The Airport on Earth, takes place in 2003 India
From Laenif: Book 2, "And the Sun Let Go" - chapter eight: The Airport on Earth"
And this is where we find Freddy now, hiking alone in the brush of an Indian forest. With a daunting amount of time to endure before his airplane departs, he decided to wait out a few days in a deserted clearing. Amongst this long instance, the man meditated. He only moved to accommodate bodily needs, solely focusing on the objective at hand. Returning to the west was imperative for in it he saw his one remaining chance to regain happiness. For Marsle had all but vanished, and Lakshmi was also gone. Unlike the solitude that constructed his youth, this lonesomeness hurt.
Rather than partaking in fleeting delightful ponderings of mind, There was only a sharp vacancy permeating hollow caverns of the heart. There was nothing else to do but return to the culture that had produced him…
And after this period of days passed (a lapse of time in which he spent utterly alone out in the woods, fading into the landscape), Freddy journeyed back down into the township below. He consumed idle moments there loafing with salesmen and beggars of a congested, dusty market outside this airport in India.
No matter how many tourists got bamboozled, no matter how much foreign currency was collected, the merchants and panhandlers were never satisfied. It was never enough. But regardless, a couple of shopkeepers were more than willing to rent out their spare cots for a fair price. Freddy was happy to oblige such offers. When sleeping, he clutched the backpack tight to his ribs.
A couple more nights went by before Freddy was allowed to wait within the walls of this airport for his plane to scoop him up, and fly away. The large building reminded him of his public elementary school for some reason. It was perhaps that stained white paint upon the rigid texture of the walls.
Obscuring Freddy’s path, there was now another heap of hours to waste, but now enclosed in the daunting corridors between terminals. Hours upon hours of uncomfortable sleep were interspersed with agonizingly aimless wanders through hallways of gaudy mercantile business pits. Suffering from sleep deprivation, he lamented in these musky stores for over three days.
Freddy was far from careless with his money, but in total, he purchased the following: One pint of cheap bitter liquor, two packs of cigarettes, five bananas, a bottle of water, a lumpy assortment of strange chocolate, and a box of mysteriously packaged pain-killers.
The pills came enclosed with an illegible label upon the dark tint of their container. Freddy had executed the purchase in hopes of relieving a severe headache. However, the only effect he felt from the drugs was a feeling he found difficult to describe, even to himself. It was a dissociative ripping of the mind, tearing thought patterns away from the electric web of Earth.
Freddy had not smoked a cigarette for several months and just a few hours into his ordeal at the Indian airport, he succumbed to the lusty urge of nicotine again. Smoking tobacco helped soothe the inching of time. Drinking that whiskey helped, too. Having never been much of a heavy drinker, that cheap Indian alcohol helped his mind click off for a while, allowing sleep for some rough uncomfortable minutes. Finding an available seat in the terminal which wasn’t broken and rendered useless was a desirable feat. And even once one functional chair was found, the sleep it provided was poor, not much better than a stack of bricks. Freddy’s back ached unbearably. He longed to be reunited with Marsle or Lakshmi again, but such was now impossible. At least he could focus on one sure bet, a last resort: returning home. Returning to America where the world to him made sense for some inexplicable reason…
The mealtime ritual Freddy developed consisted of a banana, a bite of chocolate, a shot of whiskey, and finally he would enjoy a cigarette before trying to stubbornly fall into unconsciousness. But too soon, it was inevitable, he would awaken and then begrudgingly stumble through the awful plainly painted hallways.
Of the two places Freddy frequented the most, there was a music store and a peculiar man enclosed within a glass booth. The store was nothing special. It was filled with music on tapes, vinyl, and even a few CDs. The musical genres ranged from Western classical or Eastern classical to Western pop and rock and so on. The man, however, was short, sat inside his glass cylinder while holding an old phone, and appeared to Freddy to be speaking absolute nonsense. And always the man was there, no matter what hour Freddy decided to visit. This small darkly tanned man sat enclosed in glass as a complete enigma who spoke words that sounded like no language Freddy ever heard before.
This human’s purpose, and whether or not he was even employed to be there, were unknown. But throughout Freddy’s moments imprisoned in the airport, he constantly checked to see if this man was still fulfilling that seemingly useless position. And always, that same face was present to the pleasant surprise of the westerner, who would privately question the capsulated man’s meaning and reason. Freddy obsessively pondered on if this person could actually be some figment of his own imagination. ‘Was this guy, who endlessly spoke gibberish into a rotary phone, even real?’
And as well, Freddy visited the music store soon after the reality of that person’s existence sufficiently perplexed him. So while mystified by nonsense represented as a man in a glass booth, Freddy experienced the blaring music of Bollywood when trying to examine small text printed on scratched cassette cases. The music playing through the store’s speakers occasionally amused his ears long enough to remember but a sliver of a glimmer pertaining to a recollection about what joy once was.
