Mysterious flight over Java (short story)


First part


I have little to say about my homeland and friends. Perhaps the length of years, today sixty-one, motivated me if it did not obsess me, from traveling the world and finding its mysteries, and alienating me from another, for few I can find trust, friends, with no personal interest in every corner and on my charge.

I thought this story might fit the appropriate hypothesis – in some cases, therefore, the hard-to-tell story I have to tell should not be considered: a crazy and unfinished depiction of my imagination, more than a constructive experience of my mind and its reality, into which would dream a day or a fantasy: from now on, I want to undo it here and now.

From a small and concrete airport in Guam (in the summer of 1999), I was halfway around the world on a trip to Java to see Borobudur, an old Buddhist ruin, in Indonesia, built of some two million volcanic stone blocks. The plane landed in Bali, it was a kind of nervous restless flight that haunted me, as if I had witnessed from the window of my bow, cape and everything, with a huge snake around my neck and my long body, hung along the spirit belly.

The plane I was driving from Bali to Java was a beautiful old looking crowd, with four propellers and only two rows of seats, each on one side of the belly of the plane, was, or seemed to be, loaded with some kind of supplies, the rear seats of the plane were removed, used for storing boxes on the boxes, there were inscriptions ‘fragile’ on them, and the name of several brands of whiskey, which I didn’t notice at first, but when I went to the toilet, before take-off.

Once in the air, the ride was awkward at first; I even held my breath as we climbed through some clouds and surrounding winds.

When we set off, it was almost evening, and it was amazing that a heavy plane first crashed to the ground, as did the color of twilight penetrating the darkness and beyond. I watched her intently, until the sunset disappeared, onto one fine line of fog.

The moon was a dusty orange, with a distinctive cloud or shade of charcoal, comparing to that figure I saw during the flight from Guam to Bali, then when I blinked and zoomed back to look at another view, a quick change passed and the moon it looked transparent — as if I could see it through him.

The air on the plane became hot and cloudy, unbearable, just hot. It seemed that the wind I noticed outside the plane was no more, he died and left, or we left him behind us on the plane, by the way.

It got so hot at the end of the first hour of flight, I felt like someone had lit a candle inside me, and it was burning from my belly over my chest to my throat, it was hovering, vibrating inside my lungs, Twelve passengers on a plane with me, it seemed being that in the same condition I was in, I experienced the same illnesses.

The crew made up of pilots and pilots, one of them, mostly with Indonesian stocks, paced the aisle between the two sets of seats, stretching their legs I guess he wasn’t looking at us on purpose, as if he didn’t want to deal with it. complaints. I simply turned my head toward the moon so I could see the full picture, or it might have been a premonition or an illusion of an evil angel or messenger.

To be sure, every appearance of that devil gave me some kind of acceptable, if I don’t understand a possible message about a fateful day or maybe a nightmare with open eyes.

I was uncomfortable, which prevented me from falling asleep, I was surprised several times by the muffling of the loud engines of the plane, and with it I returned to my noisy sound, the smooth meandering caused by the rapid and constant revolution of the propeller. the center of the plane, more balanced as people ascended to the bathroom.

Then the plane crashed as if it had hit a rock in the sky, and a few more rocks hit the plane, swallowing the entire top of the plane, from the cockpit to the tail end. The extreme fury of the explosion came out of the propeller and completely disappeared, after one minute, the weight of the back of the plane seemed to be retreating, pulling the plane down, slowed down trying to stay above the sea of ​​greenery below us. Immeasurable pressure on the three engines still in operation, and strong frustration grew among the twelve.

“But what miracle could save us?” I was wondering.

Everyone was stunned by the shock of losing the engine.

I found myself, holding the seat firmly in front of me, firmly, not with great difficulty, but strictly, because the heat caused dizziness in my head.

Below me I knew there was a sea of ​​greenery, a vortex and a current of wind pulling the plane down, trying to pull it, it was like the plane was crashing into a vortex, I hoped it was short-lived, but the power was to stun the plane from behind.

I expected the pilots to be able to give us some comfort; their efforts failed faster than the plane. I felt like packed sardines, in one of those nice cans they were wrapped in. They all looked a little overwhelmed.

