An eventful flight
"Flight B360 to Gedeh is now boarding at gate 2" , the speaker crackles overhead. The airport is small and could use more than a paint job. I'm going over my notes under the flickering neon light, nervous and impatient.
On the first page of my new notebook, I scribbled down a short introduction in Ghmetanian, the ancient mountain language, spoken only in this remote region. It says:
'Be glorious, I'm Sully, I am a student from England, I want to learn about your stories.'
The language sounds as rough as it is old. So old, linguists cannot determine its roots. The grammar is complex and the sounds are guttural.
I snap my notebook shut, stuff it in my backpack and head to the gate. The line forming there is small. I get my passport and boarding pass ready, but the flight attendant barely looks at them. Instead, he doesn't hide his interest for the two documents visible above my cleavage. I take a mental note to retrieve my scarf from my bag before putting it away into the overhead compartment.
My large bosom has been bothering me since puberty, and any attention to it has never been welcome. Once more, I wish they would not be so prominent.
Instead of a shuttle or a bridge to the plane, we just go out a simple double-leaf door, and right onto the tarmac. The night is pitch black, and a cold breeze makes the passengers hurry towards the pale silhouette of an aircraft. The plane is a tiny, pointy-nosed thing with disproportionately large propellers sticking out in front of the wings. The ladder is old and squeaky, and inside there is no numbered seating. Everyone just sits on whatever worn, unpadded seat they like.
At first, I consider myself lucky to not have a neighbour in my two-seat row. But when the flight attendant from boarding enters, and gives me a dirty smile, I regret my choice instantly. As soon as everyone is seated, he makes a beeline for my row and asks provocatively if the pretty woman would like something to drink. I don't. And under his lingering gaze, I realise I'd forgotten to take my scarf out.
A baritone voice barks at the attendant.
I don't understand a word, but I know the sound. Ghmetanian. My exhaustion vanishes for a moment. I lean forward before I remember myself. After studying transcriptions of Ghmetanian liturgy, I finally hear it spoken by a native. My hands itch for my pen and notebook.
The last passenger has just boarded the plane. His aura takes up the whole cabin. And from under his dark hair, his eyes flash menacingly. Next to me, the attendent almost seems to have shrunk to a pitiful pile of slime. With a sound like a whimper, he retreats behind the curtain in the back of the plane.
With no other free seat, the new passenger comes to my row. Without looking up to his face, I can feel deep tiredness radiating from the man.
A thunder-clap makes me turn, heavy raindrops start hammering against the window beside me. When I look back, the man is slouching in the seat on my right. Nothing in his demeanor seems to invite conversation.
A wave of fatigue washes over me, and I sleep before the plane takes off.
In my dream I fall... slowly... like sinking into a thick black mass...
There is a pressure around my head and upper body... the blackness is closing in on me...
Something is shaking... I lose all sense of up and down... Muffled screaming... Banging...
A thud... followed by a grunt...
A staccato beeping... like in a movie... Alarm.. Plane crash!
