Operation Noah

"We are taking seven hundred to Calgary," Ken informed us as we entered the flight deck.

"Seven hundred?" I repeated.

"Yes," Ken confirmed. "The aircraft can haul 200,000 pounds. If we take no freight, no baggage, we can carry more than a thousand passengers, if we can squeeze them in."

"Seven hundred... A thousand... It's all the same to me," I said to Ken as I climbed into the captain's seat. "If you feel that taking seven hundred is safe, it's all right with me."

Actually the number startled me. In order to get seven hundred people on board they would have to be stacked like sardines. I was startled by the idea that this might be possible. By the same token my pathetic attitude towards this rescue venture startled me even more. I determined to pull myself together. "Let's take a thousand if you think we won't exceed the floor loading limits," I told Ken.

Ken nodded, "OK skipper, a thousand it is!" Ken relayed the change through to the tower and to the boarding gate. After he conferred with Harry, he turned to me once more and added; "This may be the first flight of the largest airlift the world has ever seen."

As I said this, I noticed Harry becoming interested in what Ken and I had to say.

Ken told us that the Government of Canada had received offers of assistance from all over the world. "A thousand planes will be involved. Vancouver must be evacuated within ten hours, before the fallout becomes critical." He began to grin and almost whispered, "I hope you gentlemen don't mind that I volunteered our services."

"That's quite all right, Ken," I said to him.

It didn't seem important to me from this point on what happened to me. Besides, I couldn't get anyway from this plane anyway. With people streaming in, there would be no way open to get out. And if I did, where would I go?

"We'll do this together," I said. I was fully prepared to go on flying until I dropped dead. That's as much as I cared about myself. I could understand Harry now. I told him so.

Harry nodded in agreement about flying together.

The tumult of loading passengers had started at this point. Someone with a loud voice directed the people to squeeze together. While this happened, I noticed that we were also taking on fuel. Ken was in control of everything. I was glad that one of us had a clear head still for the necessary administrative thinking. Harry was slowly coming around. I heard him telling Ken not to skimp on the fuel. "Give us a 20% buffer, even if that put us over the landing weight limit" he demanded.

Wondering about how many people we would eventually take, I felt more and more satisfied that flying an airplane at this time, was the best thing anyone could do to devote the rest of his life to. I reasoned that our life probably wouldn't last long anyway once the nuclear conflict got into full swing.

At this point my thoughts went back to Melanie and the children. I pictured them waiting for us, cheering among themselves as our giant aircraft approached in the distance, but only to see me pull the wheels up and never touch the runway, disappearing in the distance in a trail of black smoke while the broadcast started to tell its gruesome story. I couldn't get this scene out of my mind.

I trained my thoughts onto Jennie. I had directed her to the spare seat behind me. It hurt that now the only person that I had left, which I felt very close to, seemed so far away. That tragedy had created yet one more barrier. I puzzled over this problem until I felt the plane moving again. Harry had the controls. I motioned him to carry on.

"What is our flight number?" he asked, as he was about to call the tower.

Ken didn't know.

I shrugged my shoulders. "We certainly aren't United 023 anymore," I said. "United Airlines may have ceased to exist. Just tell them the 747 is ready," I said to Ken, "They'll understand."

Harry nodded, and started to call.

"Wait," I demanded, "I've got it! Tell them 'Operation Noah' is ready and requesting clearance for takeoff!"

"Operation Noah?" Harry repeated. He made a face like a kid rejecting its porridge.

"I like it!" Ken came to my rescue. "It has a ring to it. Let's stick with that."

"Let's make it official," I added. I called the tower myself, and then switched the PA system on. "Friends, as your captain, let me welcome you to the first flight of Operation Noah. The flight that you are on marks the beginning of what will become the largest airlift in history. Some of you may have lost a great deal today, homes, friends, and family. What I personally have lost, cannot be measured. But I am alive, thank God, and so are you. To keep things that way, a thousand aircraft have been offered to Canada to evacuate every citizen of Vancouver and Victoria before the fallout reaches critical levels. This kind of commitment means only one thing, that the world is rooting for us, that we are held dear in the hearts of mankind at this hour." I turned the intercom off and leaned back.

"That was a fine speech," Harry approved, as we became airborne.

"A fine theory anyway," I added. "I needed to say something positive, something that would get myself out of the rut."

"Well, did it work?"

"Not quite, Harry. Not quite."

"Maybe in time, it will."

"Yes, maybe," I replied.

"Anyway, your speech was perfectly timed," said Ken as we came through the overcast. The passengers now came face to face with the mushroom clouds.

I left the flight deck to check on the passengers. As soon as I opened the door, it became obvious that Ken was mistaken about the seven hundred passengers he felt we could carry. We must have had far more than a thousand persons on board, many of them children. Every square-inch of floor space was occupied. People were standing in the aisles, in the galleys, wherever one could sit, crouch, or squat. Even the stairway was occupied. It was almost impossible to get down to the main cabins. The luggage racks, as far as I could tell, accommodated most of the children. I saw people climb over other people's seats to reach the toilets. Most people had someone sitting on their lap, and this in those cramped spaces. To my surprise, I noticed Jennie in the crowd holding a bag of diapers in her hand. She was helping a woman with three tiny babies. It felt good to see her somewhat happier again and occupied.

The mood, in general, was one of despair, confusion, anger, hope, and gratitude, all mixed into one. I saw an old man who could not remember why he was there. He called for his wife, but no one answered. Some people cried while they looked out the window. Some swore at the Russians. In the rear cabin, most remarkably, undisturbed by the commotion, a group of youngsters were playing a card game. Maybe they have the best idea, I thought.

The weather was perfect in Calgary. We encountered no storms, no crosswinds, and no overcast. It was a rare, perfect day! The landing was equally perfect, thank God. We seemed to be dangerously overloaded. I could hardly feel the wheels touch the runway, so gently did I get us down. While we taxied to the gate I stressed the need for a quick and orderly disembarking. The 'passengers' complied so well that the plane was empty before we had finished refueling. Five minutes later we were in the air again, going back.

This time we flew directly toward the clouds that consisted entirely of white fiery smoke. The clouds were visible at a great distance. Their mushroom shapes had disappeared. The tops of the larger ones had joined to form a horizontal shelf supported by several pillars. Near the ground the picture was equally frightening. Layers of smoke extended from the base of these clouds, spreading like fingers over the surrounding area. Harry shuddered.

