Love
in the Time of War
by
Raul E. Jimenez
Honolulu was teeming with US
soldiers on R&R from Vietnam. It was February 1970, and I had
been conducting business in Hawaii for two days. New York was my
home base. Before my departure from Long Island three days
earlier, my wife and I had a nasty spat, and in the cab from the
hotel to Honolulu International - I'd be leaving for Hong Kong in
one hour - the torturous thoughts of a pending divorce and our kids'
inevitable suffering were twisting down the pathways of my brain.
As I dropped my suitcase on the
Customs belt, I noticed the spirited girl, one of six Pan Am
stewardesses marching on to the operations office. She was blonde,
pretty, freckled-faced, and her smile glowed like the gentle fire
of a hearth. I wondered if she'd be part of the crew on my own
flight, and as soon as I did, the pang of guilt hit me right
between the eyes.
You're married you fool. You have
no right.
The inspector's voice brought me
back to reality. "Have a good trip, Mr. Acosta."
"Thank you."
I picked up my suitcase, walked to
the ticket counter, and proceeded downstairs to the departure
lounge to wait for my flight. I closed my eyes and my thoughts
drifted to Teri and our children. The local Honolulu newspaper had
mentioned a snowstorm in New York and for a brief moment the
whistling wind of a blizzard cut through my body, making me
shiver.
While they freeze back there, I'm
out here enjoying paradise.
The voice of the gate agent brought
me back to reality. "Pan Am announces the departure of Flight
811 to Hong Kong. We'd like to board those needing assistance
first, and then the First Class passengers..."
As the voice droned on, I walked up
to the small line. When my turn came, I handed my boarding pass to
the agent and walked across the tarmac to the steel stairs. The
white and blue of the Boeing 707, its silver engines like
open-mouthed whale sharks, always impressed me.
I boarded through First Class and
there she was, the girl from the Customs area, readying the
galley, impeccably dressed, brightly pretty, a perfect flight
attendant in the service of "The World's Most Experienced
Airline." Her golden presence gladdened my spirits. Suddenly,
I looked forward to the long trip, usually close to ten hours. Pan
Am 811, a glamour flight in the middle of a still-romantic era,
would launch me from tropical Oahu to exotic Hong Kong. I had my
book, a novel by Fowles, to keep me
company. The presence of this girl, I thought, will make the trip
more bearable.
Book on my lap, I closed my eyes,
and my thoughts wandered to my stay in Hong Kong. Would I finally
climb to the top of fabulous Victoria Peak, take a walk on the
quiet beach at Repulse Bay, or have dinner at the electrifying
Floating Restaurants? I knew the crew would layover before
continuing to Saigon to run R&R shuttles to Bangkok.
Sometimes, in previous trips, I'd go out to dinner or shopping
with crewmembers and I knew I'd be free to rest on my on my first
day in Hong Kong. Perhaps I could...
My mind drifted back to Teri and
the kids. I was a worrier, a good father. I had tried to be a good
husband, but Teri and I were so far apart on so many things.
I opened my eyes and found the girl
in the aisle next to me. Her teeth were perfect behind smiling
lips and an understanding look was in her eyes. The nametag on
her chest read Michelle Etienne. "I didn't mean to startle
you," she said. Her voice was like Liszt's La Campanella,
with a hint of British and a dash of French in it.
"You didn't. It's all
right."
"Drink after takeoff, Mr.
Acosta?"
The manifest, I thought, she had to
have seen my name in the manifest.
I smiled in return. "Yes,
please," I said. "Scotch on the rocks."
And four minutes later the
four-engine jet roared down the runway towards the exotic Colony,
lifting just in time over the emerald waters not far from Pearl
Harbor, turning north over the sea, and giving those of us on the
left side of the plane a ghostly look at Diamond Head through the
puffy cumuli flying by the window. Once we had attained cruise
altitude, the hissing noises from an open mike introduced the
voice of the Captain, who made the obligatory announcement. "A
strong jet stream has settled south, all the way between Hong Kong
and just north of Honolulu. Our flight plan today will take us
over Guam...uh...We expect strong headwinds, two hundred
and fifty knots at times. It'll take us a little longer...ah...than our scheduled blocks times. It'll be about ten hours and
forty minutes, total time. We hope you'll settle back, enjoy the
flight, and let us know what we can do for you."
