Sara Lee

Sara Lee

One afternoon in Tel-Aviv, as I was walking, preoccupied to a troublesome meeting I had to attend, a man opposite me stopped suddenly and then moved on directly towards me. I was so startled that I halted.

The man was a Hassid, dressed all black, with a wide hat. His beard seemed too huge for his small body and looked as if it had never been trimmed.

“Jacob?” He said. I did not answer. “You are Jacob Kaplan, aren’t you?” He asked again…
.
“Who wants to know?” I asked. I had no idea who the man was.
“I am Simon, don’t you remember me? We used to work together.”

“Simon? Simon who?” I eyed him suspiciously.
“Simon Dagan,” he said. “I was a purser with El-Al. We flew together.”

“Simon! what are you doing in this disguise?”

The last time I had seen Simon was in the lobby of a Paris hotel about seven years earlier when, one evening, the El Al crew was deliberating in which restaurant to eat. Simon had called me aside and said he wanted to talk. He looked very sick, could hardly walk and was breathing heavily. I asked him if he needed a doctor or if he wanted me to take him to hospital. All he wanted was to sit and talk.

I remember taking Simon to a nearby café. As he was about to sit, he doubled over with a sharp pain in his chest and almost fainted.

He was very white and begged me to take him back to his room. However, he did not want me to remain with him so I left but called the company doctor. Our flight left the next morning with a replacement purser. I had not seen him since.

“Seven years ago,” I said to Simon. “We went to a restaurant to talk; you did not say a word, went into hospital and disappeared without leaving a trace”.

“Yes. Thanks for your help that night”.

“OK, Simon. I am going to buy you a kosher cup of coffee and you are going to fill me in with the details. This time you are not getting away.”

I was more than curious to learn the reason for Simon’s metamorphosis. I called my secretary and told her to postpone the appointment.

“I’ll never forget that day as long as I live,” said Simon as we walked to a sidewalk café.

We ordered our coffees and Simon started speaking very slowly: “The day you last saw me in Paris was in fact my last day with the airline. If you remember, we had all arrived at the hotel at about noon.

As I was unpacking in my room, there was a knock. I opened the door to a tall, and I mean very tall woman, holding a small travelling iron in her hand. I stared at her, open mouthed I had never been so close to anyone six feet nine inches tall. For all her size, she was nicely proportioned, with a pretty face.

“Howdy neighbour,” said the woman with a thick accent from the deep south of the United States. “Can you help me plug in the iron? I don’t know if the voltage is correct or if the plug will fit into the socket.”

She led me to her room and, as a good Boy Scout; I connected the appliance with an adapter plug I always carried, so the young lady could iron. She thanked me and offered to buy me a drink after she had ironed her dress.

It amused me to see her with such a tiny iron for such a big dress. ‘She’ll never finish the job.’ I was thinking. She looked like a girl holding a Barbie doll iron. I left her and went back to finish unpacking.

An hour later, she again knocked at my door. She was now wearing a leather mini skirt exposing endless legs. I stared impressed. I could not relate to her as a woman. She seemed more like an impressive statue than anything real.

“I am done neighbour,” she said. “Here is your adapter. Thank you so much. Please come back and have a drink.” I hesitated. “Come on, come on. Let’s do it!” She was very assertive.

As I was following her to her room, I was thinking whether God made this woman on purpose or He’d just made a mistake.

“I’m Sara Lee, from Mobile Alabama. I’m on a group tour,” she said as we entered.

The room service waiter had already set up a folding table with white tablecloth over it. There was a bottle of Jack Daniels, a bucket of ice and a plate of crackers, cheeses and other goodies.

Sara-Lee filled two glasses, to the brim, one with ice, which she handed to me, and the other neat with raw amber whisky. We toasted each other. She, to my astonishment, downed the contents of her glass in one gulp.

“I usually don’t drink so early in the day,” said Sara-Lee, “but this is my first time in Paris and I need to celebrate.”

Sara-Lee and I were sitting together on the couch and I could watch her closely. I was especially taken with her shoes that were the size of canoes and I wondered where in hell she found shoes, or clothes for that matter, to fit her.

Then I looked at her head. Each single strand of her blond hair was thick and, all together; she looked though she wore a gold threaded wig. Her hands were smooth but firm and very strong.

As her whisky went down, she became increasingly talkative. I understood only half of what she was saying, because of her heavy accent and because of the rising level of whisky diluting my own blood.

She kept filling my glass whenever I was not watching, and then checked to see that I drank it. We were talking and laughing about this and that.

I knew when to laugh only because she would start to giggle at her own jokes and then slap my thigh with tremendous force.

Suddenly she grabbed my hand and drew me close to her on the couch. Her arm was across my shoulders. My head disappeared somewhere between her hips and her breasts. It was a grotesque scene.

She continued drinking from her bottomless glass until, at some point; she picked me up and deposited me on her lap. “Come on big boy, let me see how you kiss,” said Sara-Lee.

I felt like a puppy and was a little hesitant so she took the initiative. Her colossal tongue was soon filling my mouth. I was completely unprepared for her next move when she picked me up again, carried me over to the bed and tossed me on it. I did not resist. I could not, and I had no desire to resist.

She lifted my legs and pulled off my pants. She might have been a mother changing her baby. In no time at all, I was quite naked and so was she.

“Come on big man, let’s see what you can do to a horny girl,” she said and rolled me on top of her. She held my thighs tight within her enormous legs, like a giant nutcracker. Her hands pull my head into her breasts.

With my face embedded, all my breathing channels were completely blocked. I tried very hard to break her hold and breathe, but it was no use, she was too strong for me.

She seemed to enjoy my wiggling and my struggles to stay alive which, to her, were a delightful sexual performance. She gave some encouraging cries: “Yoo-hoo big stud, so far you are the best lay I’ve ever had.”

I was fading fast, I was dizzy from lack of air and was about to faint. Suddenly, I felt a huge, wonderful explosion in my head, accompanied by a very bright light. A tremendous wave of euphoria washed over me, as though a drug had been injected into my veins.

I passed out. I remember hearing voices. I saw a quick review of my life and even spoke to my dead mother.

I don’t know how long I was out but I woke with an unbelievable pain in my chest. Sara- Lee was over me slapping my cheeks and looking petrified, while her enormous breasts danced before my eyes.

I knew I had had a near death experience and I thanked God He had brought me back. I saw it as a very clear signal - a rebirth, a second chance to make something of my life. I felt I had no choice. I had to obey the call and dedicate my entire life to serving the Creator.

“What are you telling me Simon?” I was not sure whether I was more shocked than amused. “Are you really saying screwing Sara Lee was a religious experience?”

“No, no. You don’t understand,” he insisted. “Even my rabbi told me it was a divine happening and that only a few people are so honoured” He explained that Sara Lee was merely God’s messenger. “She was an angel sent to put me on the right track, to show me the way, to point me in the right direction.

I could not believe my ears.

“Tell me Simon, what happened to the wife you used to brag about, whose photo you carried in your wallet?” My wife, I am sorry to say, did not want to become observant so I divorced her. I am married to another woman now”.

We fell silent for a while as I puzzled over it. “Why were you hospitalised that evening?”

“It was all from God. God’s way of making a point,” said Simon. “God made Sara Lee strong enough to break my rib. It was all from God”.

I blinked to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I wondered whether to comment or to keep my mouth shut. After some time I said: “Let me tell you what I think Simon what you experienced was an orgasm, a unique one all right, but just an orgasm, nothing more.

It is a recognized phenomenon called ‘Erotic Asphyxiation.’ Sexual enthusiasts make love with plastic bags over their heads to experience it.

You can count yourself lucky, Simon but for reasons other than you think. Your miraculous return to life or second chance as you call it was because Sara Lee got her orgasm in time to release you from her grip.”