Now we were in the second hour of flight, of two and a half hours of flight, we lost speed, and the sea of ​​greenery, the tops of the trees, was below us, we were too close, sometimes I thought it was so close to fifty meters, and the speed at which we set off, I concluded that we would collide, there would be considerable injuries to the passengers, and of course me.

The violence of the wind, brought considerable danger to the rear of the plane, with horror I believed, at all times, that hundreds of boxes of glasses filled with glass would fly every time. And in our besieged state we could inevitably leave this life right here and now, in the belly of a plane, before we crash and unsuccessfully, that premonition is soon confirmed.

For a full five minutes, during the flight, the substance in the boxes — its quantity — flew without great difficulty forward, in the direction of us passengers — twelve hundred bottles of whiskey defying the budget, flew like a tornado, rolled like a storm, with an insignificant variety of glass and bottles, like benches, fragrant yellowish liquids fly at every turn and emit no decisive direction, only clouds of broken glass and unstable rage in the stomach, and the plane began to sink into the green sea. We all became paralyzed.

As far as I could have guessed, we had an hour of flight left and there was no landing until we reached Yogyakarta: at this point the attention was restarted by the appearance of overhead trees, the lights from the plane gave anxiety and a gloomy glow without much evidence, what we what was seen was really what we thought we were seeing, inside this pretentious green, dark massive garden.

One emotion continued to dwell within me, I don’t have a name for it, it was just there, as if it had its hands both squeezed and squeezed, and then it tried to nullify my soul. I don’t have a psychoanalysis I can give beyond that, except, let’s move on to parapsychology, and then the feeling I was getting had the key. To a theological and psychological mind like mine, the best I can consider are the evil beings involved in this flight, the female snake, the one with the wing-like caps, the snake around the neck, the one that appeared to me – at this point, three or more times, and would appear a few more times. At the time, I wouldn’t have told anyone about my vague intuition, had I not added another origin to this mysterious flight, but nonetheless, a whole new entity was added to my mind that was dragging my soul.

This creature, even having her hat pressed tightly to her head, covered almost everything, including her ears and neck, but you could see the tips of her ears extending beyond his mask, and her face, thin but graceful, a devilish grace.

As the plane landed again, I thought about my destiny, trying to at least focus on it, somehow trying, this whole thing, that flight that is, which is, incomprehensible. As I now looked around, they all appeared in silence, as if wrapped in prayer or contemplation, contemplation, meditation, essentially, concealment, did not want to see, investigate what was happening, wanted to land in a country hotel, and call him at night, and do all they had planned, after sucking; thus they remained in their private cabin, within their mind.

I took a few minutes and wrote in my diary about this topic, this flight, realizing then, I wouldn’t have a chance to share it with the world if I procrastinated, hoping someone would find my notes on the magazine.

Looking out the window of the plane window, I thought of the precarious chance of a safe landing of this plane, noting also that the structure of the plane was, as its general equipment was built, all negative in the belief that it could land. surely, except at its original destination, what it was not was a solid plane, by no means at this time.

Observing the moon again, or towards the moon, the haze around it, like overgrown shadows, deviations, then that feeling appeared in my stomach, a woman, an insight flashed, among the shadows, an incomprehensible memory of old devil’s fairy tales, and ancient stories came to me by heart. He seemed to look at the metal of the plane, its engines, the old material from which they were made, it was gentle, unsuitable for this extreme weather and chaos, its torture.

The implication seemed overly curious, perhaps characteristic of the stars, or held back by rage, the fact that the plane was still in flight. You knew the old plane was beaten in the plane, certainly full of memories of years past, but a wonderful plane as I already mentioned, wonderful in that it was old-fashioned and still working.

About half an hour left before landing. The chief pilot passed through the aisle; he paid no attention to me, though I stared in his direction wanting some kind of information, but he was utterly unaware of my presence, like his friend who had walked down that same hallway an hour or so ago. I noticed that his knees were trembling, his shoulders and back were slightly bent, as if in despair.

I looked out the window again and in shock the impo’s eyes were bright, gray, looking at mine, face to face.

The plane now looked dead, my mind, my ears, could not hear the hum of the engine, the propeller in motion. It seemed to me, now we needed that miracle I was talking about some time ago. This plane was a huge part of the doomed weight, hovering for the last miles before landing; the final flood could be in the abyss I was muttering.

