At the airport the young man heard far-off drums echoing in the night. He imagined the young woman in the plane sitting still, hearing whispers of a quiet conversation near the rear of the fuselage. He glanced down at his father’s wristwatch—12:30. The flight was on time.
The plane’s wings were moonlit and reflected the stars. The moonlight had guided him there, toward this salvation. He had stopped an older man along the way, hoping to find some long forgotten words, or perhaps an ancient melody, for such an occasion. The old man had said nothing at first, and instead stared cryptically into the sodden earth. Then he raised his head and turned slowly.
“Hurry, boy. It’s waiting there for you,” the old man had said.
Wait. No. Wait. How…?
I can’t decide whether the most surreal thing about this is how MUCH it sounds like Ernest Hemingway, or how COOL it is, or…Ernest Hemingway in general.
McSweeneys: “Toto’s ‘Africa'” by Earnest Hemmingway.