Simon sat motionless, staring at me. “You know what, Simon,” I continued, “your rabbi was right, I do believe Sara Lee was indeed an angel.” Simon’s look became quizzical. “Only an angle can give an orgasm to a mortal and, with that single orgasm, turn him into a full-fledged nut case.”

Simon rose and looked down upon me with contempt and disgust.

He turned and without a goodbye, walked away fast.

I have seen neither hide nor hair of him since.

The End

Captain Vain
Hagai Cohen

Captain Vain was a very handsome and impressive young airline Captain.

He was so good looking that the advertising department of our airline decided to use him in many of the company’s advertising campaigns. He also featured in many short commercial movies, a co production of the airline and the state of Israel tourist department. The fact that his face was pictured everywhere, made his ego grow to an immense size, and as the Hebrew expression goes - "the urine went to his head."

Captain Vain was seen strutting around like a peacock in heat, showing how beautiful and how important he was. And all for one purpose: to impress the ladies.

Captain Vain would chase every female in sight; of course, he would do it only when his ever-loving wife was not around. When she was present, or within a one-mile radius, Captain Vain would transform himself from a gallant peacock into an ugly duckling and would become as obedient as a poodle.

In an airline there is always a fresh supply of young women and Captain Vain never stopped trying. There was of course a ‘class’ gap between the almighty Captain and the young women and, from a distance, the women seemed to be impressed by the uniform and his apparent dignity. As one woman described it to me: “Many girls fantasize about him, of course before knowing him."

The reality, however, was totally different. Despite the fact he was forever around young women, his success was limited. The fault lay, according to a knowledgeable woman, in his approach.

She told me he would say: "You must try me, I am the best," or: "It may be your once in a lifetime chance to be with someone as good as myself," or: "You don't know what you’re missing," or: "Ask your girlfriends they'll tell you who I am." Well, many girls, after undergoing his arrogant courting, did consult other ladies who had experienced his modus operandi and the information was spread all over the airline. I was told that the study of Captain Vain’s techniques was included even in the cabin attendant’s ground-school curriculum - a fact that made all the girls avoid him altogether.

So it happened I was in Amsterdam one lovely morning and we were promised the weather would be a perfect 24 degrees Centigrade, with low humidity and a light breeze.
"Great weather for a motor scooter excursion," I suggested to the crew at breakfast. They all agreed.

The necessary arrangements were quickly made, and all the crew of our Boeing 707 Jetliner hit the road.

We were five women and four men and the Captain of the group was none other than our notorious Captain Vain.

It was the perfect idea for a perfect day; we drove around Amsterdam on all those special roads for bicycles. We stopped for coffee in a windmill converted into a restaurant. At a picturesque fishermen’s harbor we had ‘fish and chips’ and a beer.

It was perfect for most of us but not so for one young cabin attendant. Captain Vain used his clumsy and insulting technique on Shoshi. It was my first opportunity to observe the big operator at work. Vain used courting tricks from elementary school: like a boy who, when wanting to show his attraction for a girl, pushed her into a corner, pulled her braids and hit her with a ruler.

This foolproof technique was upgraded by Captain’s Vain to an adult version. He chose to show Shoshi his affection by cutting in front of her scooter and making her stop abruptly. It was clear by the Captain’s laughs he was having a great time. The poor girl fell down several times and in one case she even bruised herself. It was apparent that Shoshi was tormented but was afraid to confront him. His actions, by all standards, were sexual harassment.

Captain Vain’s behavior was the only cloud over an otherwise lovely day. He gave me and the rest of the crew, a very bad taste.

My interest in the ‘Vain versus Shoshy’ affair would have been minimal under normal circumstances, but I felt that my interference might arouse some interest.
"There is something in it for me," I said to myself.

I had a long-term dislike for Captain Vain. Some two years earlier, we were involved in a flight emergency; we lost one engine and all the hydraulic system. It was a positioning flight (no passengers) so captain vain decided against my opinion to fly all the way to our destination.
It was a wrong decision as a crippled airplane fuel consumption is way above normal. We landed safely but with fuel reserve below the legal minimum.

The chiefs did not like it. We were questioned separately. Captain Vain proved a spineless, slimy creature.
He tried to blame me and the engineer for all his wrongdoings. "They gave me the wrong information," he said. "They weren’t in the cockpit. I was left alone with no support." Captain Vain did not write an official complaint. He knew it would not hold up in any real investigation. I never forgave him.

Under the circumstances, it was understandable I would try to help Shoshi. More than anything I wanted to puncture his over-inflated ego. To be frank, it took me almost all day, to figure out a plan. Then, when I had an idea, I needed Shoshi’s cooperation and I was not at all sure she would give it to me.

In the evening, after returning the scooters, I took Shoshi aside and said: "Look Shoshi, I know it has not been a good day for you, and I am very sorry. However, I have an idea how to get back at him and how we can enjoy a sweet revenge. I am going to suggest we all go to dinner together and I want you to come with us. Please accept my invitation and I promise you a most pleasant evening."

At that time, I was not ready to reveal my plan to Shoshy. As it happened, Shoshi was willing to trust me and agreed to come. "Use all the tricks to show how beautiful you are,” I told her.
An hour later, we met in the lobby, all dressed casually except for Shoshi. She wore an evening dress, nice jewelry and delicate perfume. She looked lovely.

Shoshi attracted some good nature compliments that made her feel uncomfortable. I moved close to her and whispered in her ear: "Once we are out of the lobby and on the sidewalk, take my arm. We’ll walk slowly behind the group. Every time you see Vain look backwards, be ready to whisper in my ear. Make it look like an authentic lover’s whisper."

Shoshi was a smart young lady. It took her a split second to comprehend the plot. She played her role to perfection. She took my arm and pulled it very firmly towards her. Every time Captain Vain or any other member of the group became curious and discreetly looked backwards, they found her smiling and whispering close to my ear. It was quite evident Captain Vain was getting more annoyed and upset by the second.

At the restaurant when we sat around the table, Shoshi of course sat next to me. A few glasses of wine later, an innocent bystander would have been certain he was witnessing the birth of a love affair. I myself began to doubt it was still a role-play. Captain Vain, who had been "working" on Shoshi all day long, looked puzzled, confused and nervous.

At the table, in between pieces of Balkan mixed grill, Shoshi told jokes, became the center of attention and announced officially that I was her date. On the way back, Shoshi took active control and gave events a new twist. "No more walking behind the group," she said to me. So, we joined the rest of the crew on the walk back the hotel. During those twenty minutes, Shoshi informed whoever was interested, how happy she was. She told us she feels so wild, she had enough energy to play all night! She said many other things too, just short of saying in plain words: "I'm horny."

Upon arriving at the hotel, she excused herself from the rest of the group and pulled me towards the hotel bar. Over a drink in a dark corner, we discussed the evening’s events with much laughter. We conspired and planned also for the final blow.

Next morning, after being informed by the front desk that our offended Captain was already having his breakfast, we entered the restaurant hand in hand with loving, satisfied smiles stretched across our cheeks. When Vain saw us, all the blood drained from his face and he looked about to faint.

After a pause, Captain Vain protested: "What do you two talk about all the time?"
Shoshi was on the ball and replied immediately: "We don't talk all the time!" She drew out the “all,” smiled and looked at me with lustrous eyes for approval.

Captain Vain was certainly sorry he had asked the question. With anger in his face and tone and without referring to me by name, he said: "How do you do it"? Choosing my words and speaking aloud, ensuring I was heard over the entire restaurant,i said:

"Well Captain Vain, if you really want to know, it's nothing more then the supremacy of brains over looks."

His chalk faced turned vermilion. Throwing his napkin on his plate, he rose and walked out of the dining room. Never again did he approach another female member of any crew I was in!

THE END

Miss Lynn The English tutor.