Well, the flight will be tedious,
but this cute girl is here, so...
I was an instructor of engineering
systems assigned to the dispatch offices that Pan Am still kept in
many countries around a world that did not yet have satellite
communications. I understood flight plans. Airline life was what I
enjoyed best. My problems with Teri had exacerbated when I began
travelling so often far away from New York.
"You leave me
alone with the kids," she would say, "and you go enjoy
the sights all over the world."
I would try to reason. "It's
what I do, Teri. I'm the breadwinner. This is what I went to
college for, what I always wanted to do."
My eyes wandered to where the
blonde stewardess might be. She was out of sight in the galley. I
sat back and relaxed, closed my eyes once again.
"Mr. Acosta, your
scotch?"
Startled, I opened my eyes and sat up in my seat.
She stood next to me, the smile a tranquilizer, an Alka-Seltzer
for my marital headaches.
"Thank you." I smiled
back, and placed my pipe in my mouth.
She set a fancy glass
engraved with Pan Am's world-and-wings on my armrest, stared at me
for a second, and said, "I like your jacket. It's very
sharp." I had kept it on.
"Why, thank you."
I was especially proud of my yellow
jacket, an Abraham and Strauss creation Teri had bought me for
Christmas. In it, I felt like a handsome leading man. With my
bushy, black eyebrows and dark looks, people often mentioned I
reminded them of a young Gregory Peck.
And you sparkle like champagne.
The lavish dinner lasted two hours:
a variety of cheeses, caviar, hams, shrimp, followed by hot-sour
soup, and a choice of roast beef or duck followed by deserts,
coffee, and after-dinner drinks. It was too much, but so
delightful, so conducive to feeling like a Shah of Iran. It was
good to indulge occasionally.
Putting down my last Benedictine, I
lay back satisfied, noticed the rest of the passengers - three men,
two women - slept. I kept my reading light on, returned to Nicholas
Urfe, Conchis, and the other characters of The Magus. Nicky, the
protagonist, had women problems too.
A hiss on the PA system told me the
captain was about to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen...uh...we're now passing the International Date Line. If you would
like to adjust your watches to this side of the world, the time in
Hong Kong is..."
Oh, Captain, please keep quiet.
The sun had long settled below the
horizon. I no longer noticed the whooshing sounds of the fuselage
straining against the air stream. I lay my book aside, placed my
pipe on the ashtray, and let my body relax. My eyes felt heavy,
about to close, when the girl's voice snapped me out of my
reverie.
"Mr. Acosta, would you like me to turn your reading
light off?"
I immediately sat up to face her.
"No, wait." I yanked my reading glasses off and laid
them on the seat next to mine. She pursed her lips and the dimples
on her cheeks grew cuter, deeper. I felt shaky, nervous, and
wondered why. Could she read it in my demeanour?
"Yes?" she started to
ask.
"Do you mind if I call you by
your first name?" I pointed at her nametag.
She wrinkled her nose, and smiled.
I had grown so used to Teri's sadness, her lack of spark. I had
forgotten how exciting a pretty woman could be when she exudes
brains and charm.
Michelle said, "No, I don't
mind. By the way, I noticed your book."
"It's an excellent one. One of
the best I've ever read. I can't put it down." I began
relighting my pipe, trying to regain my calm. As my hand brought
the cigarette lighter up, I asked, "Do you mind?"