The silence on board was interrupted when the call came from Calgary tower, requesting us to service Abbotsford. "Vancouver has become unusable because of violent wind currents, some in excess of two-hundred knots," said the tower.

Harry and I were both familiar with Abbotsford airport. It was well known to both of us, as to everyone in the region, for its annual air show. Also, it served as an emergency backup for the Vancouver International Airport. We both knew it consisted of nothing but a big runway surrounded by fields with a few small buildings on one side. It offered no ground support, no security services, and no large-scale boarding facilities. We would be on our own in a wasteland of panic. Without saying a word Harry executed the required course correction and initiated our descent into the smoke filled Fraser Valley.

From a technical standpoint, I knew we could service Abbotsford. The runway was long enough. We certainly didn't need any special facilities. We required nothing, not even fuel. We had been refueled for a full round trip. The lack of security bothered me. The prospects of having no one to back us up were frightening.

Harry shook his head as we approached. "The runway's down in there," he said, pointing to a bank of dense smoke that lay over the Fraser River valley and the surrounding hills. Carefully we descended through layers and layers of smoke, fog, and muck, into a valley with a low ceiling over dark haze. A faint line of lights appeared beneath us, the headlights of countless cars. Their trail marked out the highway into the mountains, the same mountains we had seen from above, being also covered with smoke from the mushroom clouds.

Looking at the endless string of cars, I wondered how soon all the gas stations would be pumped dry and the traffic become stalled, turning that desperate escape into a trap. It seemed impossible for anyone to reverse direction in such an armada of cars.

The people at the airfield appeared to have realized the hopelessness of driving to safety. They had turned to the only other escape there was open in the valley. The fields surrounding the runways were littered with cars, and the airfield itself was crawling with people, so such so, that we had to abort the first landing approach and come around for a second attempt. Even then, we had barely slowed and entered the taxiway when they came at us with ladders. Who knows where they got them from? We were forced to stop hard in order not to run anyone down.

Harry and Ken, both volunteered to man the door, and of course the telephone. We needed to be in constant communication in order to end the loading once the plane was full and before a riot broke out. Jennie stayed with me at the flight deck. She manned the PA phone, telling people to double up on each seat and stow the children in the luggage racks. I also needed her to watch the proceedings on the ground while I remained in the cockpit monitoring the engines. She said it was a marvel the ladders didn't break and that no one got sucked into the engines. I didn't dare turn the engines off. We had to be able to roll at a moment's notice, whereby to stop the loading when the plane was full. We couldn't exceed the floor-loading limit, although that seemed not likely to happen if our last run was an indication. Our biggest problem would be to persuade those fighting for their life to voluntarily remove the ladders. Would they comply and step back without me somehow having to force the issue? The image of the burning DC10 at Vancouver was still vividly in my mind.

I stood up in my seat, telephone in hand, looking at the sea of humanity. They were desperate to get out. Some had a chance now. But was there any hope for humanity as a whole? How long would it be before the whole Earth was a burnt out cinder? Would they really be safer where we would take them? Would anyone be safe? Still, taking them out this hell was the only imperative for now that ruled the day, and the only human gesture we could extend to them in this grossly inhuman place that our world had become.

It was clear that they could force their way into the airplane much more easily than we could stop them. The initiative to end the boarding had to come from the people themselves. This seemed unlikely to happen.

"Is the plane full yet?" I asked Harry.

"No, maybe another hundred."

"A hundred is nothing," I called back and increased the speed of the engines, to signal the crowd to back off. Since the doors couldn't be closed with the ladders still in place, and I couldn't see us pushing the ladders over with people still hanging on them, I did the only thing that made any sense at all. I put on power, making a racket. But it was to no avail. So, I increased the speed of the engines again.

I stood up, opened the flight deck hatch, and watched the proceedings. The increased noise still didn't deter them. When Harry's call came to stop the boarding, the only solution I could think of was to increase the speed of the engines still more. This time I remained seated. With the breaks full on, I increased power again.

The noise of the engines, which must have been painful before, should now have become unbearable. The shrill shriek of the blades, the bearings, the thunder of the exhaust, all merged into a thundering scream of frightening intensity.

I called to Jennie.

"They're still on the ladders," Jennie informed me.

I increased the power again to 25% below the red line. The drone became deafening, even in the cockpit it became loud now. I could see from the flight deck window that some people had backed off now. But the ladders were still in place and the people still held on. Struggling to get on board, they pushed and yelled while those inside moved deeper into the plane.

My heart went out to them. The people were fighting for their life, but so were we now.

"We're too full! Do something!" Harry shouted into the phone.

"Try to shut the door, then!" I yelled back into the phone. It was hard to understand anything on the phone anymore.

"I can't!" he shouted back. "I can't get near it!"

Reluctantly I increased power to 90%. All four engine heat gages were already beyond the red line. Even with the brakes fully secured, it became uncertain at this point whether I could keep the plane from creeping forward. Rarely is this power level ever used, not even for takeoffs on short runways. The whole aircraft shook and twisted under the force of its engines, as if flying amidst a thunderstorm. With the ladders not too stable on the ground, boarding, now, became a dangerous affair. The engine intakes were also too close. The suction created turbulence at this power-level that could pull a hat of a person.

Fortunately sanity prevailed. The people responded.

The moment the last person had stepped off, the ladders were taken away. "All secured! Doors are closed! Go!" Harry called.

I throttled down and leaned back into my seat. Sweat poured down my face as I carefully let the brakes go. How good it felt to get rolling again! Minutes later we were over the runway, facing a dark gray sky. We climbed sluggishly with the throttles wide open, leaving the desperation behind that still ruled on the ground and would for a long time to come. Thank God, we had won!

Calgary was only a transfer center, a stop on their journey. Trains and busses would take the people further east. But this was also to change. As we landed, the word came down that we had flown our last flight to this city as the area had become endangered, itself. Its airport would soon be needed for the city's own evacuation. It didn't make much sense to dump people where they wouldn't be safe, but we didn't have the fuel to go further.

"They'll be safe for a while," said Harry. "The others on the coast need us far more."

Before we left, a decision had been handed down to divert all available long-range aircraft to more distant destinations. For us, this meant flying to Hawaii. We were refueled one last time, and sent to Victoria enroute to Honolulu. Because fuel was already scarce at the capital, we were fueled up for the entire trip. The tower cautioned us that much of Victoria is on fire, "but the airport is still safe, and boys, flying to Honolulu will compensate for that, lucky you," the man at the tower remarked.

