Life is beautiful. I'm at the airport, I'm alive, and I'm not missing any kidneys.
On top of that, I get to see what an airport looks like from the inside, and the first impression is pretty cool. Out there past those doors it's dark and cold, but in here there's air conditioning and a ton of places where you can sit down and grab a quick nap. About a quarter of the people around here are dozing off in their seats.
I'm a little hungry, but I don't see any vodka and tomato juice anywhere, so I make the sacrifice and get myself a hamburger with extra mayonnaise and a coffee. I sit down and relax, and suddenly remember I'm here for a reason: I'm supposed to go somewhere. Today!
But before I manage to decide between Dubai and Thailand, I'm going to flip through this paperback I bought from one of the stands.
I sip my coffee like a good boy, look up at the wall clock that says it's 10:30 p.m., then bury my nose in the book. Nice cover! Let's see what this skinny little novel is all about.
Yeah, even though I don't consider myself a very bright guy, I can tell from the first few pages that it's a book full of perversions and dark stuff. As I sink deeper into it, I forget to sip my coffee.
The story is banal and sad.
A virgin teenager wanders into a dark park. Of course!
She meets a cute young guy (they're always cute). The guy invites the naïve girl for a walk down a more secluded path so he can explain what feelings he has for her.
He just happens to have a friend waiting for him at the end of the path (also cute).
The girl eventually finds out that Santa isn't real. Okay, I'll skip this page. And this one.
Aha, it's getting sadder and sadder: she loses her mind from shame, poor thing.
I glance quickly at the cover. What's with this author? What's with this jackass? He couldn't find another subject? I should've bought a newspaper. I'd have found exactly the same crap in there at a much lower price.
Whatever, I'll pick this rag back up. The story's kind of stupid, but I don't like leaving things unfinished.
The unfortunate girl ends up in the loony bin. Predictable! But that's not all. One of the young men finds out the hard way what it means to fling your dick around left and right, because the girl's father isn't dead; he's patiently lying in wait in that same park, and after a few weeks, he gets his hands on one of the bastards.
On the next page I find out the girl's father is a doctor. That explains everything. That's why the girl went for a walk in the park so late. These doctors are so busy with their work they don't have time to properly prepare their kids for life.
Whoops... the rapist is drugged, kidnapped, taken to the doctor's house, chained up in the basement, stuffed with hormones, injected with all sorts of substances, and forced to swallow hundreds of pills and tablets.
These doctors... They're obsessed with their profession even when they're trying to get revenge. I've never had the chance to go to a doctor's house, but now, after reading this, I'm not even tempted anymore.
Okay, I'm out of coffee. I'm a bit curious to see how the book ends, but I'll still go get myself another coffee. Good. Caffeine. Now I'm wide awake and I shove my nose back into the book.
Dear God! The doctor operates on the guy and changes his sex, then does inappropriate things with the guy's new parts. Seriously?
"You stinking bastard! Haven't you ever heard of the Hippocratic oath? What a shitty book!"
For me one thing is clear: this writer is crazier than his characters. I take another look at the cover and it all clicks instantly: aha, the guy is French. I suspected it, but I wanted to be sure.
Everybody knows: all French people are weird, and the only writers they produce are perverts. The Marquis de Sade is one example. This guy who wrote a book about rapes in parks and basements and about psycho doctors is another example.
Whaaat? The doctor falls in love with the transsexual who raped his daughter?
"Jesus! For fuck's sake! What a madhouse!"
Enough! I don't want to read another line. I bet it ends badly. The only thing missing is for the girl to get out of the asylum and fall in love with her dad!
Come on, this is supposed to be a book written especially to be read in airports, between flights and a glass of mineral water. But it's...
"What garbage! Fuck this!"
"I'd really appreciate it if you stopped swearing."
The woman on my left is staring at me, pissed. There are two empty seats and a suitcase between us. I raise the book and show her the title.
"Don't waste your money on this book!" I warn her. "It's a bad investment. I'm serious! It's written by a sex maniac and on every page you'll find at least two or three perversions."
"I'll remember that," the woman answers, bored.
"One moment... you said I was swearing?"
"Every two minutes."
"Sorry!" I confess. "I hit my head in a taxi today. But you're right, that's not all. Sometimes I talk to myself without realizing it. Actually, I read somewhere about a disease that makes you say filthy things all the time, whether you want to or not. It's called..."
"Tourette's syndrome," she says, staring at me while I throw the book in the trash. "A disease discovered by a French doctor."
