“At this point, we really don’t know, Eduardo.” Capt. Weathers had decided to come clean and earned a bit of my respect for saying my name correctly.
“Why not?” I pressed. He carefully selected his words.
“When an incident of this nature occurs on foreign soil, one is somewhat limited as to one's ability to fully investigate and recover all the facts.” The colleague interceded.
“The Mexican authorities get first shot at the evidence so we must work at their discretion.” I began to chuckle.
“In other words, Gringo go home.” The pilots made no reaction to my cynical statement.
“You may have heard that two of our associates were expelled from Mexico shortly after they arrived. They did not heed the government's words and were quickly escorted onto a plane after they were found walking about the crash site unescorted.” Captain Weathers' face now revealed his frustrations. “If certain officials did not want you to see something, you didn’t.” There was no need for him to explain further. I rose from my seat and turned away.
“Look,” I began. “From what I understand, Carl and Dieter were both full of pride, perhaps spiked by bits of arrogance, but that night something happened.” I freely related my encounter in the cockpit of 2605, the problem with the door opening, the reprimand and the eternal silence that followed. It was crystal clear. Captain Weathers knew there would be no swaying this F/A from what I had experienced.
“Carl and Dieter were not getting along.” I was surprised to find the words coming from Spencer Edwards. His statement freed my wounded soul from the guilt of possible misinterpretation. My hunger to uncover the entire truth was now an obsession.
Captain Weathers proceeded to inform me that Carl had gone so far as to “write up” Dieter, just days prior to the fateful flight. We were all aware that a “write up” action is usually the last resort of a frustrated crew-member in this industry.
“Can any blame lie with Mexican Air Traffic Control or the controller in the tower at the airport?” I asked.
“We don’t know yet, we have not been permitted to speak with the controller on duty that night and are not sure we ever will,” Edwards replied. Immediately I recalled my encounter with Senor Estrada in the waiting area of the office of the Minister.
“I was the controller on duty that night.” I strained to remember all of his words. “It was not that man’s fault.”
“Yes!” I said loudly.
“What? Something you remembered?” Captain Weathers inquired.
“No! Oh no, nothing, just a thought, it’s really nothing.” I fumbled my words badly and the pilots knew it. They could see there was something I was hiding. I quickly changed the subject. “What about the CVR Recorder?”
“The Mexicans have it.” The Captain showed his disgust. He hastened to end our meeting. “I may be calling upon you in the near future, Eduardo.” Heading back to the flight lounge I had one thing on mind, how can I listen to the CVR from 2605?
There was no tangible evidence pointing to Carl's and Dieter's confrontation as a factor in the death of the jumbo jet, yet there was something that nagged at me. It was something I read while at my campsite by the waterfall. I took a seat in the flight lounge, removed the document and quickly glanced through it looking for verification. There it was in black and white. Captain Weathers had been the Supervising Pilot who had spoken to Carl and Dieter just hours prior to boarding the DC-10 on October 30th. It was his decision that freed the feuding aviators to continue flying together. Does he have blood on his hands? Perhaps my situation was not so bad.
I quickly checked my mailbox which was full. Most messages were gracious, expressions of joy for my good fortune. There were even greetings from flight attendants of other airlines, Lufthansa, Iberia, Pan Am, TWA. This reinforced my belief that when any aircraft goes down it's a family matter. All crew members throughout the world feel some sense of pain and loss. I felt deeply touched by the sentiments of those in my chosen profession.
“You don't deserve it, you little shit!” The vicious voices scolded.
Trying to regain my composure I noticed that the next letter was postmarked Kansas City. Instantly, I recalled a previous letter from a troubled grandmother who wished me to intervene and assist her ailing granddaughter. That request came from Kansas City. I hurriedly opened the envelope hoping there may have been some improvement in the child's condition. The very woman who earlier begged for intervention from the magical “el gato” was now cursing my very name. The little girl had died. The woman attacked my lack of compassion, my refusal to act on behalf of her grandchild.
