The interior of the airport is dimly lit. I am the only one waiting in the waiting area; it is deserted. And so I stand by the window and watch from behind the glass as the small plane descends and lands and speeds down the runway and with it, that odd sound as the wheels hit the ground
There is only a handful of passengers that empty out, all still wearing the mandatory face masks while disembarking; a small cluster, I can hear them speaking Canadian French as they walk coming through the arrivals/departures passageway as if emerging through a wormhole and Jörn, the light catching the gold of his tied-back hair, wearing a dark gray shirt and black well-cut trousers with his signature leather boots is the last to file out, carrying a small case with a gray trench coat over his arm, he sees me and removes the face covering as he walks towards me
“No disguise?” I ask him and notice he looks tired as I hold back but then, putting down his case he reaches for me and draws me to him
“No, Stina lets me do as I please these days,” he tells me
“You’re tired,” I say looking up at him, but then ....the rush....the one that always comes looking into that stare; like being caught in a blaze of a meteor burst
“Let’s see, three connecting flights, and then a three hour layover in Ontario—I guess, maybe just a little stiff from the seats....” he shrugs inclining his head; but then he suddenly surprises me, he reaches to take hold, gripping the back of my head, he presses his mouth to me, as he is not usually public, if ever, but as there is no one around and —it has been almost a month....and it shows just how long as his mouth becomes more intimate, “did you miss me?” he asks stepping back to look at me with a wry, wicked smile, not bothering to wait for my answer as he picks up his case to start out
I smile,
“did you miss me?” but I don’t bother to wait for an answer either and say, “you say—she lets you do as you please these days— why is that?” I ask as I rush to keep up with his quick pace out the door
But now looks at me pointedly and glances around with a cloak and dagger expression, that silently says ‘not here,’ but verbally asks,
“where are you parked?”
“The usual place,” I say as we step out
which is round the back a little ways. By now it is dark outside and the stars are all out and clear. But I notice his preoccupied mood. His pace is fast and I almost have to run and so doubling my pace I nearly sprint in order to head him off, reaching the left of the car first. He goes straight to the trunk area to put his things in the back as I slide into the driver’s seat.
he comes over as I start the car,”Move over,” he, anyway, says
I climb over, but not right away,”humph....”
He shuts the door,
“duva, about this trip—there are things going on I can’t tell you about.”
“Are you working for Stina now?”
“Not for— I don’t work for anybody— but.... you know.... it’s —government stuff. I am telling you this and that is actually more than I should. So, don’t ask me. Ok? Obviously, that’s what kept me so long....” it is once we reach the highway that he says in a lowered serious tone, “you have made jokes about me being a spy and — the Cold War. You may joke but.... things are going on,” he glances seriously at me “I may be coming and going a lot more right now and I should just warn you I won’t be able to tell you what it’s about.”
I get a chill,
“Ok. I won’t ask. Understood....”
For a long moment he just drives and is silent as he keeps his eyes straight forward on the road. Then he looks at me, “I am just telling you so you don’t think it’s something else.”
“Ok....” and turn to watch the road too. “The deer are out,” I say, hoping to change the subject, “and other ....things” I mumble as I think.... about his spy life and wonder. I did recently come across things in the news, some things I read which I suspect is what it has to do with— only knowing this, I find, it is far from reassuring. “But, Jörn— I mean .... so .... like.... are you in danger?” I have to ask
He looks at me and smiles,
“so you did miss me,” and reaches for my hand
“You change the subject....”
“Oh, my father asked me to ask you something,” he says
“And you do it again.”
He puts his hand back on the wheel, but continues anyway,
“he’s bored— you know, the opera house has had to be closed a long time from .... “ and instead shrugs to silently say; skipping the obvious, he doesn’t bother to say, as we both know why, “and even now with the restrictions it limits the schedules— so he wants to chat with you about something ....”
This surprises me,
“Chat?”
“FaceTime—“he says
“FaceTime! Ewww! I hate FaceTime, you know that! Ugh—chat with me.... why not just use a phone?—can’t we?”
“Because he wants to FaceTime—“ he’s trying not to laugh at me, “he wants to show you something,” he shrugs
“I didn’t know he was so savvy with modern technology—“
“My father?” he laughs, “he’s worse than me with gadgets. No—it’s you who’s clueless.”
“Clueless?—I’m not! How am I clueless?” but he just laughs at me and does not answer which then leaves me wonder, “anyway....” and mumble to myself under my breath, “so what is it like to travel in this? It must seem a lot different there now too?”
He just shrugs and makes a scowl and says, “like everywhere,” and just says, “more stressful.... I was thinking about quarantine —for you. It feels uneasy sometimes, coming back here— how bad it was for you— but I did a test before .... so he has an idea—my father—“ and he looks at me with an odd look, “it’s an interesting idea, actually. About my opera.... “
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he glances at me, “....and Electra’s dictionary....”
“What—?what do you mean?” I look sharply at him
“Well, like I said; he’s bored and losing his mind needing to keep himself busy, but—don’t look like that, its a good idea, I think—I mean, it could possibly work, and with memberships and some imagination it could even profit.”
“What is it you are saying— I’m missing something, Electra’s dictionary? —your opera? your father?”
“Well, the opera house has been empty for months, he has all those stages — and all those empty theaters at the opera house,” he shrugs, “mostly all empty, not even being used....”
I get a sense of dreading apprehension and say,
“well, that is one way to change the subject.”
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