The female impulse, the female snake of the devil, looked like a surprising seagull, but on the other hand, I accepted it as an allusion, a demon from the deep, limited somehow to tell me the forbidden story of imminent doom. As confusing as it sounds, I can’t explain its impact on me, but it was influenced by the constant current of this plane pulling the plane down and now all four engines stopped; what kept him in the water?

Now I saw her face to face, but as I expected her to pay me a little attention, more on casual observation, yet that feeling attracted me inside me, which I considered her influence on my psyche. Her forehead wrinkled, her skin turned gray, sybilical, as if she could read my mind, as if it were an outdated long-forgotten obstacle in my life, wanting to keep me alive to bring me back to her monarch individually, she lost me somewhere along the way, but between herself she wanted to steer the plane, if not in confusion, to destroy it and me along with it.

She even muttered to herself, as did the two pilots as they walked down the aisle, as if in a trance. She said something in a somewhat low scary foreign language; her voice reached my ears, from the distance of her being off the plane. I looked inside. Her eyes felt bad.

When I looked around, they all seemed shapeless, like water or sky, like the empty void of space, and now the wind, and its current, like the tide, was coming with terrible speed and thunder, similar to the fall of an iceberg. from its ends into the sea. Understanding this horror is utterly impossible to describe, it was obvious that the plane was now under the control of elements, of which I had no knowledge, and to be honest, I admit that the wild evil thing had most of the control at this very moment.

The crew was now both walking on foot, the couples were expressionless, a loss of hope, darkness in their eyes. We had about fifteen minutes to land, so in the meantime the wind was still lowering the plane, but something was lifting it. The lights appeared to our right, then to our left, and we spun in a tornado like a storm, in circles, faster and faster, and the walls of the plane began to twist and somehow I got lost in the darkness, was up on to the tree looking down, my body was on the ground, not in the tree.

What I remember was: the plane started roaring, as if the engines were starting, and the thunder of the wind, its storm stopped, and the pilots returned to their cockpits, and I heard voices saying, “Oh God! Get off! “

Let me conclude for the present. Now lying in front of me was my true description, for the horror was gone, but on the ground forever dead, there were twelve passengers and two pilots. It was a dense jungle in front of me, unlimited by leaves. I could not, or would not, write about my unspeakable misery of that unforgivable crime, in which, I believe, I had a hand.

(As the years passed this epoch, even the officials in Bali and Java were silent, for on that day, during the flight, there were no windmills, and they were as confused as I, I suppose, or at least so it was written in the report, saying in fact that the plane crashed due to unknown circumstances.

I strongly felt over time the need to develop this story, for several reasons, perhaps the cause of too much anxiety: the tendency to do so, thence with a pencil in hand, over the years giving up their previous actions, and now I remember.)

The second part


So he showed up, I say, he showed up, I’m in the hospital, so they told me, and now I have a visitation, a visitor, a mask and a cloak, pulled on my knees, she whispers, her name, “Azalea” friend, a snake, she’s thrown around the neck like a collar.

It’s Azalea, she doesn’t whisper anymore, she says,

“In me, in my death, people don’t know if it’s their own, what the end result is, they’re slowly killing themselves. You’ve defeated early death: but for me I’m the dead world, Heaven and any hope that could be. From there I have to go, and after my death, according to my image, which was so long ago, you will see me, as I am, muttering under my breath, “antagonist,” a gigantic paradox really nailed and overwhelmed with iron truths, but a delusion, I i’m in a prison-like domain, limited you could say, soaked in misery, i’m, like you were, now you know how i felt, how death approached you like a shadow, you were thrown into the valley of compassion, i’m a slave to my own circumstances , beyond your human hope, control or compassion, your comrades were a bit of an oasis of mortality, a fatal misfortune, if they had prayed to God, as you, Christ, to remind him, he would surely have stopped their downfall, and eventually died a victim the horrors I have created, and you call it the mystery of y, or the vision, of humanity o forgets, my species, are descendants of a race, imaginative to many – a race with temperament and remarkable, fully inherited from the family of angels, although our character, strongly developed, became addicted to evil, unspeakable passions, even stronger than man, from there we left our first household and its law, and in an age in which man is guided by my kind and our wills, we have become the master of your actions with your ancestors. “

I noticed that I was in a square case, which consisted of a bed, curtains and some medical equipment that looked antique. The building I was in, or the room, didn’t look like a solid structure. The dark guardian angel paced the room, intertwined with another voice, unseen, thoughts piled up like a pile of books, much enchanted, completely lost.

