Chapter 15. Revenge upon the Deputy District Attorney.
On `Jen-Day' she left home and texted she would update me along the way.
She left home in a taxi at 4:05am (Austin time) and went to the airport for her 5:30am flight to Atlanta, she boarded at 5:15am and texted me during pushback. The next I heard from her was 9:04am (Atlanta time), she was walking off the plane in Atlanta. Next was when she was on the shuttle train going to the International Terminal for her 10:30am flight to Madrid. She texted me at 10:13am, she was on the plane and they just pushed back and started the jets. At 5pm (Tangier time) I took a taxi to Tetouan and did all the paperwork and handed them my credit card. This was the first time I rented the jet for personal use. I already filed my flight plan over the internet from home. I even dressed like a pilot with a black suit, white shirt, and a narrow black tie. I had my cell in hand as we got all the paperwork done. I walked outside to pre-flight the jet. It's a ten page checklist when the jet is cold. I was on page-6 when Jen texted me they just touched down in Madrid.
Her flight was completely full and she's in the back of the plane so it's going to be at least 20 minutes until she gets to stand up in the aisle and grab her case from the overhead, then she still has to walk all the way to baggage claim and grab a taxi for a ride to General Aviation.
I finished the pre-flight and sort of as a joke walked inside the terminal because the person on the radio for ground control was there by the long pilot services countertop. I asked for clearance to taxi to the runway and she laughed and said `okay, there is no traffic in their airspace, hold short of entering the active.' I know from looking at the display the next scheduled incoming regional jet isn't due for 45 minutes. But this airport occasionally gets small planes (crop dusters) flying in for service and some of them don't have radios.
So I kicked away the tire blocks and fired-up the jets.
These small private jets have a starter motor, a hydraulic pump mounted between the jets and it spins a shaft that connects to the turbines inside the jet engines and gets them spinning. Once they reach a certain rotational speed fuel pumps are activated and spark the fuel/air mixture and the jets start on their own and disconnect from the starter shaft.
My entire panel was green and I checked outside the windows, tightened my seatbelt, and began my taxi to 06, but stopped short for clearance to blast off. With clearance I looked both ways then rolled onto the active runway and pushed the throttles forward and took off toward the northeast. Within a few moments I was over the sea and turning left and climbing to 30000ft and switched comms to ATC Madrid.
With autopilot steering the plane I typed two texts to Jen, she should be at the General Aviation terminal waiting for me with her one suitcase. We need to get out of there quickly so I don't get billed for anything.
When I was thirty miles out from 32L Madrid I sent the second text to Jen I was almost there. She replied she was there and ready. At the moment I entered the pattern there was a gap in air traffic so I wasn't a tiny spec in a long line of cargo planes. On radar I only saw planes taking off heading away from Madrid toward Europe and North America (or as we call it in Texas: Merica!). Using the map I printed at home after landing I taxied to the G.A. tarmac and shut down the jet, chocked the tires, shut the door, and walked to the terminal and met Jen, she was patiently waiting by the big plate glass windows. Weeks ago I instructed her to dress like Jackie Kennedy (aka: Jackie Onassis) for her flight. When I called the terminal on the radio I asked them to page `Sra. Wilson to the gate.' That was her signal to go potty. In the terminal when she walked up to me I bowed my head and gently took her hand like she was the queen offering to let me kiss her ring. Then I took her case and escorted her to her private jet, it was warm and waiting. Acting like the GF of a billionaire I escort her across the tarmac to the jet.
I opened the door and extended the steps with the built-in wire railing. With the other hand I carried her suitcase and offered assistance as she stepped inside and took a front row seat and belted-in. Jen is so short she does not need to lower her head to step inside the Citation! But she did sort of look like a short, red-haired Jackie-O in a 1960s skirt, beatnik sun glasses, and a blouse that almost exposed her tummy.
I secured her suitcase under the cargo mesh straps. Back outside I un-blocked the wheels, stowed the stairs, and closed the door. Back in the cabin I gave her a short plastic cup of Sprite with two ice cubes and a tiny napkin and checked that she was properly belted then I sat in the cockpit and pre-flighted the jet. Nine minutes later the four page checklist (for a warm jet) was complete and I called for permission to light the boiler and taxi to the end of the line of cargo planes waiting to depart.