“May you feel such pain,” were the words that jumped off the page to be burned into my mind.
“I can't control the crazies.” Madness has many subordinates. As a result of the newscasts I was now receiving mail simply addressed to “the guy in the accident” or “the survivor from the crash.” There were also letters from within my company that put me on guard. There were those with a good heart who were putting me on an unnecessary pedestal. The wounded associates were smitten with someone who simply did not exist. No matter what I might say or do, that image was preferred. I began to dread my return to work, a period of time that was obviously going to be hell.
I wandered out to the company bus stop to await a ride to the employee’s parking structure. I had my suitcase in one hand and all the mail in the other. Of course I clumsily dropped one letter then another. When I arrived at the waiting area I dropped the whole lot.
“You getting fan mail now, Eddy my boy” The familiar voice brought a smile as I gazed up from picking up the letters and viewed Dwayne Foster, Captain Rangoon Dwayne himself. He acquired his unique nickname because of a concoction of various chemicals he bore in a special black briefcase. He christened the beverage a “Rangoon Ruby.”
“You'd be surprised by the things I am receiving these days,” I countered. The usually jovial airman suddenly became very serious.
“One hell of a mess you were in, lad.”
“And I came out in one piece for the most part. You know I could have used a Ruby right after crawling out of that fiery hole.” Captain Foster chuckled then reached out to gently pat my cheek.
“Oh, good of you to say so, son.” There was a slight blush on the older man's pale face so I fished for a reaction.
“You know, Dwayne, some strange things did occur up there.” The captain nodded.
“I wish I had Carl and Dieter right here in front of me. I would grab them and bang their thick skulls together. What the hell were they thinking?” Just then the clanging sound of the company tram broke the conversation but he had already confirmed what I witnessed.
I threw my suitcase in the trunk of my car and decided I go to drop in on Jack McKay. I owed him thanks for his support. Walking in unannounced, I found Jack busily at work at his large wooden desk. His face lit up as I entered.
“Well my good friend, no more cane I see. Healing up I hope?”
“I just spent time on the island of Kauai.”
“Oh, such a beautiful place,” the Vice President mused as he offered me a chair. I sat silent for a moment then just spoke what was on my mind.
“Is pilot error the final verdict?” McKay turned away for a bit, his mood somber.
“It sure looks that way. People like us have to work within the system.” I appreciated his honesty and understood what was on the line. The Mexican minister had made it clear that all the partners had to cooperate for the good of economic gain. Jack suddenly became lively once again. “I almost forgot, I have something here I want you to see.” He hurriedly searched through his top desk drawer and handed me a postcard.
“Greetings from Waikiki,” it stated in gold print with an aerial view of the historic pink Royal Hawaiian Hotel. As I turned the card over I was dumbfounded to see a message from Dr. De Jesus, the doctor in the morgue, thanking Mr. McKay for all his help. It was the drunken physician who had threatened to tell the media there wa
s alcohol in the blood of the pilots. McKay retained his smile as he shook his head. The postcard was just a final act of impudence by the classless physician.
Nightly visits by a confused and tattered Javier now became a regular event. While awake my paranoia swelled. I received phone calls from those with the glean of potential money in their eyes. A representative of some lawyer dangled a carrot.
“There could be a substantial payday for you if only you affirm the mistakes we believe the pilots made that night.” My nerves were rapidly being destroyed and the sordid inner voices scolded me if I complained.
“You need to be vigilant. You deserve to be in agony. Your crew-mates would have dealt with this situation far better than you.” The shame was overwhelming. Reality and dreams sometimes intersect and become difficult to untangle or dissect. I sought the company and comfort of an admiring fellow F/A. It was a mistake. I put an end to the evening's proceedings and politely, but swiftly, showed my lovely associate the door.
Once alone I became overwhelmed. My body went into convulsions as I fell to the floor. Lying there I struggled to regain some sense of composure. I would fall asleep on the living room floor.
