On the Way Back Read online

  Dragon had his back against the wall. He could sense that all the spiel Alexandre Martínez had given him about negotiations with a Costa Rican airline had been intended to build up the price of the Trislander, but at the same time he could not be fully sure about it. He did not trust Dominair but there was nothing in the records (not in the IATA’s, not in the FAA’s, not in the ECCAA’s) that pointed toward anything illegal. He acknowledged an exotic appeal in the person of Alexandre Martínez but he did not feel he could trust him. On the other hand, he found himself out of options. Given our current situation, Art, would you advise against us purchasing this plane? Arturo Sarmiento gave the question two minutes’ consideration before shaking his head from side to side. That was two minutes more than Dragon was expecting.

  On Monday morning, with Art on his way to Antigua and the rest of the airline’s high command in the Business Center, Dragon reached the office intending to put the domino-effect theory to the test. We’ve got ourselves a nice little plane there. He looked enthusiastic, optimistic, unconcerned. Indeed, he allowed his mind to drift so far away from their problems that he even neglected informing Nathe and Sheila about the conflicting data Art had found in the engines’ logbooks. There’s no point in raising issues and potential objections if in the end I want us to go ahead and buy this plane: I’m just going to have to make an executive decision. It’s not as if you could say Nathe is thinking straight right now, anyway. And it wasn’t, because more than ever Nathaniel Jones was reeling with pain at the thought of his relationship—perhaps his last-ever chance at true love—ebbing away, slipping through his fingers, dying the death of the brown pelican, impaired by its own need to feed itself, unflinchingly crashing headfirst into the sea time after time after time to catch the fish that would keep it going, jeopardizing its future with every fresh attempt to fulfill its present desires, every blow damaging its vision minimally, almost imperceptibly, but cumulatively, sentencing it to an old age of blindness and hunger and trial and error and its large beak scooping nothing but salt water and solitude and despair.

  But at the same time, Dragon’s frame of mind was far distanced from right, and even on that Monday morning when he got together with Sheila to discuss the details of the US $150,000 loan application to the Indigenous Bank of Anguilla for Alexandre Martínez’s Britten Norman Trislander, he allowed his attention to waver, and he indulged in the pleasure of Sheila’s beauty, so effortless, so pleasing. Could Nathe be right in his suspicions? Was there anything to tell him that Sheila could, indeed, be leading a double life? Or was his father testing him, testing his loyalty, staging a crisis just to see on which side of the divide he would land? There was intent behind Sheila’s nonchalance, there was a thought process—no question about it. But could she be so cool? Could she carry on living this fantasy in full while she polluted it with the presence of someone else, of an outsider, of an alternative? He-llo-o! Planet Eart’ to Dragon Jones, is anyone dere? and Dragon was brought back from his daydreaming to face the reality of a loan, of instructing Deianira Walker to draft the contract they would fax Alexandre Martínez later that week, of the company logo and the first full-page ad that would flood the media of the Leeward Islands during the first days of October.

  XI

  October was the crucial month—the month that would determine whether some version or other of the original plan to set up an operational airline based in Anguilla by December 1 would be realized. October was the crucial month and a meeting between SamB and Dragon Jones on Friday, October 1, at SamB’s West End quarters turned out to be the crucial meeting. SamB had known ever since the moment he had rejected Dragon’s first offer that he would be hearing more about the project in the future, had been awaiting Dragon’s second visit with anticipation. But SamB had followed closely the developments surrounding Dragon Wings and the longer he did so the more convinced he became that this project would, in the end, never come to be. This, however, had been before an injection of hope and an unofficial promise of further credit had restored the element of urgency that the enterprise had decidedly lacked through the month of September.

  SamB was not aware of Glenallen Rawlingson’s incorporation into the company, nor did he know about the quarter of a million dollars he had brought into the venture; SamB had not heard that Dragon Wings had applied for a US $150,000 secure loan to purchase a Britten Norman Trislander with dubious pedigree and tampered logbooks, nor was he at all acquainted with the high levels of support the Stewarts had shown toward the project; SamB had not bought the Anguillan that afternoon, so he had not seen the full-page ad for Dragon Wings spread on the center page. So SamB listened attentively as Dragon put forward his proposal in self-assured fashion, equipped with the confidence of someone who knows he soon will get what he came looking for.