This morning’s encounter with a dark angel named Azalea was like a morning call from my bed. There seemed to be some mental sorcery: being a Christian had its advantages, its exceptions, but on the other hand, doom was, the superior and shadowy world haunted you like lost cattle and haunted you a little longer than usual and tried to exclude from their heads existence so they can use you for a playground.

Despite my so-called bravado, I was scared. All this was psychologically trying on me, to face this side of the world directly and indirectly, with my constant struggle against humanity and that it cannot be overcome, I told myself that I have to face it moment by moment, if I need to change myself for a moment , I watch, I listen, but I never thought I would have to merge with them in any way of affection.

I was torn, strange as it may seem, in spite of constant anxiety, the rivalry that intrigued me by that unbearable spirit, this was a dangerous part, their quarrel world was if nothing else, messy and hated, feelings of such towards all living Things, living in an anomalous state, they lived resolutely hostile, but I was still interested. And now she was gone.

I think she was pleased that it produced in me that effect, as it had during the past week in the hospital, this little hospital in the jungle, some fifty miles from Yogyakarta, I became extremely disgusted over time that it no longer appeared, as a result of that, showing his unbearable arrogance. I was told in a secret dream, Serr’el, my holy guardian angel, to let him go, to stop dwelling in that world, his voice was infinitely distant, perhaps because I was trying to block it, making it a delusion, more than reality, but as much as his voice faded, I heard him.

My evil destiny, I knew it was in the hands of Azalea, and I knew somewhere along the life line that she would haunt me again (maybe soon), as if in ecstasy and to prove, really prove, her mysterious dominance and domain, inflated I , but on the other hand I knew I had to run away from her because it was hopeless in the long run, maybe vanity, but I was running away no matter what. Officiality, she stepped into my life, between me and her ambition, where, truth be told, I had not sought her, and now I would have to run to the very ends of the earth to avoid her.

Over and over again, in my secret dream, during the second week of my hospital stay, because my wounds and cuts, bruises, etc. healed nicely, Serr’el, it occurred to me, there was a war going on, and I panicked, Azalea and Serr’el.

“I know who he is,” Azalea said one morning, “… where did he come from and why?” she asked.

I gave no answer, and her form burned with hatred, lit up like a burning stain. Serr’el blocked her, and she was frustrated. And there was a bitter delusion in her eyes. A bad excuse to huddle around my bed, and she forced me to notice her.

The last day in bed, just before I was supposed to be released, I woke up, and she was in my bed, naked, and in the end she was her huge snake, she was attached and crap. She whispered to me, body and chest millimeters away from me,

“Whoever has hindered my ambition to inherit the enemy of the bow in this, give yourself to me and show yourself to your recognized rival, you are mine.”

I replied, “An evil genius, with a lot of magnificent wisdom, the omnipresence of God and Christ, and my guardian angel watching (assumptions inspired me), you forced yourself into my bed, beautiful as you are with the years behind you, unscrupulous self-confidence to be thrown into the prison house of angels, or into the abyss, but from my bed. “

Now she felt horror as she looked into my face and saw the firmness. Absolute anger of rage arose around her. Then Serr’el broke off, he had chains with him, and she saw it, a crimson burning belt tying Doer of evil. A facade of black horror covered her face.

She became helpless, and before my eyes appeared utter weakness and obedience to his subjective will. And as he wound a burning chain around her, and in his insane prison, her hereditary temperament spiraled out of control, a noise came from her lips, under the diminution of power and influence, the chain burning through her was trapped.

At that moment I knew the masquerade was over, and now I was more free to breathe, I was no longer in a suffocating room, she left, not to say with “I don’t regret,” or with a contemptuous motive, it was a hoax, and yet she taught me , and I could be one, an emerging villain, if Serr’el hadn’t been there to help, she would have directed me to death, to follow her.

After leaving this small clinic of a demolished infirmary, I headed to my destinations, ran into the hospital walls and they asked me to stay a few more days, but no, I commanded the ghost and headed for the picnic area outside the hospital walls. Indeed, it was such a moment, for I turned to the hospital only once, and a mighty force compelled me to walk forward.

“Close the door,” I mutter, “I’m not coming back.”

