His voice echoed around the cavernous interior
of the hangar.
'Over
here a second, give us a hand, will ya?'
'What?'
'I said, give us a
hand'.
I was just
coming out of the office. I walked all the way across the vast space. I must
have taken over a hundred steps.
'What do you want?'
'It's OK, I found
it'.
'Really?'
'Yeah, sorry about
that'.
'What did you
need a hand with, anyway, that I had to walk all the way over here from the
office?'
'I dropped
a nut'.
'Dropped a
what?'
'Nut. But I
found it'.
'Where
was it?'
'On the
floor'.
The hangar looked huge without any aircraft in
it. The company had assured us both that there would be aircraft coming.
Possibly even three of them. And that they'd done the maths and that the
aircraft would definitely fit in the hangar, what with the sandstorms and
everything else that was prevalent in this part of the world. But for now it
was just me and him.
'Have you swept the
runway?', he asked.
'Have I swept the runway? What do you think I was doing out there, all morning?
It's not a five minute job, you know. It's almost a mile long and I've only got
a dustpan and brush'.
'It's long-handled . .
'.
'Yes, I know very
well that it's long-handled'.
'Can't see what you're
moaning about'.
'Within five minutes it was sandy again'.
'Bummer'.
'What are you doing,
anyway?'
Jack had a
table set up. It was one of the folding picnic tables from the office. He had a
collection of nuts and bolts on it.
'Nut audit', he
sighed.
The metal
frame of the hangar flexed and pinged in the fierce heat of the day. We had
become used to the solitude. There wasn't much to do until the aircraft
actually turned up, apart from sweeping the runway free of sand, and counting
the nuts, the bolts, the screws.
'Jack', I whispered.
'Not this again . .
.'.
'It's just a
thought. Nobody knows we're here. Has anyone actually . . You know .
.checked?'
Jack was
silent for a few seconds.
'Im sure there are
failsafes. He must have told the authorities that we were here . .'.
We both stood there and looked around the
eerie empty building. It really did feel as if we had been abandoned. The
painted floor gleamed in the light which shone through the various cracks in
the asbestos tiles on the roof, the thin beam between the two giant sliding
doors throwing a perfectly straight bar of light like a massive exclamation
mark. Our movements echoed.
'It's best not to think about such things',
he said, by way of conclusion.
'We're
the only people within a hundred miles', I say, in a kind of wistful voice,
which tailed off.
'They'll be here', he said. 'I have faith in this company. Chad knows what he's
doing . . .'.
'Are you sure?', I
asked, as I recalled my interview with the infamous Chad Bottle, owner and
chief executive of Blue Bottle Aviation, during which a wild boar had run in
from the city street and crashed around his office knocking over piles of
paper, Chad chasing it in circles around his desk, after which he had wiped a
strand of hair away from his sweating forehead and said, yeah, yeah, the job's
yours.
'I have faith', Jack
said, 'in Chad'.
'Maybe you're right', I whispered.
A stray strand of hair, which had, minutes
before, been covering his bald head in a vain attempt to make it look like he
wasnt totally devoid of barnet*. His bald head, which resembled in a
funny sort of way, the endless landscape in the midst of which we were now both
plonked.
When I went home that night and told my nephew
about the interview he couldnt stop laughing and he said, There was
only one wild bore in that room!, and no matter how long it took me to
convince him that the spelling was somewhat different and that in all honesty
it might very well have been a disgruntled pig, he kept repeating the
punchline, and then that night he posted it on Facebook.
One of the terms of my posting in the desert
airfield was that I had to undergo a thorough medical examination. Chad Bottle
was a stickler, it seemed, for risk management, and he made me an appointment
that very next morning, eleven o clock on the dot. I caught the bus at
half ten. It went two stops and then broke down. Time was ticking away, and I
knew that if I didnt make the medical examination, then Id be
classed as having failed it, and the adventure before me of working in the
Sahara on a fleet of old aircraft would be nothing but an impossible dream. I
ordered a taxi, and several other people on the bus said that this was a good
idea, and they all wanted to come in the taxi too because they also had places
that they needed to go. And one of them had a labrador dog, and another
insisted that she sit in the front seat because she had bad knees. So we set
off, and there I was squeezed up with three other people and a labrador dog,
and then a row broke out about who should be dropped off first and how we would
all pay for this, and I mentioned my eleven o clock appointment and
I managed to get there and sign in with seconds to spare. Id just made my
way to the waiting room when my name was called, and when the Doctor examined
me he said that I had high blood pressure.
How many more times are you going to tell that story?, Jack asked,
that night, as we ate our dinner sat outside the open doors of the hangar. They
threw an oblong of light on to the apron and the surrounding desert.