"What do you think that 'lucky' is supposed to mean?" asked Harry.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Victoria couldn't be worse!"

"Worse than it was at Abbotsford? Not likely!" said Ken.

When saying good-bye to Calgary, possibly forever, I felt the urge to get my captain's hat out and put it on, as if it were to salute the great city of Canada's oil patch that was, like Vancouver, destined to become a ghost town. Harry looked at me and shook his head. He must have thought I was crazy.

"Let's do a better job this time," he said after we were back at 30,000 feet. He never explained what he thought we had done wrong in the first place, nor did I feel like probing for it. So we left it at that. I think the strain was getting the better of us all. Considering everything that had happened, it was a marvel we were able to cope at all.

As we crossed the Rocky Mountains Jennie came to mind. I remarked to Harry that she had been most helpful throughout our trips.

"Why don't you go down to her," answered Ken. "Go, and spend a little time with your friend. The way you've been looking out for her ever since she came on board, I would say...."

"She's his best friend's wife," interrupted Harry.

I nodded to Ken, and left the flight deck. Harry was at the controls anyway.

I found Jennie at the lower First Class cabin. She was searching the lockers for food. She had some coffee brewing. Fortunately she hadn't noticed me. Tears stood in her eyes. These were hard times for all of us.

Uncertain as to what I should do or say, I leaned against the wall of the aircraft and was content just to watch her.

My thoughts went back to the time when Frank first introduced me to her in his camper on the summit of Milner Pass. Her face seemed to sparkle with a rare inner joy. I was captivated by it. I had been in love with her from this first moment on. She impressed me as someone quite special, although I could never really define what made me feel that way. I thought it was her eyes, perhaps, or her voice. Her voice was lovely and clear. She spoke with a vitality that was hard to ignore, and a smile that was had to forget. I will never forget her gesture when she invited me to stay for lunch. There was something profoundly gentle and inviting about her.

After lunch at the camper we talked and then went for a short hike together. When we returned it was tea time. I was given the privilege of viewing their photography work. Jennie's work consisted mostly of studies of people - at work, on the farm, hiking, playing, attending school, and riding the bus. Those pictures portrayed a rare sense of humanity and a humor that never degrades its subjects, but shows a deep compassion.

The picture of a workman caught my eye. He was kneeling on a sidewalk, apparently in the process of reaching into a manhole when the back of his pants had come apart. He smiled as he tried to cover the rent. Another picture portrayed a small girl, running as fast as she could against the background of the gold colored glass-facade of an office building. "Can you see the wonderful strength that radiates from this fragile looking girl?" Jennie asked, "and how it contrasts against the hidden fragility of the magnanimous, represented by this glittering front?" Then she added that the picture was taken a week before the corporation that owned the building had gone into receivership.

Jennie's work impressed me also in other ways. It was similar in a way to the work Melanie did as a print-maker and sculptor. They both transformed abstract ideas and feelings into concrete shapes.

Frank's pictures, on the other hand, were quite different, photos of mountains, happy companions, of tiny wild flowers growing in patches of earth between rocks. One photo looked straight down, on a wide alpine valley, partly filled with a layer of fog. The scene was framed on two sides by Frank's climbing boots dangling over the void.

"Which do you treasure most?" I asked him. "The exciting ones?"

He nodded. "Yes, those at first. But one grows up, you know. After one has conquered again and again, and still longs for more, one finds a new way to win. With this comes a new series of pictures."

I looked up at Jennie. How little all this mattered now!

It was several hours past midnight when Frank and Jennie had accompanied me back to my car, two miles below the summit. We walked quietly, arm in arm, in the moonlight.

Naturally, I drove them back to their camper before I set out for home on a long, lonely drive after a most exiting day. The mountains across the valley stood ominous in the dark; huge imposing, monolithic shapes from an alien world, created by a civilization of giants, so it seemed. They stood tall and cold and ominous against the moonlit sky. There was no color in them, no richness of detail, only gray against black. Everything was as gray and dim as the moonlight itself.

In some respects this somber scene was reminiscent of the way my marriage had become. What had happened to the fine texture and colorful detail, the noonday landscape? How much of it had been allowed to fade? I thought of Melanie's devotion, her caring, her smiles, and her achievements. I was ashamed of my response to them, as it had become. Where was the bright intimate glow that should be touching us?

Getting back to Boulder was a two-hour drive. But the drive didn't mark an end to this new friendship that was sparked on the mountain. Rather, it marked a beginning. As I was driving home through the lower parts of the mountains, a series of yellow signs became illumined in the shine of the headlights. They contrasted brightly against the black of the night, like highway markers. However, those weren't highway markers. They bore an inscription that made me shudder as I read it. "Posted, Private Property, Trespassers will be prosecuted."

A week later I remembered the signs again when Frank and Jennie stopped by on their way home. I swore to myself that there would be no such signs posted between us. I made a special effort to assure that the opposite would be the case. I invited them back to us as often as it was practical, and we were consequently invited by them in return. Out of this beginning, that started oddly with a protest, a long series of visits evolved that added a bright new dimension to all our lives. As for Melanie and I, being touched now and then by our friend's gentleness and excitement with living, brought back a certain color into our marriage and some of the fine details that for a period had become lost.

Now this association seemed to be broken. Both of our families were evidently dead, unless...! Unless, they had managed to get away from Seattle on a plane!

Hurrah, that was it! That's what must have happened! What an idea! What possibilities! Immediately I made myself known to Jennie.

"Have you ever thought that Frank and Melanie might have gotten onto a different plane and escaped the holocaust?" I said to her softly. "They were all waiting for me right at the airport, were they not?" I stepped closer towards her in the brightly-lit galley.

She began to smile at the thought. "Excuse me for crying," she said and looked away. "I was thinking about Frank and the children, I couldn't quite accept that they should be dead. I couldn't feel it. You may be right that they could have gotten away. Do you think it is possible?"

I nodded. "It is reasonable to assume that they found space on one of the aircraft that I saw standing around. Surely, some of the aircraft must have been fueled up and able to get away. After all, they had the same fifteen minutes warning that we had! Ten minutes should have been enough to get safely away, and five minutes to board them!"

Jennie's face lit up. "Maybe it wasn't quite as frantic there as it was in Vancouver."

With that thought her lovely smile came back. I began to dry the tears off her face, with a napkin. Jennie was familiar with SEATAC's satellite terminals that are well spaced out and usually less crowded. With them being cut off from the main complex via the subway link, there might have been less panic with fewer people around. I suggested that it might have been easy for them to get away, certainly in comparison to what we have seen. "They might have simply walked on an aircraft. There were several aircraft docked. Some might have been ready for takeoff!"

