just follow the cat

Chapter 13: nothing to worry about

10:08AM PST, January 28th

approaching Los Gatos Creek in central California

("...smears were found on the left horizontal tail, indicating that oil was carried back by air currents from a motor leak.")

– The Fresno Bee

There was a jolt. To Jésus, Maria, Francisco, and all the other passengers, it felt like any other jolt. It felt like flying through another of the hundreds of invisible pockets of air that had become quietly familiar in the previous three-quarters of an hour. When it happened, Maria was drifting into sleep, but Francisco woke to see his father smiling at him. The infant boy playfully stuck his foot out of his blanket and Jésus caught it. With his thick (thick) fingers, Jésus wiggled each toe. An extra firm wiggle was reserved for the biggest toe.

"uno...dos...tres...cuatro...CINCO."

Then there was another jolt. For those in the cockpit, it was something altogether different. Sam Wilson immediately scanned the instrument panel. The long-legged co-pilot pushed his blond hair under his hat and dropped his novel into his flight bag. Charon Wilson stuffed the blue baby outfit back into the waistband of her skirt and leaned forward. When her husband sat straight up in his seat, Charon moved in parallel – propping herself on her toes and then waiting for some kind of order.

Sam drummed his fingers on the fuel gauge. Although he had checked the instruments several times already, he saw nothing that alarmed him. For a few moments, he removed his hands from the controls, hoping this would quiet his nerves. He even lifted himself out of his seat in case his lower body was shaking. Then after taking a deep breath that was almost a gasp, he turned and patted Charon on the knee. As he smiled at her, he touched the wheel with his index finger and then tilted his head like he was trying to hear something faint over the humming of the engine.

Sam and the nameless co-pilot then proposed various reasons to explain the jolt. It was possible that there had been "a clog in the fuel line", that they had "hit a bird", that they might have "dropped a cylinder", or that the problem was something else altogether. Then there was silence. All of these explanations frightened Charon, but it was the silence afterward that scared her the most. As she waited without speaking, she felt a horrible sense of fear rising from her aching toes, into her churning stomach, and then to tip of her silent tongue.

Sam unbuckled his safety belt and leaned back to stare out the portside window. After several seconds, he shook his head and turned to his wife. "I don't see anything at all. But we oughta be careful." He paused for a moment and added, "Charon, I want you go into the cabin to one of the back windows and see what you can see portside. Then come right back up here, Charon. You got that, Charon?"

Fear is like a dye that colors a cloth. It takes only moments to darken the shade, but ages to bleed back to grayness. For Charon, hearing Sam use her name three times in three sentences was the dye that darkened everything. In all their flights together, she couldn't recall a single occasion in which her husband had called her by her first name once the plane had left the ground.

Suddenly, things she had seen dozens of times before were now shocking. When Charon opened the door to the cabin, she was greeted by a large cloud of smoke. Immediately, she put her hand to her mouth and exclaimed, "Oh my God!" But just as quickly, she realized that this was ordinary smoke. It was cigarette smoke mixed with the dust from the haversacks and duffle bags piled in the back of the plane.

With a lopsided smile on her face, Charon ran down the aisle leaping deftly over a hat and a pair of shoes that had been left there. It was an obstacle course laid out by the bored and unconcerned. But when Charon rushed by, all those passengers who were still awake sat upright and followed her with their eyes.

She pressed her face against the window at the rear of the plane. At first, she kept her eyes closed while she said a brief prayer. When she opened them again, she fully expected to see something horrible – something like a thick plume of smoke or worse yet fire spewing from one of engines. But there was nothing. Nothing remarkable. Everything looked like it had always looked. The propeller was whirring away and the wing appeared comfortingly sturdy.

For just an instant, Charon's knees gave way. She closed her eyes and felt cool glass pressing against her cheek. But when she opened her eyes again, she saw two wriggling snakes of oil streaming away from the wing. This was definitely not ordinary. Not at all. So, she turned to run back to the cockpit. If she had only stayed a second or two longer, she could have seen several small chunks of rubber and metal break free from the portside propeller. Those pieces were quickly replaced by thin wisps of gray smoke.

Charon whispered to herself, "Everything will be fine."

She took two large steps toward the cockpit and then stopped abruptly. Without saying a word, she leaned across the last row where Jésus and Maria were sitting and checked the starboard engine, too. There were no oily snakes or wisps of smoke on that side. Everything was in its proper place.

As she pushed herself back into a standing position, little Francisco de los Santos stuck out his hand and grabbed onto the blue terrycloth baby outfit stuffed into Charon's waistband. She stopped and closed her eyes briefly. Then she brushed the boy's fine black hair with her fingertips. "Un chico?" she asked.

In a voice like the melody of a child's song, Maria said, "Si! Si! Un chico."

Glancing again at the cockpit, Charon rested her hand on the top of Francisco's head. In English, she said, "May God love you on this day and for all the days ahead."

Then Charon ran back up the aisle and accidentally kicked the shoes and hat that she had dodged on her way down. They tumbled away from her like strangely shaped dice. At the cockpit door, she turned around and spoke to the passengers in a loud voice.

"No preocupación. Don't worry. There's really nothing to worry about. No preocupación."

Some men mumbled. Others crossed themselves. One man spat on the floor and another shouted. Several stood motionless beside their seats while others cried. Those few men, who had been sleeping, stood straight up when they heard Charon's voice. Jésus looked out the window and stared at the ground below. It looked so far away. At first, Maria barely reacted because she was playing with Francisco. When the cockpit door slammed shut, Jésus noticed an odd smile still frozen on his wife's face.

Out of breath from running, Charon said, "There's oil. Not a lot but there are smears and streaks across the portside wing. Nothing on starboard, Sam. What do you think we—"

With a wave of his hand, he cut her off. "We already know," he said. "The gauges show us that!"

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