Dark Oil (18 page)

“Oh, don't be like that. Show some interest. It's my favourite car. You're going to miss it. Quick! It's just turned to go to the fish markets. See.”

She looked up, her mouth gaping. She could feel that if she let her emotions show, she would cry with joy. As the official-looking car disappeared down the road to the markets, she drew a long breath. It wasn't over yet, they could still be stopped at the airport, but they had a chance. She could be home tomorrow. She smiled at Jack.

He winked. “You women are all alike. Never interested in cars.”

A few minutes later they pulled up at the airport's dusty car park. The driver unloaded the boot, lugging the two heaviest suitcases toward the terminal.

“We'll carry those.” Jack took one, gesturing to Martin to take the other. The driver shook his head. “No, no, my job. I must work.”

“It's fine, we can do it.” Martin bent to pick up a case.

The Negalese man pointed to a few people standing at the other end of the car park. “No. They see I not work. No good. If I lose job no one give me other job in Zakra.”

It was a revelation to Lara, and by the look on Martin and Jack's faces, probably to them, too. It wasn't about feeling useful or obligated, it was about reputation and saving face, just like many of the actions people took in this country.

She didn't want this poor driver to suffer because they were leaving. “Would you mind taking the cases to the entrance, then? We'll send these off while you run another errand for us. Actually now that I think about it, it would be helpful if you picked up the fish
we need at the markets and took it back to the house. We'll get someone from the office to come and pick us up later, when we're ready.”

The driver acquiesced, loading himself up with the suitcases like a donkey. He carted them off to the entrance to the airport, a glass door with so many fingermarks you could barely see through it, with Lara, Jack and Martin in tow. At the door, Martin handed him ten zenias.

“I bring back change. Fish for what? Soup or oven?”

“Anything you think looks good.” Jack held out another fifty zenias. “And take the same for your family. As much as you need.”

The man bowed with reverence, closing his eyes and drawing his palms to his chest, as if he had received the gift of a lifetime. He ran to the car, turning and waving to them before getting in.

“What are you thinking?” Martin snapped. “You can't give away company money like that.”

Jack shook his head. “That's right and I didn't. It was my money.”

Lara thought she heard Martin snort, but nothing more was said. They each took their own case and pushed through the door. Inside the tin building it was boiling and noisy, just as it had been when they arrived.

Lara wondered if the airport was ever quiet. With just two flights a week out of an immense country and no other airport for the entire population, it wasn't surprising, really, that the planes were always full. People stood chatting or fidgeting in a queue so long Lara couldn't see the end of it. She wondered how many of them had return tickets, how many hoped it would be their last hours in Negala.

She followed Jack and Martin as they made their way through the dense crowd, covering her nose with one hand to mask the strong mix of sweat and spices. It took barely a couple of minutes for them to traverse the shed and find their way back into the daylight and onto the hot tarmac, but it was two minutes too long. She breathed in deeply, gasping like a fish out of water, as soon as they were in the open again.

“Fingers crossed they give us our passports.” Jack gazed at Lara and there was more than just anxiety in his eyes. She thought there was compassion and understanding. Perhaps he was considering not just himself, but her, how her life would be affected if they didn't manage to escape Zakra.

For an instant she wanted to hug him for his kindness. It was what she liked the most about him. After all, there was no better legacy than to have touched people with a golden heart. There was no better proof of humanity.

They entered the clean, quiet office reserved for Global Oil employees. Their relief was nearly audible as the air-conditioning blew down their tops, separating the cloth from their sticky skin, instantly cooling them down.

An older Negalese man in a dark grey Customs uniform smiled at them. “Hello, hello my Global Oil friends! What can I do for you?”

Jack beat Martin to it. “How are you Ismael? How is the family?”

“Good Mr Jack. And you?”

“Very well indeed, thank you. We're boarding the next flight. Could we have our passports, please?”