As I spoke, tears came into her eyes again. "I should have thought of that myself, Paul. That sounds totally possible. How foolish of me to lose hope so quickly!"

She put her arms around me.

"Go on and cry, Jennie," I said to myself.

I began to cry myself moments later. Those were the first tears that came, tears of joy, and her embrace of me felt wonderful.

Our embrace lasted for a long time, and with it a new feeling emerged that I hadn't felt for her for a long time. We had been alone together on occasions, but never like this. She had become more than a friend to me, suddenly. She was a woman struggling with this chaos as I was. I had always admired her as a woman, even while I had loved her as a friend. Now everything was different. The boundaries became blurred. The woman became to the foreground. Our embrace ended with a kiss. We smiled at each other, but in a different way as before. It seemed that we had become drawn closer to one another by the power on that great joy that now enveloped us, born by a bright hope.

"Just look at yourself," she said gently when our kiss ended. "If you go on crying like this you might ruin your uniform!" She took a paper-napkin from the tray and proceeded to wipe the tears off my face that I hadn't even been aware off.

The flight to Victoria was a short one. When the engines slowed, I excused myself and headed back to the flight deck. Harry looked at me. "It's about time!" he grumbled.

I sat down. In my mind, I was still with Jennie. "I didn't stay away that long!" I said casually.

"That's not what I meant!" Harry came back, short, sharp.

His manner shocked me. "Then what?" I asked, still puzzled by it all. There wasn't an emergency. He was well able to fly the plane by himself. "What's eating you, Harry?"

"Must I spell it out. Jennie is your best friend's wife!"

"Yes!" I said. "So what's the fuss about?"

"Is that how you show respect?"

I sat back, flabbergasted. What happened to him? I looked at Ken. "Nothing happened between Jennie and I," I said to Ken. "We just realized that our families might have had a chance to get away from Seattle in time. They had been waiting for me there. They couldn't have been in a more ideal place for getting away." Suddenly I coughed and stopped. "Forgive me," I added quietly.

"You better calm yourself," Ken said to Harry. "You've been through so much!"

"Calm myself!" Harry replied to Ken. "Look who is speaking, the womanizer! You're worse than he is. I have eyes. I've seen you lots of times with girls of every description, dozens of them, a different one in every city: stewardesses, waitresses, office girls. The way you're carrying on is...!" He searched for words.

"Oh my God," I said to myself, "if this is a delayed response, this madness could grip me, too." I determined that it wouldn't.

Ken defended himself. "Pull yourself together, Harry," he said calmly.

"Why should I? You disgust me," Harry came back, "no decent man goes out with other people's women!"

"Why the hell not, Harry!" Ken raised his voice at him.

"Because it sickening, chasing after every skirt that crosses your way!"

"Oh, is that so? Let me tell you what is sickening! Segregation is sickening. The way you flaunted your wife, that is sickening!" Ken blew up at him. "People are not property that you own like a car. You speak of your wife like she was some piece of property, your most precious possession. It's you who's disgusting. Half the guys in the company have been invited to met the great Harry Sallinger's gorgeous blond wife, 'with the best figure you ever laid your eyes on.' Isn't that so, Harry? That is disgusting. I never said this before. I let it be. In fact the whole damn stinking society that we've become disgusts me; a bunch of slave owners that isolate their woman. It is a wonder they don't use branding irons on them!"

The conversation stopped abruptly when the flight deck door opened.

Jennie entered with a stack of trays. "Your dinner, gentlemen!" she said kindly, and handed each of us a plate of sandwiches, coffee, juice, and a glass of wine.

I asked her to come closer, and as she did, gave her a kiss. I couldn't help but glance at Harry out of the corner of an eye, to see his reaction. He looked away and shook his head.

"We have plenty of time for eating," said Harry moments later as he arranged the cutlery on his tray. He spoke in the nicest manner suddenly as if the previous moments hadn't happened. He explained that we had been rerouted to come in from the North. The best approach was from the North, because of the smoke from the fires.

Eating that fine food, mere leftovers that Jennie had found in the First Class freezer locker, created a strange feeling. Here we were, dining like kings, drinking wine and freshly brewed coffee, descending toward a burning city that we knew was absolute hell. It didn't seem right for us to even have a meal.

The tower asked us to slow our approach. We were number seven in line.

When Jennie left the flight deck to put the dishes away, Harry apologized quickly.

The landing itself was routine. From there on, however, it wasn't. It was as though we had ventured into a dragon's lair. A powerful, disorganized frenzy possessed everyone. We were at the mercy of the beast, the tower. Safety was no concern. Who cared about trivialities like that? Survival was the game! This game applied to airplanes as it did to people. We were fast learners to realize that. Since there was obviously no room anywhere, we were assigned a small spot on a grassy field beside the runway, a soft boggy patch. It was risky to stop rolling. I protested and went back onto the paved area that was terribly clogged with planes loading passengers and fuel. By some miracle I squeezed our giant crate into line. I was surprised also, to see a tank truck race across the runway, to meet us.

"Operation Noah, we'll top you off!" the tower called. Who knows how he managed to guide the tank truck to us? There wasn't much fuel needed. Then came the dangerous part, the passengers. They came in a long string of busses that appeared out of nowhere over a field.

We got twelve busloads, seven hundred all told, and twenty-five boxes of food to feed them. The whole loading process proceeded like a finely executed military operation. In seven minutes the doors were closed, and one minute later we were lining up for the runway.

During the loading shots could be heard in the distance, but no one regarded them. It didn't even strike me until we had time to think, how desperate the situation must have become that people would start shooting at one another in times like these.

"I think the people in this city are the lucky ones," I said to Ken. "They stand a chance to be all rescued. In the moment of this deep crisis the world appears to be responsive to the human need and will do all it can to meet the emergency."

"This won't last," said Harry. "In a day the airports will be out of fuel. When the fallout comes down on the East Coast, there won't be an airlift operating to rescue anybody. Nothing happens without fuel, and the fuel cannot be produced without a functioning economy. People won't go to work when they are scared for their life. Nor will there be food when the transportation and distribution system breaks down. More people will likely die in the chaos of the economic disintegration than will die of radiation related causes."

Ken muttered something about Harry being mad. Eventually though, he agreed, wondering if there was enough fuel in Honolulu to sustain the airlift for more than a day.