I was no longer honest or completely confused as I waited for the bus to take me to Yogyakarta, so I continued to visit the great shrine, the bravest Buddhist shrine in the world, and there I found extreme calm walking its foundations, Borobudur: I must claim it is the second place in the world, where I felt these instincts of peace and gratitude and calm.

The third part

“Hotel room”

And so once a fleeing shepherd cast a shadow, once a wolf that he chased, now in the garb of burning chains. The wolf, Azalea (to whom the writer wrote so many names during the trial) was thrown – like a leper – into an abyss, a prison house for angels, with no door to escape from, And he, who once inhaled the coin, left it with his immortal agony. In the end she was not denied, no opportunity to be a Christian. Between flight and hotel, better said, between flight and accident, his angelic friend (Serr’el) never left his side. Perhaps his pride brought him into the drum of Azalea, but he still showed the ability to endure when confronted, tolerating alien force within his troubled dust, in his own country. So from that enduring dust, as if fighting on an icy river, sometimes silently, he faced the supernatural, and now he had almost faded to the zenith.

Here was an encounter, he thought, an angelic force that did not throw its power over ancient Jerusalem or, in that respect, ancient Rome: that did not knock on the temple door, which seemed to originate from some Gothic dream, the bow-enemy of God himself . In addition, passing bishops and saints to subdue him, which was of little value to his old friends, and perhaps to the world at large, and here in his hotel room – his last day in Java, after seeing the places that came to be seen, he turned away from the window, it was as if he foresaw her voice, the sound of her voice, a motionless, thin look around the room, curiosity awoke in him again, as if the pounding of hooves leaps in his heart: he became weightless , and all that curiosity dissolved like a mass of burning autumn dead leaves, he remembered Serrela’s words: “Let it go!”

As he sat on the edge of his bed, he remembered — the many corpses lying on his runway, in the dark empty spots of the Indonesian jungle, where the plane had crashed, a month earlier. The bodies were quite severed, he thought at the time, as if the bodies had been used for a bayonet exercise.

He remembered now the ugly look on them, the unstitched flesh!

He was in it, he was in a spiritual contemptuous war, with all the consequences of a real war, the one he was in in 1971 in Vietnam was smaller (because he knew who he was fighting against, and he knew the chances, and he had the upper arm, newer weapons, equipment).

He was faithful and never unreliable and tried to be invisible; similar to this little war, now an old event.

Brilliant and dazzling, he sat on the edge of his bed, watching the news on television. We crumpled a few crackers in hand and ate them slowly, piece by piece. He knew somehow, most people could not escape their fate, destiny, or ruin; but he learned in this odyssey, faith brought him, only he has one little seed, it succeeded.

The fourth part


I admit that I took up the rest of the day, thinking about flying in the morning, back to Guam, then Japan and San Francisco, and then home to St. Louis. Paul, Minnesota; I also thought about resolving this enigma, which resided in the supernatural realm and resided in my head. I said, “what a fool I was not to go straight to Serrel first,” even though it actually occurred to me. Now I said to myself, “I didn’t want to be stopped if I didn’t know more about this enigma.”

Tomorrow morning I arrived by taxi from the hotel to the airport, by coincidence, I was told that the plane would not fly. I found this strange, for there were no impending storms of which I had heard, but only a light southerly breeze; but there was nothing I could do about it, just go back to my hotel room and rest.

The next day the plane was ready and full of passengers, everything was as it would look, with a normal party for the airport and a plane getting ready to travel, the attendees checked everything to make sure they had seat belts. , I arrived, I noticed a ten minute delay and I got a little special attention for it. As I sat in my seat, my old curiosity now returned — obviously, not quite an established point with me yet, I wondered what the hell he was doing, where she was, even though I had my ideas. “Why do we think that way,” I wondered, and now the plane was on the runway.

One thing annoyed me a little though, this plane had an unpleasant smell, great discomfort, it emitted a strong, inconsistent stench, obviously I could recognize one that brought me back to hell, because everyone was talking and enjoying themselves, so obviously , I was the only one to find out.

I was now aware that Serr’el was somewhere around me, and that scent was meant especially for me, to remind me of my misanthropic friend, who immediately took away my curiosity, if not curiosity.

So I hadn’t given up on the idea of ​​guessing where he was and what he was doing before, coming to a conclusion I didn’t want to know, the smell was gone, as fast as it appeared. Now and later, I knew.