Crash Landing

Crash Landing

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At four in the morning, the engine problems began. First came the change in the sound. The dull hum of the motor turned irregular. Then the propellers sputtered. We dropped. An explosion on the right side -- we felt it -- an airplane quake that rattled teeth and bones. We smelled smoke as the wing caught fire. We saw flames through the window. That's when we all began to pray.

A baby wailed. His mother gave him her breast. We started tossing about like a plastic bottle in rough surf. People were screaming. Others cried. I clasped the seat rests like they were life preservers. The oxygen masks erupted down and hung like dead bodies. We grabbed at them and breathed. The plane growled, coughed, sputtered. We prepared to die.

But God was on our side that day as we headed downward. The plane plunged. Our stomachs twisted. The man in the seat across from me vomited. The smell hit us just as smoke filled the cabin and we hit the first tree. We hurtled through its limbs. Another branch reached out to grab us. Then another. We kept going, scratching through -- metal against bark. Jungle follage slowed our rushing descent. The noise deafened. The screams and sobs could not compete. Then came that last span of freefall, the final crash, and silence -- at least from outside.

My heart was thumping so loudly I could barely hear the echo of screams around me. My life had just been reduced to the black and white of existence. All the things I'd failed to do or had done incorrectly lay at the edge of my throat, ready to choke me with guilt. The terror coiled up inside my stomach mingled with the shock of what had just occurred. Then it hit me. "Oh, my God," I whispered and burst forth with a wild jubilance of tears. I was still alive.

My body felt numb in the panic of the aftermath, yet I feared in a moment I would waken to discover I had injuries. I raised my hand and stared at it. I couldn't hold it still. It vibrated like an old lady's. I took a deep breath and held it in. I was alive. The miracle of it astonished me.

I blinked and fought a battle for calm. Mentally, I checked over my body parts. They seemed to be in order. I glanced down and saw no blood. My blouse hadn't ripped. In fact, it wasn't even wrinkled. How was that possible? I wiggled toes and fingers, still verifying. I breathed in deeply and gave a prayer of gratitude. I should have said it the moment we'd crashed, but I knew God would understand.

The guy next to me was sleeping, or at least his eyes were closed. For a moment I thought he was dead, and the scream inside me rose up, but his chest was moving. How could he have slept through it all? I wiggled his arm, but he didn't respond, other than to let out a gasping snore. An empty bottle of alcohol fell to the ground. It didn't break.

I looked around. The passengers were groaning and carrying on like someone was going to pop right out and take care of them. Couldn't they see all the trees through the windows? Did they think an ambulance was going to drive up and whisk them away to white halls and doctors in surgery gowns? 'Fraid not. We were stuck in a jungle, and I was positive the plane wasn't taking off again.

I tried to release my safety belt. The stupid thing was broken. I looked around, feeling as self-pitying as the sobbers sitting in their cushy seats wailing about how this wasn't supposed to happen. Of course, it wasn't supposed to happen! What did they think? -- that the airline planned for scenic jungle crashes?

The knife I used to have in my purse -- the one advertised to solve all emergencies -- was at home right now because we weren't allowed to bring them on planes. So I sat with a jammed seat belt fastened around my lap, stuck in a broken plane, wishing for a knife that was 3000 miles away. I ought to have thought about how lucky I was to be alive. How many people survived plane crashes, anyway? Why hadn't the plane caught on fire? Why was I still alive?

The guy next to me, not the drunk one, but the other man -- Gorilla Joe, reached over and jerked at my seat belt. It popped open. Gee, it must be convenient to have muscles like that. I smiled at him and was about to thank him when I saw the leer creeping across his face.

"Looks like we're gonna to be here a while," he said as he threw an arm around the back of my seat. "Guess you and I might as well get friendly."

It was the look in his eye and the tone of his voice that bolted me up and out of my seat. I stepped over his massive body. "I gotta go to the john," I said.

It was time to get up, anyway. Everyone was leaving the safety of the airplane seat. It's like we'd all decided to escape the womb en masse.

The stewards opened the slides. We lined up to descend. I grabbed my suitcase and heaved ho. At the bottom, a nice-looking man helped me. I smiled and thanked him, but his eyes were already moving up to the next slider. I moved away.

I decided that it must be about six in the morning by then. I didn't have a watch on, but I figured we could't have been sitting there much longer. Sunshine was already heating up the air into a sauna.

