Emelin

Emelin

by Oleg Bazylewicz

The late Monterrey-Chicago flight was half-empty. Jennifer, a pleasant-looking flight attendant with big grey eyes and thick curly hair, was pushing her duty-free shopping cart down the aisle of the Boeing 777 cabin. Some passengers were buying some items, and Jennifer, friendly and polite, was receiving payments and printing out the receipts.

She pushed the cart and stopped by Miguel, a well-built mestizo man about 60, wearing a black shirt and paging through the duty-free magazine, obviously ready to buy a certain item.  He was sitting by the aisle, 36H, alone in the row of three seats. His neat suitcase was under his seat.

“Duty-free for you, Sir!”, Jennifer said.

“Yes, please,” replied Miguel with almost no accent. “I think I need this ink-pen!” he added and showed her the respective page in the magazine.

“Oh, yes, this is really a good one!” admitted Jennifer, taking the ink pen from the drawer. “It might seem a bit heavy, but I reckon it gives you a nice feeling when you hold it in your hand.”

“Exactly! That is what I am looking for...” he paused and read her badge. “Jennifer. I used to draw with an ink pen quite a lot when I was young. But abandoned this habit later on. Just had no time, you know...”

“I guess, now you will have more time,” she suggested.

Miguel’s face slightly darkened.

“Yes, I am. But you never know… Well… how much for it?

Something was disheartening in the way he spoke, so Jennifer decided not to continue the conversation, just sold the item to Miguel, politely smiled, and pushed her cart forward. But she noted that the man carefully examined the ink pen he had bought – it was branded, well-designed, and pretty expensive – and then he kissed the pen, which was pretty strange, of course, and put it in his pocket.

“There must be a sad story behind all this,” Jennifer thought as she maneuvered the shopping cart down the aisle, reaching the rear galley of the cabin. There, just near the door, she spotted a middle-aged woman, her slim silhouette illuminated by the sun’s slanting rays that streamed through the window, highlighting her thick greying hair. Clad in a well-cut yet slightly outdated pale pink dress, she had a silver heart-shaped medallion on her neck and held an aged wooden rosary.

“Oh, I apologize!” Jennifer said, aware that some passengers sought solace here in prayer during flights. “I just need to dismantle my cart here…”

“It’s all right, dear. I’ve finished,” the woman replied. “I came here to pray for my husband. He’s ill and stubbornly refuses surgery. If only he would agree, there might be a chance.”

“Perhaps he should listen to you,” Jennifer suggested, smiling sympathetically.

“He’s always been an obstinate ass,” the woman chuckled, and they both shared a moment of understanding. Jennifer smiled and nodded.

“I feel much better now. I think my prayer is answered,” the woman said and briefly smiled. “I’m seated at 36I. My name is Emelin,” she introduced herself, nodding before walking into the aisle.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Jennifer responded, then bent down to attend to her cart. As she looked up, expecting to see Emelin in the aisle, she discovered an empty space. Confusion creased her brow, and she hurried into the cabin.

The seat labeled 36I was vacant, and Miguel was still sitting on the next one, 36H.

“Excuse me,” Jennifer began, “There should be a woman… sitting beside you.”

“No, this seat is unoccupied,” the man replied.

“She was wearing a pale-pink dress, perhaps a touch old-fashioned,” Jennifer persisted. “Slender, with thick hair, a lovely face… A heart-shaped medallion on her neck… A wooden rosary… And she mentioned her name was Emelin.”

Miguel’s face was getting terrified, and his dark eyes began wandering.

“Esto es imposible,” he mumbled. “Where did you see her?”

“Over there… In the aft galley…”

Miguel rose from his seat, grabbed his suitcase and took dumbfounded Jennifer to the tail section of the plane.

“Was she here?” he asked when they entered the rear galley.

The cart was still there, but there was no sign of Emelin.

“Yes, I just came here to dismantle my cart, and saw her. I think she was praying...”

“Did she tell you anything?

“Yeah... She said she was worrying about her husband. That he had to undergo an operation but refused. And that her prayer was answered... And that her husband had been a stubborn ass, sorry...”

Jennifer was trying to recall the conversation. As she was talking, Miguel got into his suitcase, ferreted inside, retrieved a folder and opened it. His hands were a bit trembling now.

There were several ink-pen sketches, apparently old. One of them was a portrait – clearly, it was Emelin, wearing the same dress and medallion, but looking much younger, happy, and smiling. It was a nice artwork, showing the talent, the skill, and quick eye of the artist.

“Is it her?” he asked, his voice quivering.

Jennifer, visibly pale, could only nod. Miguel suddenly calmed down and sighed deeply, shaking his head.

“Is it your wife?” asked Jennifer, who still did not understand anything.

“Yes,” said Miguel. “Some time ago, she told me I should get a nice new ink pen and come back to drawing pictures. She liked this hobby of mine very much.”

“But where is she?”

“She is still on this plane. In the cargo hold,” Miguel said quietly, struggling to contain his emotions. “She passed away yesterday. I’m taking her to the funeral.”

He paused, biting his lip. Jennifer only shook her head, flabbergasted.

“Oh, no…” she mumbled.

“We lived in Monterrey for a long time,” continued Miguel. “Now I am taking her home. For the funeral. Our children are meeting us at the airport.”

“Oh, my God! Did I see a ghost??” Jennifer exclaimed.

Her big grey eyes were wide open in terror. Miguel looked up and around.

“Oh, Emelin, why this chick? Why not me?” he lamented. “I would have been so happy to see you one last time...”

Jennifer, still stressful, got a sudden insight.

“Perhaps, she spoke to me because you didn’t want to listen,” she suggested.

“You are right, girl!” replied Miguel, and sighed. “But I will. I promise. Thank you, Emelin. Thank you, Jennifer. I will. I certainly will...”

Miguel mumbled some more undistinguishable words in Spanish and left Jennifer alone in the galley as he walked along the aisle towards his seat.

Jennifer, still stunned, covered her face with her palms.

“Oh, no. I see ghosts. Please, no... Oh, Lord... Why me?” she whispered.

After a short while, still astounded, she pulled herself together and pushed her cart back into the aisle. Trying her best to keep her sanity in place, she walked by row 36, and saw Miguel, leaning back, his eyes closed, and his lips mouthing a prayer.  By his side, in 36I, there was Emelin! She smiled friendly and nodded to Jennifer, as if thanking her and trying to tell her that there was nothing to worry about.

Jennifer, death-pale, managed to return the nod, and pushed the cart forward.