Ismael frowned. “You leave? But Bengali did not tell me.” Procedure had not been followed and it seemed to bother him.

“A last-minute decision. We have urgent business back home. I'm sorry, we would have sent Bengali but we only found out we had to go half an hour ago. Just in time to catch the plane. And Bengali had gone out to do errands, so we thought we'd come here ourselves.”

Ismael's face softened. “Oh. I understand. One minute, please.”

He disappeared down the long corridor and Martin flopped down on the chairs in the waiting area. Jack stood, tapping his fingers on the counter and Lara, feeling a little awkward, stayed by his side.

A few minutes passed and Lara, hoping to avoid the butterflies in her stomach as Jack gazed at her, decided to sit down across from Martin. Ismael was nowhere in sight. She wondered what was going on, why he wasn't returning with their passports, but knew not to ask. If someone overheard her that might be the end of it. She tried not to think of what could happen if the Customs officer got in touch with the Ministry or with Bengali, who had been sent off on a shopping marathon. She tried not to think at all.

Eventually Jack, too, sat down, leaning forward, his hands clasped. He shrugged at Lara, as if to say he didn't know what the holdup was, as if he needed to communicate with her even though they couldn't talk. Lara heard footsteps but couldn't make out in which direction, and words spoken, but couldn't tell what was being said.

She glanced at her watch. The plane was boarding and soon it would be the last call for passengers. She thought of Tim and that cough in the car when she'd called him. That coquettish, flirty voice saying “Oops” with playful manipulation. All those evenings Tim had ignored her, falling asleep on the couch. And all those evenings he had gone out on his own.

Then, after imagining the woman who caressed her straying husband, Lara thought of her poor mother, alone in a hospital, doing tests, waiting for results. It never rained, did it? The skies sent hail, thunder and lightning all at once—and always when you had no umbrella. Who had decided Lara's world should suddenly crumble? Why her? Why now? She felt like curling up in a ball on the couch and sobbing without holding back, but it was neither the time nor the place.

She crossed her arms, sat up straight and steeled herself. She had to get on that plane. She just had to. Her life—or life as she'd known it for the past decade—depended on it.

As the plastic clock hanging on the wall marked every second with its loud tick-tock, she counted the minutes left before the doors to the giant bird waiting to depart would be sealed. Whether they would make it in time to get this plane, or out of Negala at all for that matter, was anyone's guess.

Lara paced the length of the counter, back and forth, as if it would somehow help Ismael return with their passports.

It had been close to half an hour since he'd wandered out of the reception area. The plane was about to leave. It would take a miracle for them to board now. Her throat tightened at the thought of being stuck in Negala when her marriage was in crisis and her mother soon might be facing a death sentence.

The voices she'd heard earlier had become stronger, louder, and more forceful. One was clearly furious. “They cannot go,” a man repeated time and time again in Negalese.

“Have you spoken to Bengali yet?” That was Ismael's voice. He, too, was losing his patience. Then she heard a softer reply, one that faded into the background so much she could not distinguish any words.

Finally, Ismael, his face harder, his fists closed, stomped down the corridor and back into the waiting room. “I am sorry. You cannot leave.”

Lara brought her hand to her stomach. This couldn't be happening. Were they prisoners in Negala? Should they fear for their safety? She touched the steel legs of a chair and brought her hand to her face, hoping to cool her cheeks that were now burning despite the air-conditioning.

Martin jumped to his feet. “You can't keep us here!”

Jack held up his open palm, signalling him to stop. “May I ask what has happened?”

Ismael bowed. “Very sorry. It is the law. You may not leave if—”

Lara was getting ready to respond on what the law was. It certainly wasn't that a corrupt Minister could keep them in the country if they hadn't done anything wrong. As she was about to interrupt Ismael a young man came running into the room brandishing three passports. “Here they are, boss. I found them. I am regretful for the delays, Madam and Sirs.”

Lara gasped. The passports had been misplaced. Was that all? She looked through the window and across the runway. The plane was preparing for take-off. “It's too late.”

