I am in a creative writing class right now. You know what that means--even better blog entries! I thought I would put a few samples of my writing up of the more exciting stories throughout the semester. Round 1: a very short story.
The situation started innocently enough. The tense atmosphere in the Tel Aviv airport was no more than usual and perhaps a little mild, comparatively. The Israeli soldiers, most of them women, paced around questioning anyone who looked suspicious. In Tel Aviv, this was everyone who wasn’t Israeli, and even some who were. In such distressing times, security was more important than hospitality.
He was a German man, middle aged, and standing indiscriminately by his luggage. Perhaps it was his age or his impatient German manner, but the Israeli guard closest to us chose him for a random passport check. After looking through his passport, she began to question him. “Where are you going?” “Cairo,” he answered. “What will you be doing in Cairo?” The man, stifling his irritation, sighed. “I am attending a meeting of Lutheran church leaders for a week of training.”
His answers were short and impatient. Perhaps he didn’t know this was a dangerous combination in an Israeli airport, but he seemed eager to get his luggage searched (a standard procedure for all who fly out of Tel Aviv), checked, and into the boarding area. The guard, sensing his frustration, continued questioning in a methodical, condescending manner.
“Do you have an itinerary for your time in Cairo?”
“Yes,” he answered, “but it’s all in German,” seeming to hope that this language barrier was key to his quick escape into the boarding area.
“Can I see it?” The question was innocent enough, although her condescendingly sweet voice offered no explanation of why she would need to see the itinerary of this passenger, which was written in a language she did not speak.
By this time the man was visibly irritated. Other passengers close to him in line averted their eyes, trying to avoid the barrage of questions they would be assailed with if they showed too much interest.
“It’s in my luggage. Do you really want me to pull it out? It’s all in German.”
“Yes, please.” The Israeli soldier was insistent.
The man sighed heavily and pulled a small spiral bound booklet from his luggage. After handing it to the Israeli guard with a look that said, “See, it’s all in German,” she turned to him and said, opening to the middle, “Translate this for me.”
I nervously edged away, grateful it was my turn for my luggage to be searched. Since I was next to him in line, I was a prime target for questioning if I stood too close. I could still hear the man talking loudly as my luggage was being searched.
“It says that at this time we will have a meeting, at 12 we will eat lunch,…”
The soldier interrupted him. “What about this page?”
My luggage cleared, I quickly left the area. The atmosphere was so tense in line I didn’t even care when the male soldier searching my luggage had broken the perfume bottle I bought in Egypt. Even after he offered to get his supervisor to take care of the situation, I refused. I knew what would happen if he got his supervisor: “Where did you buy this perfume bottle?”
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