"I could've sworn he was French!" I exclaim in disgust, then fish the book out of the trash and show her the name on the cover. "See? The author of this book is French too. Do you want to read it? I'm done with it. I mean, I didn't finish it, but I'm finished with it!"
The woman looks at me and seems to be holding back a smile.
"No, thank you, sir!"
"Uh-huh! It's just a piece of trash with a lot of sex and violence."
"Then I don't want it," she says, rummaging through her purse. "Throw it back in the trash, my good man. I'm sorry you suffer from Tourette's syndrome," she adds, closing her purse. She takes out a cigarette and shows it to me. "So? Will you watch my luggage for a couple of minutes?"
I think she's a bit on the slow side. She jumps to conclusions too fast.
"But I don't suffer from any syndrome," I say, annoyed. "Did I say that? No! I just said 'I read somewhere' about such a disease."
"Of course!" she confirms, nodding quickly. "Well? What do you say? Will you keep an eye on my bags while I go smoke a cigarette?"
"Maybe I'll watch them, maybe I won't. Maybe I'll fall asleep... who knows? Truth is I'm dead tired and it's very likely I'll nod off. The only thing that's kept me awake so far was that book full of perversions."
"Yes, but... You can..."
"Yeah, I know... I know. The cigarette, the bags! Can't you give me one minute to finish my thought? You said you're going out to smoke, not to the bathroom. What's the rush? Aha, I got it: you're going to the bathroom to smoke. Two birds with one stone."
The woman looks at me for a few seconds, then sighs, shoves the cigarette back in her purse, and sits down again.
"Fine," she says with a sour face. "Screw the cigarette. What were you saying?"
"Nothing. I was talking crap. Look, now I've even lost my sleepiness, so yeah, you can go have your cigarette in peace. I'll stay here with your bags. I'll guard them with my life. I won't move an inch."
"But you don't have any luggage."
"I don't."
"And you want to stay with mine?"
"Not me. You do. You're the one insisting."
"Okay, but... I hadn't realized you didn't have any luggage... until now."
I turn my head slowly toward her and blink in surprise.
"Right. And? What's the connection? So what if I don't have luggage?"
"Nothing!" she says quickly, then shuts up.
She pulls out a newspaper and buries her nose in it. I stare at her, stunned, for a few seconds and suddenly it clicks. I burst out laughing.
"Got it!"
"What's so funny?"
"I figured out the whole bag thing," I say, amused. "It finally hit me."
"You're such a wise man."
"You thought I wanted to run off with your suitcases."
"Maybe I thought that, maybe I didn't," she says, clearly irritated.
I hold back from bursting into loud laughter. I bite my lip.
"Okay, okay. I'll confess something: I really did want to run off with them. And now I'm sorry I didn't let you go have your cigarette. I was a real idiot! Just between us, do you even have anything valuable in those suitcases? Come on, tell me straight. I don't like wasting my time for nothing. Maybe I should leave you and go sit next to someone else."
She starts laughing softly. She's got nice teeth.
"If you steal them," she says mockingly, "you'll have the biggest disappointment of your life."
"I like your laugh. I like you. I could sit with you for hours just listening to you laugh, but I have to go. I suddenly feel like smoking too. Can you watch your own bags till I get back?"
"But I want to smoke too," she protests miserably. "I'd been dying for a cigarette long before you sat down here."
"Then I say we get rid of this burden together. I'll help you drag your suitcases outside and we'll both smoke. That way, the bags will be guarded even better. If anyone comes near them, you hold them and I'll punch them."
"Fine!" she answers, smiling.
Poor me! Outside it's freezing cold. I take a drag on my cigarette, shiver, and watch the woman from the corner of my eye. I'd say she's a bit older than me, but with some women you can never be sure.
Her hair is dyed a reddish shade, her lipstick is red, her nails are long and red. Right!
"You're a special woman," I say flatly.
She takes a drag, looking surprised, blows the smoke in my direction, but doesn't say a word.
I don't have anything else to say either. This big suitcase has wrecked my back and drained all my energy. I'm starting to understand why she couldn't go out alone with all this crap. Some people are so stupid they drag half their house with them when they travel. It's a vacation, for fuck's sake!
"So I'm special," the woman chirps. "Thank you, but there's no need to flatter me."
Don't tell me she's got her eye on me now. That's all I needed. Skirt-chasing in the airport is the last thing I want right now. I know very well that the chapter in my life called "How about I pick up a chick?" has been closed for a long time. I'm not interested in women anymore. In the short term, the only thing I want is a soft bed to sleep in.
I hope she's just teasing me and she hasn't actually set her sights on me. Oh, no. That would be too sad.
