The Fool’s Desire
A Short Story
I was on an airplane for some reason or another. Who knows why. Who cares, really? It was a luxurious plane, a plane I didn’t deserve to be on. We, the passengers, were flying to some designated location and would be arriving within the next hour or so. The captain was reassuring and we were sated creatures. The future, as always, was waiting a few steps ahead of us.
I recall sitting at my window seat near the back of the plane, ignoring the faceless entities surrounding me, staring at me like I was someone important. Was it my new cologne? Did I stink? I was sitting next to a charming woman who had nothing to talk about. The doldrums of transatlantic flight were magnified by intense boredom. Yes, that’s right, Europe. Paris. France. Soon we’d be landing in the post-coital excess of elation, or at least I would. The furthest thing from my mind was the unhappy thoughts of my fellow passengers. Was I going there for business? For pleasure? A rendezvous of some secret nature? My intentions always elude me successfully. I am my own greatest mystery.
The cloudless words of others sifted through my passive mind as my witless female companion rattled on about her latest transgressions…another anonymous individual sucked into the mechanical muncher of souls. Industry. Art. Is there a difference anymore? Take a picture; smile if you want to. Here’s some money. Go buy something nice. There’s that smile! She was a model or some facsimile thereof. Adele is what I’d call her if I were forced to remember or forced to say something. A more fitting name might be Inconsequential. Attempts at cleverness are like notebooks corresponding to a great novel.
At one point or another, I dozed off purposefully to avoid excess conversation. I didn’t intend on landing and immediately checking into some random suite to …Zzzz… away another day. Enough time is wasted as it is. Before long, I was aroused; by that, I mean awoken. Was it a smell? An intoxicating perfume? An essence of beauty? Was it some seventh sense that alerted me to some higher being? Was I in divine presence? Had I transcended? What had happened? I was still aboard the plane, still in my cool, navy leather seat, which was slightly declined. My tray was in its upright position. The forgettable woman next to me had vanished.
The plane seemed different. Did I deserve to be on this airline? Was this a private jet to some lush and exotic location? Was I drunk? Had I been drugged? I didn’t understand as mysterious faces melted away into some form of oblivion. I rose calmly from my seat and aimlessly traveled towards the back of the plane; a private section of some sorts. No invitation required. For whatever reason, there I was. There were three of us. There was also a young child, not yet a toddler. Familiar strangers. Were they celebrities? Who was I? Why did I merit such attention? Was I summoned? So much that didn’t make sense, yet all felt flowing and calm. All was right in the world for an unchanging, everlasting moment.
She was gorgeous. Easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Dare I say ever? Ever. What’s a dare? I can still close my eyes and see her image imprinted on the inside flap of my eyelids. What nationality was she? French? Russian? Italian? A true woman, by whatever stereotype or classification imposed. She was proud and voluptuous, a rare species indeed.
Her skin was a blushed shade of olive, though her face showed no hint of embarrassment. Her ebony eyebrows arched curiously above the milky brown irises of her eyes. When I approached the two of them, she slowly looked up at me and gazed for a brief moment or two. Her eyes glowed like crystalline opal, reflecting colors of soul and imagination. Her dark hair hung mysteriously, layered exquisitely along the contours of her face. As I looked on in silence, she turned away, softly biting her lower lip. I had to breathe in strongly to keep my composure. She said something silently that only the air could hear, rose gracefully, and departed to an adjacent compartment that was enclosed by thick velvet drapes.
The man motioned for me to sit. The child faded from view and memory. We exchanged smiles, cheers, and sips of vanilla-flavored spirits. I remember arching towards my famous host like I was going to tell him the secrets of the world. He sat across from me with his lips pursed, deeply reflective. I did say something. I know I did. God might know what I said as the opaque waters swam underneath our gliding plane. Visible was the pink-flavored sun setting behind four shades of blue.
My eyes remained focused on the spectral sky while my host spoke of his successes in life. He could easily boast of a flourishing career, a loving wife, a small child, and unending riches, among other things. Details of our conversation are mostly trivial facts of irrelevance. I felt like a journalist, hearing a story that’s supposed to be related to everyone. It was nonsensical trash, but I was amused at the time. He wasn’t tedious in his familial admissions, but we were hardly discussing juicy philosophical topics or current affairs of the world. Maybe it’s just as well. Maybe there is a reason for everything. Our conversation eventually turned peculiar.
I felt as if we had been talking for days. Time stretched over matter and being. I was oblivious to my surroundings. Still weighing heavily on my mind was the immaculate figure of the wife. What’s in a name? It’s my secret and I’ll keep it, hold it close, and tell it only to the private recesses of my mind. I was soon gushing about the perverse and rare beauty of my host’s wife. He agreed. Why wouldn’t he? Nightly, he was able to lie down with her and caress her heavenly figure. He could constantly gaze into her eyes. He could always smell her essence. Who wouldn’t be envious of his fate? What did I possess in this world? Who could I call my own? Where was my companion? So much memory has slipped away. None of it matters anyhow. All I know is I’m still here. My heart continues to beat.
He put his lips next to my ear and whispered, “She wants you.”
“I don’t understand,” was the only response I could muster. “What do you mean? “
“I mean my wife — wants — you. Trust me, I can tell.”