“It's never too late.” Jack grabbed her by the arm, dragging her outside. “Take your hand luggage. Leave the rest.” He turned to Ismael, all the while heading for the door. “Send the cases on the next flight, will you, my friend?”

They made a dash across the runway, in a last attempt to get on the plane. Martin threw his arms up in the air, but followed them as fast as he could and soon caught up.

As Lara slowed, panting, Jack took her hand firmly and pulled her along. “Nearly there,” he screamed, but she couldn't keep up any more, the pain in her side excruciating.

Without even a hint of hesitation, or apparent effort, he picked her up and held her in his arms like a baby. It was so important to her that she catch that Boeing that she didn't protest in the slightest. She wanted to put her hands around his neck, not only to hold onto him for safety but because it felt so natural. She resisted the urge, crossing her arms and hanging onto her own body and handbag instead.

She looked over Jack's shoulder and saw Martin, now huffing and puffing as he lagged behind. He screwed up his face with disapproval at seeing her in Jack's arms, but nothing was said. Lara guessed it was more because Martin physically couldn't, he was gasping for air, rather than because he had decided to be magnanimous.

“Wait!” Jack yelled. Lara imagined the passenger stairs being rolled away and the door latched. She stayed facing the other way, her head over Jack's shoulder. She couldn't see what was happening. It was better that way, she couldn't bear to be confronted by the sealed door, couldn't bear to watch the plane take off. Anything to delay the profound despair she knew she would feel if she was left helpless on Negalese soil.

Suddenly Jack put her down and she turned to see the stairs to the plane still there. She couldn't believe it! They were getting on board. Relief washed through her body like the first summer rain. She looked at the two men waiting to remove the steps and could have kissed them.

The hostess at the top of the stairs frantically signalled them to hurry on up. Martin had now caught up with them again and he started up the steps two by two. Within seconds the trio had reached the top and climbed safely on board.

They were ushered to their seats. This time, Lara was sitting right beside Jack, while Martin was escorted much further down the aisle. “We can swap seats every now and then, if you like, Martin” she offered.

She didn't really care where she was, as long as she was on that flight, she even would happily have put up with Martin the whole way if necessary. Martin grimaced in response, still panting and incapable of words, and Lara wasn't sure if he meant yes or no.

As they sat down and buckled up the engines roared, ready to lift the plane off the ground. Lara looked through the window at the men in bright dwanas, the sandy soil, and the camels in the distance. Once again, she couldn't believe her good fortune. They had made it, against the odds.

The urge to laugh was so great she couldn't hold it in. She giggled like a child unable to control her silliness after too much excitement. Thankfully, the engines covered her chuckles, but not enough for them to go unnoticed by Jack.

He turned to her with a twinkle in his eye. “Happy to get out of here?”

“Sure am. Thank you. I would have given up.”

“Sorry I had to carry you. I hope you didn't mind. It was warranted by the circumstances, I think.”

“It certainly was. Besides, it's not the first time you've carried me. I'm sort of getting used to it.” More than that, she was starting to like it, the warmth of his body, his scent, how protected he made her feel. But she couldn't say that.

He smiled, and she noticed once again the cute dimple in his left cheek. The plane gathered speed on the runway and, with a deafening roar, lifted off the ground and into the air. They were on their way. They were going home.

Lara rested her whole body against the seat and for the first time since she'd left Australia she felt safe, completely safe. It was a fallacy, of course. Things could go wrong anywhere in the world, not just in Negala. You could get sick, mugged, robbed or injured in an accident in any country, even at home. Familiarity brought a false sense of security, though, and she simply let herself enjoy the sudden comfort.

Then she thought about the suitcases they'd left behind. “When will we get our luggage?”

Jack shrugged. “A week, a month.”

Her eyes widened. “A month?”

“That is, if the suitcases arrive at all. Anything worth staying in Negala for in yours?”