by Rebekah Pace
Lucille should’ve been an actress or maybe an air traffic controller instead of a travel agent. As I tiptoed out of the building behind them, she was hollering at Miss Richter about parking too far away from the curb. My cabbie pulled around the accident scene and got out to collect my bags. With a last wave at Lucille, I shut the door. Miss Richter’s head snapped around, and she recognized me too late. I was free.
When the cabbie asked, “Which terminal, pal?” I read what Lucille had written on the envelope. “United Airlines. International departures.”
“You going on vacation?”
“Yes. I am going to visit a friend.”
“Good for you, pal.” When we reached the airport, he pulled up to the curb and hopped out to get my bags from the trunk. “Safe travels.”
Inside, the terminal teemed with people, just like it had when I’d first tried to buy a ticket. Even though I’d practiced with Lucille just days before, I was a nervous wreck. The signs confused me and I couldn’t remember where to go. A crowd of people swept me along as I was trying to read the departures board, and before I could dodge all the rolling suitcases, everyone surged forward, taking me with them. My heart jumped into my throat as the crowd constricted, and I saw the reason for the bottleneck. We were boarding a train. Inside me, something snapped. I wouldn’t be forced onto that train. I didn’t want to go.
A wailing sob burst from my throat. I thrashed around and would’ve tripped over my suitcases if I’d had room to move. Before I could catch my breath and calm down, the crowd backed off, flowing around me like I was a rock in a stream. The train’s doors slid shut, leaving only a few people on the platform. My breath came in gasps.
“Sir?”
I jumped when a young man touched my arm. He was wearing an ID badge for one of the airlines.
“Are you all right, sir? Do you need a doctor?”
“I was afraid.” It took so much effort to speak that I gulped to get the words out. “Afraid I am getting on the wrong train.”
“Do you have your ticket?”
I brought the envelope out of my breast pocket and found the ticket. He glanced at it and motioned for me to follow him. “This way, sir. We’ll get you straightened out.”
I trailed after him, pulling my suitcases like a kid with a toy wagon until he handed me off to a woman in a similar uniform.
“This is the line to get your boarding pass, sir.” She gestured toward a long line of people snaking through one of the roped-off queues. When it was my turn, the man behind the counter fired off a bunch of commands. Before I knew it, one of my bags was on the chute, I had a new piece of paper in my hand, and he pointed me toward another line.
“Security is over there. Then on to the B Gates.”
“Thank you.”
In the security line, I followed a new set of commands. They let me keep my shoes on, I guess because I looked too old to take them off without sitting down, but my cell phone and jacket had to go in a bin. One by one, the guard motioned us through the little doorway. I was next in line when something beeped, and the guards took a woman off to the side. Heart pounding, I watched as they patted her down.
“Hey buddy—next!”
One of the guards motioned to me, and as I walked through the doorway, I avoided eye contact with him. When I heard the beep, cold, clammy sweat started in my armpits. My hand shook as I wiped my brow.
When the guard held up a hand to stop me, I flinched.
“Do you have any metal on you?”
My hand reached for Mira’s locket, hidden beneath my shirt.
He made an impatient sound like I should know what he meant. “A belt? Or change in your pocket?”
“Oh—yes. A belt.” I took it off and we began again.
This time, I passed through without any problem. The bin with my jacket and cell phone was waiting for me at the end of the conveyor, and soon my belt slithered down beside it.
I was sweating too much to want the jacket, so I folded it over my arm and pocketed the phone. More people swarmed past me as I stared up at the signs for the departure gates. Lucille and I hadn’t been able to practice this part of the journey.
By the time I got to the right place, I felt like I’d walked halfway to Shanghai. Lots of people were already there waiting, and I took a seat where I could look out the windows. The plane was bigger than I’d expected. I’d never seen one up close before.
Everyone else waiting at the gate was either looking at their phone or reading. There were lots of business travelers, and four or five families with kids. I think I was the oldest of all. When they called us to board, I watched and copied what the other passengers did. On the way down the ramp to the plane, my heart pounded with excitement.
An attendant helped me find my seat, and boy, did Lucille set me up right. I had a little cubicle with a TV, a seat that reclined into a bed, and a tray table. I hadn’t expected this much privacy.
The last time I’d crossed an ocean, it had taken five days. On this trip, I’d reach the other side of the world in a fraction of that. I buckled myself in with my blanket and pillow, got the atlas out of my carry-on, and opened it to Shanghai. The coded messages I’d left between the pages were no longer there. When the plane backed up and turned toward the runway, I felt a shiver run down my spine. I hoped Mira knew I was on my way. I whispered into the pages of the atlas, “I’ll be there soon.”
We rumbled along on the ground until I grew impatient and began to wonder if we were going to drive partway. Then the sudden acceleration and takeoff set my heart pounding all over again. I remembered telling Mira how objects traveling at a high rate of speed experience time differently than objects standing still. I hoped that meant the trip would pass quickly.