On this side of Madrid International all the planes are military, freight, and private. They have a large aircraft maintenance section so lots of planes fly in for repairs, many of those are empty passenger jets but our flight is booked as non-passenger/private. That way immigration would ignore us.
Ten minutes later we're in the departure line, third from the end of the taxiway. The jet wash from the cargo liner ahead of us in line blew right over the top of this little Citation, but I got a good view of his tires! Ten minutes more and we're next and I got permission to enter the active runway, 32L. After checking out the cockpit windows left and right I apply some throttle and carefully roll onto the end of the runway facing the northwest, the voice on the radio calls with permission to take off to an altitude of 7000ft and turn left and turn toward 180 degrees (a u-turn to the left). With a careful push of my right hand we start our roll. At 95mph we gently lift off the 13,400ft long asphalt runway and I begin my climb and turn. I'm sure Jen is looking at Madrid out the window as we turn sharply to the left and begin our climb to 7000ft asl. (ground elevation at the airport is 2000' asl)
Moments after we cleared airport property and reached 900 feet I retracted the landing gear and retracted the flaps and continued our wide climbing turn to the left. It gave Jen a nice view of the city since her window was looking down at the city during our turn to the south.
This plane flew so smoothly I nearly got emotional at the beauty of our flight. The Citation was a masterpiece of flight engineering and I always loved flying them. Too bad they're so damn expensive.
It didn't take long and I could no longer see individual vehicles on the streets and individual roof tops on houses as the ground moved further away.
After the turn we are authorized to 27000ft, course change to 195 degrees. Fifteen minutes later Madrid was far behind us and we're flying level at 31,000ft with a ground speed about 535mph. The sky is clear but there is some turbulence. I am handed over to the next control station and change frequency and check-in with the Tangier ATC. The weather report said clear skies and happiness all the way back to Tetouan. Below us the ground quickly changes from metropolitan Madrid to rural farming Spain, mountains, trees, and vast acres of farmland that resemble an enormous green and brown patchwork quilt.
Madrid is an enormous airport with three commercial terminals, one very large maintenance facility and one of the biggest general aviation tarmacs in the world. Talk about intimidating! Luckily I speak fluent Spanglish, and Jen has a community college bachelor's degree in Spanish (her third degree) too.
About twenty minutes after departure I turned on my microphone and told Jen where we were, in this part of Spain it's hard to pick out anything on the ground because it's just a mash-up of farms and trees and the ground looks rather dark from this altitude. It kind of disappears in the haze around us.
This time they route us south over Tarifa and we continue south over Tangier. To avoid any conflict with air traffic at Tangier we stay above 30000ft to about 12 miles south of Tangier, and then begin our turning descent. In fact we practically glide all the way to the runway at Tetouan. Most of the commercial passenger jets landing at Tetouan fly the exact same route. I saw nothing else in the air on the radar, except the Atlas Mountains.
I've flown this route so many times I know the approach to Tetouan very well. Throttles back, flaps, stay on the flightpath, watch the altimeter and rate of descent. They want us to descend in stages, some of them rather abrupt, like 30k to 10k at first. This airport comes up quickly and with the areas of desert and populated urban sprawl I always get some turbulence approaching Tetouan. The tower knows me, I'm flying their jet! So I try to fly the approach as robotically as possible and begin each change as they call. Sometimes they stop speaking the altitude change because they can see on their radar I'm already doing it. The ATC guys laugh at me sometimes because I'm usually 1-2 seconds ahead of them. I switch on the landing lights and lower the gear.
My wheels touched exactly on the marks. I heard Jen applaud from her seat about six feet behind me. I laughed out loud. She knows enough to watch the runway pavement for the big white bars where the pilot is supposed to chirp the tires. I think that area of the runway has the thickest concrete base because the downward pressure of a jet contacting the runway can be tremendous.
There is a weird thing that happens when landing on a runway in the desert. The air sometimes almost piles up under the wings and keeps you off the ground, I've heard of jets having to go around and approach again because of the `ground effects.' Also, if it gets really hot the desert air tends to get thin and they often close the airport if air temperature gets above 112 degrees. When the air gets super hot and thin it's like there isn't enough air to make the wings create lift and you can run out of runway!
