Concurrently, investigators for the airline focused their attention on the control tower operator who had been on duty the previous morning. Certainly his part in this affair needed clarification but he was nowhere to be found. No American investigator would ever be allowed to speak with that gentleman.
The Mexican Government reassured all interested parties that the controller’s official deposition, given only to Mexican officials, revealed nothing that would determine the final outcome. To the Mexicans it was a clear case of “error de piloto.” Simply put, it really would serve no purpose to present this individual to be scrutinized by foreign agents. It was a cruel joke that substituted for the truth that first day of November.
At the airport, traffic was at a standstill because of the restrictions placed on the facility due to the crash. Time was of no concern to the customs officials who were evaluating the Torres' visa status. Finally released that afternoon, Senora Torres and Theresa could not imagine that their ordeal was just beginning. The ride from the terminal building to the old hangar that doubled as a makeshift morgue, was a short one. A fragile looking Mexican man greeted the ladies and politely inquired the purpose of their visit. An awful odor hung heavily in the large hangar, and the peculiar curator explained that the corpses had been doused with lime for preservation. He also tried to warn them of the condition of the bodies for it would not be a pretty sight. Upon entering, what greeted the women was an introduction to their worst nightmare. All remains and parts of remains were laid side by side on the bare concrete, stripped of all clothing. Because of a lack of refrigeration facilities, this house of horrors was created instead. Senora Torres' hope faltered once more as the unthinkable entered her mind, what if she was not able to recognize Reina?
As mother and daughter began the gruesome process of studying individual bodies and parts, they indeed found it difficult to distinguish much. Suddenly Theresa glanced down a row of remains.
“There she is!” The sister stated. There was no way that the older sibling could not recognize her younger sister’s legs. The two women immediately raced across the concrete floor side-stepping and jumping over charred cadavers. The young angelic beauty of the flight attendant revealed a tranquil peace upon her face. Weeping, the women sighed with some relief for Reina’s wounds seemed minimal in comparison to the majority of remains. A broken mother knelt beside her child, her heart being ripped but gathering the strength to give thanks to God, she had her child one last time. In that instant all the lights in the facility went dark. Very much aware of their surroundings, fear made an entrance into Muerto's house yet the ladies retained their composure and a small sense of peace, they were with Reina. It would take some time before the power was restored, a normal occurrence to the local citizens of that city.
Senora Tovar’s grief could not be relieved by anything the Mexican Government or the airline could say or do. At that moment she was preoccupied with getting her daughter’s remains home. There would be papers to fill out, customs agents to see once more, much to do. The first task would be to recover Reina’s belongings. Why had all the clothing been removed, the ladies wondered.
“For sanitation purposes,” the meek Mexican man responded. The woman asked, “Where can Reina's personal effects be found?” The mother and daughter assumed that they had been placed in a safe place.
“Of course, come this way” The mother and older sister of Reina Patricia Torres followed the little man outside where several large vans had been parked. The curator opened a vehicle's rear door revealing large plastic garbage bags filled with the scorched, blood soaked personal items of all the victims. “Your daughters belonging are in these bags,” the little man gently stated.
“Which one?” Senora Torres naively asked.
“Yo no se,” he responded as he shrugged. To add insult to total anguish, La Senora and her daughter were forced to scavenge through all the bags in an effort to try to locate and sort what might or might not have belonged to their fallen child. Later that painful day, the good woman was again served another affliction when the freakish little Mexican man advised them that there were absolutely no valued items such as jewelry, purses or watches recovered from any of the remains. Finally, as the mother could no longer contain the revulsion she felt deep inside, she fell ill on the spot and began to vomit.
The tattered figure I was lay exhausted in a tightly protective fetal position upon the cold floor of my cubicle. Awaking, I recognized a figure hunched over me. It was Muerto humming a jingle of a morbid Spanish ballad.