  This is no longer a project, Sam—this is a reality. SamB’s expression remained unchanged as he weighed his suspicions against the soundness of Dragon’s arguments, as he entertained the possibility of all this being more than pure charlatanry. There is absolutely no reason why you shouldn’t join us at Dragon Wings, Sam. Dragon produced a thin folder and slid it over the glass table in the direction of his friend. The front cover showed the company logo over a bright turquoise background: a pair of orange dragon wings seen from the side, spread upward in full flight, sitting above the name of the airline (also in orange) on the bottom of the page.

  Seemingly unimpressed, SamB turned the page, faced the intricate details of the schedule Nathe had proposed to the ECCAA. Initially we have envisioned eighteen return flights, tallying up to over one hundred legs per week. Dragon knew his words were of little use at this late stage in his attempt to sell the idea to SamB, but his anxiety was too pressing, his expectancy too large to bear in silence. We are trying to get a third, larger aircraft before the December 1 deadline, but even without it, we will go ahead with what we have.

  SamB had stopped listening. It was not Dragon who was going to persuade him to change his mind but the actual progress the organization might have made in the previous months, and the commercial potential the airline might carry into its opening flight on December 1.

  DRAGON WINGS

  WINTER FLIGHT SCHEDULE

  DRAGON WINGS

  WINTER ITINERARY

  Two or three minutes passed, and they were the longest in Dragon’s existence. There aren’t enough flights to Juliana. Dragon’s face lit up as soon as he was able to process SamB’s words. We have only been awarded three daily flights by the authorities at St. Martin—that’s half as many as Winair—but so far we haven’t been able to squeeze them all into the itinerary. SamB nodded absentmindedly. Your stops are too long: you will need fifteen minutes max per stopover. Like that you can make room for a flight at noon to St. Martin to feed the Miami flight. SamB’s detailed knowledge of the airline business made Dragon and his contingent seem every bit as amateur as they were. You have full liberty to make any changes you deem necessary, Sam. But Dragon was moving too fast, because in his desperation to have SamB join Dragon Wings he had failed to notice the latter’s use of the second-person you in his speech, or if he had heard it he had chosen to interpret it as an editorial, general you, because no reasonable argument could be brought forward against SamB jumping onboard Dragon Wings, or so Dragon thought, or so Dragon wanted to think.

  But SamB made it clear he was making no changes at all. I’m just giving you a piece of advice because I like you, that’s all. And Dragon understood that this was the cue for the real negotiation to start. Because Dragon still harbored no doubt in his mind that SamB was prepared to join Dragon Wings—but the question that had suddenly, unexpectedly, but also quite reasonably arisen was at what price would he have to be bought. SamB leaned back in his chair, looked straight into Dragon’s blue eyes. The truth, Dragon, is you need me. Desperately. Dragon had no nerve to deny such statement. Here are my conditions: I want my job title to be Chief Pilot. I want a 10 percent increase in my current salary. And I want a 1
0 percent share in the company.

  The time for friendly favors had clearly passed, but Dragon was neither surprised nor disturbed by the shift in SamB’s attitude. Dragon Jones was not surprised or angered, but he was also not ready to give away 10 percent of an enterprise that had finally found the cash to move forward and the credit to build a small fleet. The prospects for the future had never looked more promising and you know I cannot possibly afford to give you 10 percent, Sam. That amounts to a signing bonus of 100K. But SamB’s stare never dropped, and his attitude was unrelenting, and, Don’t be so hasty, Dragon, consult your partners and let me know.

  The following day, Dragon Jones called for an extraordinary meeting of the board of directors of Dragon Wings, including its new partner, Glenallen Rawlingson, who fiercely opposed the idea of Samuel Bedingford joining the airline as a shareholder. This is our only chance of getting an expert pilot with experience in the region to lead our operation, Glen, and Nathaniel Jones agreed with his son but there is absolutely no way we can afford to part with 10 percent of the company. Officially, Sheila remained the largest shareholder in Dragon Wings with 45 percent, although up until that point percentages had made a very small difference, since every decision had been reached collectively and unanimously. If de man ask for 10 percent, go offer him foive. Glenallen Rawlingson was still against offering Samuel Bedingford anything at all, but he saw in the way the negotiation took shape an opportunity to profit from the situation and, I only agreeing to givin’ away dem shares if I kyan purchase de same amount at de same time as he for a preferential price.