At some point Freddy thought about buying a coloring book at one of the shops. He debated briefly over purchasing some fake shining gem jewelry, too, but decided not to buy anything both times. Instead, he huddled secretly in a corner to cradle a glass flask of liquor. A little buzzed, he stumbled by sequenced patterns on scarves and other clothing for sale. Listless contemplation consumed splashing water molecules as he washed his face in the public restroom sink. The dirty mirror’s reflection repressed thoughts of tarnished love, for now named Lakshmi.
Also resistant to doting on memories of Marsle, Freddy’s sleep deprived mind was a wreck. After spending over a year in India, a desire to return to the hemisphere of his birth burned the nerves across tired flesh. But even as he tried to rest in these uncomfortable faded seats, memories that were feverishly fought to be staved away, eventually surfaced to the forefront of exhausted neurons. Pushing these emotions off proved to be impossible.
Freddy had foolishly abandoned Marsle for a beautiful girl who quickly renounced her love less than ten months removed from professing it so earnestly. With her absence emerged the harsh realization of Marsle’s permanent disappearance. And now Freddy was left alone, hoping to fly back home soon.
In that hot terminal of an international airport located between jungles of India, this sweaty human named Frederick was awaiting a plane. There were still twenty-one hours left to wait. Salty drops of sweat leaked from the tips of his forehead. He recalled the fragile circumstances that had led his body to this specific point in space and time…
And this is where Freddy truly comes to take shape as a fully realized human spirit of the cosmos. With Memphis almost completely morphed into an artifact of his life’s mythology, he ended up employed by grocery store in Canada. And it was noticeable then that what his lifeline was to surmount to was not to be a bag boy or deli clerk in Toronto suburbia, but something much deeper.
And whatever that mystical element was, wherever be the deeper meaning lay, it required him to be surviving at that moment in that place, working at a market. The deeper meaning would find him so long as he kept a diligent mind and knew what signs to seek. One of the most sacred symbols to Freddy was the third eye; the eye of Osiris; the eye of Shiva. Within this eye held some secret to escaping the fourth dimension of time into the fifth dimension, which can only be described, in this barbaric tongue, as love-
Because this is important
And it should be said,
You are alive.
And you are not dead-
You’re beautiful,
It’s amazing-
You’re awake again
And everything-
And it was during this brief stint at the grocery store that a most peculiar series of events took place.
Freddy stepped into the fridge of the deli department. You see, in most convenient stores, they would have these wide compact rooms where the temperature could be controlled with the application of thermodynamics and electricity. The temperature would frequently be set to a very cold setting as this would keep the meat fresh. And these refrigerator rooms, which Freddy referred to as “the fridge” is where he stood fetching a chunk of processed ham wrapped in plastic film.
At this moment, it is a safe bet that Freddy had not a scarce idea that his life was about ten minutes from altering completely forever. For not a while away walked a certain human named Marsle, whose forehead bore the sacred third eye perfectly placed up between the regular two pupils. The reason the third eye was so significant to Freddy was the reason behind why the spiral’s mathematical sequence of Fibonacci fascinated him so. These symbols spoke to very ancient arms of humanity, gripping pieces of his spirit that existed well before it occupied the body to find himself itself in now…
Done with slicing a large chunk of pig into neatly organized pieces, presented in an appetizing fashion for those who may hunger for a ham sandwich that afternoon. Freddy wanted a cigarette. It was a very riddled desire for tobacco that pulled him from behind thick glass of a deli counter into the outside sun. The foggy haze of nicotine addiction led him outside and there his mind was aware enough to see through the fog and through it all- There, in a mundane parking lot of a Canadian grocery store, a human stood with the sacred eye atop their head.
While other pedestrians hardly noticed, nearly drowning in the intoxicating sludge of aspiration, Freddy saw through this and appreciated what a miracle this moment was. Possessing a third eye made its keeper into a living deity, and Freddy recognized this truth when he saw Marsle.
Frederick took the best breath of air lungs ever inhaled. He forgot about the roasting cigarette resting betwixt fingertips. And Marsle acknowledged him and came forth and there was a rather interesting conversation that took place among these two particular manifestations of life upon our universal plane of consciousness in the physical mind’s space-time continuum.
“Yo,” Freddy said.
“Hello,” Marsle answered.
A tapping at Freddy’s shoulders awoke him suddenly from an uncomfortable afternoon nap in an uncomfortable airport chair. His eyelids leapt awake, revealing bloodshot exhaustion.
“Excuse me, sir,” the tapping hands said. They belonged to a middle aged Indian man with a kind countenance, excellent posture, and long gray hair.
“Yeah?” Freddy sat up from his slouch and stretched out lanky arms with a boisterous yawn.
“Are you expecting a plane?” His English was articulately exact and his accent was icy.
“Yes, sir. I have a ticket for a plane destined for New York City.” Freddy fumbled around, feeling his pockets for the ticket, that flappy piece of paper.
“When does the flight depart?”
“Tomorrow night,” Freddy responded. Halting from his scavenge, he stared up at this man in a dark blue designer suit. “Who are you, dude?”