You know me. Ive always got one or two anecdotes up my
sleeve.
The
desert was silent. Id placed a candle in the middle of our picnic table,
the flame of which hardly flickered at all in the still night air.
Did I ever tell you about my interview? I asked, and the wild
boar?
Yes.
And did I tell you what my nephew said, when I told him about
it?
Yes, Jack sighed. About there being only one boring person in
that room.
Wild bore. Yes. And you know, it got over a hundred likes on
Facebook?
Jack
didnt say much. The candle illuminated his features. He stared out into
the darkness like some kind of desert mystic.
If Chad has gone bankrupt, I whispered, Then nobody would
ever think of coming out here and finding us.
Jack
didnt say anything at all.
As well as the hangar, the building also had
an office, two bedrooms, a shower room and a kitchen. The walls were made from
blocks of concrete which had been placed one on top of the other, not slightly
askew, like one would have thought. At times I wondered if it was structurally
sound what with the high desert winds which can come out of nowhere, but on the
other hand, the building was over sixty years old and it was still standing,
even as the shifting dunes kept approaching.
It would help, Jack said, If someone would let us know what
kinds of aircraft might be coming. Then at least we could plan ahead .
..
Jack had spent the morning researching the
various dimensions of different types of aircraft and now he was trying to mark
out on the floor using sticky tape just where these aircraft would fit in.
That left one looks a bit . . Wonky, I pointed out.
I was
standing on the top of a step ladder, looking down at his markings on the floor
of the hangar.
Theyre not meant to be exact representations.
But do their wings bend like that?
Bastard, Jack whispered.
I remember how the fluorescent lights of his
office had shone from his sweating bald head after the encounter with the wild
boar. I still thought it odd that he hadnt once questioned where the wild
boar had come from, deep, as we were, in the middle of the city. Chad had just
kind of accepted it as yet another setback in his increasingly bizarre life.
He looked like the sort of man who smokes a cigar, I said.
Who?
Chad.
Jack
said nothing.
Chad Bottle.
As if
there were another Chad.
I dont care, so long as he keeps paying our wages.
Ah, but is he?
He knows what hes doing. Hes been incredibly productive since
Nigel Bluington died.
Nigel
had been his partner in the Blue Bottle Aviation business, apparently.
Still . . .
I watched Jack as he went over and made some
adjustments to the marking on the floor where the left hand aircraft was
supposed to be.
Hows that?
That looks even worse, I
pointed out.
His
shoulders slumped.
He
looked down at the markings on the floor, and then he gave them a kick.
Thats helping.
Up yours. Im off for a shower.
He walked across the hanger. This was hard to
do in a huff. The hundred or more steps from where we were to the door to the
office were a long stretch in which to hold a grudge. I clambered down from the
step ladder and followed him.
The office had a door leading off it which led
to the living quarters. The corridor was somewhat spartan. I went to my room
and lay on my bed for a bit, and I listened as he turned on the shower. I got
up and looked through the dirty window at the sand and the dunes and the
endless nothing, all the time listening to his shower. He started to sing as
song which started with the words, In a low lit barn on the south down
hills, she took my hand then stole my pills. Which reminded me of the
pills that I had to take for my supposedly high blood pressure. And that is
why I am giddy with love.
The day Id left my flat to come to the
airport, for the flight that would bring me here, the local gas board had been
digging up the pavements and where my front door steps joined the path,
theyd put down a metal ramp which made a hell of a sound every time
someone stepped on it. So Id been lying there that morning, thinking
about the Doctors check up and the interview with the bald-headed man and
the wild boar and the row Id had with the nephew about his social media
post, and all I could hear was clang-clang, clang-clang, clang-clang. It was
very disconcerting. My bags were all packed and I was looking at the clock,
wondering what time Id leave, when Id heard the ice cream van pull
up. I looked out the window to see it park right next to the workmen who were
busy with their gas pipes and their pneumatic drills. The ice cream van had had
such a pleasant, tinkly music which filled the air with a sudden sweetness
masking the clang-clang clang-clang, only to be replaced by the workmen
shouting, Get that bloody van out the way! Cant you see were
busy here, you bulbous-eyed tosser?
Jack was still in his shower. He wasnt
singing now, which probably meant that he was busy scrubbing a sensitive part
of his anatomy. You can tell these things when youve lived with someone a
long while.
I was hot. Every part of me felt
uncomfortable. My clothes were damp and I felt incredibly sticky, Id
never known a heat like this. I went to the kitchen and started cooking a roast
turkey. You know, it was one of those spur of the moment things, and there had
just happened to be a roast turkey in the freezer which both of us conceded
would've made a fine meal one day. Jack had said that wed better not,
perhaps Chad Bottle was saving it for a special occasion, like the moment his
airline got off the ground. Perhaps he would feed it to the first
passengers.
