hand mimed a plane landing.
‘Yeah,’ I repeated. ‘Twenny Fo and Leila.’
He gestured over his shoulder and said, ‘ Le président .’
‘The president,’ I repeated and made a face that conveyed wonder, respect, and surprise all at once.
We stood there looking at each other.
‘ Alors ,’ he said finally, then turned and walked back to the car. He got in and shut the door.
An hour later, I was sitting on my bag, the engines burbling in the black cars opposite me, their air-con units putting in overtime. I burned some minutes wondering why the presidential party was hanging around waiting. I stood and scoped the airport’s open expanse. I couldn’t see any spinning radar antennae. Maybe they didn’t have phones here, either. Maybe Monsieur President was relying on the same worthless schedule I was.
The air was growing thicker, along with the humidity. The underbellies of the clouds were now dark gray and about to break open. My ABUs were sweat-logged. I should have mugged the woman with the flyswatter and stolen it when I had the chance. I’d capitulated to the insects, which were now the owners of whatever piece of me they could carry off. Where the hell were these people I had come to meet? Impatient, I walked to where I could see the end of the runway in both directions. I stood there for another ten minutes and was finally rewarded by the sight of landing lights shimmering to the west, the plane a couple of miles away on final approach.
‘At fucking last,’ I said aloud to the insects.
Five minutes later, a United Airlines 767 kissed the runway and its engines screamed in reverse. It came to a stop at the eastern end of the strip, slowly turned one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, and taxied back.
In response to its arrival, the doors of the two limos at the rear of the convoy flew open. Secret service types jumped out, then moved to the front two cars and held open the rear passenger doors. Apparently, the security was traveling in a separate vehicle from the principals’. In a PSO sense, I didn’t like what I was seeing, but I had noticed that, as a general rule, foreigners do pretty much everything wrong.
First to exit were a perfectly groomed man and a woman, the president and first lady. The protection detail bowed. Two more men climbed out of the vehicle. The heads of the security detail were on a swivel, either looking for non-existent threats or trying to make it difficult for the flies to land. The president was in his mid-forties and wore an expensive navy blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. His wife was about the same age he was, but taller. She was wearing some kind of African dress in bright reds, yellows, and greens, and a matching scarf. The two overweight men who’d been sitting with them in the lead car were also in their mid-forties. I pegged them as high-ranking bureaucrats – fat cats who looked the same no matter which government they served. Out of the fourth limo spilled four kids – two boys and two girls – ranging in age from around five to ten, dressed in what I’d call their Sunday best. A young woman in loose white and gray clothing – a nanny presumably – chased them around the car. It must have been hell for her, cooped up with those kids all this time. I waved. The kids waved back.
A man holding a wand in each hand marched out of the arrivals hut and walked onto the ramp to a spot roughly midway between me and the presidential welcoming committee. The 767 turned onto the ramp and taxied in the direction of the man with the wands, who directed it to veer a little toward the limos over the last twenty meters. Then he crossed the wands over his head. The pilots hit the brakes; the plane dipped on its nose wheel, and then sprang back. An instant later, the engines died, and the man with the wands became the man who drove the pickup with stairs mounted on the back that would go to the aircraft’s front door. One of the president’s men ran to the trunk of the
‘Yeah,’ I repeated. ‘Twenny Fo and Leila.’
He gestured over his shoulder and said, ‘ Le président .’
‘The president,’ I repeated and made a face that conveyed wonder, respect, and surprise all at once.
We stood there looking at each other.
‘ Alors ,’ he said finally, then turned and walked back to the car. He got in and shut the door.
An hour later, I was sitting on my bag, the engines burbling in the black cars opposite me, their air-con units putting in overtime. I burned some minutes wondering why the presidential party was hanging around waiting. I stood and scoped the airport’s open expanse. I couldn’t see any spinning radar antennae. Maybe they didn’t have phones here, either. Maybe Monsieur President was relying on the same worthless schedule I was.
The air was growing thicker, along with the humidity. The underbellies of the clouds were now dark gray and about to break open. My ABUs were sweat-logged. I should have mugged the woman with the flyswatter and stolen it when I had the chance. I’d capitulated to the insects, which were now the owners of whatever piece of me they could carry off. Where the hell were these people I had come to meet? Impatient, I walked to where I could see the end of the runway in both directions. I stood there for another ten minutes and was finally rewarded by the sight of landing lights shimmering to the west, the plane a couple of miles away on final approach.
‘At fucking last,’ I said aloud to the insects.
Five minutes later, a United Airlines 767 kissed the runway and its engines screamed in reverse. It came to a stop at the eastern end of the strip, slowly turned one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, and taxied back.
In response to its arrival, the doors of the two limos at the rear of the convoy flew open. Secret service types jumped out, then moved to the front two cars and held open the rear passenger doors. Apparently, the security was traveling in a separate vehicle from the principals’. In a PSO sense, I didn’t like what I was seeing, but I had noticed that, as a general rule, foreigners do pretty much everything wrong.
First to exit were a perfectly groomed man and a woman, the president and first lady. The protection detail bowed. Two more men climbed out of the vehicle. The heads of the security detail were on a swivel, either looking for non-existent threats or trying to make it difficult for the flies to land. The president was in his mid-forties and wore an expensive navy blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. His wife was about the same age he was, but taller. She was wearing some kind of African dress in bright reds, yellows, and greens, and a matching scarf. The two overweight men who’d been sitting with them in the lead car were also in their mid-forties. I pegged them as high-ranking bureaucrats – fat cats who looked the same no matter which government they served. Out of the fourth limo spilled four kids – two boys and two girls – ranging in age from around five to ten, dressed in what I’d call their Sunday best. A young woman in loose white and gray clothing – a nanny presumably – chased them around the car. It must have been hell for her, cooped up with those kids all this time. I waved. The kids waved back.
A man holding a wand in each hand marched out of the arrivals hut and walked onto the ramp to a spot roughly midway between me and the presidential welcoming committee. The 767 turned onto the ramp and taxied in the direction of the man with the wands, who directed it to veer a little toward the limos over the last twenty meters. Then he crossed the wands over his head. The pilots hit the brakes; the plane dipped on its nose wheel, and then sprang back. An instant later, the engines died, and the man with the wands became the man who drove the pickup with stairs mounted on the back that would go to the aircraft’s front door. One of the president’s men ran to the trunk of the
Similar Books