Something about her distilled
familiarity. Had I met her before? Was she another version of the
Maiden? The Maiden had haunted me all my life, but she was a
vision, not real. She had come to me when I was ten, in Cuba, when
my parents took me sailing to the Fragoso sandbanks. I had always
been sensitive, given to flights of fantasy, but the vision was
something from a long time ago, from a moment before sunrise. As
the Maiden - a beauty whose blonde hair fell gently to her
shoulders - rose from the sea the sky turned purple and notes of
intense violin music emanated from the clouds and the sea. The
precious girl looked virginal in a long, white robe that shone
with the energy of a star. She said, "One day I'll return to
you. Wait for me." Then the sky returned to blue, and the sun
was higher up in the sky. Later that morning, I told my parents
about what I'd seen, but they were dismissive. My father laughed
and said, "Just your imagination. You were dreaming." I
protested, but they wouldn't listen.
Don't be an idiot. Visions are just
that.
"Not at all; I like the
smell." She was still standing, not giving any signs of
pressing obligations. "By the way," she added. "I
saw the movie, The Magus. I didn't understand it." Her left
hand smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"That's because they cut it
short, before the real ending in the book occurs. Anthony Quinn,
Michael Caine, and Candice Bergen were fine, but the movie fails
to catch the essence of the book." I raised my eyebrow in
disgust.
I knew I was being vain, a typical
pompous male. I was married. I had no right...
Why can't women be the ones
impressing us? I asked myself. Of course, I was forgetting that
women did just that. All the time.
Her eyes seemed begging. "May
I browse through it?"
"Sure. Look, the other
passengers are sleeping. Would you sit down and chat?"
I moved to the window seat, and she
slid her body into the one I vacated. When she sat, the grey
leather sighed with a swishing sound. The semi-darkness in the
cabin contributed to a feeling of intimacy. She pulled her skirt
forward to cover her knees, and her perfume filled my nostrils.
She looked intently into my eyes and asked, "What will you be
doing in Hong Kong?"
"Business; got to do some
teaching. I'll be there until the end of the week."
"We're going on to Saigon day
after tomorrow. We'll run the R&R shuttle to Bangkok for a
couple of days. I've never been to either place."
I felt mesmerized. Now she sounded
like Leslie Caron in Gigi, her accent a combination of British
punctiliousness and French enchantment.
"I've flown south from Hong
Kong to Singapore," I said, still trying to impress her with
my worldliness. "A year ago we flew sixty miles off the coast
of Vietnam on the way south. It was in my last trip out here,
three months ago. We could see the mushrooms of smoke coming up
through the clouds in the distance, just before sunset."
She frowned, and her nose wrinkled
delightfully. "May I look through your book?" she asked
again.
I leaned over and handed it to her,
a purple cover trapping six hundred pages. Frowning, she began
scanning through the pages. I noticed that the skin of her hand
was almost transparent, the long fingernails done in a pink that
soothed instead of threatened.
"Mr. Acosta, what made you
pick up this book?"
"Call me Rafael. I work for
the airline, just as you do. I'm an avid reader. I've read the New
York Times critic's opinion and the minute I read the first
paragraph I was hooked."
"All right."
She extended her hand, and I shook
it. I noticed her delicate eyebrows and wanted to touch them. I
refrained.
"I live in New York. Where are
you based?"
"Los Angeles. I live in
Hermosa Beach."
I thanked my stars for having the
book with me. Without it, we might not have had the conversation.
"That's one of those coastal
cities, right? Next to Manhattan Beach?"
"Just north of it."
She rose once during the
conversation, and brought coffee for both of us. We chatted for
over an hour. She loved poetry, and her favourite book was The
Little Prince. She loved Gershwin music, and her favourite song was
"Stardust". Her favourite movie was A Place in the
Sun. She had gone
to school in England, but her mother lived in Paris. Her father
had died two years earlier. When she described things and events,
her hands drew circles in the air and her eyes were like
scintillating, blue stars.
She told me about her ambitions.
"One day, in three years, I'll go back to school. I want to
be a surgeon. Flying is fun, but I know it'll eventually wear me
out. We work like dogs, you know."
"I admire you for that."
I more than admired her; I felt
privileged that she seemed to like me.
A bell rang in the cabin, and the
other flight attendant, a tall brunette, the senior purser,
appeared out of the darkness and spoke to her. "Michelle, we
have to make the preparations for the final phase. We have to help
the girls in Economy Class."