  The first call of the day on that hot, stale, muggy Monday morning right at the start of October was to SamB. Five percent was not what he had requested, and even 7 percent seemed a far cry from what he had in mind, but successful relationships are built on compromise, Dragon, and if this airline is going to survive the first year or two, we’re going to have to be ready to meet each other halfway, and before SamB could describe this as his first gesture of good faith, Dragon had already noticed the friendliness restored in his tone of voice—a change that in his mind was well worth the final half percent of the word compromise.

  The second call of the day on that hot, stale, muggy Monday afternoon was to Deianira Walker’s office to arrange an appointment to make the suitable amendments to the legal scaffolding that held Dragon Wings together, to bring Samuel Bedingford into the equation, to increase the company’s capital by US $70,000, to raise Glenallen Rawlingson’s stake and reform the corporation’s statutes. Thus it was that right at the start of October, the crucial month in the realization of an extravagant fantasy, what once had been no more than a mature man’s dream, a young professional’s adventure, and a local woman’s brave token of love was transformed into a complex joint venture directed by a board that no longer required unanimity (but a two-thirds majority) to reach a decision and which now comprised Sheila Rawlingson-Jones (38 percent), Glenallen Rawlingson (28.5 percent), Nathaniel Jones (13 percent), Dragon Jones (13 percent), and Samuel Bedingford (7.5 percent).

  October was the crucial month in the realization of some version or other of the original plan to set up an operational airline based in Anguilla by December 1, and if the crucial meeting was that between Dragon and SamB, the crucial element was the fulfillment of an unofficial promise to equip Dragon Wings with a preapproved credit line to finance the purchase of a Britten Norman Trislander through a secured loan from the Indigenous Bank of Anguilla. Sheila Rawlingson-Jones monitored the transaction—slow, time-consuming, fastidious—but with completion all but a certainty, the next urgent step was to devise a plan to form a small team of two or three workers in each of the airline’s destinations.

  Dragon Jones spent the best part of the forty days that followed flying from one island to the next, getting to know in detail the staff at Juliana Airport in St. Martin, the premises at Robert L. Bradshaw Airport in St. Kitts, evaluating candidates at Amory Airport in Nevis and Codrington Airport in Barbuda, haggling for a better rate for a counter at V.C. Bird Airport in Antigua, vigorously driving forward a spontaneous plan that to a large extent was still in the making. Six weeks later—just three weeks before D(ecember 1) day—he embarked on the five-day tour of the Leeward Islands—starting in St. Martin and finishing in Antigua—that would bring an end to the flurry of recruitment that had possessed Dragon Wings. By then, SamB had already contracted the services of Ngowe Adabor, the Nigerian pilot with the round face and startled white eyes, Joost van der Minden, a Dutch skipper with little experience but linguistic versatility, and Lauretta Williams, a Jamaican stewardess with long legs and thin ankles arrived from BWIA after their latest staff reduction.

  Meanwhile, Nathaniel Jones—enthused as ever with the importance of corporate image­—looked into the possibility of having the two-aircraft fleet coated in the customary colors of Dragon Wings. The original quote sent to him by Pinturas Borinquen, the Puerto Rican propeller plane painting company, suggested a white background with two stripes on either side of the hull—one turquoise, one orange—and the logo of the airline on the rudder. But Nathaniel was not ready to hold back on anything, so he requested a second quote for the hulls and wings in turquoise and Dragon Wings to be etched in orange across the body of the planes. The second option was more than double the original price and well exceeded their budget for aircraft refurbishment, but Dragon was too busy assembling a half-acceptable team of employees, and Sheila could waste no time on anything other than procuring the V2 registration for the Trislander, and SamB only thought of pilots and route guides, distances and procedures, and Arturo Sarmiento spent half his weeks in Antigua and the other half complaining about his instructor, and Glenallen Rawlingson took no part in the day-to-day running of the business, so Nathaniel Jones disregarded the airline’s budget and how soon can you have them ready? David González at Pinturas Borinquen sensed the importance of his answer, felt obliged to promise the world, or what amounts to the same thing: Two weeks from the time you land in San Juan.