Honolulu was a different world altogether. This became evident before we even saw the islands. There was order on the islands, politeness, and concern. We were the first of the great airlift to reach Honolulu. Low clouds concealed the islands as we began our descent. The air traffic control center reported showers and gusts, advised on breaking conditions. The runway was ours, we were told. We had priority over everyone. No wait was imposed. This was VIP treatment. The weather was insignificant, compared to the nature of the operation. Gusts or no gusts, we were coming in. We were heavy, but not too heavy.

As we disembarked we were welcomed as honored guests. They were obviously aware that the nature of this airlift was such, that it would soon touch the lives of nearly everyone on the island. Still they opened their doors in a magnificent welcome. In a way, I realized, it had already touched everyone.

An appeal for accommodation and volunteer help had gone out. It had met with a strong response. Banners were strung across the halls on the arrivals level. "Welcome operation Noah," they read. The Salvation Army was present with food counters that resembled World War II field kitchens, dispensing soup from boiling vats, and hot chocolate, coffee, milk, tea, and sandwiches. Service clubs had set up other tables. Numerous organizations eager to help meet the most urgent needs of the flood of refugees were present, and it seemed that more were expected. Church and social groups offered assistance for those who required special care. The National Guard was also on hand to provide transportation to hotels and homes.

I wondered if this great urge to help was not in effect a celebration of a growing awareness that the nuclear war had remained limited to just a single missile, a fact that must have seemed most unlikely at first, something that we hadn't had time to contemplate before.

The same warm reception we got on the ground, had previously been extended to us in the air. "Welcome to Hawaii, Noah One," the tower had greeted us as soon as we signed on. We were given VIP treatment in every respect but one. "Could you fly another mission?" the tower practically requested in the first sentence. "We've got no replacement crew yet, and as you know, the situation is critical back on the mainland."

We all knew that this was the understatement of the year. It was no doubt getting more desperate by the hour. How could we refuse?

Harry tried. "Look man, we've been seventeen hours in the air," he called back. "Don't you think that's enough?"

"Right," the tower called back. "Normally it would be criminally irresponsible to send a man on another ten hour flight after seventeen hours in the air. But nothing is normal anymore...."

"We'll go!" I called back.

"I'll have some camping cots set up in the upstairs lounge, as sleeping quarters..." the tower responded.

I knew that I would have gone back even without those arrangements, and Jennie likewise.

We got off the plane when the mechanics arrived.

As we entered the main hall, Jennie let out a shriek of surprise: "See, your creation is famous!" She pointed to the banners across the hall.

"Actually I am not proud of it," I replied some minutes later.

"Why not? It's a great idea!"

I told her I had noticed TV reporters among the crowd, probably gathering up stories of broken families, lost possessions, tales of panic and worse.

"Did you see the TV cameras?" I asked. I pointed one out to her. "That's why I think it was a stupid idea," I added.

Now and then one could see a camera pointed at the banners as if this compassionate effort by so many people could be wrapped up under a central theme, like a motto for a party.

"This isn't a party, or some miraculous dispensation of the grace of God," I said to Jennie. "This is the most lovely natural thing in the world; people helping people in need. To make it into something unnatural or miraculous distorts what it really is. It is degrading to the human spirit!"

She agreed.

Perhaps people didn't see it as some miraculous thing. It was wonderful to witness the caring; the compassion of those volunteers; to see how it lightened the glum faces that had emerged from our plane.

We paused near the entrance to the hall. Jennie said that she was hungry. That's when I spotted the soup kitchens. I also noticed a stocky man with a brightly colored shirt coming directly toward us. He marched directly towards us, smiling. His shirt was the brightest I had seen for a long time, it was almost fluorescent. He could only be a tourist, I thought. I felt that an Islander would never wear a thing like that.

"Howdy!" he greeted us in a loud voice, shaking my hand.

I stood perplexed and returned the greeting.

"Are you the captain of that Noah ship that came in?" he asked.

I hesitated, but couldn't deny it.

"It's mighty nice to make your acquaintance," he said. "I am Peter McTaggert, from Fort Lauderdale, Florida. My great, great grandparents were rescued by someone like you," he explained. "I always wanted to meet a person who would do a thing like that. People like you are rare nowadays!"

I looked at him. Wondering what he was up to, I glanced at Jennie. Jennie shrugged her shoulders.

"Is there something we can do for you?" I asked.

"What's happening here," he said, "is similar to what happened to them." He searched for a way to explain himself. "Before my ancestors got married they became the focal point of a violent family dispute. As I heard their story told, a traveler became aware of their plight and helped them to get away. Supposedly he bought them passage on a boat, bound for New Orleans. He even gave them money to live on. I've always been intrigued to find out what kind of person this man might have been."

"I can assure you, you haven't found this person in us," I replied to McTaggert. "As you may realize, there was considerable self-interest involved. Where would we have gone, if we hadn't stayed on the airplane? Flying this air-lift was out of necessity, rather than by choice."

"And we'll be flying right back in about fifteen minutes," added Jennie, "and tomorrow we'll do the same again, and many times after that until everyone has been evacuated."

"And we aren't the only ones," I added mechanically. My heart wasn't in it. Having reached some degree of safety at last, I was in a good mind just to stay put. In fact this was my intention deep down in my thoughts, though I didn't think it would ever happen. "There will be a thousand flight crews involved when the airlift gets into full swing," I said to McTaggert.

"...That's a dangerous business, isn't it, because of the radiation?" McTaggert replied.

"Radiation is the least of the problems," I said. I began telling him about our experience in Abbotsford, and about the shooting in Victoria; "Sure it's dangerous, but it is far more dangerous for the people that are left behind who have to worry about radiation. It's important to get them out as quickly as possible. Actually, it may well be too late already. Still, we must do everything we can to give them a chance." I had to be careful not to grin here, not to let on that I really had hoped against hope that it would be possible for us to stay.

McTaggert, who had been blunt and boisterous before, became quiet now. He remarked thoughtfully: "It's a strange thing, what is happening here. I have never met anyone like you people in all my years in business. My business is in Chicago. I buy real estate when I see a chance for development. Then I bring in the resources, exploit the need and make a profit. That's how business works. That's how money is made, through sheer self-interest. Now you're almost telling me that I should be ashamed of the way I've lived."

"No, No!" replied Jennie. "You mustn't judge yourself so harshly."

"...But I must!" McTaggert replied. "Either I have been wrong all my life, or you people are crazy, which I don't think you are."

