Still, even if none of us wants to admit it, it’s just as well that something happens now and then to break the boredom. A town like ours can get pretty depressing; our little airport never sees the fine ladies and gentlemen who fly around the world in the movies. We’re in the sticks out here. There are five flights a day and each takes off again right after landing. The passengers disappear quickly. At our airport there are no shops, no businesses. Eventhe little caféthat opens for each flight shuts down again at once. The only exercise the waitresses get is in the officers’ beds. And how long can anyone drag out the pointless inspections of the new arrivals and their luggage? A coffin, you have to admit, is more interesting and comes with some action. Provided, of course, that it’s disposable.
But here comes the officer, jumped out of bed with a new medal on his chest, bought last week in the market. He’s telling the policeman on duty to move over so that he can check the passports himself and sniff out any rat. It takes someone with experience to pick out at a glance the culprit who’s trying to slip away.
9
Well, what of it, thought the emissary when he was taken out of line and asked — most politely, to be sure — to report to the baggage terminal. The consul will soon come to relieve me of this responsibility that I should never have taken upon myself. And if she’s late, I have my satellite phone. Besides, I’m not alone. The journalist and his photographer don’t have a story without me.
He was not and never had been a coward, neither in the army nor in his travels as a salesman, and so it was with confidence that he descended to the baggage terminal in the basement of the airport — a converted military base — and strode down its narrow corridors. With an expression of amusement he followed an officer into a grim-looking cubicle that might have been a room for transit, interrogation, or even detention. Putting down his carry-on bag, he took the liberty of sinking into a chair, as if he had just covered the distance from the Holy Land on foot, meanwhile hastening to wave his three baggage stubs as a way of requesting the rest of his luggage. Only when the leather suitcase and two cartons arrived and he identified them with a nod did he consent to show the document in his possession. Whatever was in it, he assumed it would be enough to begin the negotiations that the consul would conclude.
Absorbed in reading, the officer absentmindedly fingered his new medal. A red ribbon, tied to his cap by his latest lover, dangled before his eyes. It was impossible to tell whether he found the document intriguing or simply too difficult to follow. Just then, though, the deep silence in the cubicle, which was definitely beginning to seem like a detention room, was broken by footsteps and the sound of something heavy being dragged. Cries of warning mingled with stifled laughter. The door burst open and the coffin entered slowly, gripped by four policemen under the direction of an old porter.
The resource manager shut his eyes and breathed deeply. Just keep calm, he told himself. Think of the funny story this will make one day. The bars have now closed in Jerusalem. If that woman I was hoping to meetcame lookingfor me,she’s found someone else by now. But that’s all right, too. I’m on a short, simple mission and I only need to wait patiently for the consul. She’ll come, no doubt about that. I’ve mentioned her twice to this officer, who has almost finished reading the letter. Even if her name meant nothing to him, her title speaks for itself. “Consul” is an international wordand an old one. There were consuls in Roman times.
The officer rose and folded the document. He briefly debated what to do with it, then returned it with a slight bow, said something in his own language, and signalled to the resource manager that he would return shortly, then departed, after unexpectedly locking the door behind him.
The human resources manager rose and took out his satellite phone, which he had shielded until now from possibly covetous eyes. Trying not to look at the coffin, which seemed to loom larger and larger, he dialled the consul. The line was crystal-clear and the call was answered by the consul’s husband, who, it turned out, also served as her aide-de-camp. His calm baritone inspired trust: it was the voice of an old, experienced hand. “Ah, it’s you! At last! We’ve been waiting for a sign of life from you. It’s a good thing those two journalists told us you were on the plane. Otherwise, we’d have thought that you’d missed the flight and the coffin had come without you. Don’t worry, though. We’re here in the airport. Everything is under control. My wife inquired why you had been separated from the other passengers. It’s actually quite simple. There’s nothing mysterious or personal there. A few months ago there was a problem with a coffin from Israel that no one came forward to claim. In the end, they had to bury it themselves. That’s why, when you made the mistake of saying you were this coffin’s chaperone, they were determined to keep you close by.”
“I didn’t say anything. They already knew — don’t ask me how. But it doesn’t matter. Just get us out of here.”
“Us?”
“Me and the coffin.”
“Of course. In a jiffy. We’re just waiting for a signed commitment from the family as to the time and place of the funeral. The coffin can’t be released without it.”
“But her husband … I mean her ex …” The flustered emissary had begun to stammer. “Isn’t he with you?”
“Of course. He’s right here. He’s prepared to go to the cemetery and do the honours right now. But he’s not the problem. It’s his son, who is refusing to cooperate. The boy insists that we wait for his grandmother. He doesn’t want his mother buried without her.”
“But where is she? Why didn’t you bring her too?”
“That’s the whole point. She lives far away and doesn’t know that her daughter is dead. She went on a pilgrimage to a monastery several days ago and can’t be informed until she gets back.”
“But that will take time. How do you know when, or even whether, she can get here? Who gave the boy the right to decide?”
“He’s the next-of-kin. He’s authorized to sign for the coffin and its burial.”
“How can he be authorized at his age?”
“He is. Apart from the grandmother, he’s the only blood relation.”
“But how old is he?”
“Thirteen or fourteen, though he looks older. He’s not a child any more. And unfortunately, he’s a complicated type. There’s a delinquent side to him. It’s hard to know what’s going on inside him that’s making him so stubborn. He may be trying to extort additional benefits from our government. In any case, we can’t do anything without him.”
“But what about me?”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere in the baggage terminal. In a room with the coffin.”
“With the coffin? Those dumb police have gone too far. I’m terribly sorry … why didn’t you tell me before? The consul will have you released at once, or at least transferred elsewhere.”
“It’s no big deal. Just try to do it quickly.”
“Of course. The bastards have taken you hostage to cover their asses. But don’t worry, we’ll get you out of there. If they need a hostage, I’ll take your place.”
“I’m not worried. I’m fine and in no hurry. Just don’t forget me.”
“Of course we won’t. This is an excellent phone connection. Your voice sounds as if it were inside my head.”
“That’s because I’m using a satellite phone that doesn’t depend on the mercies of the local system. It’s plugged right into the sky.”