“Eddy, it’s time to board the flight,” the soothing voice echoed. I was puzzled, it was clear that the voice that summoned me was familiar. I listened intently as the voice cried out my name once again.
“It’s Reina’s voice.” I frantically looked about the dark room trying to make out her familiar smile. The frightened child within me forced my face into my knees, not wanting to acknowledge the abyss of silence and darkness that were now my companions. Fear grasped my throat as I slowly struggled to my feet. I found myself standing in a fog as twisted, charred metal lay littered about.
“You belong dead...with them.” It was the vile comandate's voice. The sound of a jet engine began to rage. I cupped my ears with my hands to lessen the deafening sound. All at once it went silent. The mad dog began to laugh registering satanic pleasure. I ran and fell at the base of a doorway and reached with my scorched hands, struggling to pull myself outward.
“Help me. Mama, help me!” I placed my hand on my forehead, trying to focus on the figure and realized that the tiny image which appeared was small, a mere child. Flames suddenly shot forward and in a moment of great despair I recognized the frailty as that of Javier. His body was charred almost beyond recognition. The helpless child struggled to offer his little hand with flames dining on his flesh. I looked a level closer and there on his distorted face, dripping off liquid flesh, was a tear. All at once Javier was sucked back into the depths of the inferno.
“No!” I wailed bitterly. “Please forgive me!” I awoke drenched in sweat and completely annihilated in spirit.
My body was becoming infected by the anguish that ached in my soul. All my efforts to keep myself physically strong were turning on me. It sickened me to think that the powers that be, the money barons and the corporate entities, were going to sweep this affair nicely under the carpet. They would walk away silently leaving the families, myself included, lingering in the cancer of despair. Eddy no longer existed. There was only the jaded Edmundo who was preferred by the company. The idea that this was the new life I had to surrender to disgusted me.
“Dealing with it, that's the real trick isn't it?” I recalled Hugo Garcia's wise words. I was starting to recognize that perhaps I was stricken by something I was not knowledgeable enough to understand. My initial determination was to enforce more discipline upon my rebelling body.
“You'll never be good enough,” the voices demanded perfection. I obliged by restricting my diet even more significantly. Egg whites, boiled fish and chicken breast is what I limited myself to with tuna packed in fresh water for a snack. If I complied with my verbal tormentors I might reward my hunger with the pleasure of a peach, plum or nectarine.
The paranoia grew. I do not know what was more annoying, the phone calls, notes left by the lawyers and investigators or the demands from my own mind: If I ever slightly considered the notion of enjoying a slice of pizza, ice cream or some sweet delight I would be reprimanded by the tightening of the muscles of my throat. A nauseous state would grip me and abruptly remind me to reconsider such a pleasurable thought.
It all became too much as the desire to escape took hold. I knew there was only one place I could go where the voices would not haunt me. I quickly made arrangements to return to Kauai.
As I rode the company tram along the runways and pathways at LAX I caught the eye of three pilots who were riding with me. There we sat, the four of us alone with the exception of a faceless driver. I heard the names Carl and Dieter.
“Those two should never have been flying together.”
“Everyone knew what was going on.” I picked up certain phrases as I sat there straining my ears. As we left the tram stop at terminal 5, I spoke up and asked for their opinions concerning 2605's cockpit crew.
“Were your statements pretty much the consensus among most aviators?”
“Yeah,” stated one dignified looking captain. “But that's off the record of course.”
One more eventful shock greeted me that day as I opened my mail box in the flight attendant lounge. It had to do with my paycheck or lack of one of any value. Since the accident I had not flown, therefore I had not worked and that was duly noted in the sum of the company check.
“Did you apply for disability?” Ackley asked placing the blame squarely back on me when I approached her concerning the matter.