Michelle started to rise, and I
stopped her by holding on to her hand. "Perhaps tomorrow we
can have breakfast at the Peninsula?"
She nodded before hurrying off.
"What time?"
"How about nine-thirty? We can
tour Hong Kong. I have the day off tomorrow."
"It's a date," she said.
"I'll be at the Hyatt, by the Ocean Terminal."
"I'm staying at the Park. Not
as fancy, but we get a great deal there, eleven dollars and fifty
cents a night."
She laughed and disappeared past
the curtain into Economy Class.
Once in Hong Kong, after Customs,
among the diesel smells of buses and taxis, I hailed a cab.
"Park Hotel, Kowloon side," I said to the driver. He
nodded, mumbled something, placed his white-gloved hands on the
steering wheel and took off. That night, I hardly slept, spent the
night listening to a local radio station that played the songs of
Cat Stevens, Ricky Nelson, and Dean Martin.
By nine-twenty, the morning misty
and slightly cool, I waited by the fountain outside the Peninsula.
"Good morning," she
greeted me. "Did you sleep well?"
Chinese porters in uniform chatted
and pointed at the Rolls Royce parked by the main entrance, the
sound of their voices alien but graceful, probably thousands of
years old. And I thought that her smile was like an infusion of
energy, a morning glass of orange juice right after waking up from
the fog of jet lag. She was dressed in a shiny, long outfit - very
much something of the times - that fell like a lavender veil to
below her knees. She wore a flowery, matching scarf over her
shoulders. Her look, I decided, was Paris high couture, and I
remember saying to myself that I knew nothing of such things.
"Not really. I don't do well
with the time zone changes, but here you are and I already feel
better."
We were inside. A solicitous maitre
d' who spoke fastidious English showed us to our table, and we
were seated by the tall windows overlooking the busy street that
ran by the side of the railroad tracks.
"I like your sideburns,"
she said out of nowhere, smiling.
Was she mocking me? I glanced at
her more intently, trying to read her face, but she didn't seem to
be one for secret agendas. I was still trying to figure out what
to say when our waiter materialized next to us, and we ordered. He
bowed, and retired.
I grew bold. "I like your
freckles."
She furrowed her nose, like a cute
Disney chipmunk from one of those Chip and Dale cartoons.
"Come on, let's have breakfast," she said. "I'm
starving."
We had orange juice that didn't
taste of Florida, poached eggs, muffins, and coffee that didn't
taste American. The charming English ambiance of the hotel -
stuffy
waiters in full, black and white uniforms, tall marble columns,
huge varnished doors, and sunken breakfast area - framed the moment,
gave us a glimpse at the marvels we would share in the day ahead.
First, we sailed on the Star Ferry
to Hong Kong Island, held hands and watched the junks passing by
in the sunlight. The dark blue sea and the sky contrasted with the
green of Victoria Peak and the white skyscrapers Hong Kong side.
The breezy morning dotted the sea with white caps, and I felt
giddy, relieved of responsibilities, happy to be alive.
We made it to the postcard places:
Victoria Peak, Repulse Bay, and the Floating Restaurants. By late
afternoon, we shopped in the China Fleet Store, and as the sun was
beginning to set we stopped by the Mandarin and ordered drinks. We
toasted each other. Without embarrassment, our eyes met. She held
mine, and I held hers, and I knew then I would never forget the
moment.
Dinner was at the Eagles' Nest
where Matt Monro entertained us with his velvety renditions of
"Born Free", "Softly as I Leave You" and fifteen others. We slow
danced, held hands, fed each other, sipped wine, and gazed into
each other's souls, all ills and disappointments far away on
another planet. The world was smiling again.
At midnight, again Kowloon side, we
strolled along the rail of the Ocean Terminal's open deck and
watched the scintillating harbour. "Look," Michelle said.
"Look at that huge ship." The American aircraft carrier
Intrepid stood there, majestic, lit up like a menacing Christmas
tree, ribbons of multi-coloured lights illuminating the sleek
silhouettes of the F-4 Phantoms.