McTaggert hesitated, looking at the floor. "What you are doing goes against the most basic laws of nature. It's unnatural for one to risk one's life to help others, especially if you don't even know if it will do any good. And yet, you're telling me it is being done all over the place..."

We talked several more minutes along these lines. Finally we excused ourselves. Jennie said it was time to get back on the plane.

"That means you have another ten more hours to fly," he remarked. "But you look tired already. And what happens to you after you come back?"

"Oh, we'll find a hole to crawl into," I joked. "Did I tell you that I came from your home-city this morning, and from Miami before that?" I said to him. "We nearly landed at SEATAC. We were facing the runway when the holocaust was announced. Luckily we had enough fuel to get out of there, and get to Vancouver. After that the real flying began back and forth across the mountains, landing in chaos, amidst gunshots. Yes, it's been a long day. Eighteen hours in the air, maybe more...."

McTaggert shook his head. He raised his hand, but said nothing. Moments later, he reached into his upper pocket, brought a bundle of keys out, and slid one of them off the ring that held them together.

"Here take this!" he said to me. "It's for my flat in an apartment complex on Maui, called Papakeea. You may be in need of a place to sleep when you get back. I don't have any need for it now. I would like you to use it. The apartment number is on the key. The complex is a short way past Lahina, right at the far end of Kaanapali Beach. You can't miss it. But don't get the idea that I think you're right," he added. "I am giving you this key because it is my pleasure to do so, not because I feel I should."

Jennie and I assured him that we appreciated his offer.

I even said that I would gladly pay for the use of it, except I didn't know if the company I worked for was still in existence.

"No, no, there's nothing to pay," he insisted. "With what's happening these days, money isn't worth anything anyway." He shook our hands, saying good-bye, and left quickly.

We went to the sandwich counter for something to eat, and walked back to the plane. I didn't know how to tell Jennie that we shouldn't go back. I checked my watch. We were five minutes overdue already. They probably locked the doors already or had left. I hoped they would have, then I wouldn't have to explain. But the doors were still open. I heard the engines wind up. I knew Harry couldn't fly this mission by himself. I also knew that it had to be flown. How then is a person to react? I just couldn't turn my back at him. Staying behind in paradise was a dream that would never be, a wonderful dream, but nothing more than that. I put the key in my wallet.

"What the hack," I said to Jennie as I stepped aboard with her, our sandwiches still in hand. She stared at me questioningly, as I locked the cabin door behind us. She might have been wondering what this, 'what the hack,' was all about. I didn't let on. I reached for the phone and called Harry up on the flight deck. "Let's roll Harry!"

We both went upstairs. Jennie said nothing and started to smile again. I could hear the engines accelerate to get us rolling. I shared my sandwiches that I had collected. So did Jennie. The sharing was more a nice gesture than a necessity. "We've got boxes and boxes full of food," said Harry, grinning. "There is enough here to feet eight hundred."

"Noah Heavy, you've got the runway," the tower called back.

"All right, here we come," Harry exclaimed. Within seconds we thundered once more over the concrete and out over the sea.

"Good luck Noah!" the tower signed off.

The return flight was our sleeping and dining cruise. First we ate our sandwiches, then some of the buns and biscuits out of the food boxes. We hadn't reached cruising altitude when the flight deck became suddenly rather empty. We had agreed among us that Harry, Jennie and Ken should sleep first. I would have my turn at sleeping on the way back to Hawaii.

It soon became apparent that this was a bad decision. I should have asked for someone to stay with me. It was hard to stay awake in this lonely dark world of the cockpit with no one around. The soft whine of the engines, the hiss of the airflow over the hull, the occasional clank of a storage compartment door left open, were the only sounds to be heard.

At first I gave myself to star watching, for something to do. The aircraft flew more accurately by itself, under computer control. Still, I couldn't dare fall asleep. The pilot's job is to handle emergency situations. Harry had specifically warned me about the risks of falling asleep. It had happened to him once when his captain was off the deck for dinner and the altitude control system malfunctioned. He nearly executed four hundred people while sleeping.

As it was, far more fearful feelings came over me, than those about falling asleep. As I looked out into the dark star-filled sky, I became afraid for humanity. As if the clock had moved forward and the war had sequenced on, our plane suddenly appeared in my mind like it were the last outpost of a dying species seeking refuge at the edge of its poisoned world. The thought shocked me. Frightening images crept into the mind in the dark. For all I knew, these images could have already become reality. Our destination cities might lie in ashes when we arrived, with no place for us to land. Our 'ark' might be cradling the last remnant of the civilization that had once created it. And that too, I realized, might last only another six hours until the fuel ran out and this final flicker of a once proud civilization would end. I also realized that the autopilot would than need constant adjusting to bypass the dead cities. But adjust it to what? That's when I awoke.

The Earth was dark below us as we were halfway the coast. Clouds covered the sea. A high overcast at 40,000 feet shielded the stars and the mushroom clouds were still far from our sight.

In order to hold back more of those gloomy dreams, I resorted to singing. A most unprofessional Hallelujah, Hallelujah, according to Handel's famous chorus, filled the flight deck. But this didn't do much good either. Consequently I went downstairs and brewed myself a pot of coffee and drank it black, then went for a walk through the dark aircraft, my cup in my hand, and brought the rest of the coffee back to the 'bridge.' Here I invented a game of checking and re-checked the navigation systems.

I went downstairs twice more, once more for a walk, and once for something to eat. The main cabins were in a terrible state, as filthy as a cattle car, but, surprisingly, they didn't stink. There had been no time anywhere, for a cleanup.

The long flight ended with an automatic descent initiated by the flight control system. The engines were throttled back. The nose dipped ever so slightly. Giant glowing pillars of fire marked the horizon. I quickly woke everyone up.

Harry said that I shouldn't have waited so long. Jennie was surprised that the night was already over. There was a faint sign of dawn on the northern horizon. I went and prepared breakfast with more coffee and a lot of re-heated buns and an assortment of jam, but no butter and no fried eggs. In fact we were still having breakfast, such as it was, when I landed the plane.

We were a part of a military style formation of ten aircraft, landing at thirty seconds intervals. On this run our assignment was to service Vancouver. The chaos didn't seem to bother me anymore; shots, outcries, confusion, and haste by the control tower, had become normal business. I no longer expected it any other way. Oh how fast one can get used to this! The desperation was no less and no more than what we had seen in Victoria. In some ways the atmosphere was less tense in Vancouver while many more gunshots could be heard. I even invented a new measurement for chaos, expressed in gunshots per minute.

