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"Tell them that I have already started our descent."
Ken transmitted the message, and repeated it continuously. By the time we were submerging into the clouds for a landing, Vancouver responded.
"You have a problem," said the tower, "we expect a tidal-wave. We can't let you in until it is over."
"Negative! We don't have the fuel. We can't stay in the air an extra minute. Please prepare the runway!"
"OK, then; this is what you will see. As you break through the clouds you will face a large fire in the mud flats in front of the runway. That's a DC9, burning. Go directly towards it and through the flames; the runway starts 200 feet behind the fire. You must use every inch, because the far end of the runway is blocked. The fire there is from a DC10 that was stormed by the crowd. The pilot was forced at gunpoint, to take off. The guy didn't have a chance. He couldn't get the wheels 'unstuck.' On the far end of the runway they had a collision."
"I'll be happy with half the runway," I called back.
As we came into the clear below the clouds, Ken called to the tower that we couldn't see any tidal wave.
"It must have passed," the Tower came back. "It must have traveled in a way that didn't affect us. Lucky for you, you're clear to come in!"
Actually I didn't feel lucky. The fire was large. There was danger that the burning aircraft, feeding it, might explode as we flew over it, causing shock waves. Still, in spite of the danger, it was wonderful to have a runway in sight again, and to be met by real people. We were coming to an oasis where there was life!
During the final approach I felt a strange uneasiness, a frightened feeling. It was echoed in the violinist's music that still came from the cabin below. It was a song of high aspiring melodies pervaded with sharp dissonances, a frightful and a beautiful sound, a song of a precarious paradise. Then, over the runway, the apprehension became still stronger. I sat in my seat, stiff, like a frightened child, my hands trembling. I felt a sense of kinship with the wheels as they touched the fast moving concrete - squealing and burning, - their inertia stubbornly resisting the momentum of the massive structure that bore down on them. I could feel them pull, slide, then slowly give in to the force that makes them roll.
My hands were still shaking after we had docked at the gate. I listened to the engines wind down. Eventually three uniformed men appeared on the flight deck. I referred them to Ken. I got up and insisted that I had to find my family. Surprisingly they let me go.
I passed Harry in the cocktail lounge. He was facing the door to the flight deck, his head bowed. He didn't even notice me walking by.
On the circular stairway down, I met Jennie. She came running up.
Oh, what a sight she was to my eyes! We embraced each other.
"Thank God you've made it through!" she said.
I looked at her. She was smiling. "I'm not sure that we made it," I said. "I'm not sure that any of us can say this. This thing has just begun."
She nodded as her smile faded. "You can't imagine what it was like here in Vancouver. I can hardly believe that we escaped and you are standing here; I mean that, that you weren't held up in Seattle. How did you get away? It seems like a miracle."
Her smile was wonderful to behold. She had always been great to look at. She appeared more so now. I loved her soft light hair, her face, and her gentle looks. She and Frank were one of a kind. I had loved her smile for as long as I had known them.
"Is Frank up here with you?" she asked. The door to the flight deck was open. She could see it from the stairway. She pointed towards it. "And the children, are they up there too?"
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Stories about
Sex
from novels by Rolf A. F. Witzsche
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