Flying Blind

by Howard Hammerman

  Why am I fighting? It’s peaceful and dark down here. No responsibilities. Die for real. Maybe it’s the best thing. Surrender to the cold and dark. I’ll die with my airplane. One more stroke. Just one more stroke.

  I sank. The lake became the YMCA pool. I was twelve years old. Mom told me not to dive off the high board, but the other boys called me a sissy. I dived. My head hit bottom. Blood in the water.

  My mother’s voice: “I told you not to jump off the high board. Now you hurt your leg and your shoulder. I’m calling the lifeguard.”

  “No mom, don’t call the lifeguard. The other boys will make fun of me. It’s okay. The cold and the dark are my friends.”

  “Turn over! Turn onto your back!” Oh, man, Mom called the lifeguard.

  “Turn over, God damn it. Chico, turnover!”

  The word “Chico” brought me back. I grabbed a lungful of air.

  “Turn on your back, dumbass. How can you be so stupid? ”

  Maria’s alive! I said goodbye to the cold and the dark and turned onto my back. Stroke by stroke, she pulled me towards a grassy bank.

  “Can you stand?” she asked when we were in the shallows.

  I tested my knees on the gravel. “No, my leg hurts too much.” She helped me crawl out of the water.

  “I’m pretty sure your leg’s broke.”

  What had once been my calf was now an ugly purple and swelling object. Maria used my belt and a stick to fashion a crude splint.

  “Your plane’s still floating,” she said. “Didn’t you say it would sink?”

  I looked toward the lake. My faithful plane lay upside down, immodestly displaying its landing gear. “The empty fuel tanks are holding it up. Don’t worry, they’ll soon fill with water, and it’ll sink. No one will know that we landed here.” I waited until my heart stopped pounding.

  “I was drowning. I had given up. You saved my life. Again.”

  Maria grunted, pulling little twigs and leaves from her tangled hair. “I guess it’s what we do. Save each other. One hell of a relationship.”

  “I need to get to a hospital. My leg hurts real bad.”

  “No joke. I think you hurt your side as well.”

  “Did you see any houses near the lake?”

  “I think I saw one.”

  “Leave me here. Find the house. Tell them we had a car accident. Tell them our car crashed into the lake. Have them call 911. You go to New York, I’ll join you when I get better. It will all work out. I’ll learn Spanish. I’ll find a job. Maybe we’ll start a family, you and me? What do you … ”

  A wave of pain. I passed out.

  She slapped my face. “Dan, wake up! You were raving.” She shook me.

  “I guess I did. Don’t worry, I have a plan. I’ve figured it all out.”

  “You and your fucking plans. You always have a plan. Half our cash went into the ocean because of your last plan.”

  “No, that was … ”

  “Forget about it. Just stay here. Go back to sleep.”

  She stood up and took off her shoes, jeans, and t-shirt. She folded and placed them on top of a large rock. She transferred the wad of wet hundred dollar bills from her bra to her pant’s pocket.

  “Your clothes will never dry. It’s too cloudy. Just go to … ”

  She ignored me and entered the lake in her underwear.

  “Maria, what are you doing? Where are you going?”

  She didn’t answer. “Maria, where you going?”

  She turned when the water was over her chest. “Just stay there, Chico. I need to get something.”

  “No, stop, it’s too dangerous!”

  The cocaine. She’s risking her life for cocaine.

  “Forget about the coke! Come back!” Each word hurt like a dagger’s stab in my side.

  She swam to the plane and held onto a wing while she caught her breath. She dove into the cabin. The wings shifted. She came back up on the other side and threw her purse onto the wing. She took a deep breath then dove down a second time.

  A large burp came out of the back of the plane followed by a cloud of air bubbles. The tail sank. The nose bobbed up. The right wing dipped. The left wing came up. More burps. More bubbles. Quietly, the plane slipped below the surface and disappeared.

  Chapter 20

  Where’s Maria?

  She didn’t come up. Why didn’t she come up?

  “Maria!”

  A dozen mallards took flight from the opposite bank. No answer.

