Page 4 - Silent Violence

Dhahran, 1405

Learning to breathe. That was how it felt at the
door. My face was at an open oven and I was
gagging in front my famous fig cake at gas Mark 5.
I was so surprised I hesitated. The cabin-
controlled air had lulled me. The airhostess with
the wraparound teeth said, "Thank you for flying
British Airways." All the hostesses could have
exchanged the aisle for a catwalk. I wondered
what presents and marriage proposals they had
been offered. Was the route revered or reviled? I
didn't know. I smiled and stepped out into the
heavy heat.

They never returned my journal, but from a
letter to my parents I see that it was 23°C. This
was surprising because it was twenty to ten at
night. I knew this meant serious heat, not the fun-
loving Mediterranean sort. And I always thought it
became rock-cracking cold at night.

An old diary notes that on this very day British
Summertime ended. Here, endless sunshine was
forecast, but unfortunately not endless
summertime.

Page 4