Miss Lynn

The English tutor

Hagai Cohen

Israel Gurion today is a famous actor, a good comedian and a fine musician. However, sixty years ago he was just another boy in my class.

None of us took 'English' seriously. A year earlier, the British mandate over Palestine had ended. The trend was to hate anything British.

Unfortunately, English, a mandatory second language, was essential for admission to high school.

Both Israel and I were weak and needed a boost. Our parents decided to take action and hired us a tutor.

Miss Lynn was selected because she was the cheapest tutor in town. In addition, she took us both together, making her offer a real bargain.

Miss Lynn’s experience in teaching was equal to my experience in midwifery. My father told me she was proficient in three languages, German, English and Hebrew, and assured me she was a reputable teacher.

The fact was, her thick German accent made all the languages she spoke sound the same. We guessed she spoke Hebrew only when she screamed at us, "Don't you understand Hebrew?"

Miss Lynn sublet a room in a big apartment from another German family. The gloomy house and the dark heavy furniture were not too inviting.

The family with whom Miss Lynn lived were very punctilious and needed strict order in their lives. Their daily activities were timed with precision and could not be altered under any circumstances. The doorbell could not be rung during breakfast, during ten o’clock coffee, during lunch, during sllaff stunde, during five o’clock tea, during supper, and after 9.30 P.M when the family retired for the night. As the activities overlapped each other there was no time for the bell to be used.

To avoid any chance of a mistake, Miss Lynn taught us the pre-lesson procedures.
She stood us on the sidewalk outside the house and said:

”Six minutes exactly before the beginning of your lesson, one of you stands precisely at this very spot on the sidewalk." She pointed at our feet.
"When ready," she continued,
"You look towards my window and call, ONLY ONCE, 'Miss Lynn.'

After calling, you wait until my face appears in the window. It will take two and a half minutes.

After I see you, you go to the door and wait. You shall not use the doorbell. I will show you in and take you to the mudroom. You will remove your shoes and put on the slippers I have made for you. You will follow me to my room. We will then start the lesson.

You must never call 'Miss Lynn' more than six minutes before the lesson. Both of you must be standing before you call me. You must change your socks before you come." She finally took a breath. "Now, repeat what I told you."

I was the first to rehearse the procedure. She told us she would tolerate no mistakes. "Nothing is to go wrong, you understand!"

I went over the check-list without any mistakes. I was very proud of myself.
During my recital, I noticed an impish smile on Israel’s face. I had a sense of imminent disaster.

With a straight and innocent face, Israel could not find the right spot to stand. He pretended to be confused. He mixed up the six minutes waiting period with the two and a half it would take for Miss Lynn's face to appear in the window.

He said we must bring clean socks and change them under the supervision of Miss Lynn. "To make sure we don't cheat you," he added.

Miss Lynn turned red with anger, but Israel continued: "Don't worry, we will keep the stinky socks in our pockets."

At that moment, I hoped Miss Lynn would say, "Go home and never return." She did not. Instead, pointing at me, she said, ”As long as one of you knows exactly what to do, that's ok."
Than she stuck her finger in my chest and said, "You are in charge; you will watch him and make sure he does not make mistakes. Nothing must go wrong. Do you understand?”

On our way home, the uncontrollable laughter emerged. We imitated Miss Lynn’s accent. We made up clumsy and complicated sentences, practicing her speech patterns and language. Miss Lynn promised to be a source of great comedy and we could not wait to see more of her.

Our first session with Miss Lynn was scheduled for Monday at three o’clock. "It is the best time of the day,” she said, “after 'sllaff stunde' and before 'hoch kaffe,' while the maid is setting the table.”

At exactly seven minutes to three, we stood at the right spot on the sidewalk, in front of Miss Lynn’s second floor window. Israel had insisted we be punctual. “A good show," he said, “Is the one when the curtain rises exactly on time."
All the way to Miss Lynn’s house, we practised the password. The plan was to call her simultaneously in two voices. I was to do soprano and Israel the baritone, of course with rhythm and melody: ME-EE-EE-EE-EE-S LE-EE-EE-EE-EE-EN.

Israel raised his hands and gave the signal to start. I realised I was singing solo. Without telling me, Israel had planned to improvise. As I came to the end of 'MEEEEES,' a high pitched yell, "FRAULINE LYNN!" came out of his throat, sounding like a chicken squawking in distress.

It took Miss Lynn far less than the agreed two and half minutes to show her face in the window. She waved her hands as if she were drowning in a lake. Although she was completely silent, we could tell what she meant. It was either, ”Go home and never come back,” or "Come upstairs to be killed." I had the definite feeling I was about to meet the wicked witch from Hansel and Gretel.

A furious Miss Lynn let us in. While it was a unique experience to hear Miss Lynn whispering her admonitions, we could not understand a single word.

In her room, Israel and I started to argue which of us was responsible for calling Miss Lynn.

Was it I, who was in charge, or Israel, who was standing at the specified spot?
We went on and on until we finally blamed her for not being more specific. We kept arguing, repeating the same stupid opinions.

“OK," said Israel, "Next time I will be in charge and everything will go smoothly.“
I replied, “How can you take charge? You failed Miss Lynn's test. I may agree to share responsibility with you, but only after you retake the test."

Suddenly we heard the cry of 'Miss Lynn' from the street.
Miss Lynn rose as if she were hypnotized. She tiptoed to the corner of the room to fetch a stool. She walked quietly with the stool to the window and placed it gently on the wooden floor. She then went to a chest of drawers at the other side of the room, opened the top drawer and removed a folded rug, which she adjusted on the stool. Miss Lynn then strapped the curtain to the right and then repeated the procedure with the left curtain. When secured, she moved to the centre of the window, removed her slippers and placed them neatly next to the stool. Miss Lynn picked up the folded rug and climbed on to the stool. She spread the rug on top of the broad windowsill. Everything was now ready.

Miss Lynn, with a lot of huffing and puffing, pulled herself up to be able to peer down from the window.

Whilst enthralled in Miss Lynn's robotic motions I turned for a quick glance at Israel, who was imitating Miss Lynn's movements.

When we looked again towards the window, instead of Miss Lynn, we saw a huge flower with two pink pistils protruding through the white petals.

The humongous flower was nothing but Miss Lynn’s bottom covered in many layers of starched white muslin, with two pink legs sticking out through them.

Unfortunately, the conversation through the window ended too soon and we were left with many unexplored mysteries of the uncovered bottom.

Two days later we arrived on time for our next session with Miss Lynn. We used the password exactly as instructed, had on fresh socks and had done all that was required of us. Miss Lynn was pleased.

At precisely thirty seconds past three o’clock, just as we were sitting down at the table and Miss Lynn was opening a textbook to start her dictation, a call from the street summoned “Miss Lynn” to the window.

An unauthorised person was using the password illegally. We let Miss Lynn go through all the steps of the check-list.

After all her efforts, there was nobody on the street. Miss Lynn reversed the procedure, folded the rug stowed it in the chest of drawer returned the stool and came back to the table.

As she took her seat, a second call beckoned 'Miss Lynn' to her window.
We had calculated the time of a full Miss Lynn procedure was six minutes. Our plan was to make Miss Lynn climb the window six consecutive times during our session.

It did not work out as planned, for after the third call she soundly abused us and chased us out of her room. She never ever sent a bill.

We had enjoyed watching Miss Lynn climb up to her window and were sorry it was over.
We did not learn much English but definitely learned a lot about eighteenth century ladies’ undergarments.

To commemorate the Miss Lynn episode we wrote, ”The Ballad of Miss Lynn.” Israel composed the music and I the lyrics. It was also my first glimpse of Israel's talents as a musician and comedian.