  “Maria, I need you!” No response, not even from the waterfowl.

  It was hard to breathe. Did she drown? Did she die on the bank of this God-forsaken lake?

  Two rolls to the right brought me closer to the water, next to a small tree. I used the tree to painfully pull myself up. The surface of the lake lay undisturbed. No oil slick, no bubbles marked the place where my pride and joy slid beneath the surface.

  I scanned left and right for my companion. At first, I looked for a strong swimmer, then for a floating body. I found nothing. The lakeside animals discussed the drama in a chorus of chirps, croaks, and twitters.

  Maybe if I got closer...

  I tried a quick hop towards a sapling closer to the water. Something moved in the bushes to my left — a flash of brown. I turned to look and lost my balance. My head hit a rock. The world went black.

  Naked, Maria came out of the water like Venus in Botticelli’s painting. The black duffle hung from her shoulder. “Come, Chico, we need to get going.” She sat on the rock and put on her clothes.

  A long, black, limousine appeared just a few steps away. Richard, wearing a chauffeur’s uniform, held the open door. “Daniel, me friend, so good to see you again. Get in. Relax, mon.”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  “Lot’s of tings ain’t wot dey seem. Get in, me friend.”

  I lay on my back with my head on Maria’s lap. She smiled, with that special mischievous smile of hers and said, “You see, Dan, I told you it would be OK. I had a plan all along. Go to sleep.”

  We kissed. Her kisses had an earthy, salty taste. When did she get such a long tongue? I tried to return the kisses, but her hair kept getting in the way.

  “Down girl, sit.”

  No one could talk to my girlfriend that way. I held my breath, anticipating the flood of vulgar Spanish. Whoever told Maria to sit would be very sorry. The kisses stopped. The curses never came.

  My wet clothes absorbed all my body heat. “Richard, please turn up the heat. It’s cold back here.”

  Richard didn’t respond.

  “You okay?”

  I forced one eye open. Richard, Maria, and the limo were all gone. I felt the cold, wet, mud on my back.

  I turned in the direction of labored panting and found a large golden retriever sitting obediently by my head.

  I opened the other eye. The sun hung lower in the sky. How long was I out? The dog wagged its tail and raised one paw.

  “Mister, were you in that plane?”

  The words came from a tall white-haired man, well into his sixties. He was dressed in jeans and suspenders. Under the suspenders, he wore a red-checked work shirt. His nicotine-stained hand held the other end of a leash.

  “Who are you? Where’d you come from?” I asked.

  “Well, my name’s not Richard and there ain’t nothin’ I can do about the heat,” he responded with a chuckle. He examined me like I was a rare fossil. I listened to the birds while he considered his next statement.

  “The name’s Jake Smith,” he continued. “I live at the other end of the lake. Your plane went right over my house. My dog Ruby, and me, we were out birding and saw the whole thing. We would’ve come sooner, but we had to walk around from the other side, and there are parts where there ain’t no paths close to the water. You okay?” he asked again. I wanted to explain that I wasn’t okay, but he wasn’t finished. “Actually, your leg doesn’t look too good. Your head either. You’re bleeding at both ends.”

  “I gues
s I fell. Did you see my plane go down?

  “Sure did. The bottom’s no more than eighty feet deep. The divers won’t have too much trouble pulling it out. Don’t worry — I called the police when we saw you crash. Then I called the EMT when I saw you swim to the bank. There’s a road about a thousand yards away. The EMT boys should be here soon.”

  “Did you see a woman swimming in the lake?”

  He laughed again, and that really upset me. “No, I didn’t. People don’t go swimming in the lake. Too cold. We use it mostly for fishing. Was she with you?”

  “Yes, she was. Are you certain you didn’t see anyone? She might be mostly naked.”

  “Well, in that case, I sure would’ve noticed. Nope, didn’t see nobody, naked or dressed, ’cept you, of course. You know, mister, it looks like you did hit your head real bad and — ”

  I dismissed his medical opinion. “Name’s Maria. About five-foot-five, long black hair. Those are her clothes over there. Don’t let your dog mess with her clothes.”