Once we were off the ground, flying wasn’t frightening at all. In fact, it was boring. Nothing much happened for half an hour or so, until the attendants passed out hot towels, and then food and drinks. I was amazed to be presented with five courses, ending with a cheese plate and an ice cream sundae. Though I was too excited to feel hungry, I ate. I had learned long ago never to refuse food when it was offered.
After the meal, when the attendants came back for the trays and dimmed the lights, most of the people around me put on headphones and started watching their little TVs. I got up and walked the aisle a few times. Lucille made me promise to do so because it would help keep my legs from swelling. Already I was wearing the compression socks she’d made me buy. I hoped Lucille’s parents realized they raised a good daughter.
A few rows up, I passed a family whose youngest daughter was asleep in her father’s arms. My own arms had always been empty, and I felt a pang of envy so sharp I had to force myself to give him a pleasant nod as I went by. I had grown used to the idea of becoming a father. I wondered if the child Mira carried was a girl or a boy.
***
I dozed through much of the flight, and every time I awoke, I checked the screen that tracked where we were. The little airplane seemed so small as it moved across the map of the world. Those of us inside it were specks too tiny to be visible on the screen, just as Mira was a speck in the vast landscape of Shanghai. As I drifted off, I tried to send my thoughts winging ahead of the plane so she would know I was almost there.
A huge jolt woke me, and at first, I forgot where I was. When I realized I was on the plane, I thought we’d hit something in the air. One of the flight attendants bent over my cubicle and touched me on the shoulder.
“Sir? Are you all right?”
I passed my hand over my face, trying to calm my galloping heart.
“Yes, yes, I am fine.”
“You were shouting in German.”
“I’m sorry. I am thinking I am having a nightmare.”
She nodded. “Unexpected turbulence can be frightening. Can I get you some water, sir?”
“No, thank you. I
am all right now.”
Sleep eluded me for the rest of the flight, so between my trips up and down the aisle, I turned on my reading light and looked at the atlas. Even after getting up every few hours, my joints were stiff and my shoes felt too tight. Travel at my age was a lot harder than I had realized it would be, and I was more than ready to land by the time the attendants turned on the cabin lights and brought more hot towels and breakfast trays.
31
When I arrived in the terminal, to my surprise, all the signs were in English. At the baggage claim, I spotted the red bandana on my suitcase with no trouble. I thought I’d be asleep on my feet in the immigration line, but there was so much to see I got my second wind. While I waited in line, I got out Lucille’s list of instructions. She’d said to get a thing called a SIM card for my new phone so it would work outside the US. I must’ve heard at least ten different languages before it was my turn to have my new passport stamped.
Once I was through customs, I found an ATM and put my card in the slot. Just like when I’d practiced at home, it spit out a stack of bills—renminbi.
There was a shop selling phone accessories a few feet away, and the young guy who sold me the SIM card even changed it over for me. I felt like I was getting the hang of traveling.
He handed me back the original card in a plastic envelope. “Are you taking a taxi to your hotel, sir?”
I nodded.
“It can be difficult, because many of the taxi drivers do not speak English. If you like, I will write the name of your hotel in Wu so you can give it to the driver.”
Distrust welled up in me. “No, thank you. I am fine.” I wasn’t sure if there really was a language called Wu—and I began to think this guy was running some kind of a scam. Benny had worried about someone taking advantage of me. But what if I got to the taxi line and couldn’t communicate? My confidence evaporated and, stalling, I joined the line at Starbucks, hoping a coffee would help me think.
When I emerged, I looked like a genuine tourist, with a venti latte in one hand and my Rollaboard in tow as I headed for ground transportation.
Contrary to the young man’s warning, the taxi stand captain spoke English. He quoted the fare at twenty-eight renminbi for the forty-five-minute cab ride into the city. As my driver pulled away, I settled back in the seat and congratulated myself for getting the cab by myself.
Out the window, Shanghai looked huge—even with half of it shrouded in smog. I didn’t tear my eyes away until we’d pulled into the Crowne Plaza, which had to be the toniest place I’d ever been, except for maybe the dream version of the Ritz.
My cabbie pulled up beside a golden two-humped camel statue in the porte cochere and handed me my bags. I was determined to act like a seasoned traveler, but as soon as I entered the lobby, I stopped to stare. Lucille had been right when she’d said, “Honey, if you’re only going to do something once, you might as well pull out the stops.” Everything in the lobby was shiny, from the marble floors to the lacquered furniture. Fresh flower arrangements in gleaming vases four feet tall flanked the reception desk.
There was just one couple ahead of me in line, and though the coffee had perked me up for the cab ride, I was so exhausted, I nodded off on my feet once or twice while I waited to check in.
At the desk, I handed over the reservation confirmation Lucille had put in my envelope. The clerk, whose nametag read Tao, typed my information into the computer and wrote down my room number. He handed me a plastic card with both hands, like it was a tiny tray, and bowed. I accepted the card with one hand and wasn’t sure if I should bow in return. I ended up doing a strange halfway job of it. The clerk signaled for a bellhop.
