Posted by kabouter on May 17, 1999 at 14:11:37:

Some things happen in situations where you are already highly charged with excitement and emotion. This was one of those. It was a very warm day, not far short of 100 F at Istanbul's domestic flights terminal. The crowd waiting for the Amsterdam plane was evenly mixed between returning dutch holidaymakers and turkish families. The crowd was restless and uneasy as crowds are when they are waiting for a plane. It surged towards the automatic door then fell back again, not once but many times in the oppressive heat. The red-faced tipsy couple dropped a bag containing two bottles of wine and then the heady sweet smell of Turkish wine filled the place. An irritable thin girl dressed all in black lit a cigarette heedless of the 10 million Lira fine.

Little brown Turkish boys with gold chains around their necks careered about the terminal oblivious to the heat, chasing other little boys who were airplanes, then racing cars or maybe those crazy Istanbul yellow taxis that are lawless and horn-frantic. Little boys hijacked baggage trolleys and crashed them into toppled suitcases with a screech of delight.

There was little air in the midday swelter. The hour for the plane to leave grew closer as the sun started to slow its relentless progress through the sky. The gates stayed shut. Officials came and went, worried men and women clutching walky talky radios, chewing the air anxiously and then spitting it out again into the mouthpieces. The crowd began to murmur softly and insistently, a growl of unease.

Another official arrived in a smart blue tunic. The crowd turned as one to look at him. Did he have news? Was the plane delayed? Had there been a bomb? The man handed a piece of paper to the redfaced girl at the gate. He turned on his heel and went away but only for a second then returned with a boy of 11 or maybe 12. The man handed the boy's luggage to the attendant and then brushed his tunic as if brushing off his responsibility for the boy as well. The boy had his back turned to the crowd. He was dressed in casual clothing that was expensive and smart. Baseball cap with very long brim over the back of his head. He walked with his legs slightly bent, a slouching movement that was exquisitely graceful. There was something unusual about this boy. He didn't sparkle with vitality like the other boys he stood there on his own held in some strange tension that was secret and detached.

I went quickly around the crowd to see his face. This wasn't easy because the crowd was moving again, surging in shapeless confusion at the doors. I saw his face clearly after a few minutes. A very pale complexion like creamy marble and soft brown eyes deep with mystery and something that looked like sorrow. A lonely boy from a refined family, a sensitive and unhappy child alone in a vaguely dangerous environment. A deeply beautiful boy clouded in sadness, a face seen in a crowd that will be impossible ever to forget.

My heart went out to him. Years ago as a boy I had journeyed alone by train to boarding school across a thousand miles of desert. A wretched lonely experience. A stomach-aching heart-sinking misery. He too, was alone. Shepherded by silent, bored officials anxious for the next smoke. Friendless and for now unwanted.

When the moment came to board the plane he was left there standing behind the gate attendant. I boarded the bus for the fifty yard journey to the plane and watched anxiously for him. I wanted so much to protect him right then. I wanted to reassure him, befriend him, help him cope with his sorrow. They must have placed him in First Class finally when he was allowed to board the plane. Maybe he was the last passenger to do so and I didn't see him during the flight.

When we landed at Schiphol he was again held back suspended in time and place by officialdom. The boy who should have been first off the plane and carried shoulder high by a cheering adoring crowd stood leaning on the back of his seat, pale and tense, unmoving. I was overwhelmed by his sorrow. The sky darkened, the blood surged in my e ars, my cramped legs struggled to cope with the unaccustomed space they were being asked to cover to keep me up with the urgent disembarking crowd.

But the sad beautiful boy had his moment of triumph. The airline officials obviously decided that it would be quicker to take him on an electric cart. We stood there waiting for the moving sidewalk to recover from its boy-induced emergency stop while this pale princeling sped past on a white cart his baggage clutched to his side. I wanted to cry out. To applaud. To shout "THERE he goes!!" To bow and make obeisance. Salute the beautiful and alone. Honour his suffering and solitude.

We stood next to him at the carousel waiting far too long to claim our baggage. He stood languidly, well back from the other passengers, and I noticed that he had changed his offical again. He spoke briefly in excellent dutch to confirm that someone was to meet him, otherwise he was silent and ignored. The boy who had stopped the elevator tried to hijack my trolley. A mischievous uncontrolled scamp of six. A delightfully naughty urchin who ordinarily would have held my attention. The boy watched him closely. He seemed absorbed by the child's energy. I caught his eye and tapped my forhead in that signal that means, "crazy". His long lashes flickered momentarily then he withdrew again into his castle of silence.

I was glad that he didn't have to wait for his bag. The official swept him off through customs and immigration and I thought he was lost even from me now.

We saw him again standing at the arrival gate. Still alone, unwanted, unheeded. Anonymous and secret among the throng joyously greeting their absent loved ones. I felt a surge of anger at whoever was supposed to be meeting this boy. How dare they leave him here unmet and alone. Had he not been through enough? I wondered not for the first time if he was going to a school, maybe the acclaimed International School at The Hague. If so I cursed the stupid school staff who had let him down at the start of a new term.

I wished I could have rescued this sad pale unwanted boy. I would have taken him anywhere that evening. Even back to Turkey. I felt powerless and ineffectual.

My friend had to wait for his train, and went back to see if the boy had been met. He just told me that the boy was still standing there waiting all alone at the arrival gate long after everyone else, including me had gone home.

Kabouter

17.5.99