  I pointed to the rock. We both looked. It stared back in naked reproach.

  “There ain’t nothin’ on that rock but moss and lichen. Ain’t seen no woman, naked or otherwise. Why’d she go swimmin’ anyway?”

  “She went back to get something from the plane before it sank.”

  “So you’re saying that there’s a naked woman swimming around in my lake?”

  Damn fool!

  “If her clothes are gone, she’s not naked anymore. She must have come out, while I was unconscious.”

  “You sure?”

  At least she’s not drowned.

  “She might be hiding in the woods.”

  “Or maybe you just hit your head. I think you need to calm down.”

  “Maria! Maria, come here,” I shouted.

  Her name echoed off the surrounding hills. No response. I called again. The echoes repeated her name, again and again, each time more faintly. My side hurt. I couldn’t take a deep breath. My eyes began to lose focus.

  “You better relax, son,” my savior advised a second time. “You really did a number on that leg. We need to get you to a hospital.”

  It had been a long time since anyone called me son. I would have smiled, but with every passing second, the adrenaline masking my pain began to wear off. Between the waves of agony came the growing realization — Maria’s gone.

  That bitch. She swam to the plane, retrieved the drugs, got dressed and walked away while I lay unconscious in the mud. She’ll sell the drugs and set up a new life in New York or wherever. No note. No “Dear John” letter. Maybe that’s what I was to her after all — one of her many “Johns.”

  A tear started down my face.

  “That’s okay, son. If you need to cry, just cry. Let me help with the leg.” He bent down and tried to straighten my leg. Whatever pain I had felt before paled in comparison to the white-hot overwhelming lightning bolt coursing through my body. I screamed so loud the dog hid behind the rock.

  The screams paid off. Male voices responded.

  Smith shouted, “Over here, over here by the lake.” Minutes later, four uniformed men emerged from the woods carrying an aluminum stretcher.

  “Where are we?” I asked. I tried to address one of the paramedics, but Smith wasn’t ready to relinquish his role as rescuer-in-chief.

  “Well, sir, we call this Edgewood Lake. These boys are from the Shamokin Fire Department. Shamokin, that’s the nearest town. They got a nice hospital there. If they can’t help you in Shamokin, they’ll take you to Harrisburg.”

  The lead paramedic shined a light in my eyes. “What’s your name?”

  “Dan Goldberg.”

  “How many fingers do you see?”

  “Two.”

  “What’s the day of the week?”

  “Saturday.” Unbelievably, I left my home only five days before.

  “Are you allergic to any medicines?”

  “No.”

  “Good, we’ll give you something for the pain.”

  They carried me across several small streams and endless rocks on the way to the ambulance. Each step brought another wave of pain. I passed out again.

  I woke in the hospital’s emergency room. Two nurses held me down while a doctor put an inflatable cast on my leg. Something in the IV drip kept most of the pain at bay.

  The lady from the admissions office stopped by to confirm my address and insurance information. “Who would you like us to call?” she asked. “We already called your wife. We found your emergency contact information in your wallet.”

  “What did she say?”

  She hesitated. “I don’t want to upset you.”

  “What did she say?” I asked again, my voice rising.

  “Well, she took the information about you and about our hospital.”

  “Is she coming to see me?”

  “She’s not sure. She thought you died.”

  After she had left, I looked through my wallet. My credit cards and the few dollars Maria hadn’t confiscated were all there. The side compartments held my driver’s license and medical insurance cards. I pulled everything out and searched again, this time more frantically.

  Where is it?

  I couldn’t find the one item I really wanted — Richard’s business card, the one with his sister’s phone number.

  Chapter 21

  Dan’s Decision

  I couldn’t sleep. Every time I dozed, someone would fiddle with a tube or wire attached to my body. The next day, Sunday, was much of the same. The nurse explained that they only handled emergency surgeries on weekends and my broken leg didn’t qualify. Towards evening, they taught me how to use the button managing my pain medicine, and I finally fell into a deep sleep.