  But once the deal was closed and the down payment made and the planes flown to San Juan, complications began to arise. The paint was, of course, hard to get; the exact shade of turquoise, elusive; the logo, difficult to reproduce. In the face of these mundane if predictable problems Nathaniel’s patience revealed itself as thin as David González proved resourceful in his fabrications. Two weeks soon turned to three, to four, to five, and they might well have carried on tallying way past the boiling point of Nathaniel’s rage, but luckily for him and the rest of his partners David González called one Wednesday morning to let everyone at Dragon Wings know that everything was okay and that the planes would be ready for pickup on Friday—twenty-three days late, yet still on time.

  SamB, Ngowe Adabor, and Joost van der Minden, the young Dutchman with the face of a toddler and the build of a rake, flew to San Juan on Friday morning to find that the Queen Air and the Trislander that sat so beautifully on the runway had been covered in a shade of turquoise that was slightly too blue, not green enough, too deep, and, crucially, not ready. The excuse escaped SamB’s ears, who was only interested in knowing when the airplanes would be fit for flying without damaging the paint job—Tomorrow, Mr. Bedingford, without doubt—and in forcing Pinturas Borinquen to take care of the three pilots’ accommodation in San Juan for the night. It was then, during a fortuitous and unplanned stay in Puerto Rico, that SamB heard the news that would feed his greed and trigger his imagination into devising an ambitious plan of expansion for the nascent airline: Air Tampa—a small regional carrier—would have its assets—including four nineteen-seat Do 228s and four thirty-seat Short 330s—liquidated.

  Long before Dragon Wings’s inaugural flight, SamB already considered replacing and upgrading its current fleet the key for the long-term success of the company.

  XII

  It was quite easy, really. The toughest part was to put up with that prick, Michael Haywood. Back to little, gullible Anguilla. I quite liked spending ti
me in Antigua—it’s still a hole, but at least it’s larger, livelier, better than this. Drunken idiot, I don’t know who he thinks he is. Anyway, that’s enough about me, let’s talk about you. Her tits must be fake, but to be honest, who cares? Damn, I might have made a mistake there—she has absolutely nothing to say. Don’t talk, honey, just shake those hips and look away. She is cross-eyed and that really drives me insane. It’s like she’s talking to two different versions of me at the same time. One eye talks to my eyes or my mouth—I have noticed her watching my mouth with hunger—and the other eye talks to my elbow, or my shoulder, or the Guinness poster by the bar: suddenly you’re not there anymore, suddenly I’m not me.

  Oh, it was nothing much. Most of it was boring stuff: hours and hours with an instructor, that Michael Haywood. I swear, I don’t know who he thinks he is. I guess he was alright for what I needed him. I guess I wouldn’t have been able to fly tomorrow if it hadn’t been for him. So, tell me, where do you live? Please do tell me where we’re going to finish the night—at your place or mine. I can’t stay here forever, I need to fly tomorrow. And I definitely can’t look at those crossed eyes for much longer. The way her left eye looks out into space really freaks me out. But her fake tits look great—they must be fake—and her tiny, little waist seems so fragile, and her ass looks so fine, and I’m going to do her from behind anyway so I won’t have to watch her squinting left eye staring into nothing while she looks at me.

  It’s been really hectic, yes. Everyone in the office has been very busy, very stressed the last couple of weeks. Last week we had trial runs to the different destinations. That’s why you’ve seen so many flights come in and out. No, I couldn’t fly until this week but I still went as navigator a few times, just to get used to the aircrafts and the routes. I can’t keep on talking about this. It’s what I do all day, I don’t want to waste my nights going through it as well. And I can’t look at her eyes anymore. Let’s go dancing. That millenary island dance, so erotic, so submissive: face away and arouse me. It’s a bit like a mellow version of pole dancing in which you are, quite literally, the pole. I like being the pole. I’m certainly relieved not to see her look at me somewhere I am not. There’s no way I’ll be able to handle those eyes in the morning. I’ll have to take her home tonight. The way she shifts the weight of her body from one leg to the other, swaying her butt gently, tells me this will be a good night.