DAY 32

Crossing the border is easier than driving by it on a secret road. The door is closed again, so The Messenger assumes they are in Syria. It isn’t long before the cargo truck stops and there is calm before a storm of bullets and shattered glass echo within the cab. The Messenger cups his ears. Kashif is numb to any reaction but waiting.

The door slides open and black men in military uniform enter the cargo area. Their skin is spotted with perspiration dots and their tongues are healthy pink when they talk.

The Messenger understands their dialect. They are Nigerian.

Kashif gets up and they lower their rifles. When they see him, they nearly forget The Messenger is present as a potential threat. They offer Kashif their hands and kneel before him like he is their god. They guide him softly, as they would an elderly father, from the cargo truck and curse the former group for transporting such a valuable asset this way. The Messenger translates their anger and Kashif understands it.

They have reached an open plain surrounded by towering trees. The area has been cleared to be used as a dirt runway of sorts. There are single engine planes awaiting them.

“A star must fly amidst the sun,” one of the leaders says to Kashif. He doesn’t return the appreciation with any words or gestures. Kashif points to The Messenger. The group of men nod. They escort Kashif and The Messenger to a plane third in line of the fleet.

The pilot is honoured to have them on board. He nods to Kashif and The Messenger.

They fly in a cross pattern, The Messenger notices. One plane ahead of them, one behind them, one at either side—their plane in the middle.

Kashif stares out of the circular window. He doesn’t seem at all impressed by the royal attention he is receiving. If anything, he seems burdened by its particulars, almost annoyed by the honours. The Messenger decides not to bother him with conversation.

In his own mind, The Messenger remembers the first time he met his own wife. It wasn’t as suspicious or dangerous as Kashif’s first meeting, although it introduced him to the foreign feeling of having something to lose for the first time in his life.

Karen was sitting on one of those comfortable chairs in the lobby of a hotel in Toronto. He was checking out and preparing to return to Switzerland. There was a line up. So he decided to just sit and wait for the line to disappear. He didn’t like waiting.

“I hate to wait in line,” she said.

“Me too.”

“No one ever sits on these chairs. They are decorative. They remind me of my mother’s living room at the front of our house. No one was ever allowed to sit in them, just in case important company came over. But no one was ever important enough to sit in the room. My mother just kept it clean, just in case. And when she died, I did the same, for no other reason but force of habit.”

The Messenger appreciated the story. It was honest enough to grab his attention and it reminded him of his own home. Every family had its neurotic habits. Hers was no different. Her hair was light ginger and her skin freckled and she crossed her legs so naturally. She seemed at ease in the lounge chair. They watched people walking in and walking out of the hotel lobby, this area of transition. Concierges greeted them the same way as they said good bye to them on the way out.

The line had diminished to nothing. They remained in the comfortable lounge chairs, as if unable to rise.

“Are you leaving?” she asked.

“I have a flight to catch.”

“Oh.”

“I was thinking of catching it the next time around if you want to go for a walk.”

“I would like that yes.” She glanced out the curtain glass to the view of the harbour.

He had left his bags without realizing he did so, or worried if anyone should steal them. The morning was warm on his face and the conversation was as natural and endless as the water was to the horizon. One engine planes floated softly onto the island, one after the other, and they simply watched them land gracefully.

She was a teacher.

He was a peacemaker.

Their dreams were not so dissimilar.

By the end of the morning, and after a rather awkward landing by a single engine plane, he had asked to marry her.