“I came through and I shall return.” -Lieutenant General Douglas MacArthur
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Chapter Three: The Traveler’s Tale
I never did get airsick, and the flight passed by uneventfully. We reached the Manila airport around mid-afternoon, and once we had landed and the jet stopped moving, I moved to grab as many bags as I could. So did Akio.
“W-want me to pass them down to you?” he asked, “I mean, not that you can’t reach them, but you might pull something -I mean a muscle, you might pull a muscle….”
I nodded, taking his flustered demeanor in stride, “I had the same thought myself. Pass me what I had when we got to the airport and I’ll be good.”
Akio nodded and we went to work grabbing the bags, while Kenji and Mr. Nakai grabbed the various carry-ons, some of which had gotten scattered a bit along the flight. Mr. Sarif had poked his head into the cockpit while Satomi and Refia waited to get off the plane, Mrs. Nakai behind them near the rear seats. While they waited, she put her hair back up in a ponytail, one hand through her helmet and her jacket over her other arm.
By the time we had grabbed all the bags and shoved on some sunglasses, the side hatch had been popped open, and a dark skinned man in short sleeves hopped into view, waved us down with a grin, and disappeared back down the portable stairwell. Before we filed out, Mr. Sarif stepped over to Mr. Nakai and stuck out his hand.
“We’re headin’ out to Oregon after this,” he said, “Have fun on your trip, son.”
Mr. Nakai grinned and shook his hand, “Will do.”
“I’ll have Jim send somebody through the Embassy to get you a ride home if we can’t send someone.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re still coming by next month for dinner?” Mrs. Nakai asked, her helmet now tucked under one arm and her hair once again in a ponytail.
“Of course,” Mr. Sarif replied, “Will you be making the stuffed bell peppers?”
Mrs. Nakai smiled and nodded, “I may as well, as you’re the only one who likes them.”
While they were talking Kenji had come over to shake hands with Mr. Sarif as well, which he did once the opening presented itself, “Until next time, man.”
Mr. Sarif grinned, “Hopefully it’ll be under similar circumstances.”
“On the bright side,” Mr. Nakai said, “If it’s not we’ll get paid for our trouble.”
Mr. Sarif chuckled as he let go of Kenji’s hand, “You two are starting to sound more like each other every time we meet, you know that?”
“And on that disturbing thought,” Mr. Nakai stated, “I think it’s time we left. Time to go, people.”
“Take care of yourselves,” Mr. Sarif said.
Kenji grinned, “Don’t we always?”
Mr. Sarif chuckled again while Mr. Nakai left the jet, the rest of the Nakai’s except Akio following. Kenji and Miya followed them, Hisato dozing in Miya’s arms. Akio gestured awkwardly for me to leave first, so I thanked him and stepped out into Manila.
The cabin had been air conditioned, so the humidity and heat of Manila was the first thing I noticed, as it blasted me full in the face the moment I stepped passed the hatch. Wearing long sleeves all the time had its price, and as I descended the stairs I could already feel beads of sweat starting to form. When I was on the tarmac I was able to look at the airport proper before joining everyone else.
The Manila airport was much larger than the one in Sendai, clearly designed for international travel. A massive multi-story concrete structure served as the central terminal, while hangars of various sizes lined the outside perimeter. We were relatively close to the central terminal, an attendant looking expectantly at us as we regrouped. On the horizon beyond was a line of skyscrapers that could only be the city itself.
Planes and helicopters of various sizes, designs, and ages were everywhere, and the noise was much louder and focused than the airport we had departed from. I tried to block out the noise but it was too much, and I felt a headache coming as I looked around for the rest of the group.
Mrs. Nakai had split off. Taking a few steps further from the stairway, I saw her watching grounds crewmen operate a forklift to pull her crate out of the cargo compartment.
“
Please be careful with that,” she called to them.
“
Don’t worry, we got it!” one of them called back.
Another employee added, “
It’s tight in there, alright, but we’ll get it. Worse comes to worse we just pry it out of the crate while it’s still inside the plane.”
Mrs. Nakai nodded ad glanced behind her to Mr. Nakai, who was herding the children, “You go on ahead, I’ll wait here.”
Mr. Nakai smirked and nodded, “Of course. C’mon, let’s get this over with.”
“Um,” Akio piped up while another employee helped him load bags onto a baggage train, “Is it alright if I ride with Mom?”
“If it’s okay with her,” Mr. Nakai stated.
Her eyes still on the forklift and crew, Mrs. Nakai asked, “Did you pack your helmet and jacket?”
“In my carry-on,” he replied, shaking the bulky backpack on his back for emphasis.
“Then okay,” Mrs. Nakai said. Sparing a glance for her husband, she added, “We’ll catch up with you at the resort check-in.”
Mr. Nakai nodded and started herding his daughters to the terminal, the Setou’s and myself close behind. Before we headed off, the driver of the baggage train puttered next to me to ask if he could take my bags. I told him I was fine and he shrugged and puttered back to the plane, likely waiting for the crate to be out of the way so he could grab the rest of our bags.
“This way,” Mr. Nakai called, and led the rest of us to a double glass door marked in several languages for international charter arrivals.