“Disability? To hell with disability. Make this right and do it soon. Have I not played ball with the company? Have I not agreed to be supportive in all matters? After all the crap I have gone through now you guys turn your heads away.” Of course this is what I wish I had said but it was not the case. Like a phantom lurking in the dark, Death's spell of guilt crept upon me.
“So you got a small paycheck.” The voice shamed me “Senora Torres got her daughter back in a box!” The chastising continued. If I had to restrict my diet I certainly could restrict my living allowance. At that moment I reluctantly accepted living below the poverty line. I was being strangled by my own hand and if not attended to I could die in its grip. I would no longer complain to Ackley for the financial discrepancies which would continue for some time. The question of my pay would be extremely slow in being corrected. I justified the immediate divergence by convincing myself that I really did not need money while on the Na Pali Coast.
Pure joy and freedom overwhelmed me instantly as I again stood on the tarmac of the Princeville Airport. I could not recall the last time I smiled so broadly. The devilish voices were again banned from the island. I rushed to get to Keoni's home to gather the necessary equipment.
“Eddy-Boy. Back again, Brah.” The local man's white teeth glistened brightly against his brown face.
“Mahalo brother for all your help. Time to get my mind straight.”
“No better place to do that than the Na Pali,” the local man replied. I was far more prepared this time for my romp into the jungle. Keoni freely offered whatever supplies I needed and gave me vital information regarding my trek along the dicey trail. “Watch out for da centipedes and no swimming in the ocean. The current strong, you land up at Polihale.” Many an expert swimmer had made the ultimate mistake being seduced by the pristine ocean, never to return to shore. I started out at the trailhead in Haena with a clear mind, a set plan and, for the first time in awhile, a stronger body. I relished every step of the way. I climbed, struggled and sweated heavily in my efforts upon the red dirt pathway. The view along the scenic seacoast was wondrous in beauty, helping to heal my wounded soul. The majestic cathedral cliffs inspired me, emerging from the depths of the ocean straight up into the rich blue skies of the tropic zone. Certainly if this God of love did exist, this island was His signature. Perhaps a trace of His compassion could be found somewhere upon her majestic elegance.
I was able to hook up with Erich and Katherine along the coast of the Kalalau Val
ley and they graciously offered to be of assistance. With confidence I wandered off to explore, seek, meditate and contemplate the actions and reactions I had been recently thrust into.
Some days under the radiance of a clear blue sky I would sit upon one of the large gray boulders that lined the river bed flowing down the volcanic hillside. Shaped and smoothed by the waters over thousands of years, the rock contained cool green moss which grew on its top and sides making it an inviting spot to rest, to think, to try and understand. I marveled at the cycle of life that played out over the island. By the heat of the sun, the cool fresh waters rose up from the depths of the Pacific Ocean high into the heavens. The moisture-filled clouds would gently glide westward on the strength of the trade winds. The billows would enter the cooler air and fall back upon the rich soil as rain, nurturing the island and cascading down in abundant waterfalls to the valley below. Thus I would be a very contented spectator as the element flowed by on its final leg returning to the seas, completing its cycle.
By day, the rich glow of the golden sun shone brightly upon me; by night I could follow the stars, brighter than I had ever witnessed as they voyaged across the sky. The cool breeze serenaded a gentle song and allowed me to rest peacefully without disturbance. There were no flashbacks, no voices of rebuke or nightly visits from the sadistic comandante.
In the beauty of the island I caught glimpses of what I perceived could be divine mercy but my rancor obstructed its visible light. I did feel comforted, soothed by the island's serenity. In the midst of the Kalalau I had no desire to hide behind the mask of Edmundo. My skin had become tanned and caked with the rich red soil of the volcanic island. I gazed skyward. I became lost in time unaware of what was occurring on the outside. I was far away from the people who created this wound that was devouring me from the inside, and at this juncture that was all that mattered. In the lush volcanic surroundings of Kauai I found acceptance, regardless of all my imperfections. She nurtured me. The complexity of this affair was overwhelming and I cried myself to sleep.
Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate Page 35