At Tetouan after you land you have to turn around and taxi (on the runway, there are no taxiways) to the general aviation terminal, which shares the same tarmac with commercial aviation. The Citation has a camera in the tail. It looks forward over the aircraft. I like to use that for these small airports so I can see where our tires are in relationship to the actual edge of the runway pavement. Very carefully I turned around and taxied to the terminal. Their runway has paved turnarounds at both ends if the jet is too large to turn around on the runway itself. But I didn't want to run all the way to the far end so I used the camera to get my rear wheels to the very edge of the pavement and at a crawl we turned around and sped back up to get off their only runway. They do get a few regional passenger jets a day but I think those are done for today. They don't give you a lot of time and expect you will get turned around and back to the west end and off the runway asap. Tetouan is one of many airports in the world with that situation.
After we turned around and taxied to the terminal I saw a small Airbus Regional passenger jet parked at the terminal so they still had to load and depart, but I was all alone on the runway briefly as I raced to get off the Active and onto the taxiway.
We parked and I did the shutdown checklist and took cell pictures of the numbers off the flight management computer so the rental agency can't overcharge me. I put 1:58 minutes on the clock and used 399lbs of fuel (67% of full load).
We had to sit and wait at the rental place for about 20 minutes, Sra. Onassis walked outside and called for a taxi while I paid the bill. Today there wasn't one hanging out near the terminal, so we waited another half an hour. Its 30 miles from Tetouan's airport via the N2 highway, which is 4-lanes and in very good condition, but since this is mega-earthquake country you need to keep your eyes open when crossing bridges, make sure the taxi driver is watching the road and not a movie on his smartphone.
Jen and I didn't speak much at the airport, we sat side by side in the terminal waiting for the black taxi. The lady behind the service counter said they all honk the horn on arrival so sit tight and listen for the honks. We sat side by side and stared at the other people in the terminal, listened to the phones ring, and ATC traffic on their radio. At this airport, if you fly in on a passenger jet you walk down the stairs, stand by the plane to wait for your luggage then exit via the gate to your waiting hotel bus or van. And heaven help you if it's raining when you land!
I have no idea how that town's name is pronounced but when the air traffic controllers quickly say it they sound like "TUT wahn." I usually tell the taxi drivers I want to go to the airport in `TET oh won.'
We didn't talk much in the taxi or the elevator either.
In the apartment she told me she wanted to rent a car, I asked why. Jen said she wanted to travel around a bit in Spain near Barcelona. Then she asked if they drive on the same side as they do in the US and I said Spain was the same as the US.
"What about Gibraltar? It's British."
"They drive the same as Spain, backwards from what they do at home in England."
"Oh, that's weird."
"Yup."
"What else?" I asked.
"Why don't we go find the vineyard and check on the boys you rescued?"
""Oh wow! That's a great idea!" I shouted. She reached up and touched my lips because I literally shouted. We snickered at my boyish excitement.
She unpacked and hung her clothes and stacked panties on top of my little dresser. She put her stuff in the bathroom and slid her case under my bed. Then we discussed what to have for dinner, she wanted to eat and go to bed early.
I asked about her flights and she said they were fine, and the jet ride from Madrid was really neat. I told her the interior of the rental Citation is not high dollar, even though it's all leather upholstery. If you were a billionaire you'd want a nicer interior.
She said her only `...complaint was my Sprite ran out just after takeoff and the stewardess never came back.'
Then I figured out it was too late to eat at a restaurant so we decided to eat at KCF which was in this building and open for carry-out only. Jen told me she read KFC started in the town of Corbin, Kentucky as a sit down restaurant with a full menu that specialized in fried chicken (deep fried inside stove-top pressure cookers), it became very popular. But when they started there really was no such thing as fast food in our culture. There were a few drive-ins that specialized in cheap-quick burgers, fries, and shakes in California. She said the drive-thru window didn't really appear at the burger chains until Wendy's installed their first one in 1971. In & Out had one at a location that was so small it had no seating or parking (in 1948) so all business was conducted at the drive-up window.