  I stood on the porch of a small beach house. The smell of jasmine signaled Jamaica. A woman came towards me walking along the waterline. She had Maria’s black hair and wore the same style swimsuit. My heart skipped a beat. Could it be?

  “Maria, you’re here?”

  “Sí, I here.”

  Cautiously, I opened my eyes. The gray light of dawn filtered into the room. A middle-aged woman, shorter and at least seventy-five pounds heavier than my girlfriend leaned over my bed with a mop in her right hand.

  “You’re not Maria.”

  “Sí, me name Maria.” After a moment she continued, “I come clean the room. I wake you?”

  She turned on the overhead light and showed me her ID badge with her name, Maria Ortez, in bold letters.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I was dreaming.”

  “It okay. I go now.”

  ***

  I was just recovering from the surprise when a doctor breezed in followed by a half-dozen white-coated students.

  “Good morning mister, Goldberg. I’m Dr. Choudhary, your orthopedic surgeon. Let’s see what we have here.”

  I was about to tell him, but one of the acolytes signaled me to be quiet as he clipped three x-rays photos to the light box on the wall. “Very interesting, how did you manage to do that?”

  “My airplane crashed into a lake not far from here. The door slammed —”

  “You’re a pilot?”

  “I am … I was. I think my piloting days are over.”

  “It says here you cracked two ribs and smashed your left calf.

  Speaking to the students, he said, “The patient’s left calf presents with a broken bone. Luckily, the ends didn’t break the skin.” He consulted my chart again. “He also had a minor concussion, but we’ll let the head guys handle that.” It was his idea of a joke, and the entourage giggled.

  The doctor turned to me. “We’ve scheduled you for surgery tomorrow morning. When we’re done, you’ll have screws in your leg for the rest of your life. After surgery, you’ll stay here a few days, then transfer to a rehabilitation facility. You’ll need to stay off the leg for at least four weeks.”

  “Do you know what happened to my passenger?”

  He scowled at the interruption. “As far
as I know, you were the only survivor.” He wrote a few words on my chart and signed the bottom of the page with a flourish. The group left in a white snowstorm. Moments later a harried nurse came in with an armful of forms.

  I wanted to leave Maria a voice mail message, but couldn’t remember her phone number. My voice mailbox had many messages — none from Maria.

  Beth’s came first. “Don’t come home, you indescribable bastard. If you wanted to have an affair, why couldn’t you have a simple, discreet one like all the other philandering jerks in the neighborhood? You had to take it to extremes and have it plastered all over the news. I’m so embarrassed. Go to hell!”

  The police and FAA officials left messages demanding return calls. The final message came from a prospective client offering a long-term contract. He obviously had not been watching the news.

  The nurses gave me a pill, and I slept the rest of the day and night.

  The operating room staff woke me at dawn the next day, and wheeled me away. Four or five people worked around me attaching wires and tubes. When all was ready, the anesthesiologist told me to count down from one hundred. I got to ninety-two.

  I awoke in the cold, dark recovery room. A heavy, plaster cast encased my leg from groin to toes. I hurt all over.

  A woman sat in the chair next to my bed. “Maria?”

  “No, asshole, it’s your wife. Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Beth, you came! I didn’t think you’d come. Thank you.” Tears rolled down my cheeks.

  “You’re welcome. I came only because Sara insisted. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Does your leg hurt?”

  “Yeah, real bad.”

  “Good. Maybe you can appreciate what I’ve been through.” A nurse came in and asked me to count her fingers. She did something with one of the tubes. I nodded off.

  The next time I opened my eyes, I was back in my room. Beth sat in a chair by the window.

  “Beth?”

  “Congratulations, you got it right this time.”

  “Are the girls here?”

  “No, I came alone. The surgeon said the operation was successful. They put a dozen screws in your leg. The doctor says with physical therapy, you’ll be able to walk again. Your flying days are over. Not because of your broken leg, but because of your horrible behavior. The FAA’s coming tomorrow. I get all your messages. Everyone treats me like I’m still your wife.”