We took on eight hundred people from Frank's hometown, were refueled in record time, and sped down the runway in exactly twelve minutes from touching down. On takeoff, the tower repeated a routine warning to all flight crews not to mix with the 'passengers.' The fallout had become heavier. "You can't see it, feel it, and smell it," the tower said, "but it settles on people's clothing and may be deadly. Don't take any unnecessary chances."

The return trip was my time to sleep. Sleep wasn't easily accomplished, in spite of being dead-tired. Although this flight was becoming the best organized yet, there was too little room left in the aircraft for anyone to sleep comfortably. And it was noisy! The First Class cabin below us had been designated as a nursery. The bar became used as a changing table, and the upstairs lounge, where I hoped to sleep, served as an emergency hospital. We appeared to have picked up a section of a hospital ward. I fell asleep, though, crouched on a seat by a window. A man in great pain needed my camp-cot much more urgently.

When I woke, the noise had abated. Sunshine filled the cabin. Jennie sat next to me with a bag of sandwiches and a styrofoam cup of tea. I gazed down onto the sea below us while eating breakfast once more.

"Guess where we're heading," said Jennie with a twinkle in her eye.

"Honolulu?" I replied mechanically.

"Guess again!"

"Ah, then it must be Maui," I replied.

"Right on!" she said, "but how did you guess it so quickly!"

"Because that's where Papakeea is," I said with a grin.

"Papakeea what?"

"Our new home; the apartment complex."

"Do you know where it is?"

I shrugged my shoulders and pointed to the horizon. "Somewhere there. We'll find it. Just wait and see!"

"Oh you!" she said and punched me gently.

Looking down unto the sea it seemed to me that we were coming near to the islands. The weather had improved. The morning sun had burned off the clouds over the water. There were some white cumulus 'mountains' scattered across the sky, and one big gray one in the distance that was producing some rain. We tried a game of matching the shadows on the sea to the clouds that caused them. Also there were many light patches of shallow turquoise waters. "That's where the divers must get their corals from," Jennie observed. She was very close to me now. We both looked through the same small window while we talked. Still, I didn't dare touch her.

"How long has it been that we have known each other?" I asked her at one point.

"Seven years. Maybe more. Why do you want to know?"

"Because I still remember the day we met, that bright morning in the Colorado Mountains when Frank introduced me to you. You responded by asking me to stay for lunch. Your smile felt so warm, I shall always remember it. I've loved you ever since, you know. Now something is happening again."

"You are different," she replied. "I've always felt comfortable being with you, knowing that you would keep our relationship at a level that would require no compromises. But now I'm afraid that what we once meant to each other may be gone, and be gone forever. Still, I'm not scared."

"Is it wise to keep things the way they were?" I asked. "We both have changed, Jennie. What has happened has changed us. The world itself has changed! But we are still human beings and respond to our feelings as we always have. Even if it were possible to go back to the way we were, I'm not sure that I would want to."

She smiled in reply and said nothing more on the subject.

I pointed to the sea once again where I had spotted a fishing boat. "We must be close to the islands," I said, and hugged her slightly. I was right. Soon, the windward side of Maui came into view. It was high time for me to get back to the cockpit. I kissed her quickly, and hurried to the flight deck.

The warm feeling that this simple kiss generated stayed with me. It felt great! I felt at this moment as if I could take on the world and win. Indeed, the world had changed, and I with it.

The tower at Kahuluie cautioned us that our landing would be difficult. The runway wasn't designed to handle heavy long-range jets, overloaded, sluggish in response and slow to stop. But that 'small' obstacle didn't disturb me, not in the least. It was merely a challenge. The weather was ideal. I felt great. I felt as though I could do anything. And I did. I trimmed the engines just right. I eased the giant crate onto the first fifty feet of runway without the slightest bounce or undue loading of the runway. At the end I stopped the thing with room to spare.

It was all done with ease. The passengers must have thought that I did this stunt twice a day, to have executed it so perfectly; not that anyone was aware that this had been a dangerous landing. In a way, it was almost a shame that we were getting off now. The tower had already told us that a new crew stood ready to take over, and that accommodation had been arranged for us at a small hotel in Hana.

"In Hana!" I exclaimed as we taxied to the ramp. I had always wanted to stay in Hana, but never managed to do so. I promised Harry and Ken that they would have a wonderful time there. Then I showed them the key to our own place.

"Lucky you," Harry grinned as we said good-bye to each other.

We were on our own from then on. Luckily, the local airlift committee had a few rental cars for needy VIPs like us. They said it had been chaotic, even on the islands, but things were back to normal, except for the flood of refugees coming in.

While we drove away, I told Jennie that it had been a couple of years since my last visit to the island. Surprisingly, nothing had changed. I said that everything appeared exactly as I remembered. A wonderful sense of peace flowed from this familiarity.

I had selected the long route, through the center of Wailuku, and from there via a narrow highway along the base of a mountain range, to the coast. I had fond memories of this drive. I wasn't disappointed at seeing it again after more than ten years. The mountaintops had always been shrouded with clouds and they still were. I supposed to Jennie that they would most likely continue to be that way for a long time after the last of mankind might be exterminated from the face of the planet.

She just laughed.

Being touched by this timeless familiarity was like a celebration for me. We passed beneath archways of branches that stretched from both sides across the narrow road lined with wildflowers. Nothing had changed. Far to the left lay sugar cane fields, stretching endlessly into the distance. I felt as though I had just come home from a war, to a place of deep peace.

Driving along the coast, we came into a dry area. Nothing grew there; however, the sea sparkled beautifully in the sunshine. "Let's stop somewhere along a beach," Jennie suggested.

I recalled that there had been many beaches along this road. One especially came to mind, not too far off from where we were. I had loved this particular beach for its unusually soft sand. Also it was right beside the highway.

We found it ideal. There wasn't another person on the beach with us. Though it was close to the highway, it was just another one of those quiet and beautifully lonesome stretches of sand that the islands had long been famous for. Its closeness to the highway didn't seem to matter. I didn't to us. There was no traffic, anyway. Only the sound of the surf could be heard, and the wind.

The air was clear, cool, and the sand as soft as I remembered it. With each step our feet sank two or three inches. Neither of us spoke as we walked along the edge of the water, wading through the shallow surf. In time some unimportant small talk interrupted the quiet when one or the other remarked on the lack of seashells or driftwood.

