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We all knew that this was the understatement of the year. It was no doubt getting more desperate by the hour. How could we refuse?
Harry tried. "Look man, we've been seventeen hours in the air," he called back. "Don't you think that's enough?"
"Right," the tower called back. "Normally it would be criminally irresponsible to send a man on another ten hour flight after seventeen hours in the air. But nothing is normal anymore...."
"We'll go!" I called back.
"I'll have some camping cots set up in the upstairs lounge, as sleeping quarters..." the tower responded.
I knew that I would have gone back even without those arrangements, and Jennie likewise.
We got off the plane when the mechanics arrived.
As we entered the main hall, Jennie let out a shriek of surprise: "See, your creation is famous!" She pointed to the banners across the hall.
"Actually I am not proud of it," I replied some minutes later.
"Why not? It's a great idea!"
I told her I had noticed TV reporters among the crowd, probably gathering up stories of broken families, lost possessions, tales of panic and worse.
"Did you see the TV cameras?" I asked. I pointed one out to her. "That's why I think it was a stupid idea," I added.
Now and then one could see a camera pointed at the banners as if this compassionate effort by so many people could be wrapped up under a central theme, like a motto for a party.
"This isn't a party, or some miraculous dispensation of the grace of God," I said to Jennie. "This is the most lovely natural thing in the world; people helping people in need. To make it into something unnatural or miraculous distorts what it really is. It is degrading to the human spirit!"
She agreed.
Perhaps people didn't see it as some miraculous thing. It was wonderful to witness the caring; the compassion of those volunteers; to see how it lightened the glum faces that had emerged from our plane.
We paused near the entrance to the hall. Jennie said that she was hungry. That's when I spotted the soup kitchens. I also noticed a stocky man with a brightly colored shirt coming directly toward us. He marched directly towards us, smiling. His shirt was the brightest I had seen for a long time, it was almost fluorescent. He could only be a tourist, I thought. I felt that an Islander would never wear a thing like that.
"Howdy!" he greeted us in a loud voice, shaking my hand.
I stood perplexed and returned the greeting.
"Are you the captain of that Noah ship that came in?" he asked.
I hesitated, but couldn't deny it.
"It's mighty nice to make your acquaintance," he said. "I am Peter McTaggert, from Fort Lauderdale, Florida. My great, great grandparents were rescued by someone like you," he explained. "I always wanted to meet a person who would do a thing like that. People like you are rare nowadays!"
I looked at him. Wondering what he was up to, I glanced at Jennie. Jennie shrugged her shoulders.
"Is there something we can do for you?" I asked.
"What's happening here," he said, "is similar to what happened to them." He searched for a way to explain himself. "Before my ancestors got married they became the focal point of a violent family dispute. As I heard their story told, a traveler became aware of their plight and helped them to get away. Supposedly he bought them passage on a boat, bound for New Orleans. He even gave them money to live on. I've always been intrigued to find out what kind of person this man might have been."
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Stories
about
Healing
from novels by Rolf A. F. Witzsche
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