“I am the Indian government’s close associate with the United States department of homeland security. May I see your ticket?” The supposed agent man exposed an official badge.
The tourist examined the credentials for a second before sighing, and then searching again for what was finally found. It was enclosed in an envelope buried deep in the bag. He handed it over without vocalizing a word.
The man in the suit inspected the ticket with meticulous maliciousness. “What are your intentions in New York?”
“I’m trying to get home, yo.”
Freddy quit his job in Toronto on an unusually warm February day. He hopped inside his beat down car to drive to the town about which Marsle had said, “I live in this town.”
Freddy had Marsle’s phone number and a phone call was made to the residence owned by that three-eyed person. On that very same night, the two of them met for the second time. From there, a friendship formed that carried the pair on a journey from Canada to New England, where on one occurrence the duo found themselves beneath beautiful clouds in Amherst:
“I mean,” Freddy spoke over the northeastern wind. “If all these aliens were traveling back and forth between Laenif and Earth, why would a human not be able to do so as well?”
“The gate between Earth and Laenif is closed,” Marsle said in return. “Ghoid was the exception.”
“I mean before it was closed.” Freddy lit a cigarette. “Don’t you find it hard to believe that no humans traveled to Laenif as Laenif’s creatures flung themselves between both?"
“That doesn’t really concern me,” the three eyes replied. “My concern is of now, and for now, I am on Earth.”
From New England the duet journeyed down south to a garden of tombstones in Virginia. There, a decision was made to start driving west until they reached Asia…
“I was born in Memphis, Tennessee in the United States,” Freddy told the airport official still by the chairs.
“I know where Memphis is,” the man stated. “Elvis. The King.”
From Virginia they drove to Tennessee, where Marsle and Freddy briefly stayed with Freddy’s aunt. They then continued to crawl onward, riding highways slowly to get to California, where a boat destined for Japan was eventually boarded. Across the Pacific, they were set to embark with wide hopeful hearts…
“Follow me,” the man with gray hair demanded. “You have time to kill, no?”
Freddy was led through a secured door into a hallway of fluorescent lights and then into another steel passage guarding a small interrogation room also illuminated by bright electric bulbs. There sat a tiny table, and two stiff folding chairs.
Coffee and sandwiches were provided and Freddy was asked to explain how he arrived in India. The government worker remained quiet and attentive as Freddy told his story. When it came to the point where he and Marsle were boarding the cargo boat that was to displace them across the Pacific, the man injected, “They just let you on the boat?”
Freddy was naturally a bit anxious, but gracious for the food and coffee. He was also a little relieved to share his story. Still, he couldn’t help but notice that his instincts were inspiring paranoia. “They let us on the boat,” he confirmed. “We told them we were journalists and they were amused, but they let us go with them.”
However, it should be noted that one of the main reasons that Marsle and Freddy were allowed on the boat was because of Marsle’s third eye. Freddy wasn’t mentioning this particular characteristic about Marsle’s person to the agent in fear that it would label Freddy as insane and thus restrain his return to western civilization.
The Indian man inquired, “Did they check your passports?”
“Of course,” Freddy lied. Although he did hold a passport, it was not requested for inspection by the sailors, who were happy to have the pair join their expedition across the vast nothingness sea. The captivation these seamen held toward Marsle’s third eye was all Freddy and his companion needed to accompany the vessel on its voyage.
And while trust was prevalent amongst the boaters towards both of them, it may seem odd that a mutual trust was shared on the other end for the inhabitants of this decent-sized cargo ship. The living quarters were equipped with private cabins, a kitchen, and a fine storage room for whatever worthy catches were caught. Fishing was the prominent pastime exhibited by the sailors.
Across the ocean, Marsle and Freddy were off for whatever reason that pulled these two humans together. They persisted on merrily. Watching horizons in all directions, they searched for beauty and found it everywhere.
After months of floating on the endless tides, their spirits flooded onto the shores of Okinawa. Shortly after, the crew and the two stowaways were not hesitant in venturing off in their separate directions…
“I fell in love,” replied Freddy solemnly. The dark blue suit could sense genuine sincerity. “I abandoned Marsle to live momentarily with a gorgeous girl who swept my soul away before abandoning me in exchange.” Freddy was fighting tears that rippled behind his exhausted gaze. “Can I go now?”
The agent’s pupils stared cold dead upon the opposing body’s vulnerable slouch. “You can leave.”
“Just this room?” Freddy questioned. “Or can I go home to America as well?”
“Go,” he ordered, not exhibiting any clear body language. “Go home already. You’ve paid for your flight, no?”
Out the steel door, through the cold white fluorescent hallway, onto the airport gate across a stretch of sunlight, Freddy fled. Onto the hangar, through the airplane door, into a stiff faded cushion, Freddy went onward to New York City, to America-
onward home…
Written by BW Derge, All Rights Reserved 2024
© USA
This was an excerpt from Laenif: Book Two (2017), chapter Eight: The Airport on Earth