“Do you want to go along with me?” He asked chuckling, revealing the large gaps between the rot that were evident in his hideous mouth. “We belong dead.” I screamed and rolled away across the floor, defeat registered upon my face. As I turned to view the figure once more, it was no longer present I wiped my eyes in despair and awoke leaving one nightmare and having to live in another. The spasms in my battered legs became frequent as my mind became lost to everything and everyone. Time was no longer a factor as numerous times I fell into a light sleep only to be awakened in a second by the torture of twisted fibers in my body. The pain would paralyze me then it would be over as suddenly as it began. The sleep would again gain control.
“Eduardo, wake up. Valenciana, please wake up”
Being very groggy I felt the strong hands on my scorched shoulders as I was being shaken.
“Please, please I’ll sign whatever you want,” I blurted out in a panic as I prayed to be left alone, I was at the end of resistance.
“Eduardo, por amor de Dios, what has happened? It’s me Senor Garcia. Hugo Garcia.” I quickly forced the confusion from my head and stared into the same pair of tranquil eyes I recalled prior to the rear doors of the ambulance closing at the airport.
“Hugo? Oh my God, get me out here,” I croaked. I reached with my sore hands and fingers to touch the compassionate face of my Mexican friend.
“What is going on here, mi amigo?” Hugo glanced about and was shocked to find his flight attendant friend in such a condition. I embraced my companion as I broke down and sobbed heavily, tears rolling down my face falling onto the torn rags that had once been my proud uniform.
“How did you get here, how did you find me? I asked.
“We’ve been searching the entire city looking for you. My nephew Manuel Diaz is an orderly here at El Centro. He called me to tell me where they were holding you. He told me I had better hurry because you were in a bad way.”
That final glance of the tall, thin orderly flashed before my eyes.
“They wanted me to say I served liquor to the pilots.” I struggled to get the words out as the grief continued to engulf me. “They wouldn’t listen to me.”
Where just days prior I had exhibited a body that was strong and impressive, now I had been reduced to a shadow of my former self, a display of total defeat. I begged Hugo for the ultimate last request: I wanted to go home to my mother.
“Who did this to you, Eduardo?” The gate agent wanted names.
“I don’t know. He took me from the emergency room, some comandante someone.”
“Comandante Primitivo Luis Chavez de Leon, a very sadistic fellow,” a voice behind Hugo stated. I finally noticed a young aristocratic looking man dressed in a gray double breasted suit, hair slicked back, aglow with confidence.
“Eduardo, this is Senor Don Raphael Diego Suarez de la Vega, Deputy to the Minister of Transportation. He’s here to help us, to help you.” Hugo tried to raise my spirits.
“Let us get out of here, we don’t have much time.” Suarez de la Vega seemed to take control as Hugo shouldered me, taking care as my muscles began to spasm and my body stiffened. The tall Mexican agent lifted as my feet left the ground and the three of us hurried out of the cubicle. The pace quickened through the hallways as we neared the rear exit leading out into the sunlight.
“Alto! Stop this moment!” The comandante’s powerful decree echoed through the walls as bystanders stopped in mid-stride. As
we escapees turned, we faced a formidable force in Primotivo Chavez, Cardosa and the massive Montoya.
“Comandante.” The young aristocrat stepped forward to meet the adversary.
“Ahhh, Senor Suarez de la Vega.” The snake seemed surprised to find the young official on the scene and sarcastically bowed in jest. The jackal continued, “Where are you going with my prisoner? I am not yet finished with the questioning of this man. He has vital information concerning the cause...”
Diego swiftly cut the proud federal officer at the knees. “This man is not anyone’s prisoner. Senor Valenciana is a guest of His Excellency, the Minister.” Don Diego reached into his coat pocket to reveal the magic credentials that would keep the wolves at bay. I took great delight in witnessing the comandante’s glower as he snatched the papers from Diego’s hand and carefully reviewed them. I made sure not to display my glee as I was still too much in fear of that federal officer. Chavez’s anger released itself in a torrid of cursing in Spanish. Diego simply ignored the fury and kept to his English.