Marie-Madeleine

MARIE-MADELEINE
HAGAI COHEN



I bumped into her in the corridor at Orly airport as she was running through a door.
I was close enough to observe her face, her makeup was almost invisible, she was wearing an expensive fragrance, and she looked quite attractive. We both worked for the same airline.
“Oops! I am sorry,” we said together and laughed.
“I haven't seen you before,” I said.
“New here, only three months, but leaving soon to become cabin attendant with Pan Am”.
“How nice” I said, “I’ll bump into you somewhere in the world.” We smiled again and walked away.
I had taken about ten steps when I heard her voice behind me.
“Hey, why not in Paris? Paris is a part of the world too.”
I smiled and said “touché”, waved goodbye and left.
Two weeks later, while disembarking, I saw her at the foot of the steps. “Hello Arki,” she said
Before I had a chance to say a word, she held my arms and gave me three cheek-to-cheek kisses. Her fingers felt as if she was pulling me towards her, but her arms did not move and kept a distance.
I was surprised of course; I did not know why I earned the kisses.
“And you are?” I asked.
“Marie-Madeleine” was the answer, “I am glad I met you Arki, I am sorry, cannot talk to you now; I’ll speak to you later”, she said and left.
It was unusual. A young woman whom I didn’t know was waiting for me. She had no business being there, she addressed me with my nickname, disregarded, basic manners and ignored the airline hierarchy.
Two hours later, when I was ready for a nap, the phone rang.
“Hi, it’s me,” the voice said, “Marie-Madeleine. I have finished my shift and I want to see you, if I may?”
“This woman is on a fast track, it doesn’t make sense.” I mumbled to myself.
“Where are you?”
“Here in the lobby; I decided to stop on my way home, may I come up? Please”, she said in a sweet voice.
“She is too attractive to be ignored” I was thinking “let see what she wants”.
“Come on up” I said.
I jumped into my pants and while buttoning my shirt, she knocked on the door.
I was thunderstruck; the contrast between the airport Marie-Madeleine and this one was inconceivable. I would not have recognized her if I had passed her on the street. She assumed an alarming sexy posture, her hair was spread over her shoulders, she wore a mini skirt and the two upper buttons of her blouse were open. She looked provocative and contemptible. The change in her was frightening, I felt insecure.
“What the hell‘s going on?” I said to myself regretting inviting her up.
She looked determined as she moved in.
I backed up, to move away from her. The room felt congested.
“What do you want?”
“What do you mean?” She was taken aback.
“What do you want?” I repeated.
“Come on Arki, you are not a child, you know what I want.”
“No, I don’t”, I said. “I am not a child, but I am not Apollo either.”
“Look Ricco,” she said, “I was smitten… Love at first sight,...Can’t stop thinking about you.”
She sounded false; she called me Ricco and did not realize her mistake. I did not correct her.
“I have everything a person wants. I have houses in Geneva and Cannes. I have anything money can buy. What I cannot buy is love, true love. I never had a real partner with whom I could share my life. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. You are the man for me. Please give us a chance.”
Why do I need to know about her money? Even the word ‘love’ sounded phony. It felt as if a con man were trying to sell me the London Bridge or a ticket to the moon. Nothing in her entire speech sounded sincere
“Let me show you what a woman in love can do to her lover,” she continued while unbuttoning her blouse.
Her provocative body language became increasingly difficult to handle, like being caught in an under-tow pulling me helplessly into a vortex. I did not know what to do or say. “This ‘siren’ with her sweet voice is luring you into the deep briny sea,” a voice was whispering inside my head. I was dizzy and about to surrender. “Don’t give up,” I heard the voice again, “get rid of this sea nymph”.
“Please go away,” I said weakly.
She did not move. Her arrogant smile made me angry.
She felt my vulnerability. “Please Arki, one little kiss for the road”. It felt like an extra kick after the knockout. I almost lost my temper.
I was about to push her out, but stopped short of doing it realizing it was a bad proposition to touch her one way or another.
I grabbed her pocketbook from the desk, opened the door, and threw it into the corridor. It was unusually heavy and she moved swiftly after it. I locked the door against her. I felt an immediate relief but could not get her out of my mind.
What did she want?
-------
Three months later, the purser Ricco was on my crew. I wondered if it were he, she had mistaken me for. I stopped him and said: “Hi Ricco, Marie-Madeleine, sent her regards.”
Instantly Ricco became white as if he had taken a chlorine bath.
“What’s wrong Ricco?”
“I don’t know any Marie-Madeleine.”
“You must be kidding, how do you think I found you?” I bluffed.
Ricco reluctantly said: “Not now, later”.
Later was at the poolside in the Rome Holiday-Inn. Mellowed by a drink, Ricco started to talk.
“I met her a few days after she was employed. She initiated what seemed to be a harmless affair. I had a great time with her; she took me to exclusive out-of-my-league places and always paid, and in cash. Her pocketbook was always loaded.
One day my wife planned a family visit to Paris. I asked Marie-Madeleine not to call me during my wife’s visit. She had a different idea.
She was at the foot of the steps when we arrived and said, ”hi Ricco, welcome to Paris, let me help your wife through customs and immigration.”
She was courteous and formal.
“We’ll pass through the VIP lane and we’ll wait for you on the arrival ramp”.
I was rendered speechless; I wanted to bury myself alive.
Twenty minutes later, Marie-Madeleine became my wife’s best friend. To her offer to dine together, my wife happily agreed. Marie Madeleine took us to a Michelin guide recommended restaurant, asked the sommelier to serve a rare wine, and insisted on paying. Besides my small problem, it was a lovely evening.
While drinking the coffee, Marie-Madeleine said to me, “may I ask you a favor? I owe some money to a friend in New York, could you please help me and take it to him?”.
“Of course he’ll do it” said my wife on my behalf. I was committed.
The man in New York, was the type you do not want to meet in a dark alley. He was suspicious, unpleasant and abusive. I became very concerned about Marie-Madeleine’s taste in friends. Before he left, he gave me a small parcel, “stockings”, he said, “make sure she gets it.”
Back in Paris, I called Marie-Madeleine. To my surprise, she said: “I am busy tonight, and as you leave tomorrow, I want you please to mail it to my P.O.B.”
I did not like it.
“I can walk and give it to your door attendant,” I said’.
She insisted I mail it.
I was furious, not only was I humiliated as a messenger boy, she also did not want the door attendant to see me. It occurred to me for the first time, I was never invited to her home. I was livid, I mailed the parcel and decided not to run any more errands. She called later in the evening and informed me she was on her way to see me.
Her behavior was very patronizing and humiliating. I told her my decision not to make any more deliveries.
She was quiet, and pretended to be insulted and angry. Then, with a venomous tone, she said, ”Oh yes! You will do me favors; you don’t want your loving jealous wife to know about our little secret, do you? In addition, I will keep the cover of the parcel you have mailed, with your name on it. This will ensure your cooperation.
“What was in that parcel?”
“Legitimate stockings if you want to know, to check you out, later it will be the “real thing” the white Colombian stuff.”
I was about to faint.
“A sprinkle of that certain white powder, and your stockings box becomes exhibit A.’ she said smiling.
It was obvious; every step of our so-called love affair was a line she gave to hook me.
“I never touch the stuff” she continued, "what I do is cutting off the coupons while suckers like you are doing the smuggling. I am a generous person and you will be paid well but if you’ll betray me, I’ll easily prove that you are the pusher and I am the victim.” She knew what she was talking. Marie Madeleine had a law degree from the Sorbonne her mother was a magistrate (investigating judge) and her father was a rich contractor highly involved in politics. The entire Paris police department was under her spell.
“I was in deep shit” continued Ricco “and didn’t see my way out.
I asked crew assignment to schedule me on one-day flights.”
“My Mom is sick” I wrote in my request, and did not fly to Paris.”
“And? Did you get rid of her?” I asked
“Hell no, when Marie-Madeleine realized, I am not coming to Paris, she called my wife and asked if she may come for a two weeks visit. “I am in between jobs, and it’s a good time to take a vacation,” she said over the phone. “Of course you can stay with us” my wife said, “we have an extra room”.
Marie-Madeleine arrived at my house. She was friendly and full of smiles. She did not discuss ‘business’, her silence was very alarming.
One morning when my wife was in the shower, she came to my bedroom wearing a silk nightgown and said, “Come-on, we have enough time for a ‘quickie.’” I was shocked and speechless. “Trust me” she encouraged me, “with your wife so close, you’ll feel as high as doing drugs” she said.
“You can not imagine how furious I was. I wanted to strangle her. I was also afraid of what she might do if I refuse her. At that moment I knew, I’ll never manage to get her off my life, unless, I confess to my wife and report about the drugs, bearing the consequences. I tried to stall her, to gain some time, luckily, the phone rang and saved my life.
I got courageous the next day and spoke to the vice president of security. My plan was to talk to my wife only after Marie-Madeleine’s departure.
The V.p of security thanked me for talking, removed me officially from any Paris flights, and promised to investigate.
Before her departure, she said to me with a tone of a threat, “I will see you in Paris soon, won’t I?”
“Sure” I said.
The ‘narks’ came to my house three hours after her takeoff, with a search warrant and armed guards. They combed the house with a toothbrush. Bust open pillows, squeezed out toothpaste, cut open upholstery, and opened canned food. They took us to the station, interrogated us separately for two hours. Later, they made me repeat my deposition in front of my wife. It was too humiliating. There was nothing more to hide.
My wife felt more betrayed by Marie-Madeleine than by me. To my surprise, she was on my side and supportive. They released us a few hours later. I learned later Marie Madeleine was detained by the police at the airport. They found nothing on her. She was released after the French ambassador called the foreign office.
The damage to our house was so immense we had to move to my in-laws. Now three months after the search, we are in the process of restoring our house and salvaging our marriage.
-------
Sometime after our chat, Ricco took a leave of absence. I was very careful not to mention Ricco or Marie-Madeleine’s name.
Only two and a half years later, Ricco’s name was back on the crew list. A few weeks after his return, on one of his flights to Paris, Ricco was seriously injured. A hit-and-run car knocked him down.
Ricco spent six months in hospitals with multiple fractures and repeated operations.
When Ricco was back at home, I paid him a visit.
He was still on crutches, but in a good mood.
After a few words of courtesy, the obvious question came up:
“Was your accident related to Marie-Madeleine?”
“I don’t think so,” said Ricco. "It was not my scheduled flight. I replaced a sick purser, it happened in a neighborhood I never been to and the car came from around the corner. It could not have been coordinated. The connection was suggested, but never pursued. The magistrate investigating it dropped the case for “lack of public interest.”
“How is Marie-Madeleine?”
“You’ll be pleased to know, she is in jail, serving four years. Unfortunately she is about to be released.
The Interpol, the Mossad, and the French intelligence. did a great job bypassing the Paris police department. They found enough evidence to indict her. The trial was in Chamonix far away from Paris. I was not called to testify, but they kept me informed.”
“So if it wasn’t you, who testified against her”?
“Well, many people did”.
“Many people?”
“Yes, scores of them”
“How come?”
“They found about twenty couriers, full fledged suckers like me and sexually blackmailed. They were granted immunity, and happily incriminated her.
The defense lawyer described Marie-Madeleine as a ‘warm loving and caring person, a volunteer at old people homes, a member of prestigious clubs, in which she collects money for the old and lonely people’. He brought some letters in which she was described as an angel.
The prosecution, on the other hand, proved, that while visiting the old people she ‘borrowed’ their social security cards and used them to rent post office boxes.
She used the boxes for the exchange. Her messengers placed the money envelopes from outside of the box and picked up the merchandise in another. She only touched the money.
Every second weekend she drove to Geneva to stash away the loot into a Swiss bank.
The investigators found some of her clients, co members of exclusive clubs, rich cocaine users, who paid dearly for her services.
When the supply exceeded the demand, the extra drugs were distributed by pimps in Place Pigalle.
Some marked bills were found in her possession, while trying to cross the border to Switzerland. She was charged for smuggling money out of France and pushing cocaine. She was indicted, sentenced, and jailed.
After a long pause, Ricco asked, “tell me Arki, what was your involvement with Marie-Madeleine?”
Ricco sat attentive and was very amused by my story.
“As you see Ricco” I ended, “she tried to lure me into her trap, out of negligence, she used the wrong bait
She could easily fool me, by letting me think I seduced her, and then eat me up for breakfast.
After a long pause, I heard Ricco mumbling, “You’re a Lucky dog,” he said, while dispensing more scotch into my glass.


