? I just want another rum-and-Coke, Angie, please. Am I alright? No, Sheila, I’m not alright and you are not either. Why do you ask? Can you help, Sheila, if I’m not? I feel the anger brewing inside my chest, I see the situation developing long before it gets that far, but something tells me to keep going, something doesn’t let me stop. Are you still having fun, Sheila? Now that she has a reason to be serious, she looks less uncomfortable. She doesn’t seem upset—there’s certainly none of the anger brewing inside my chest in her expression—but she no longer needs to pretend. She sips her daiquiri solemnly, not restlessly, like it’s a duty to be taken seriously, even though she knows there is no respite to be found in it. I mean, that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Just a bit of fun, and she asks if I mean, life. Do I mean life? What do I mean? And what does she? No, I didn’t mean life, I was talking about something simpler, but never mind. The rum is getting to my head. I should have gone easier on the booze. Oh well, too late now. I was talking about you and me, Sheila, you and me, here, tonight. Tonight and some other night. Some other night, like the other night. You remember the other night, Sheila?

  What other night? How do you mean? She’s good, this woman. What other night? Good, good. Very good.

  The other night, by the bonfire, under the starlit sky, dancing to the music, that was fun, right? That was fun. That was lovely. You are lovely, Sheila. But you know that. Of course you know that. Why wouldn’t you know that?

  You need to go home, Dragon.

  I need to go home. Do I? I’ll go home if you take me, hun, that’s for sure. You want to go home with me? C’mon, just come with me. I’ll treat you right, I’ll make you feel like a lady, not like the whore that you are. I’ll take you home, let’s go, and she looks at me with emotion—there is something in the glint of her eyes, something deep, something powerful, there is a passion to be found there, and I don’t mean lust. I don’t mean anger either. The anger is all stored up inside my chest, brewing, simmering, waiting to erupt. What is it, Sheila, that hides behind your eyes? What? C’mon, Sheila, tell me What? Why are you looking at me with those eyes? Maybe it’s just compassion. Yeah, that’s what it is, she’s just feeling sorry for me, isn’t she? But there’s no need to be feeling sorry for Dragon, let me tell you. Dragon does what Dragon wants to do. Come, let’s finish all this business at my place. Stop it? Why should I stop it? What? What’s the problem? You don’t feel like whoring around with me? At least like that you’d be keeping it in the family.

  * * *

  The sting of her palm on my cheek still pricks me. I’m sitting at the bar, finishing my rum. I must have had four or five. I had too many. My face is still cool from the water but my cheek burns with the shape of her slap. Sheila’s gone. She walked out the door the same way she walked in, out of nowhere. At least she won’t be meeting anyone tonight, she won’t be whoring around. I guess I shouldn’t have said that. I guess it’s none of my business. To think that this was my first night off since December 1. Well, that’s gone down well, hasn’t it? Not quite as planned. Now I’m on my own in my private corner of the bar. I didn’t want to be on my own tonight. I didn’t want to be with Sheila either. To think that just a few months ago, back in the summer, everything—Sheila, SamB, Dragon Wings—seemed so exciting, so alluring, so much fun. What difference six months can make. All the fun has been sapped from this venture, and all we’re left to think about is what might have been. What might have been, had things been altogether different. Meanwhile, the times are as trying as ever, and the only motivation to continue this ordeal is not to come out of it looking like a total fool. To save some face regardless of the cost—is that too dear a price to pay for dignity?

  Enough self-punishing. Tomorrow will be a brand-new toiling day and I need my rest. Let me settle my bill, Angie, please, and, This one’s on the house.

  IV

  The weeks that followed the peak of the tourist season in Anguilla saw the return to the island of its natural pace of life, as the periodic invasion of foreign visitors receded with predictable regularity on or around January 6. The calm weeks that followed Epiphany brought back to Anguilla a dose of the quietness that during the rest of the year is nothing less than customary—except that then it came impregnated with the mixed emotions evoked by the relative opulence left behind by the departing tourists, by the unsettling knowledge that the best—the most lucrative—part of the year had already past, that whatever ground had been lost would most likely not be made up in the next eleven months.

  The weeks that follow the exodus of Three Kings’ Day is known among Anguillans as “the lull of January”—a period during which the local population can catch their breath, regroup for the restart of the season, and indulge, however briefly, in the luxuries made affordable by the exertions of a hectic fortnight. The lull of January is by no means as dramatic as the collapse of September or as long as the break of the summer, but it is a pause alright—a pause during which the occupancy of hotels and restaurants is substantially reduced, a pause during which the stock in shops and the energy of workers are replenished to last for the rest of the season.