“Unless you want to find yourself directing traffic at the Plaza de Toros, Comandante, I suggest you leave us be.”
The fanatical Chavez crushed the credentials in his hand, threw them to the ground and turned to address his dogs.
“Vamonos!!” They departed.
Diego calmly turned to face a shocked pair in Hugo and I.
“Except for his taste in tequila, el comandante is a real scorpion. Hurry, let us get Eduardo to a hotel before ‘el perro’ returns.”
Although relieved, I somehow knew the ominous comandante Chavez would not give up so easy. As the robust Hugo burst through the building’s swinging doors, I inhaled deeply and began to laugh and cry at the same time, I was finally out of there.
Once settled into the dark sedan that quickly took us away, I began to feel a false sense of relief. Since I was away from the threats that were perpetrated by both the press and the federal officers, I convinced myself that there was now nothing more to worry about. I was sure that I would soon be in the hands of my American employer. The reassurances were that I now sat in the car, side by side with another company man and a friendly government official of influence. Being fragile, I allowed my vigilance to slip away.
Ironically, I was now in totally the opposite position than I had been under the control of the comandante and his goons. There, I was the source of information; no one else knew anything. Although it carried a heavy price it simultaneously presented me with a power over others. In many ways my ability to control their hunger for knowledge allowed me to bear their incessant probes and blows. In the car, I sat without information; I needed to rely on those that sat with me. What had happened to the others? I knew about Skip and somehow was sure about the demise of Reina but what about Gary, Cary Tamlyn and the rest?
Diego Suarez de la Vega drove briskly on the main boulevard. In a daze I looked at the people in the cars, the people on the sidewalks. They just did not know what had gone on. The world had stopped yet everyone went about their everyday business as if nothing had happened. I viewed a tortilla line on the street, outside a “panaderia,” a bakery.
“Shouldn’t they halt it all?” I mumbled. It happened in this city. I placed my blistered hands on my face. One thing was sure, what life I now had was not going to be normal.
In my diminished state, I began reverting back to thoughts of my childhood. Sister Mary Corona had made it very clear once upon a time.
“Those people who are good but still have a little speck of sin upon their immortal souls must first go to Purgatory to be cleansed “snowy white” before they can enter into eternal happiness that is heaven.” It was All Saints Day, November 1st. Tomorrow would be All Souls Day, the time when the living could pray for their deceased loved ones to be released from the torments of Purgatory. The children at Our lady of the Rosary of Talpa Elementary School were taught not to question the ideology but I had long ago dismissed the concept from my life. I now became aware that real death cuts too deeply, being a matter that was completely out of my hands. I was sure that somewhere in that greater urban mass of people that was El Distrito Federal could be found those who would swear by the significance of the accident happening on Halloween. I began to fantasize how the faithful would debate whether God was being merciful in His actions, being that the crew and passengers of 2605 would only have to spend a day or so in Purgatory before the righteous on earth would passionately pray to bestow upon them clemency. The only righteous on earth my bitterness would allow me to acknowledge on that All Saint's Day were the Sisters of Carmel, and they were so far away. I drifted into sarcasm and began to laugh uncontrollably, much to the concern of Hugo and Don Diego. The whole religious argument became too much of a joke for me to bear as I was not dead but still had a desire to be with my departed comrades.
Hugo began staring at me intently and I could imagine his thoughts. What had Chavez and his goons done to his poor little flight attendant friend? The deeper I looked the more I noticed his demeanor. Senor Garcia was genuine, sincerely looking for a deeper layer into the impact the tragedy had on me. It was precisely that authentic quality that had been so hard to find in anyone since the crash. It would prove to be even more difficult to find in the turmoil to come.
Totally exhausted I finally allowed myself to relax my guard. We drove by many monuments of the Mexican capital. There were children playing in the streets. One kicked a soccer ball with one knee, then the next, then again. It was real, alright, and after traveling for some time Hugo spoke up.
