just follow the cat

Chapter 7: slippery rivers

9:29AM PST, January 28th

Oakland Municipal Airport, Oakland, California

("...they were to land at Burbank for refueling and then proceed to El Centro where the passengers would be taken across the border.")

– The Fresno Bee

The old DC3 wearily turned right, then left, then right, then bumped along a straightaway, groaning through a sweeping half circle until finally positioning itself into the wind. With each zig and zag, the passengers grabbed the armrests and squeezed hard, like old men trying to prove their handshakes were still firm. Suddenly (or what seemed suddenly to the passengers), the plane just stopped at the beginning of the runway. Five seconds passed and then ten with no movement whatsoever. Even though they were stopped, every passenger continued to squeeze the armrests but now they held them even tighter than when the plane was moving. To them, this pause had no meaning and the longer it lasted the more frightening it became.

In the cockpit, Sam Wilson ran through the final instrument checks. As he did, the plane sat still for what seemed like an inordinate length of time. Then finally, it moved. When that happened, a collective gasp could be heard in the cabin. No man heard that fear from his own lips, but they all heard it from the others.

At this point, Sam began barking out commands. Since he didn't recall his co-pilot's name, he just said things like, "You do this," or "You do that." Each command was carried out almost before Sam had finished issuing them. Both men glanced back and forth between the runway speeding by and the instruments in front of them.

In the cabin, the initial burst of speed was startling to Jésus but it wasn't long before he was leaning across his wife to look out the window. As the plane picked up speed, it bounced strangely down the runway. At least it felt strange to Jésus because he had never flown before. But neither had Maria or any of the 27 other passengers. It was new to all of them – partly thrilling and partly frightening.

The way Jésus was hovering over Maria reminded her of those first few days after she had met her husband. Back then, he tried to watch her without being noticed, staring a few inches to her left or to her right. But on those rare occasions when he came close to her, she could hear his breaths. They were quick and sudden like his lungs could only sip the oxygen around him. As the plane bumped along the runway, Maria leaned close to Jésus to bring those old memories even closer. When she heard his sudden sharp breaths, she sensed her own breaths slowing. Slowing until finally she felt calm again.

For takeoff, Charon Wilson stood in the back of the plane. As they zigzagged across the tarmac, she checked each row for an empty seat, but there were none. When the plane first lurched forward, Charon braced herself against the wall and ceiling. Although she had been forced to stand on other flights, it was something she hated to do. Her legs were spread wide for balance and her arms pressed outward. She felt awkward and unfeminine.

Directly in front of her (and seated comfortably) were Jésus and Maria. Each time Charon banged her elbows to maintain her balance, she looked at Maria and blamed this woman for the fact that she had to stand. As the plane gathered speed down the bumpy runway, a head popped out from Maria's coat. It was the thirtieth passenger on the flight. It was three month-old Francisco. At first, the only thing visible from inside Maria's coat was a wisp of fine black hair, but then Charon saw Francisco's tiny left ear. Despite all the excitement, the infant was sleeping soundly.

Suddenly, Charon felt the sensation of smooth air and she knew that the plane's wheels had left the ground. This moment when roughness changed to smoothness was her favorite part of flying and she thought, "I can put up with all the problems on Earth if I'm able to leave it from time to time."

Then she looked at Maria and Jésus and the baby between them and wondered what they would do when they got home. Would they stay? Would they come back? More than all those practical questions, Charon wondered if this woman loved the man sitting next to her. They both looked so young.

Charon bent down and searched for her suitcase among the two-dozen filthy haversacks, rucksacks, and duffle bags surrounding her feet. She found her own bag near the bottom of the pile and ran her hand along the inside satin pockets. Stuffed in one corner were baby clothes she had bought months before. When she showed the cute blue outfit to her husband, his only was response was, "It's too early, dear." The sound of her husband's voice reminded Charon of a third echo coming back from a hillside that had already become bored after repeating the message the first time around.

As the plane gained altitude, two small threads of oil began to leak from the portside engine. The pattern they formed matched the route the plane had traveled from the holding area to the runway – parallel threads that turned right, then left, then right, and then ran together in a long straightaway. The bumps in the runway made different patterns. Each clunk and thud forced out small globs of oil from the leaking seal. From there, they ran along the slippery rivers and zigzagged their way toward the edge of the wing. At the tip of the wing, they hung on for a bit and then fell freely back to Earth, glistening in the sunlight like the last broken shards of a rainbow that no one remembered seeing.

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