Where were we? South America somewhere, but where? I looked around for the captains, but I saw no uniformed flying experts. I wondered why they weren't with us. Weren't they in charge?

A Columbian family sat nestled inside a blanket. Three little children with eyes the color of mahogany stared at me. Their mother spoke sharply, and they looked down. It's all right, I wanted to say. I understand. They have a right to look at me with fear-bulging eyes. We crash-landed, for heaven's sake.

I turned away and left them in peace. The cream-colored bark of the trees reminded me of stability. I moved over to lean on one.

"No, senorita," an older man counseled me. "Is no good to stand close to trees. Snakes, they live in trees."

I gasped and moved away. "Thank you," I said, peering up into the leaves, searching for forked tongues.

The stewards got everyone out. We learned then that the pilots were dead. So were five of the passengers, but one hundred fifty-three of us were still walking around, dazed and unsure about the future. Nineteen others were on the ground, worse off than we were.

One of the stewards, Jesus, had taken command of the group. We didn't argue. We were sheep wanting him to lead us out of this mess. He scurried about, directing people. He passed me twice and said nothing. I sat down on the ground and waited. My stomach was growling, but we'd been told that someone was already working on getting us a meal. Several people were complaining about the situation, but what good would that do?

I saw my gorilla seatmate. He'd found another girl to impress. For a moment I was hurt that I was so easily displaced. I looked around for the slide helper. He was lending a hand to Jesus. I stood up and walked over, offering my assistance.

The man's name was Carlos. He flashed me a smile of ivory. Against his dark-olive coloring, the result was devastating. I held in my sigh and waited for directions. I was to be a nurse, it seemed. I didn't let my face show my disappointment that I wouldn't be at Carlos' side.

One of the injured was a little girl. She'd been heading to see her father. Her arm was broken, and she was crying. I could do nothing for her arm, but I held her hand and whispered a story. My Spanish was broken and full of errors, but she flitted a smile. She seemed to like hearing my mistakes. I saw the smile come and go, despite her pain.

"Good. We have obtained some drugs now." Carlos was back. He wasn't smiling.

"Maria has a broken arm, I think," I told him.

Carlos tilted his head slightly and studied my face. "Yes, I know ... Jennifer, wasn't it? I am a doctor."

I felt like an idiot. Why else would he be dispensing meds? My face turned red, and I looked down. Maria was watching me.

"Es muy guapo, ¿si?" she said. She flashed a smile of missing teeth.

I grinned back and winked at her. She had read my mind. Carlos was indeed very handsome. My face grew hot. Carlos laughed.

"Lo siento, chiquita," he apologized to the child for what he was about to do. He showed me where to hold Maria, and I did, but she had started to cry, and my eyes watered in sympathy.

It was over quickly. Carlos had just set the bone back in place. Maria's tears were over; she was unconscious. "Give her this when she wakes up," Carlos said, and he shoved a pill into my hand.

"I'm not a nurse," I babbled before I realized how silly I sounded.

"You are now," he told me, touching my cheek once with his finger and leaving me another delectable smile before he moved away.

I stayed with Maria for the rest of the day. She had no one, nor did I. It was good to have something to do and someone who needed me.

By evening, Maria was sitting up, and I was helping her with the dinner the stewards had assembled. We were eating bananas that someone had found, stale bread with butter, and wilted salad. I wondered what would happen the next day. The packaged meals had already gone bad.

Carlos stopped by and sat down with us. His dinner was uneaten. He peeled the banana and joked with Maria, but I felt his eyes on me.

Our whispers in English sent Maria off to sleep. I discovered that Carlos was unmarried. His wife had left him for another man. I wondered how a woman could ever leave a man like Carlos with a smile that stopped time and a heart as big as he was tall. As if he could read my thoughts, Carlos explained that doctors have the highest divorce rate of all professions because they're never home.

I reached out and touched his hand. I only meant to say I understood his pain, but our hands joined and stayed entwined. Later, Carlos threw an airplane blanket over us, and we cuddled together for warmth.

We had bananas again for breakfast, and someone had found some guavas. Carlos got us one. The three of us shared the sweet fruit and our portions of water.

Maria didn't look good. A gash that Carlos had treated the day before was now hot to the touch, as was Maria's forehead. I give the child another pill that Carlos had left with me, and I cooled her head with the banana peel. Carlos looked worried when he checked her over later.