  All predictions to the contrary, Dragon Wings managed to negotiate the month of December and the peak of the high season with reasonable success. Despite glitches, shortcomings, and organizational misjudgments, Dragon Wings had shown more promise during its first few weeks of life than anyone could rightfully have expected. However, instead of using the lull of January to examine the cause of the numerous drawbacks that had arisen during the first month of operation, instead of making use of the temporary ease in the organizational demands to envision means of preventing similar operational inconveniences in the future, the board of directors of Dragon Wings opted to implement a dangerous strategy of expansion and to pursue the bidding for the thirty-seat Short 330s being liquidated by Air Tampa.

  So, the lull of January came and, before long, it went, and while the resolve of the board of directors meant that the entire team focused its activity almost exclusively on the expansion of an airline that was yet to prove its mettle, while SamB spent most of his days fulfilling the demands of a busy schedule and elucidating a productive plan that would take the Wings into the realms of the French Antilles, while Sheila
rediscovered the origins of her name and swayed toward the Rawlingsons as she joined heads with Uncle Glen to work out the best approach to persuade the Indigenous Bank of Anguilla to lend their support to the ambitious strategy of expansion advanced by SamB and embraced by the rest of the airline’s board of directors (bar Dragon), while Nathaniel was absorbed in the intricacies of contacting the administrators of the now-defunct Air Tampa, of making clear to them not only Dragon Wings’s interest in the 330s but also the urgency of such interest, of deploying his skills as negotiator and of making them work their magic, Dragon was left on his own to deal with the demands of the daily operation of the airline.

  But because Dragon Jones was the only member of the board of directors who had voted against the adoption of such strategy, and because he remained firm in his conviction that the timing for such action was ill conceived, there was a tendency within the high command of the airline to disregard his concerns for the efficiency and viability of the operation as disproportionate.

  Thus, when Dragon Jones pointed out that the 40 percent subsidy promised by the government of Anguilla stipulated only flights that included Anguilla as origin or destination, which, given our extensive schedule, equates to roughly 70 percent of our flights, so the real extent of the subsidy comes to no more than 28 percent of our total passenger miles, the only reaction he could get from his partners was a general acknowledgment that the airline could clearly not survive exclusively on the revenue derived from the government’s subsidy—but that was not the idea in the first place. The subsidy has always been conceived as an insurance policy to contribute to the running costs of the airline. Similarly, when Dragon proposed to choose a quiet spell during the lull of January to bring together for a day the supervisors from each of the five islands where Dragon Wings conducted business in order for them to meet each other, raise issues, propose solutions, and discuss methods of coordination, the idea was commended for its positive intention but deemed uneconomical, premature, unproductive, and ultimately unnecessary.

  Once the ease on the organizational requirements of the airline’s operation was lifted by the restart of the season, by the proximity of Mardi Gras, by the flocking return of expectant travelers, it became evident that the wasted time would be costly. Little had been done during the lull of January to optimize or even improve Dragon Wings’s improvised operation, but because little went wrong during the calm weeks that followed the peak of the high season, the limitations of the setup remained disguised and the previous complications were dismissed either as elements inherent to the nature of the business or as temporary hiccups to be expected from any new venture. Inevitably, then, as soon as the busy schedule operated by Dragon Wings was again pushed to the limit by high occupancy levels, by equally high expectations, the lessons that should have been processed during the lull of January crept up again and proved to be unlearned.

  Consequently, February was a difficult month to cope with, and by the time March had come and gone the enterprise had become a nightmare. But because everyone was too busy daydreaming about an ambitious strategy of expansion that would see Dragon Wings emerge as the strongest airline in the Leeward Islands, no one actually realized that the initial sympathy extended toward the company was progressively eroding, as the company’s reputation slipped well below that of their most disreputable competitors, as the cheap prices offered by the airline were equated with the worst service imaginable. In fact, no one even listened to Dragon as he announced from his alienated corner the weekly list of cancellations, delays, and disruptions that grew on his desk like moss.

  Dragon sat in silent amusement some weeks later when the collective eyes of his partners were forced open by the largest organizational meltdown conceivable: a collapse in the server made the web page where bookings were stored inaccessible. It had not yet occurred to anyone to develop an internal network to share information and no manual record was ever kept in any of the offices of Dragon Wings. The consequences were disastrous: for five hours that day, staff in the different airports where Dragon Wings was supposed to fly were unable to reach records of any reservations; no data was found anywhere specifying the amount of passengers booked on any of the flights; some passengers brought printouts of their confirmation page, others arrived with confirmation codes, but others still came along with nothing more than a passport and a destination. Delays were such that the late flight to Antigua had to be canceled for fear that it would not be able to get back to Anguilla during daylight hours; bags were sent to all corners of the Leeward Islands; passengers with connections to Europe had to be flown in a separate charter at Dragon Wings’s expense. It was later discovered that two passengers had taken advantage of the situation to hitch a free ride, while another was left behind despite having checked in himself and his bag two hours early. Dragon Wings had hit its lowest point yet.

