Page 23 of Spread Your Wings
Sammy didn’t ask.
Thick wire grating covered the storefronts. One was a bookstore, with English titles on the covers. As much as Sammy wanted a new book, he hoped to leave Sarajevo before the stores opened. Now that Mustafa was with him, Sammy had better ways to pass the time, anyway.
Mustafa led him to a small terminal with only a couple of benches. They were already overflowing with women and children. The older boys sat on the floor by their mothers. The men leaned against the walls or milled around. An elderly gentleman with a full beard and corkscrewed ringlets from ears to chest leaned against the terminal desk. He brightened when he saw Mustafa.
“Where is Vasily? We need to board the plane, and he promised to fly us out of this hellhole.”
“Detained by the guards. He’ll be here soon.”
The old man nodded. “Glad you made it.”
Mustafa nodded, and his cheeks flushed pink. “This is Rabbi Gustav,” he said, and introduced Sammy.
“The American?” the Rabbi asked, pointing at Sammy.
Sammy nodded. “Your people are leaving Bosnia?”
“Not all. The ones who want to leave can leave. Many of us are staying to help. It’s my duty to help however I can. That’s why I arranged this flight with Vasily.”
“Best of luck to you, Rabbi.” Mustafa shook his hand.
“I will look out for your uncle, I promise.”
Mustafa led Sammy toward an out-of-the-way kiosk with barstool chairs.
“Are you all right?” Mustafa’s mouth barely moved with the words, and his eyes never left the table top.
Sammy shook his head, still unable to form words. He felt numb inside. They’d driven through sniper alley. They were fleeing a war-torn country with a handful of Bosnian Jews. Vasily had not yet returned from his encounter with the security guards. Sammy didn’t have words to express how wrong it all seemed, and words were his thing.
After a tense half-hour of growing restlessness in the overcrowded terminal, Vasily arrived. Two flight attendants with him began pre-boarding the flight. Sammy and Mustafa boarded last. They threaded through the sea of anxious faces to the back of the plane. There, Mustafa gestured to two seats usually reserved for flight crew. Mustafa stowed his backpack under his seat and buckled his seatbelt. Sammy copied his movements, feeling like he had no more room in his head for independent thought.
The plane taxied smoothly down the runway. The flight attendant gave the routine safety protocols in Bosnian. Sammy rested his head on Mustafa’s shoulder, humming, “Safety Dance.”
Mustafa chuckled. “You sound better, at least. Do you want to talk about it?”
Sammy sighed. “I don’t know if I can do this job.”
Mustafa inclined his head against the top of Sammy’s. Sammy felt comforted, and brave enough to continue. “I thought I could go to war-torn countries and report the news. I guess I was naïve. I’ve heard gunshots in downtown Atlanta before, you know? It wasn’t a big deal. I don’t know why it’s so scary now.”
“It’s terrifying,” Mustafa said. “We had the occasional gunshot during Russian occupation, too, but always at the sky, as a warning. There are no warning shots in a war. They shoot to kill.”
Sammy settled against Mustafa’s shoulder, overcome with relief and drowsiness. Mustafa was a warm, solid presence. The drone of the engines lulled him to sleep.
CHAPTER SIX
At the Vienna airport, Sammy excused himself to the restroom as they exited the plane. He didn’t want to intrude on Mustafa’s farewell with Vasily, his former lover. Watching the two of them together felt awkward at best, voyeuristic at worst. Sammy didn’t need more drama. He already felt queasy from the flight and lack of food.
He took as much time as he could relieving himself and washing up. When he returned to the main terminal, he found Mustafa standing alone by the departures board.
Mustafa looked him up and down but said nothing.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“I would be uncomfortable around your ex-lovers, too,” Mustafa said. “Will the ‘Dear Sammy’ guy join you in London?”
“Hell no,” Sammy said. “You think I’d pay for his flight after what he did to me?” Sammy shook his head. “It was supposed to be his birthday present.”
“I’m sorry,” Mustafa said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned him.”