Wouldn’t you be confused? After all, this was a married woman who was more magnificent than any supermodel on a bad day. All uses of hyperbole understate her expressive radiance. Merely talking about it cheapens the vision of her. What her husband told me was the most unexpected turn of events yet.
I took a long drink and looked on suspiciously. I finally said, “Why would she want me? Doesn’t this bother you? She’s your wife.”
“You’ll have to ask her for yourself,” he said with a wry expression, adding, “As for your other questions, it is as you likely assume. She is my wife and will continue to be my wife afterwards. Her whims and desires come at her leisure. Would you want to disappoint or upset a goddess like that?”
“Oh no, oh no. Not at all.” Despite the oddity of the situation, for some reason I was at peace with all this. Why did she want me? That impulse was almost stronger than my obvious want for her. The husband seemed omniscient, the all-knowing deliverer of good news. I had one more question.
“How can you tell she wants me?”
“When you first came here, before I asked you to sit down, she looked directly up at you for a few brief moments. I knew then. Rarely does she look anyone directly in the eye, much less for longer than a passing glance. Very curious, isn’t it?”
There was something curious about our earlier exchange. I repeated the previous scene over and over in my mind, looking for subtle hints of her apparent desire. I still hearken back to those two brief moments of what now seems like furious intimacy. Her eyes yearned seductively as I unwittingly exchanged love vows with her. Did we ever even speak to each other?
Darkness was now enveloping the surrounding skies. An abrasive intercom voice said we would be landing shortly. Our destination. Her silhouette filled the tapestry of velvet drapes as her husband motioned for me to join her. It felt like a childhood fantasy coming true. What words can accurately describe such a feeling? What was she going to tell me? What was going to happen? Was there enough time?
I emerged from my seat and steadily ran my fingers through my hair. Upon approaching her private haven, I felt the glossy velvet barriers, peeled back a sheet, and peaked my head through. Wow. Within those flaccid purple hued walls was a segregated bubble that allowed free reign of sight to the open skies. A small green shaded lamp illuminated the left side of her body. Her face glowed; her body seemed to quiver in excitement. If only I could have seen my own reactions. In retrospect, I was mesmerized. Her soft, accented voice asked me to sit down. Lush velour pillows were scattered on the ground. Weren’t we supposed to be landing soon? Who cared? Seemingly nothing could contain the soaring sense of elation overtaking me. We were alone.
She crawled towards me hypnotically as if she were a panther. I was her willing prey. My soul liquefied and coursed through my veins as I gracefully brushed the backside of my hand across her cheeks. Her lips broke into a smile as she slyly confided her private thoughts to me. I finally knew someone. I had an answer. Maybe I wasn’t complete, maybe I wasn’t enlightened, or maybe I was just entranced, but I vividly remember the only thing I could sufficiently do was close my eyes in heavenly euphoria. A bittersweet circumstance by all accounts.
We blindly felt for each other with all of our senses. Suddenly a burst of bright light awoke the night sky. I quickly opened my eyes to see reds, yellows, and oranges clashing like fiery bodies that furiously echoed like a permanent artificial chorus. More amused than frightened, my curiosity compelled me to press my face to the glass bubble in further anticipation. She grasped my forearm at the exact same moment all power was drained from the plane. We were submerged in instant blackness, floating precariously above solid ground by however many thousands of feet. My stomach lurched excitedly as I was violently thrown backwards into the pile of velour pillows.
“Shit! We’re going to crash!” was all I could shout in my confusion. Why were we crashing? Why did the plane’s power suddenly get zapped? Were we hit? All we could do was brace for impact. If these were the last seconds of my life, I was going to see the countdown. I gradually fell into a trance and all else faded away. There were only swirling colors and unremitting bursts of heat. Did I pray? Were others afraid? I know I only cared for myself at that point. My true nature was revealed. Did I become a narcissistic coward? Oh GOD Oh GOD!! What is mercy?! My blood flowed like lava, my wits burned hotter than tears.
Panicked, I yelled; nay, screamed, “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”
Time froze.
Memory rewound.
There was a firm thump and a soft bounce. Tremendous shaking. Loud squealing. We were saved. Miraculously, we had landed safely. I wondered how the pilots felt. Then, I no longer cared. I glanced behind me to see if she was okay. I then realized the clouds were still burning. No one was safe. Life was an illusion. I looked out towards the eastern sky and felt the ground shake as if hit by Thor’s Hammer. Dust billowed like a flapping blanket as the mushroom cloud instantly became the tallest building in the world. The shockwaves rapidly danced closer and closer, in rhythm with my thumping heart. Fear. Terror. Reluctance. Complacence? Something……
Reality’s mighty fabric tore in all directions, while my tears were wiped away by that reassuring hand. I blinked twice as the waves of smoke and supersonic energy overcame me. My shirt was doused in saltwater sweat. Steam seemed to rise from my pores. Abruptly, I awoke from my afternoon nap. I was alone. This mind consumed all joys and terrors. My greatest dream and worst nightmare was absolute, sympathetic, and at last, finished.
I wrote a brief essay about dreams, which precipitated the publishing of this old short story. Thanks for reading.