While we walked, I recalled another morning like this, with Melanie and the children. I closed my eyes for a moment and listened to the surf. Scenes of our holiday came to mind, of bodysurfing, swimming, snorkeling. It had been a wonderful vacation for the whole family. Now the beach was empty, with no children's voices shrieking for excitement when the waves pushed them down. Jennie and I were alone, carrying within us the agonizing realization of how much had changed in the world. Still it was wonderful to be at this beach, to be away from smoke and chaos, to see clean water, feel the fresh moist air, look up into a sky that portrayed not the slightest hint of the pain and horror that we had become so closely linked with. I couldn't shed the feeling that we would soon be right in the middle of it again. In this respect, our walk on the beach was a holiday, too, a holiday of a different sort, from an ugly reality! I vowed that I would savor this holiday to the utmost. A day in this age of uncertainty might well be like half a lifetime; and a single experience of living not grasped, like a touch of life lost forever.

With this background in thought, our walk on the beach took on a new meaning. The sand, the surf, the air, the water, to be able to feel, to be aware of them, all were like miracles now. I wondered how many thousands of billions of miles a traveler would have to traverse the far reaches of space to locate other worlds comparable in riches to our own. I looked at Jennie with total appreciation and smiled as if she were the most precious miracle in the universe, which indeed, she was. She must have thought that I had gone 'bonkers' to smile as I did when all the evidence of the world would have one cry. But how could I not smile at her? She appeared like a jewel to me. In my way of looking at things, she was a jewel within a jewel of the universe. Her legs looked infinitely soft, smooth, perfectly formed; her figure graceful, shapely, well proportioned, and her gestures were always gentle. Of course I realized that beauty was a response rooted in the beholder, a reflection of values found in the Soul and acknowledged in appreciation.

Here the thought struck me, that from the first moment I met her, my heart had been filled with such a deep appreciation for her, which went so deep that I had never dared to admit its wonder to myself, much less proclaim it to others, least of all to her. I stopped in my tracks and thought about it, all the while watching her. I observed her every move, wondering if it was possible to re-capture that dizzying feeling that I had felt when I first fell in love with her, that I had later learned to suppress.

Her image blended well with the silver hue of the water reflecting the bright sky at the beach. Her hair barely moved in the breeze of the morning. Her breasts appeared so inviting to touch. But I also knew that I ought not even to think about this level of appreciation. Discouraged, I let my gaze fall. The crude reality was, that mankind had become much more segregated than most people would admit to themselves. The East/West segregation, enforced by nuclear war, appeared almost shallow by comparison to what happened on the deeper, private level.

Oh boy, I thought, did we ever fool ourselves with vain hopes, believing that we were close to resolving the nuclear arms crisis! How could we even dream to tackle the East/West segregation while a much more deeply rooted segregation governed our heart and soul in our everyday private living?

Deeply discouraged by this realization, I suggested to Jennie that it was time to go on.

In the car we began to talk about Papakeea. We had to face the situation that we would be living together. I suggested to her that McTaggert's apartment was probably much like the one we had during our last holiday. Most of these complexes appeared to be basically alike. "You will love it," I said to her. "It will be one of those wonderful places by the sea, surrounded by lawns, palm trees, and small gardens with lily-ponds. It may even have a few swimming pools, and certainly a Jacuzzi."

The subject got Jennie to ask all sorts of questions. She wanted to know how big the kitchen would be, and the living room; whether the place might have a dining room or a dinette, and how many bedrooms and beds we had in our last apartment there.

I answered as best I could. There was only one bedroom in the place we had rented earlier, but I couldn't remember what it was like.

"If there's just one bed, I'll sleep on the Chesterfield, or we'll buy a camping mattress or something like that," I said to Jennie at one point. "There are plenty of stores in Lahina, where I could get a cot."

"We should stop there anyway," she suggested, "we need to get groceries, tooth paste, soap, I need a bathing suit and a few other things..."

"Sure," I agreed, "but who knows, maybe the stores aren't open anymore."

It suddenly dawned on me that she would also need a nightgown. If the stores were still open, I determined that I would buy her one. It would make a lovely surprise present. With this thought in my mind we came to Lahina.

Some places were closed, as we suspected, but most were open. There was commotion, here and there. People were milling about in the streets, some debating the war. We heard talk about Russia taking us over, which someone said had already started, which I denied. However, while listening to their talk, the idea came that it would be wise to stock up on groceries for more that just a few days, especially the none-perishable items.

Since I had most of my expense money left over, as it has been hard to spend money during the seminar, we went on a gigantic shopping spree. We shopped in three super markets. Surprisingly, groceries were as freely available as at any time before. Also our money was still accepted without the slightest hesitation, something McTaggert would have found strange. Luckily we had a car to transport everything.

Afterwards, while Jennie was trying on bathing suits in a store, I slipped out to a store across the street and purchased a nightgown for her. I hid it in a grocery bag and gave it to her as a "housewarming present," the moment we entered our apartment. She seemed pleased. She smiled and remarked on how 'thoughtful' it was of me, emphasizing the word, thoughtful.

I blushed and gave no reply. We quickly carried our groceries in and stashed them away into cupboards and closets, and piled the larger items in a corner of the bedroom.

McTaggert's apartment was not a large place. It had a bathroom, a bedroom with two single beds, and a kitchen/dining-room/living-room combination, nicely appointed. It was situated on the second floor. I barely noticed that it offered a sweeping view of the ocean, with palm trees in the foreground swaying in the wind.

"We'll be able to see the sunset from the kitchen table," I said to Jennie as I put the rest of the groceries away.

She was in the bedroom by then, getting the beds ready for our much-needed sleep.

"There are always beautiful sunsets here," I repeated.

Actually she was right not to answer. Sunsets mattered little at the moment. We had been on the go for twenty-eight hours, much of it under difficult circumstances. What we needed more than anything in the world, were a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, followed by a proper hot dinner and some relaxation before our next sequence of flights would begin. I was certain that Jennie would want to come back with me, and that we would remain together no matter what happened.

I kept the windows ajar and the balcony doors wide open for our sleep. It was quiet outside, except for the sound of the wind in the palm trees. We were far from the road. In the background, the surf could be heard. The thing I remembered having loved about the islands, was the gentle breeze of warm moist air that constantly sweeps in from the sea, and the timeless sound of the surf. I remembered that it had always been easy to fall asleep in this wonderful, gentle atmosphere. It certainly was so again.