Roast fucking turkey?, Jack replied, coming into the kitchen with a
towel around his neck. Like they do in films.
I thought it would make a pleasant change.
Its about sixty degrees out there . . ..
Think of it as our own little Christmas.
Whatever.
Did I ever tell you about the ice cream van, the day I left my flat to
come out here?
Yes, Jack sighed. Bulbous-eyed tosser, and all
that.
Ive got loads of anecdotes like that.
Then maybe you ought to start bringing a few new ones into your
repertoire, he replied.
Perhaps I just need a new audience.
Roast turkey, Jack whispered. I cant bloody believe
it.
We could eat it in the hangar, I said, You know, if it
rains.
Much
to my amazement, Jack laughed, and then patted me on the shoulder.
Youre a funny little thing.
But I
hadnt meant it to be a joke.
By the time we ate it was dark again and all
the stars were out. We ate, as normal, on the picnic table in front of the
hangar doors. I carved the turkey and gave us both generous helpings, but it
was hot, and he didnt want anything other than breast meat, and he
grudgingly pulled the wishbone with me. I made a wish when I won.
He sat back in his deckchair and sipped beer
from a glass. Neither of us said anything. The stars were vibrant, vivid
pinpricks whose light flickered and became more pronounced the longer we sat
there. At last, he began to talk.
We lived in the countryside, he said. The stars would be just
like this. Just as bright. From an early age I knew I wanted to travel and see
as much of the world as I could. Ive never been interested in people. You
may have noticed that. Places have always held a fascination with me, but not
people. Well, only one person. She was a local girl. She worked on the
next farm, just for the summer, and we fell in love. Ha ha, I cant
believe it now, but I fell in love. She was visiting from the city, and we
would meet at nights at the small pond on her uncles farm, and we would
chat about the world and how life was so very different in the city. And all
the time we would be batting away the flies, the mosquitoes, because we were
both pretending that it was romantic, I guess. And when she said she was
leaving, when she said that she had to go back to the city . .
Thats when it all changed . . I didnt want to see the world any
more, I wanted to stay right there with her in the countryside.
Maybe . . There was wild boar . ..
I havent finished, yet. So it became serious. Ha ha, oh my, it
became very serious. Somehow I persuaded her not to go back. She had studies to
be cracking on with, a place at a university, but she gave it all up, just for
me. I can still see her face right now. If I close my eyes, I can see her face
in exact detail. She was going to buy tickets for the train, she said, and off
she went to the station, which was two miles away, and when she came back she
told me that she hadnt bought any tickets, she was going to stay and
spend the rest of her life with me. So you see, it was the most wonderful
romance. Everything changed. Both of us had wanted to escape, but now, neither
of us . . Neither of us wanted to.
Love, I pointed out, somewhat superfluously.
But it didnt last. It never does. We became engaged, but it was too
soon. We were young. We lived in a flat over the garage on my parents
farm. The two of us, living together. And one day she just said that she wanted
to go back to university. Just like that. She said . . She said she didnt
want to throw her life away.
Meaning?
I dont have to tell you what it means. And thats when I
thought, Jack, I told myself, youve always been right all along.
Dont get fascinated with people, and get out there and see the
world.
And here you are?
Nigel Bluington had a place in the next village. His second home. He told
me about this venture, and here I am. He told me that people would want to see
the Sahara, that it would be a tourist destination. People would get on an old
aircraft, you know, for the thrill of it, the smell of diesel and oil and the
old wings flexing, real, honest aviation, and theyd come out here just so
that they could tell their friends where theyd been. Two days later he
flew off in his antique Sopwith and he was never seen again.
It helped you forget, I suppose.
Forget what?
About her.
It never would have lasted. She was going to study zoology.
We sat
there and stared at the stars. It was getting chilly.
Ive got lots of anecdotes, too, I reminded him.
Naturally Id been rather nervous the day
Id caught the bus to the airport to fly out here. It didnt help
matters that there had been a lady sitting on the bus in front of me, upstairs,
right at the front, and she had been conducting a video conference call on her
mobile phone. Which made it very awkward because I was trying not to get in the
picture. I didnt want whoever else she was speaking with to see my
annoyed expression. As if things werent nervy enough, Id thought at
the time, doesnt she even realise that what shes doing flouts
societys conventions? Especially on the bus that passes the airport. And
what was she in a video conference call about? Topiary. She ran a topiary
business. And she was chatting to others who worked in topiary. Apparently
there had been a complaint because a topiary pheasant had looked more like a
duck. A lawsuit had been mooted.