“It is okay. I can manage without help.” Then I stumbled and nearly lost my balance as I turned away from the reception desk, bumping into the man behind me. The bellhop took my bags and put his free hand under my elbow as he guided me to the elevator.
We joined a group of people waiting in front of a row of glossy double doors. I wondered what everyone would think if they knew I’d only ridden one once before—when Mira and I had visited the Eiffel Tower in my dream. The one in my building at the DP camp had always been out of order, and all of my apartment buildings in Weequahic had been walk-ups. Mira’s claustrophobia had forced us to avoid the one at the Ritz.
A set of doors opened, and as we filed inside, someone asked me what floor. At first, I didn’t want to say because I was afraid of someone following me to my room to rob me. Then I realized he was pushing buttons for everyone, and that was how we’d all get where we were going. He’d already pushed the number for my floor for someone else.
When we got off the elevator, the hallway looked like it went on forever and my heart sank at the thought of walking that much farther. Thankfully, the bellhop went only a short distance before he stopped and showed me how to hold the plastic card to a sensor on my door. A green light came on.
Inside my room, he tapped a screen on the wall to turn on the lights. Shiny, pale paneling—bamboo, maybe—covered every wall. I started to worry when I didn’t see another door. At these prices, I should get a private bath, not a shared one at the end of the hall.
He bustled around the room. “Sir, let me show you how the lights and the window shades work.”
“My bladder’s about to bust. You can be showing me in a minute. Which way to the can?”
The paneling camouflaged the bathroom door so well I never would’ve found it on my own, and the bellhop turned on the lights for me as I went inside. The toilet looked like a big white trash bin, the kind with the foot pedal that opens the lid.
I was two steps away when the lid popped up on its own, startling me so much I almost peed myself. When I yelped in surprise, there was a discreet knock on the door.
“Sir? Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Is no problem.” He was waiting right outside the door when I finished my business, so I felt like I had to say something. “I am never seeing a contraption like that toilet in my life—and I was a plumber. For a second I am thinking it was trying to bite me. Are all the toilets in China like that?”
“No, sir. The Crowne Plaza prides itself on having all the latest technology.”
“I’ll say.” I held out my hand. “My name’s Peter.”
“I am Hongqi.” When he took my hand and bowed over it, I felt like I was a prince or something.
Hongqi showed me how to work the lights and the shades and explained that because of the smog, the view was better at night. It made me wish I’d gone up in the Chrysler or the Empire State Building at least once to get a birds-eye view of New York.
He bowed again at the door. “Please let us know if we can do anything to make your stay more pleasant.”
After he left, I went back into the bathroom and approached the toilet a few more times just to watch the lid pop up. It worked with a sensor, like one of those automatic doors at the supermarket.
There was a row of buttons on the control panel next to the toilet for all its functions. One had a lady on it, and another had a baby. I had no idea what they were for and left them alone.
When I pressed one of the buttons on the wall beside the sink, a television came on inside the bathroom mirror. If I needed to watch the news while I was brushing my teeth, I was all set. I couldn’t figure out how to turn on the faucet until I realized it had a sensor, too. I ended up pressing nearly every button in that hotel room. It was fun. Why had I waited so long to travel?
Just like the bathroom, I never would’ve found the closet if I hadn’t noticed a groove between two of the boards, but when I pressed it, the closet door opened like a secret passageway in an old movie. I unpacked and hung up my clothes. Then I sat down on the bed just for a minute to slip off my shoes, and the next thing I knew, I woke up and it was dark outside. The TV was still playing in the bathroom mirror.
***
My wristwatch, still set to New Jersey time, was useless. Then I remembered my cell phone had a clock. I turned it on, and when the screen popped up it read 4:35 a.m. Even though I couldn’t have gone searching for Mira in the middle of the night, I felt time slipping away. I had fewer than 140 hours left to find her before I was supposed to board the cruise ship.
Then I thought of something I could do while I waited for daylight: look her up in the phone book. There couldn’t be too many Miriam Schlosses in Shanghai. I searched the room for a phone directory but came up empty handed. Maybe they had one at the front desk.
Down in the lobby, there was no one around but the young woman at the reception desk, who bowed as I drew near. She made me think of Valeria. Why did they have just one woman working in the middle of the night?
When I asked for a phone book, she shook her head. “You can look up telephone numbers online, sir.”
I nodded. “All right. Thank you.” I was embarrassed to say I didn’t know how. It was another thing I’d have to learn how to do.
When I walked past the door that led outside, it opened with a whoosh and a rush of air. Wide awake and with nothing else to do, I went out under the lighted portico, where the heat and humidity took me by surprise. I stared up at the gold camel.
The doors whooshed open again and the desk clerk came out. “Do you need something, sir?”
“No. That’s some camel, right?” Standing outside in the middle of the night like that, I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Ah, yes. Do you know the camel’s significance?”
When I shook my head, she seemed eager to share.
“The two-humped camel is an important symbol for the traveler. Finding one upon your arrival means that you will have success in your endeavors.”