"I read in the paper it's
paying a visit. It wasn't there when we went across this
morning."
In the fresh breeze, under a
million bright lights, mesmerized by the smells and the sounds of
an oceanic Shangri La, she came into my arms. The kiss happened as
a wave rolls gently on a sandy beach. A passing junk blew its horn
at us. The light show of the skyline reflected on the sea like
submarine stars. We kissed again, this time harder, more
passionately. I whispered, "Tonight...I don't want us to
part."
"Rafael, I have to get up at
five."
"I can't bear the thought of
not having you in my arms all night," I insisted.
"I'd like that, but...I'll
be lucky to get three hours of sleep." She looked at her
watch. "It's one a.m., and you still have to walk me to the
Hyatt."
My face turned sad, in the kind of
expression I made for my mother as a child when I wanted to get my
way.
"Rafael, don't be upset. I
have to fly to Saigon in the morning. I have to be up at
six."
"I have this feeling I might
never see you again."
"We will, I promise. Look, if
we spend tonight together I know we won't sleep. I won't get to a
hotel until tomorrow night. We'll fly from Saigon to Bangkok and
back. The crew layover is in Saigon, tomorrow night."
"I understand."
But I couldn't help it, I felt
betrayed and yet wondered why. She reached for my face and
caressed it; I felt goose bumps racing through my body. "Oh,
Rafael, I'm sorry. Please don't be angry. I think I love you a
little already."
"So do I. I told you the story
of the Maiden over dinner. I don't want to lose you."
I knew I was being childish.
"I'll be your girl from the
sea." She paused and shivered. I threw my jacket over her
shoulders. "We should be getting back to Honolulu on
Saturday, late morning. We'll be Flight 812, and you mentioned
you'd be there this weekend."
I half-joked, "Maybe you are
the Maiden of the Sunrise."
"Rafael, wait until
Honolulu?"
Another junk passed near the pier,
its engine chugging and turning, a little smoke escaping from an
old stack on top of the main cabin.
"Okay." My voice gained
excitement again. "Have you ever driven around the
island?"
"No. Will you take me?"
"I'll rent a small apartment
in Kailua. I have friends who live there. It'll be grand. It's a
pretty beach, horseshoe shaped. You'll love it."
I was holding her by the waist
again.
"Oh, Rafael, that sounds
wonderful. I can't wait."
The lights on the Intrepid blinked,
as if a momentary power outage had occurred. It lasted less than a
second, but we saw it. "The ship is signalling at us," I
joked.
"It's an omen," she said,
and she kissed my cheek.
"Maybe it's blessing our
plans."
We walked in silence back to the
Hyatt. Outside her room, we kissed one last time. She smiled and
closed the door behind her, very slowly. She said, "See you
in Honolulu on Saturday afternoon. Will you wait at the
airport?"
"I'll be waiting."
Anticipating Michelle's arrival, I
rented a small cottage on Kailua Beach, the small city north of
the Pali Lookout. I made plans in my head: A drive around the
island, Makaha and Waimea, the north shore, and then a visit to
the pineapple fields, a cold refreshing drink near Schofield
Barracks. Above all, we'd make love constantly, with our souls and
our bodies.
Perhaps she's the Maiden of the
Sunrise. Perhaps it wasn't just a dream.
I smiled at my fantastic dreams. On
Saturday, late morning, I anxiously drove to Honolulu
International in my rented, light blue, '69 Toyota Corona and
waited on the upper deck above Pan Am's arrivals area.
I am lucky after all; the beach,
the breeze, and Michelle will be here soon.
The strong easterly breeze bent the
palm and coconut tree fronds under its force. A smell of
gardenias, sugar cane, and pineapple scented the air.
In two days I fly back to the
winter...
I shook my head to dismiss New
York, replaced the thought with a time to live and a time to
die.
I concluded it was a time to live.
My anxiety grew as every passenger
and crewmember disembarked - no sign of Michelle. I ran to the
Immigration area and stood outside until everyone had trickled
out. Stopping a short Oriental stewardess, I breathlessly
questioned her. "Is Michelle Etienne in your group?"
