Page 2 of Spread Your Wings
Sarajevo’s airport was like any other airport Sammy had seen in his life, even though it was half a world away. Shabby, but clean. The airport food smelled more enticing than the usual deli fare back home. He almost stopped at the gyro counter but kept walking when he realized he didn’t have the correct currency. Nor did he know the language. While Mumu spoke decent English, Sammy didn’t expect everyone to understand him.
Mumu led them to baggage claim and then disappeared. When they turned away from the revolving belt with their luggage, Mumu was leaning against the wall next to the gyro place. In his hands, he held three rolls of paper-wrapped goodness. “You looked hungry,” he said, handing one to each of them, but his gaze was on Sammy.
“Thank you,” Sammy said, greedily opening the paper and taking a bite. He bit into the fresh flat bread, which immediately stuck to the roof of his mouth. He closed his eyes and savored the spiced meat and fresh vegetables. “I love gyros.”
“This is kebab,” Mumu said.
Sammy unwrapped the kebab and separated the flat bread. “Where’s the skewer?”
Mumu’s smile faltered. “They take it out.”
Sammy tried to cover his cheeks with the paper as he took another bite. He could feel them burning. Thankfully, Mumu grabbed two of Nicole’s bags and spun toward the main entrance.
Sammy followed, carrying his backpack and towing a full-size bag on wheels.
Outside, the sky was an overcast gray. Mumu escorted them to the hotel’s fifteen-passenger van. The huge brown beast would require a chauffeur’s license in the United States. Mumu tossed their bags into the back and helped Nicole step up into the passenger seat of the van. Then he opened the sliding door for Howard and Sammy. Once everyone was buckled in, he started the van and drove out of the parking lot.
Mumu drove for twenty minutes. Nicole filled the silence with questions about the city’s history and culture.
“What is your ethnicity?” she asked. “Serb?”
Mumu shuddered. “No.”
“Croat?”
Mumu shook his head. “No. Bosniak.”
Nicole whipped her head in his direction, her gaze hardening. “Do you practice?”
Mumu hunched over the steering wheel. “I eat pork and drink alcohol once in a while, if that’s what you mean.”
“Are you Sunni or Shiite?”
“Non-denominational.” He said the word as though it was foreign on his tongue, though practiced.
Sammy empathized. As a Catholic, he’d spent most of his youth defending his religion against his Southern Baptist peers.
“Leave him alone, Nic,” Harold said, his deep voice the death knell on their conversation.
Sammy patted his jacket to feel his wallet, with a St. Christopher’s medal tucked inside. He had a five and three ones left from the twenty he’d broken at LaGuardia a lifetime ago. It seemed strange to begin a new chapter in his life with only eight dollars cash.
The van slowed to a stop, and Sammy looked up at the hideous yellow face of the Holiday Inn, Sarajevo.
“We’re here,” Mumu said. “Welcome to Holiday Inn.”
Mumu helped Nicole with her bags, fake smile in place. He opened the door and held it for her to walk through and placed her bags on a nearby bell cart. He offered to carry Harold’s camera, but Harold shook his head. He’d traveled light, with nothing more than a backpack and the camera case.
“Let me help you,” Mumu said. His inflection made it more a question than a statement. His gaze darted between Sammy and the bags stacked on the cart.
“Sure,” Sammy said, handing over the handle to the large suitcase. “Don’t I need to check in?” he asked, taking the backpack off his shoulder.
“Hey, Mohamed,” Nicole said, “Aren’t you going to take my bags to my room?”
Mumu whirled around. “That’s not my name.”
“Is everything all right?” a tall blonde woman asked, crisp steps bringing her from the front desk to the bell cart loaded with Nicole’s bags. “I can help you with the cart,” she said with only a hint of accent. “Mumu is carrying this gentleman’s bag.”
To prove her right, Mumu tucked the rolling handle back into the suitcase and lifted it off the ground.