“Eduardo, we are going to take you to the Holiday Inn Hotel across from the airport. There are a lot of reporters and cameras around so we are going to sneak you in through the employee's entrance.” I was indeed grateful that my new-found friends were taking care of me but Hugo continued to stare, wondering whether his instructions got through to me. When the vehicle whipped to a stop at the rear of the hotel, I was ready to slowly slip out of the back seat.
“Raphael Diego Suárez de la Vega a su ordenes!” Speaking directly to me for the first time the young aristocrat made a proper introduction as he opened the door for me, extending his hand in friendship. Startled, I hesitated then grasped my savior’s hand. Diego was taken aback by the amount of gratitude I expressed as Hugo gently put his arm around my hunched body, moving at a snail’s pace.
“No one else in the crew made it except Senor Mitchell,” Hugo whispered into my ear. The statement I had dreaded never even fazed me when finally spoken, somehow; I had already accepted as truth the crew’s sad fate. I had early on wished deep inside they would not be found alive in pieces, suffering in the fiery pit.
“They left me behind alive,” I murmured. I suddenly stopped and turned to face Hugo. “Did they have to go to Purgatory?”
“What?”
“Did my crew have to go to Purgatory?” I repeated the question but did not really expect an answer. The innocent expression on Hugo’s face told me that he had no answer.
I turned and was ready to be led away. As prearranged I had already been signed in under a fictitious name. Hugo informed me that only the top officials of the Mexican Government knew I was housed in the hotel right across the street from the wreckage. I must have seemed comatose, making my way silently past the kitchen staff, through the back ways, to my designated room.
Accordingly, I was shuffled into a dark room once again, the shades remaining drawn for seclusion, Hugo at my side. When my eyes adjusted, I stood opposite the mirrored closet doors. Confused, I gazed at the ghastly figure that stood across from me. For the first time the horror of the entire event slammed right into my consciousness. My emotions flooded as my muscles began to spasm with great pain. The despair brought the truth home as I stood face to face with my own reflection. The facial lacerations and dried blood were now crusted scabs. The raw blisters attested to the enormous heat, and the remnants of what had been my uniform of distinction were but scorched rags which clung to my body. Grief
stricken, I got a good look. What was not apparent was the mental damage that, though invisible, was nonetheless a reality. I broke apart, falling onto the bed with a wail for it was all far too much to bear. I felt every bit the castoff that confronted me in the mirror.
Part II
Burning My Wings
Chapter VIII
Hugo rushed to my aid, comforting me as we sat on the edge of the large bed.
“I think you could use a hot bath and a nice hot meal, mi amigo,” the gentle Mexican suggested. Diego entered the room and stared in bewilderment. Maybe he did not expect to find grief and despair.
Nothing in life could ever have prepared any one of us for such an event, one still in its infancy. There would be many more people to see, a multitude of questions to be answered. Hugo was wise enough to know that I had to reserve any strength that was left. The road ahead of me was going to be a long one. He began to draw a hot bath for me.
“Eduardo, you must get something to eat. You'll feel better after a good meal.”
I tried to grab the lifeline he generously offered, yet I began to shiver uncontrollably. The tall, dark-skinned native also extended his strength. The events had not overwhelmed him. He was able to cope without donning a mask as the others had done. “Comida?” he asked in a teasing manner. My dear friend could still joke, be down to earth.
“Yes, food indeed.” I smiled and tried to mentally jump on board.
“Eduardo, is there anything special I could get for you?” Diego joined in.
“Cerveza?” Hugo suggested, with wide eyes and a grin.
“Can I?” Flight attendants never drink on duty. Looking at my tattered clothes and body I reached for a bit of sarcasm. “I mean, technically I am still in uniform, right? I could be terminated.” There was a long pause as Hugo and Don Diego shared a look. “Bohemia,” I spoke loudly emphasizing my preference but more trying to change their focus.
Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate Page 21