Did you shut the hangar doors last night? Jack asked, coming in my
room.
Yes.
Did you?
I think so.
In that case, someone else must have let the giraffe in.
Wasnt me.
I got
off my bed and followed Jack through the office to the hangar where a giraffe
was clomping around.
Thats a giraffe, I said.
Indeed.
Must have squeezed in.
Arent you even a little concerned?
Well have to shoo it out.
Where the hell did it come from? Were in the middle of the desert.
There arent even any trees for its long neck to reach.
Its a desert giraffe.
For gods sake!
Just a heads up.
Jack
took a couple of steps towards the giraffe. The giraffe made a couple of steps
towards Jack. Jack turned and ran back.
That thing means business.
Offer it some leaves.
Where the hell am I going to get leaves from? The nearest tree is two
hundred miles away.
This has all the makings, I tell him, Of another
anecdote.
We
both stood there for a bit and watched the giraffe. It seemed amiable
enough.
The lady on the bus was on a video conference call when I went to the
airport to get here. There had been a problem with some topiary. Wildlife can
be a bastard. Its odd, standing here now, watching it, the way that no
matter what the human mind can achieve, art can never truly catch up,
dont you agree? If I didnt know any better, wed be in a
modern art gallery, right at this moment. Topiary, that was the topic of her
video conference call. The shape of ducks, apparently, thats what the
pheasants were described as being. Personally, Ive never been a fan of
many species in the bird kingdom.
Jack said nothing.
Of course, penguins are friendly, arent they.
Its dragged sand in after it. Well have to give this place a
damn good sweep before the aircraft gets here.
It looks unkempt.
What do you suggest we do? Run the bloody thing a bath?
Now youre just being silly. Weve only got a shower
room.
We watched it for a couple of minutes. It was
a majestic beast, the way it sauntered around the hangar very much, I thought,
like a ballet dancer on a wide stage. With the high ceiling, it had all the
roof clearance it needed.
It must be thirsty . . Or hungry.
Were not exactly stocked up with food, here.
We could fill the paddling pool with water . . .
It was a good idea. Jack and I went back to
the office, and then to a large cupboard where the paddling pool, a humorous
gift left by the last crew who had occupied the airport, was kept. We had to
move a lot of items that had also been accumulated over the years, like
inflatable life vests and an old parachute, the compass of a world war two
bomber, and an old, rusted filing cabinet, before we came across the paddling
pool. The next job was to find a pump with which to inflate it, the two of us
taking turns in the office to pump up the paddling pool until it had the
required structural integrity. By the time we returned to the hangar, the
giraffe had gone.
Thats something of a shame, Jack said.
The last time I had seen someone so
disappointed was when Id left Chads office and seen his sweating
head held in his hands as he sat at his desk. This had been shortly after the
encounter with the wild boar. The funny thing was, I thought hed taken it
all in his stride.
Another day passed. Jack spent the morning
trying to fix the computer. Maybe he could find some email from Chad, keeping
us up to date on the shipment of aircraft and when they would arrive, with
their pilots and their navigators and perhaps even a few passengers who might
pose for photographs next to the shifting dunes. But the computer was
belligerent. He said that it was something to do with the operating system.
Maybe hes been arrested for the murder of Nigel Bluington, and now
were stuck here forever, I said, laughingly.
This didnt seem to help matters, nor my
assertion that most aviation businesses go bankrupt before theyve even
purchased an aircraft. Jack told me to go away and stop bothering him, so I
went to the hangar, where the paddling pool filled with water was left still
right in the middle of the room. I stripped to my shorts and sat down in the
cold water. It was the first time I hadnt felt hot in ages.
Budge over, Jack said.
He did the same, making a neat pile of his
clothes on the hangar floor. He stepped in, and the two of us just lay there,
the cool water lapping, taking the grit of the desert away.
It must have been quite a contrast, he said, The wild boar,
that is, let loose in that office.
As I say, it might have been a disgruntled pig.
Jack laughed.
Tell the story again, he said.
He leaned his head back against the inflated
rubber sides of the pool and he closed his eyes.
Do we have enough food and supplies to last? I asked.
Jack kept on smiling.
So you got to the office . . ..
And it was a normal enough looking office. Nothing out of the ordinary.
His secretary showed me in. Mister Bottle, she said, this young man here has
replied to the advert you put in the paper. And it was probably about three
quarters of the way through the interview that I first started hearing a
squealing sound from down the hallway, and people screaming. God knows what
they were screaming about, although I suppose those tusks can do quite a bit of
damage. Actually, it might have been a warthog.
*Barnet is rhyming slang for hair (Barnet
Fair)