  V

  Friday night and I’m not scheduled to fly tomorrow. What a delight. To think that it has come to the point where I’m actually excited about the prospect of a night out at The Velvet. Go figure. But after living in this desert for seven months, you have to take whatever you can get. As my uncle used to say, in times of war any hole will make a trench. Although if I’m honest, I have wasted chances to get inside a couple of girls’ pants in the last few weeks. But that other girl has really gotten into my head. Who would have guessed? Then again, she isn’t just any girl. She is exuberant and delicate and yet she can’t disguise her lustful nature. I hope she shows up at The Velvet tonight. I really hope she turns up at The Velvet tonight. But if she doesn’t, I won’t miss another opportunity to get laid. Tonight, I’m on the hunt. Tonight, I’ll take home anything I can pick up—and I will pick up something. But how I wish she’d come to The Velvet tonight, how I wish it to be her whom I take home tonight.

  I have seen her here twice already. Last time she was with that lame kid, the son of the former chief minister. He had his hands all over her pretty little body. I made certain she saw me but I pretended I hadn’t seen her. I’ve got one on you, but you don’t know I do. I won’t do the same tonight, though. If she shows up tonight, I’ll go up to her and take my chances. I don’t care about Nathaniel. I don’t care about Dragon or the Wings. I’ll just go up to her and see what happens. How that girl has gotten so far inside my head, I do not know. But all I do is think of her, and all I think of is her pretty little body wrapped in mine, her svelte figure beneath mine, her perfect legs spread wide, allowing my passage, relinquishing to me. There is a savage instinct in Sheila Rawlingson. An instinct that I’m sure Nathaniel Jones has been neglecting—if he has been able to find it at all, that is. This girl doesn’t want to sit on the board of directors of an airline. She is young and beautiful and lustful. She wants to have fun. She wants to savor what it’s like to be a woman. She wants a real man to make her feel fulfilled, and comfortable, and pleased. I’ll show her what it’s like to be with a real man, I’ll show her what kind of a man I can be for her if she shows up tonight.

  The Velvet is such a dingy place, just a small wooden shack, a coat of white paint chipping from the corners, and a few of the planks rotting from the sea water. Every time I come here I get more surprised how much fun you can have in such a terrible venue. By the looks of it, you wouldn’t think you could enjoy a single minute in this barrack. And yet, life in Anguilla is boosted with a dose of excitement every Friday night, the only night of the week when The Velvet is buzzing. There is an element of uncertainty to Friday nights: you never know what’s going to happen, you never know who’s going to show up or where it’s all going to end.

  There she is, dancing away, quietly, gently, almost erotically, at the opposite corner of the bar. This is my chance, I’ve got to make my move. How long have you been here? Sheila looks surprised to see me—but she doesn’t look upset. Two kisses, a hug, our greetings, and Let’s have a drink. I’ve got a feeling this might end up being easier than I thought.

  I love dancing. Is de way I drain de frustr
ation of de week.

  Frustration—I like to hear her acknowledging the fact that she is frustrated. I love dancing too. It’s in our nature, you know. You Caribbean, me Latino: we have so much in common, like dancing. I say this as I smile, wink at her, and shift my feet to the rhythm of the soca.

  She doesn’t know how to interpret my words, she doesn’t know what to do. She’s sipping coyly from her daiquiri, moving very softly, almost as if she isn’t dancing at all. I don’ know how Nathe does it, you know. Dragon have he drinking, I have me dancing, SamB have de sky, flying for hours no end. But Nathaniel seem to have nuttin’ to help he escape. If you are not enough for him to escape, darling, what that man needs cannot be found on this earth.

  But the word escape, paired with the word frustration, tells me a lot more than she thinks. Dragon Wings, Nathaniel, and escape, all in the same sentence: looks like someone needs a chat. But it’s too loud in here, and talking simply makes no sense, and Sheila likes dancing, so I grab her by her tiny waist and I pull her to an area where there’s a little bit more space, and I prompt her to dance that millenary island dance, and even though I can sense the restraint in her hips as she sways them from left to right, and even though her attitude is distant, and her motions conservative, and her butt still nowhere near me, I enjoy the sense of intimacy that springs from our legs, our bodies, our sweat flowing to the same rhythm. Let’s stay like this a little longer, let’s just stay like this. I will move onto the next stage soon, I will take her outside, ask her a few questions, have a drink with her sitting on the sand, but for the time being let’s just dance.