Word count 2600.

Hotel Arabela

Hotel Arabela
Hagai Cohen
4 July 2008

“God will save your soul; the checklist will save your ass.”
This slogan with various language variations is one of the first things a trainee pilot learns.
Some of us aviators take this slogan very seriously and turn it into a way of life. Some of my best friends use a checklist to handle their entire lives.
Well, I am not one of them. In the cockpit, yes, but I have to confess I do not read a checklist before going into a bathroom or taking a shower.

Stationed in Frankfurt to operate a flight the following day, I arrived late at night and very tired. It was my first time in the fancy Arabela hotel. My room was neat but dark and unpleasant. The sign on the door read ‘700 DM per night, no doubt a high-end hotel. ’ I lay down on the bed wearing my uniform, “just to rest for a few seconds” and woke up the next morning at six forty five.

I slept very well. It is a well-known phenomenon that a uniform is more soporific than a sleeping pill. The moment you put it on you feel sleepy. I woke up fresh and rested, but definitely needed a shower.

I could not help being impressed when I walked into the bathroom. All the bathroom fittings were gold plated and shining. A huge mirror hung over the bathroom sink, Neither the German nor the FBI forensic laboratories would find any incriminating evidence in this bathroom, I thought. The bathtub was so white, it was hard to look at.
The showerhead at the end of a hose was clipped to the wall above the tub.

As a seasoned traveler, I already knew that most architects, who specialized in designing bathrooms, never take a shower in those they design. Judging by the results, I believe, many of them never have taken a shower at all. The architect, who designed the bathroom in the Arabela, was no different. To adjust the water temperature before getting into the shower one had to lean over to the shower fittings and place oneself in the “line of fire” when the water began to flow.

Being familiar with the subject, my first action was to remove the showerhead from the wall and lay it on the bottom of the tub. That was a big mistake. The moment I turned on the tap, the hose and its head came to life; the water pressure turned the sprinkler into a V2 rocket. It jumped around like a wild young mustang, when the rope encircled his neck for the first time.

The by-product of this vigorous wiggling about was water spray all over the bathroom. I took cover. First, I did not want to get wet. However, the more serious consideration was the fear of being struck by the uncontrolled wild agitations of the hose. Of course, nobody but I was to blame. I should have remembered: German showers are notoriously dangerous.
.
After a few evasive maneuvers, I managed to grab the hose, restrain it and decommission it completely.

I gave up on the shower and decided to try the bathtub. “This should work,” I said to myself while turning on the lower water tap. Unfortunately, the spout was short of the tub, the water very forcefully bounced of the rim of the bathtub, spraying like a garden sprinkler all over the place. The result left me officially wet with water all over the bathroom floor.
Eventually, after removing my garments I got into the bathtub.

As I placed my foot on the bottom of the tub, I found the rounded curved bottom was not made to fit flat feet like mine. The tub floor was very slippery and dangerous. Very carefully, I directed the water to the showerhead and was very spare with my movements. No vigorous scrubbing, no fast movements. Thorough cleansing was impossible. To minimize my exposure time to danger I finished very quickly. Slowly I shut the water off and stepped out of the tub. I was very proud to be in one piece on the wet floor.