"So, in the end," she goes on without looking at me, "what's the truth? Do you swear because you suffer from Tourette's syndrome or do you swear because you're just plain and simple an asshole? Come on, tell me. You've made me curious."
"Let's do this: you tell me where you're flying, and then I'll answer you."
She sighs and waves her hand dismissively.
"I'm not flying anywhere. Truth is I flew in from Vienna over an hour ago. My sister's on her way to pick me up with her sweet little husband. I mean, they were supposed to come. But they're having some trouble with the car engine and..."
"That sucks."
"Big time!"
"Still, they promised everything would be sorted out within an hour, so I'm sitting here quietly like a little mouse and waiting for them. Meanwhile I have a cigarette now and then, if I manage to trick someone into hauling my huge suitcase outside."
"Sounds fair to me. If I were a helpless woman, I'd do the same. And now I'll answer you: I swear because I'm an asshole. Yeah. It's a quick way to cool down."
"I figured. Actually, I blow off steam sometimes too, by saying dirty things, or at least thinking them. Everybody does."
"Yeah, for you it's just for fun, but I really need to swear. Today was a hell of a bad day. Yesterday was the same. And the day before. For a while now, my days have been completely fucked."
"Welcome to the club," she says with a smile. "I know how it is, buddy. Things are really hard for me too, but I'm trying my best not to show it."
"You seem like a decent woman and very proper. You probably are. How old did you say you were? Forty-five?"
"Oh, give it a rest," she says coldly. "You know very well I didn't say."
"Why are you getting so pissed off? I clearly told you I'm an asshole. So you're forty-five?"
"You're downright rude!" she growls. She flicks her cigarette away and lights another, then looks straight at me while twirling a lock of red hair around her finger over and over. "Do I look like a forty-five-year-old woman? Is that what you're going with?"
Look at her! Now she's being coy. Seriously? She's starting to wear me out.
"I don't know what to tell you," I answer, yawning. "I'm too tired to think. Actually, it doesn't matter how old you are. My eyes are sticking shut. I'm going to head to the waiting room right now and look for a soft, comfy chair. I'm glad we met. It was a pleasure. Look, I'm leaving and I'm leaving you here with all your bags. I'm dead sleepy."
"Only a jackass would do that, and you don't look like a jackass, so you're not going to leave me here."
"Do you really not get it? I'll repeat it: I'm dying for sleep. Not even coffee and cigarettes work anymore. I'm leaving."
"I'm forty-seven and you should be ashamed you made me say it. Okay?"
"Okay. Anyway, I could've sworn you were forty-seven. I only said forty-five to make you feel better, but I know you're at least forty-eight or forty-nine. Fifty is probably your real age."
I watch her choke.
"You're... you're..."
"An idiot," I admit.
"I was going to say jerk, but idiot works too!" she says coolly. "Now, being the well-bred jerk you are, you're going to pick up this huge suitcase, and I'll take the lighter one. We're going to the waiting room and you're going to walk me all the way to my seat."
"And then what do I do?"
"Whatever you want. You can leave, you can sleep, you can slit your wrists. Anything!"
I look at the giant suitcase, discouraged. I'm a gentleman, but this suitcase is fucking heavy...
My companion's cell phone rings and, after a minute of conversation, I understand Tourette's syndrome is contagious. Then the woman stops swearing just as suddenly as she started. Once again, there's peace and quiet in the airport.
She snaps the phone shut angrily, looks at me, and I give her my most innocent look.
"So that one-hour delay is no longer just an hour?"
"No!" she says angrily, jabbing at her phone. "I need a taxi, damn it! I have to find a hotel. It's almost... ah, God, what idiots! Fucking idiots! How can they do this to me?"
"Come on, don't freak out!" I say soothingly.
"Oh, I'll freak out!"
"What for? Be serious! Don't turn it into a tragedy. It's not the end of the world. Nobody died. You'll find a taxi and a hotel, and tomorrow you'll meet up with your idiots and that's it. You're going to get rid of me anyway in a few minutes. Taxi drivers in this town can't stand me, and hotel owners have already put me on their blacklist, if there is such a list. Tonight I'll sleep on two chairs in the airport. And tomorrow... I hit the road. Actually, I wanted to ask you something."
"Go ahead."
"What kind of face do I have? Do I look like Dubai or like Thailand? Look at me in profile. There, now from the front."
"Give me a break, will you?" she snorts, annoyed. "What's with this crap?"
"Hey, I was just asking. Anyway, let's haul your monster suitcases over to that taxi there. Whoa! Hold on..."
"What happened?"
I point at the building across the street. We look at the hotel and the hotel looks back at us.