She must have sensed my anxiety,
for she briefed me even though she was breaking the rules.
"No, but we only got this flight last minute. They reassigned
us and the original crew is still in Hong Kong waiting for their
reassignment. They needed an extra day of rest."
I knew such things happened, that
aircraft and crews were as chess pieces, pushed this way or that
at the whim of the Operations Control Center in JFK. Damn it all,
I thought. I ran along the open aisles to the Dispatch Office
where I knew my friend Pat Mederos worked the Swing Shift.
In an office littered with reams of
yellow teletype paper, flight plans, and maps, two dispatchers and
several assistants in Aloha shirts and sandals laboured over their
well-rehearsed routines. The place smelled of the ozone released
by the Ozalid machine. Over the noise of a nearby,
fifty-word-per-minute teletype, I asked Pat, "I met this
girl, Michelle Etienne, on the way to Hong Kong. When's she coming
back to Honolulu? I expected her on the 812 tonight. Have they
rerouted the crew? Where are they going next?"
"Goodness, Rafael. Aren't you
even going to say hi? We haven't seen you around here in a couple
of months. Glad to see you."
My friend was tall, about
six-seven, dark, originally from the Seattle area. He'd grown up Hawaiian, married one of the local girls. I had been to his house
for dinner several times during my previous visits.
"Sorry, Pat. I don't know
what's happened. I'm really looking forward to being with this
girl again, but she didn't make it."
He seemed ready to laugh.
"Rafael, this is an airline. You should know that. We move
those people here and there for the airline's needs. Sometimes
things don't work out."
"What's happened to that crew?
Please look it up."
He raised an eyebrow. "I
thought you were married. Another girl now?"
"Pat, it's a long story.
Please look at the crew movements list. When's she coming
here?"
The teletype noise hurt my ears. I
felt the first pangs of a headache. I covered my ears with my
hands.
"Are you all right?"
"Just a little nervous; I need
to relax."
"Rafael, wait by the coffee
and I'll be right back. You seem troubled. Come on, it's only a
girl from a crew. Airline girls are used to this. All airline
people are used to these changes, and you know that."
"Not her," I answered.
But I did go into the break room, and grabbed a Coke from the
vending machine.
He returned, and his face had
turned pale. "I found something, Rafael."
"Yes, yes, will she be here by
tomorrow?" I stepped outside again. The teletype noise was
maddening: Clickity - clackity - clickity - clackity.
I moved back into the break room.
He followed me in.
He raised his voice. "Sit
down, will ya? Rafael, have you known her a long time?"
"Pat, where is she?"
Johnny Ho, the other dispatcher,
was standing behind Pat, his worried eyes fixed on me.
"There was an accident. A bomb
in the streets of Saigon near the crew hotel...The whole crew
was rerouted."
"You're kidding, right?"
He held me by the shoulders. I felt
a dry heave. I heard his voice, but I knew this was all a dream
and I wasn't there, and he wasn't there either. "She was
killed, Rafael. The explosion killed her. I'm so sorry. The
airline is trying to determine where to send the body. Her
mother's in Paris. The rest of the crew escaped with only minor
injuries."
I stepped to the side, tried to
reach a trashcan. I threw up before I could reach it.
I returned to New York three days
later, but not before visiting each place in Oahu I had planned to
show Michelle before leaving the island. On Tuesday, I flew to Los
Angeles, and caught American Airlines to New York. On Tuesday
night I drove home in a snowstorm and on Thursday I returned to
my regular office work. Ten days I had been gone, and the world
had turned surreal. I remembered my son wanted me to take him to a
kiddie's basketball game, and my daughter had a Girl Scout square
dance that I had promised to take her to as soon as I returned
from my trip.
All over the United States, war
protesters raised their signs in anger. The country grew divided.
Each night, for the rest of my
life, after watching the late news and falling asleep, I dreamt of
a wondrous day by Hong Kong Harbour. Michelle, I decided, was the
Maiden, and one day, when I least expected it, she'd be back
again. I knew it couldn't be any other way. |