Had I read a checklist before taking a shower, I would have found there was only one tiny washrag in the bathroom - not a single towel. Nothing. Conveniently and probably for cases like this, a telephone was installed on the bathroom wall. Wet of course, but who cares in time of crisis. To my surprise the telephone worked. I called the front desk. I explained to the woman my awkward situation.
“Look ma’am” I said, “I am naked and wet and I cannot find a towel to dry myself.”
“Do you want some extra towel sir?”
The woman did not listen to what I was saying.
“No ma’am I need a towel, not extra towels.”
“Sir, the maid will be on your floor at eight o’clock and she will give you some extra towels.”
“You do not seem to understand; it is now seven o’clock and I am wet. I cannot wait until eight. I must have a towel now. Do you understand what I was just saying?” I was angry and I raised my voice.
“I am sorry, sir. I will put you on to my supervisor.”

The phone was silent for a very long time. Finally, a man’s voice said to me, “I was informed you yelled at the lady on the reception desk. She told me you claim to have no towels in your room. This is inconceivable, sir. I have just checked the housekeeping record. Your room was made up before you checked in and was checked by a housekeeping inspector. Are you sure you looked thoroughly, sir?”

“Look, sir, I did my best with the meager light bulbs you give your guests and, no, sir, I did not use a flashlight to search for the towels. Nor, sir, did I look under the bed.” I took a breath and continued: “Listen, sir, our conversation is at a dead end and you too do not seem to understand. Why don’t you put a higher authority on the line? The assistant manager maybe?”
“I am sorry, he is not in and I have to page him for the call.” I noted he did not address me as ‘sir’ this time.
“Ok then page him and tell him he can call me from any phone. He does not have to return to his office to call.”

Fifteen minutes later the assistant manager was on the line.
“You wanted to speak with me, Mr. Shamir.”
“Yes. Twenty minutes ago, I called for a towel. Instead of getting it I was told your records show towels were placed in my room. For the record
there is not a single towel in my room. And with my bad luck, I found it out only after I came out of the shower.”

“Yes I understand, sir, and I am very sorry for the inconvenience, but it is very early and the chambermaids are not yet at work. Only one house cleaner is on duty at this time and she is busy. It might take a while.”
“Look sir” I said quite out of patience, “don’t worry about the towels. I am already dry, I used the bed cover to dry myself and now I am using it to dry the floor. Thank you.” I slammed the phone down.

Exactly forty minutes after my first complaint, I got my towels.
I was quite upset all morning; I did not leave my room and had no breakfast. At one o’clock that afternoon, I hung the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign outside my door and went out for lunch.

At two o’clock, I retuned to pack for my flight. I noticed my entire wardrobe, including my dirty laundry were all neatly folded. This was odd. I did not do it. No one in this world ever saw me folding dirty laundry. My first impulse was not to touch my suitcase. My security sense told me to look for a “device” that may have been planted in it. Checking my suitcase before a flight was already second nature. Very carefully, I visually inspected the contents of my suitcase.

“The wine,” I said to myself, “I have two bottles of wine in my bag and if any one would try to plant a bomb, replacing sealed bottles would be the best way.”

Again, very carefully, I removed a few things to uncover the bottles. I looked at the bottles. The bottles were mine and so were their packaging. The bottles were at the side of the suitcase and quite heavy. As I moved some objects around in the suitcase, the suitcase became unbalanced. Very gently, it started to tilt over. I was not too fast to catch it, the suitcase fell down and the contents were all over the floor. With all my things scattered, the picture became very clear.

“I get it now,” I said to myself. “The bastards sent security to check if I had packed towels in my bag. The wine must have turned the suitcase over. They had to collect my things and put them back into my bag. A chambermaid was called in to fold my clothes and she, not knowing how it looked before, put it back with my dirty laundry folded as new.”

I was furious. If they want to play hardball, I am ready. I grabbed the telephone.
“I want to speak to the general manager,” I said to the operator.
“He asked not to be disturbed. He’s in a meeting. Can I help you, sir?”
“Oh, sure. You can tell him please, when his meeting is over, somebody visited my room while I was out and tampered with my things. Please express my concern to him about the security aspect of it. You may tell him, when his meeting is over, of course, that according to my orders, I have to inform our security officer about any intrusions into my room. I must also call the bomb squad if I suspect an explosive device was planted in my suitcase.” I knew, from previous experience, the bomb squad checks the room and the hotel thoroughly. “I understand Ma’am,” I continued, speaking very fast, “the general manger cannot be disturbed so I am going to make my calls without informing him. You will notify him about it after the meeting is over of course. Oh, and don’t worry, Madam, his meeting will be over the moment the police evacuates the hotel.”


I hung up the phone without waiting for her response. Less than a minute later, the general manager was on the phone.

“What seems to be the problem Mr. Shamir?
“Well, sir, it is very simple. While I was out to lunch, somebody came into my room and went through my suitcase. I shall not touch my case unless the bomb squad inspects it and I am just about to call them. There are in my opinion two possibilities sir. One, a terrorist may have planted a bomb in my bag. Two, one of your people, for reasons known only to them, illegally searched my suitcase. This too, sir, is a matter for the police. As a respect to you sir, and to your hotel, I will wait five minutes before making my calls. You have this time sir, to find out the answer, whether it was one of your people or not. If your answer, sir will be vague or negative, I will call my security people. They will call the police and the bomb squad. They will probably evacuate the hotel, with all the usual consequences to your five stars hotel and your seven hundred Deutsche Marks per night guests.”

”Thank you, Mr. Shamir for the five minutes, I will return to you immediately, Mr. Shamir. Please wait for my call.” The general manager sounded very disturbed and that was all to the good.

Very apologetic and sleekly he came back a few minutes later.
“Look, Mr. Shamir, it was the chambermaid. She came to make your room and accidentally knocked the suitcase down.”

“Oh, I see, sir. Let me understand this clearly. Are you saying, the chambermaid who came to make my room ignored the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on my door, knocked down my suitcase, and then folded up my laundry?

“Yes, yes, Mr. Shamir, that is exactly what happened.”
“Then why didn’t she finish making my room? I would like to have a word with her. Is she still working for you?”

“I-, I-, I-, I don’t know sir, but I can find out.” The general manager could not steady his tongue. “I will speak to housekeeping right away and they will send some one…”

“Sir, when you do speak to your people, ask them if they found the missing towels in my bag.” My words lingered in the silence like a vapor trail. After a few moments I asked, “Are you okay, Mr. General Manager?”

The only response was a click as the receiver was returned to its cradle.

German manners, and German efficiency aren't they a bit over-rated.?

The end

Bush Pilot

Bush pilot

Hagai Cohen

“You're all set” said Major Adams, endorsing our flight licenses. “You are qualified to fly the Cessna 172.”

All four of us were airline pilots posted in Nairobi at the peek of our flying careers. With only one flight a week, we had a lot of spare time on our hands.

Major Adams, with his handlebar mustache, pipe, and major's baton, was a relic. Thirty years earlier, he had been an instructor at the R.A.F. flying-school in Nairobi, Kenya. Since then he had never left Kenya nor updated his flying skills. The Kenya board of transportation, in their ignorance, had authorized him to issue pilot’s licenses. He also rented out airplanes.

We wanted to visit the Ngorongoro crater in Tanzania. A small plane was the only way to get there. As we did not trust Major Adams or any of his pilots and because we needed a local, license to fly ourselves, all four of us took the fifteen minutes check ride and Major Adams stamped our licenses.

We landed at seven A.M the next morning on a strip next to the crater. We moored the plane, checked into the lodge, and, after breakfast, hit the road in a Land Rover. After a three and a half hour bumpy ride to the crater highlands of northern Tanzania, we arrived to a very impressive and dramatic part of the world.

