“Sister Marie Claire has been excited about your arrival for weeks; she’s even more intense than usual, which I didn’t believe possible. Do you really think God’s sent us as many angels as we need? It’s an optimistic thought, even for a priest, isn’t it?” Father Robineau had been gone exactly one week and the young priest from Hungary was here already. Well, the church certainly doesn’t waste time, Hanley thought.
“I was told you were at the airstrip. Jumma was good enough to bring me. This is a beautiful old airplane you have. I was told you flew it here all the way from America. How amazing. Was the trip difficult?”
“The food in Iceland was a bit tricky and the customs people on Port Sudan never write anymore, but no, other than the length of the trip, it was not a problem. This model Beech has been flying safely for over sixty years. It’s a workhorse and, modified, has some length to its range. The ocean crossings were better than I expected, particularly the weather. I was lucky. Until I arrived in Sudan, it was a good experience, if you like to fly.” Hanley smiled slightly and turned to the plane. He put his hand on the nose again and said, “When I was a kid, I saw one of these fly over my uncle’s farm at a very low altitude. I heard it coming long before it cleared the trees over a low hill. It was painted a sky-blue with white trim. It was one of those clear, dry, warm summer days that seem like a dream even when you’re living it. The sky was a dark blue and everything seemed to glow with an unnatural clarity, you know? My uncle’s dog went crazy, barking and chased it after it flew overhead, running across the field as if it was a migrating monster bird flying north. Two of his cows trotted the other way, to get away from the noise, I suppose. Anyway, I fell in love instantly and bought this one when I could afford it. I spent several years restoring it. It handled the trip well.”
The young priest said, “Sometimes God sends us messages in ways we never recognize. It is something even the most gifted of us cannot fathom. The time and signs we are given by God never stop, not even in Sudan. Einstein thought he found the right way by looking at time and space. I believe time and thought are more interesting, perhaps a more correct combination. I have just read that scientists are looking at ‘dark matter’, an invisible element which they believe makes up most of the universe. I have an interest in this. What if dark matter is God’s thought or God’s spirit enveloping us? Instead of time and space, maybe it is really time and spirit. It would explain much that physicists can’t. They are looking for physical rather than spiritual proof. That may also explain why physicists have, of late, become such creative speculators, would it not?”
“You are way past me at this point, Father. I can’t program a clock radio properly. That’s how well I manage time. Programming the clock of the universe is up to God, not me. Right now, I’m worried about how I’ll manage getting this plane a tune-up before the end of the year.”
“Don’t worry; I believe you will find a way. You seem to have found your way very well so far, isn’t that true, Jumma?” Jumma walked up behind Hanley from the back of the plane. He smiled and said, “I’m sorry, Father, I did not hear what you said.”
“I said I believe God has helped Mr Martin find his way to us and to Sudan.”
“Yes, we have been blessed to have Mr Martin and his plane here with us. Sister Marie Claire says he is an answer to a prayer she has been saying for a long time. He is her winged angel, she said.”
“She’s full of … sorry, she overstates things at times. She can’t help it, she’s French,” Hanley said. He felt his face go red. He knew what Jumma was really referencing. Sister Marie Claire seemed to know he would fly the rescue mission before he did and he resented it. She obviously confided her belief to Jumma and Hanley wished she hadn’t. He didn’t believe she would tell anyone else; still, he wished they talked before she had spoken with Jumma.
Father Laslo smiled. He began to examine the plane, walking slowly around, starting at the nose and moving to the left wing. On the way past, he touched the propeller for a second, his finger running along the edge and then trailing across the plane of the dull, black blade. He continued around, occasionally touching metal as he passed, as if he was blind and getting to know an object by feeling it. Watching him, Hanley had the impression the priest was trying to learn something from the plane, some history, perhaps something Hanley didn’t know. Maybe a flight that had some particular meaning or event attached to it, something. Who knew, Hanley thought.
When he reached the tail section, the priest stopped and bowed his head. After a brief moment, he resumed his inspection of the plane. The brief stop at the tail spooked Hanley for some reason. When the priest rounded the right wing, Hanley asked, “Does everything look all right to you?”
Father Laslo stopped, looked at the airplane for another moment and said, “Yes, yes, it will do just fine.” He turned and walked back toward the Land