I took Maria's braids down and redid them. When she was lucid, she told me how happy she would be to visit with her father. She had not seen him since her parents divorced the year before. As she spoke, the tears ran down her cheeks.

I felt as if I'd become Maria's mother for our stay. I kissed her and told her how much her father loved her. She fell asleep as I watched over her. But as she dozed, my worries come back. Would Maria ever see her father again or the mother she'd just left? Would I ever see mine?

Carlos came by and checked on us. He kissed me on the cheek. His beard was stubby and hurt my skin. He looked quite a bit older than I was. I wondered about his age. Once again he read my thoughts. "Cara, you are too young. I know this. But I need you."

No lies passed between us. No declarations of love, but his eyes held something that drew me.

He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my palm in the language of love. I needed what he offered. I wanted him, this kind-hearted man who'd heal the sick and feed others before he took a moment for his own needs. Inside that exchange of glances, his soul slipped into mine. I nodded.

Another person watched Maria as we slipped into the jungle. We didn't think of snakes or the wild boars we'd been cautioned about. Love is fragile, as is life; we must greet the moments of beauty as they come.

The heat, the spicy smells of the crushed leaves beneath our bodies, the forest sounds all created the backdrop for passion. Afterward, we lay together and talked. My heart stretched wide, and love flowed in. I suppose it was foolish to make pledges in the sticky, hot aftermath of that jungle floor, but Carlos was a good man. He took off his ring and bound me to him. Then we were consumed once more. Even when we rose to return to the others, our kisses, although no longer heated, were still as sweet as drippy guava juice.

We returned to Maria. She had not wakened. Carlos touched her forehead, and then looked at me with a worried brow. "She must have water," he said, with that quiet nature I had learned to love. He brought me some, so I dripped single drops of liquid through Maria's parched lips. In between, I prayed she would be okay.

The days slid by. We dined on wild boar and fruits and roots someone dug up, which I never learned the names of. Maria constantly battled with the fevers that burned within her. Hourly, I plied her with water and cooled her body with banana leaves. Carlos and I continued our trysts in our jungle privacy. It began to seem like the outside world had slipped away.

I learned the names of all the survivors and the ones who had died. We became a family, or at least a village of families. In the nights when we gathered closely around the fire so the roars of the predators could not intrude in our peace, we told our tales of the civilized world. Increasingly the stories were like myths we'd once heard. Our memories still lay inside us, yet the reality of them was fading.

One night Carlos and I pledged our love before our tribal family. The ceremony was as real as any church wedding. The closeness of our new family, the warmth of their congratulations, and the happiness of our celebration needed no white dress or towered cake. We toasted with fermented papaya juice, and the festivities lasted long into the night. Carlos and I commemorated the occasion in our usual way. His beard no longer scratched.

Weeks later, when the outsiders at last located us, there was great jubilation. Maria was whisked away to a hospital. I cried because I knew then that she was going to be okay. The knowledge that no other graves would need digging was a relief so great, I sagged against Carlos.

When the helicopters flew us back to the city, the medics checked us over. We all spent time in the hospital getting shots and vitamin sugar water. Carlos and I were given adjoining rooms because we told them we were husband and wife, and they believed us even though our passports didn't say so.

Finally, the day arrived that we must say our goodbyes to everyone. It was difficult. They had become my family. I wrote down addresses and promised letters. But it will never be the same. These people are part of me now.

It was hardest to say goodbye to Maria. Both her parents were with her. I smiled at that because I think that dealing with Maria's disappearance had brought them back together. I hope so for Maria's sake. That would make her very happy.

As with the others, Maria and I exchanged promises to write, and then we cried. In my heart, Maria will always be my little daughter. I told her so from the doorway as we started to leave, and then I rushed back to hug her again. Carlos, with his arms around me, comforted me, and gently pulled me away.

As our plane took off to return to the United States, I recalled that I never made it down to Argentina to see my pen pal. She will have to wait awhile longer. One day we will meet. And Carlos, was he thinking about how he'd never reached the mission where he'd volunteered to help? I know he will try again. Perhaps next time I will go with him. He tells me that I was a good nurse.

We were gone three months. The world we returned to had kept moving forward while we were moving back. Carlos says that it will be easier to feel part of it again when our little one is born. I hope he's right. The coldness of the city chills my heart. I miss my tribal family.

Some nights, I lie awake longing for the jungle sounds, the warmth of the friendly fire, and the shared stories in the night. Then Carlos kisses me, and I remember how very lucky we are.

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