The caldera was the most exciting we had ever seen, we had to descend a rocky track that dropped 2000 feet in two miles. Ngorngoro is famous for its highest density of lions but we did not see any.

To add to our bad luck the fan belt snapped in the territory of a heavyset rhino. While I was changing the fan belt, an angry rhino huffed and puffed at us, so we drove the Land Rover behind a tree surrounded by dense bushes, where I finished the job in relative safety.

We finished installing the fan belt at 3:00 P.M. At 5 P.M., the local predators get hungry. The thought of becoming a part of the Nature’s food chain was not at all appealing. The trip was a waste of time.

Back at the lodge, after a shower and a pint our disappointment dissipated. We found ourselves coordinating our stories for the people back home. The rhino turned into a herd of rhinos and fixing the fan belt became “overhauling the engine under the watchful eyes of a hungry lioness.” While thus engaged, a strange, burly character walked in.

“Abed,” said the man, brusque and loud, to the bartender, “a pint to the Captain's table.”

“Right away, Captain Smokey, sir,” said the bartender.

Captain Smokey wore green flight overalls with the words BUSH SAFARI printed on its back. A revolver was strapped to his right boot and a commando knife to his left. All kinds of equipment hung from his belt: a homing radio, a signaling mirror, a bulky marine Morse semaphore, night flares, a smoke flare, a whistle, two flashlights, and more ‘unidentified objects.'

“Who is this character?” asked Mike.

“A very lucky guy,” said Kim. “He'll never get hemorrhoids.”

The three of us looked at our friend, puzzled.

“A perfect ass-hole,” he explained.

“Where could he have come from?” asked Mussik.

“Who the hell is he trying to impress?” said Jack (that is me) rhetorically.

The eyes of the few people in the lounge at that time were on the Captain. As his beer arrived, the Captain instructed Abed: “Set the table for four. My guests will dine with me.”

He must have been in his mid-twenties, cocky, over-confident, and obviously in love with himself. Soon a party of three walked into the lounge, a man, his wife, and their teenage daughter.

“Sorry we’re late,” said the man to Captain Smokey as they approached his table.

The Captain dismissed the remark and said: “Oh, don’t worry. I do not waste my time, even when I relax with a beer. I am planning tomorrow’s flight.”

We smiled at each other and listened in on their conversation. The family was on safari as a graduation present to the girl we were told.

“Tell me, Captain," said the girl, "how did you become a pilot?” She stared at the Captain with lustrous eyes.

“You don't just become a pilot, you have to be born one," he pronounced loudly. "You have to be the right stuff from your first breath, gifted by God.” The Captain wanted everybody to heed his immortal words. We could not believe what we were hearing.

“Is it dangerous? I mean to fly a plane?" asked the girl.

“Danger is my middle name, my dear,” said the braggart.

“Where did you learn to fly?”

“I learned from the best and most famous pilot in all of East Africa - Major Adams,” he said, with a proud lift of his head.

This was too much! The name of Major Adams brought an impish smile to my face I had been with that rusty relic, in his own plane. If I had to give him a check ride, he wouldhave been grounded.

“Excuse me, please,” I said to the boys, “duty calls.”

I rose and walked toward the Captain’s table.

“Excuse me please, Captain, sir," said I. "I could not help overhearing your conversation. It is fascinating, your being a pilot, so glamorous, so romantic. All my life I wanted to meet a real pilot face to face.”

“Oh, my dear man, please join us. You have come to the right place.”

I pulled up a chair and sat down. “I'm Jack,” I said.

“Captain Smokey." He held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you.”

“Tell me, Captain Smokey, how does one know he's the right stuff?"

“Well, my dear friend, if you don’t know the answer to that, you are certainly no pilot."

I held a straight face; it was hard as I was having an attack of gastro-giggleeitis.

“How does it feel to fly? Is it exciting? Is it thrilling? Do you feel ‘high’ when you fly?”

“Exactly the right words, my dear friend; despite your accent, I see you have good command of the English language.”

“Thank you, Captain Smokey,” I said humbly.

"It is just as you say, exciting and thrilling. There is no such sensation on earth, and I am of the privileged few to experience it."

“How do you find your way in the bush?”

“I know the bush like the palm of my hand. I don't trust all those damn instruments; nobody knows how to read them anyway.”

I am what they call a natural pilot I can feel the speed and the altitude day and night, it’s in my bones”.

At that moment, I heard Kim’s voice behind me saying in Hebrew: “I'll hire Captain Smokey to take my mother-in-law for an excursion, and I'd better do it quickly, before it’s too late.”

My three friends pulled up their chairs, giving Captain Smokey a large group of admiring listeners.

“How high can you fly Captain Smokey?”

“Well, let’s see, last week I flew over Kilimanjaro. Oh no, sir, I never ever fly over of the volcano crater. The natives call the mountain “the breathing mountain” and, once in a while, unprovoked, the mountain sucks in everything that flies over it.”

(The Cessna he was flying cannot fly above 10,000’. The plane carries no oxygen, the Kilimanjaro towers to a height of 19,000’.)

My friends and I exchanged glances but kept tight control over our amusement.

I composed my next question carefully, looking into the Captain’s eyes with great admiration. “Have you ever flown through the sound barrier?”

“Of course, many times.”

“How does it feel?”

“It’s a great sensation. You fly the airplane, and leave your noise behind. The sound arrives later usually after the landing.

“Do you always wait for the sound to arrive after landing?”

"Of course I do, it is a part of the N.O.P."

“What is N.O.P?” I asked.

“Normal operating procedure.”

“Thank you, Captain Smokey, I would never have known.”

“Did it ever happen that your sound got lost and did not arrive?”

“God forbid! It's a bad sign if your sound gets lost.”

“Can you talk while flying above the speed of sound?”

“No you can not.”

Captain Smokey's discourse was now self-sustaining and he continued to educate us.

“Did you know heavy planes have difficulty going down?

“No I did not know but I think I understand what you are saying.”

I said. “I lived next to a quarry and the big trucks carrying heavy boulders, always traveled down very slowly, with great difficulty, while the unloaded trucks sped down easily.”

The Captain looked at me and said arrogantly “You can never understand. It was a waste of time talking to you.” He then turned to the young woman seeking more of her admiration.

I was sorry at the abrupt end to my conversation with Captain Smokey. I had several more questions for him; I wanted to ask particularly about the worthless equipment strapped to his belt. Especially about the bulky marine Morse semaphore, now found only in museums and obsolete since the First World War.

We returned to our table where we merrily discussed Captain Smokey, who had definitely salvaged our trip.

We were in our plane, about to take off next morning, when we saw the Captain taxiing to the airstrip.

“Bush safari 09 - transmitting blind - rolling Ngorongoro strip, destination Nairobi, climbing flight level 80.”

That was the Captain informing other planes in his location. There was no control tower on the airstrip.

“Bush Safari 09 - Adams 07 - Hold position, hold position,” I radioed the Captain.

“Adams 07 - Bush Safari 09 –holding position what seems to be the problem?”

“Bush Safari 09 - Adams 07 - I have just received a cable from Nairobi control. Are you ready to copy?”

“Affirmative Adams 07 - ready to copy, go ahead.”

“Break, break. Kilimanjaro active since 5:00 GMT this morning. Break - flock of vultures sucked into mountain at 06:00 GMT - break. All birds known to be wearing oxygen masks. Break. Use caution. Break.”

“Who's this speaking? “ The Captain sounded annoyed.

“It's Jack, Captain Smokey. Last night we had drinks together."

“FUCK YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Now, the Captain sounded furious.

“Watch your language, Captain,” I said. “You have ladies onboard."

I heard something akin to a growl. I continued: "We are fifteen minutes behind you, Captain, but we’ll meet you on the ground in Nairobi, while you wait for your noise to arrive.”

I wish I could have seen Captain Smokey’s face. Unfortunately, I had to imagine his rage from the way he handled the take-off.

I never did meet the Captain again but, on every visit to Nairobi, I inquired after him. He seemed to be doing well and had become a famous and recommended bush pilot. Unfortunately, the glorious career of Captain Smokey came to an abrupt, but not unexpected end a year later.

A television film crew of three, with all its equipment, boarded Bush Safari 09 in Nairobi. The Captain did not weigh the cargo. Nairobi is 5,500 feet high. The takeoff distance is significantly longer as the engine power is low. Captain Smokey crashed at the end of the runway when he tried to lift the Cessna below the required speed.

Kim’s mother in-law is safe - for now.

*****************************************

Approved

Approved
Hagai Cohen
3 June 2003

“Today, I am twenty one, Daddy, not your little girl any more. It’s time you told me what happened on your first date with Mom. Neither you nor Mom is willing to talk about it and Grandma gets amnesia when I ask her. I have had enough evasiveness. I am not leaving this room until you talk.”

“Listen darling, if I tell you without your Mom’s consent, I’m a dead man.”
“You tell me, Dad, and I’ll deal with Mom.”
“Ok, but if you ever use this story against us, I won’t know you.”
“Deal! I love you, Dad.”

“Well" I started, "it was fall in New York. The fall colors were beautiful that year and the weather-man promised wormer temperatures. Your Mom invited me to spend the weekend at her ‘country house’ (this very house), to hike around and look at the fall colors.

Linn and I had had a long-term work relationship. We had known each other for two years and until then our relationship had been formal.
As I had nothing better to do, I accepted the invitation.

The drive up to the house was a pleasant one. With every mile northward, the fall colors became more radiant and luminous.
It was also the first time we discussed personal topics. The questions and answers revealed we had many common interests. Our taste and preferences in food and wine were similar. I also discovered that your Mom was a romantic. It was somewhat surprising, very different from the buttoned up image she projected at the office. I was especially impressed with her great sense of humor and her sweet impish smile.

Before setting out on our hike, we sprayed ourselves with insect repellent. We hiked through the woods, across farmer Baker’s meadow to the stream and the lake. We leaned over the side of a narrow ridge, trout nets in our hand. It was really fun to hold each other from falling into the water, While trying to fish. Our catch was three nice size rainbow trout.

Only after we had bagged the fish, Linn told me all she could cook was meat loaf, and had no idea what to do with trout. This pleased me, as many women in my experience; find it romantic to have men cook for them. It was my turn to impress Linn.

On our return to the country-house, I steamed the trout with fresh ginger, chopped scallions, and soy sauce. While the fish was steaming, I cut the vegetables for the salad and in less than fifteen minutes, dinner was on the table. A bottle of Chardonnay was uncorked to enhance the taste of the fish and Linn was in high spirits.
After the repast, she suggested we return to the meadow and lie down on the flat rock to watch the stars.
The full moon turned the meadow and the forest into a romantic setting.
While we were spreading a blanket on the rock, our faces touched inadvertently and before we knew it, our passions were kindled. After a few exploratory kisses, we stripped rapidly, scattering our clothes all over the rock. The exposure of our bodies to the caressing breeze, the moonlight, the warm rock and an overdose of hormones made our lovemaking highly intense, and very promising.
After the delicious lovemaking, we lay on our backs to watch the stars.
I was still enjoying the residual pleasure of our act, when a loud noise startled us.
We jumped to our feet to see a three thousand pound bull with a horn span of four feet, huffing and puffing through his huge nostrils while digging his hoofs into the turf threateningly.
We did not know that while we were feasting on the fish, Farmer Backer had rounded up his herd and brought it to the new pasture.
I had good eye-to-eye contact with the beast but my severe look did not make an impact on him. ‘I am not really after your harem,’ I said in panic. The determined bull was not impressed.

He was twenty yards from us, when he charged. I hoped the rock itself would discourage him but he jumped right on it like a springbok.
His stomping felt like an earthquake. Linn screamed. I pushed her and we jumped to the side.
Were you scared Dad?
“Correct, we were horrified, petrified, terrified, and etcetera.
The granite rock was too slippery for the massive bull. He skidded and fell over on the other side.
While the bull was recovering himself, Linn cried: “Let’s get the hell out of here.” She collected the clothes we’d thrown off hastily half an hour earlier. She used my jeans as a laundry bag and stuffed in shoes and all.
The fall made the bull more determined. He turned all his anger towards Linn who had made my pants look like competitive horns. I used the blanket to divert his attention and every time he missed us, we inched towards the log fence. We finally made it to safety.
Retrospectively, I think we did a great job escaping the vicious bull, but at that moment, all I thought about were my words to the bull: ‘I am not after your harem.’ I think Linn took it as an insult.
‘It wasn’t that funny’ she said, and fell into silence. Not a word was said and the tension was unbearable, we forgot we were still naked.
Suddenly Linn put on a sweet smile and said: “You know Jack, we were lucky….”
“You bet,” I said, thinking it’s a miracle we had escaped the bullfight unharmed.
“We were very lucky Jack,” she said again, “we did not step on a single ‘meadow muffin’.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Cow pat, if you must know.”
This silly remark was what relieved the tension. It started a nervous laughter that very soon became hysterical.
After controlling myself a little, I continued in the same vein. I knelt down, put my hand on Linn’s hips and said: “Thank you, my dear Madam, for letting me protect you. Bare handed, bare footed and bare assed.
I bravely fought the killer bull to save your life. Not every day Madame, does an opportunity like this present itself to a man.
I’ll kill anything for you Madame, a bull, a tiger and even a water bug, if necessary.
You, lady, have retrieved my lost dignity. I’ll be your slave forever. Thank you, thank you, and thank you!”
Linn picked up a branch, rested it on my shoulder and said:

”With the authority vested in me from heaven, I dub thee Sir Jack, Knight of the BULLSHIT and lord of the MEADOW MUFFIN. Arise Sir Knight and kiss your queen.”
“Yes, my dear.”

The naked knight and his equally nude queen walked joyfully back hand-in-hand along the pathway strewn with fallen leaves. While walking on the path, carrying their garments under their arms, they knew, they had fallen in love.

Our moment of euphoria did not last long. As we approached the back yard, a car turned into the driveway and caught us in its headlights. We were so startled we stood stock-still.
It stopped five yard from us. Unexpected and unannounced, Linn’s mother, Grandma Ruth stepped out of the car. It was extremely embarrassing.
“Are you crazy or what?” she screamed at us. “What do you think you’re doing walking about like this in the woods?”
“Mom!”
”There are lime disease ticks, spot fever ticks, poison ivy and you might even catch a cold.”
“Mom, please! Would you believe me if I told you we were chased by a bull and barely survived?
“I’ll believe anything about you, my dear girl, but I am sure the bull had nothing to do with the way you look right now.”
We started to laugh at Grandma Ruth’s great humor. The embarrassment and discomfort disappeared.
Linn said through her laughter: “Mother… this is… my friend…. Sir Jack, the savior.”
I dropped the blanket from under my arm, stepped forward in all my nudity, and offered my hand.
“Please to meet you Mrs. Kaplan.”
Your Grandma took my hand, looked me over from top to bottom and said: “Nice physique, Jack.”
“Thank you Mrs. Kaplan.”
Without letting my hand go, she continued. “Listen to me you two weirdoes, run into the house and take a shower, TOGETHER! Check each other for ticks, THOROUGHLY! Or I’ll come in and do it myself.”
That evening, while Grandma Ruth enjoyed the last trout, I received the stamp of approval.”

“Will you walk to that rock with me, Daddy? Please, please, oh, please!”
“Why not? I haven’t been there for years and it will be nice if you find the socks I lost that night.”


The End