We got a 10 piece bucket of extra crispy with two sides (both coleslaw). I was surprised how high the price got ($40 Euros). We ate upstairs. After dinner we took a short shower together and went to bed because she was very tired.
Jen told me how she tried a fast food chicken place recently called Jollibee, they opened one in Austin. They sold fried chicken, burgers, and spaghetti, but the place was supposed to be Philippine. But she didn't see anything unique about it. But the burgers were nice.
The next morning we took a taxi to the ferry terminal then Spanish National Rail to Barcelona and rented a car. We brought along my case with our bathroom stuff in two Ziploc bags, some clothes to sleep in, and clothes for tomorrow.
Jen already had Spain loaded in her AAA map app. And I sent her Octavio's address, which was on the Cami del Pebras (an un-paved road) in the mountains west of the city. He has three acres of grape vines in a mountain pine forest, so he claimed. In my head I estimated three acres of grape vines would be roughly a bit more than a standard US football field. But if that is the size of his property there had to be land reserved for the house and driveway, so he is farming a bit less than three acres.
We took the N-340 highway southwest to the B20 expressway to the base of the mountains, then surface streets to the Cami del Pebras which was a winding dirt road up the side of a mountain covered by a dense pine forest. We saw his mailbox near the street that said BUSTAMANTE and turned on his narrow dirt driveway.
The road went back about 100 feet through the trees and ended at a small old two-story home with a tin roof. There was a barn and a farm tractor, his SUV was parked outside. We rolled to a stop and tooted the horn and got out and stood by the rental car to see if anyone was home. In case we caught them off-guard I walked around the car and stood beside Jen so we looked like a nice young couple.
I swear, aside from a thin power line on skinny old utility poles it was like driving back in time a few hundred years when we stood there looking at his dilapidated house and surrounding pine forest. I noticed it was very quiet too, almost eerily so. I started to wonder if our trip was a waste of time because they weren't home.
About two minutes later a boy silently emerged from the trees dressed in bib-overalls, no shoes or shirt. He was carrying a rifle pointed at the sky. He shouted something but neither of us understood him. He slowly emerged from the trees and walked closer, being careful not to aim directly at us.
By the time he was about 40 feet away I recognized it was the youngest boy I rescued from Gdyel, it was little Naji, the cutest one of the three brothers, but it looked like he'd grown a lot. At first he stared at me oddly and then asked in Spanish who we were. (Pronounced: NAH-jee)
I told him in Spanish, "Hi Naji, if you remember me, I rescued you from the jail in Gdyel, my name is Alex, I'm from Tangier. Is your grandfather here?" (Hola Naji, si te acuerdas de mi, te rescate de la prision de Gdyel. Mi nombre es Ahley, soy de Tangier. Esta aqui tu abuelo?)
"What do you want with Grandfather?" (Que quiere con Abuelo?)
"We've come to see how you and your brothers and your grandfather are doing. We mean you no harm, this is a social visit, we are not with the government." (Hemos venido a ver como estais tu, tus hermanos y tu abuelo. No quermos hacerle dano, esta es una visita social, no estamos con el gobierno.)
He turned around and whistled loudly into the trees, then walked forward with a big smile. I bet he was at least four inches taller than the last time I saw him seated on his grandfather's lap. He walked closer and set the rifle down on the ground. As he got closer a big smile appeared on his face, he shook my hand vigorously, and kept glancing behind for his brothers to emerge from the vineyard.
Moments later another boy appeared, also in bib-overalls and nothing else, not even shoes. They were filthy but looked happy and well fed. The second boy was Zaki, he too had grown taller and was smiling, tanned from the sun and looked happy. Naji shouted something in Arabic and a moment later the oldest brother emerged holding the hand of an elderly man with white hair. They all walked over and we shook hands several times, all three of them smiled non-stop. Naji stepped over beside me and held my hand and leaned against me like a Great Dane. I thought to myself `they must not get many visitors here, their welcome is rather awkward and exaggerated! But my gut told me it was genuine, they were very happy to see me.' The boys stared at Jen like they never saw a red haired white woman before.
Octavio stepped in and with a quivering lower lip he lowered his head, pressed his hands together as if praying and said, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you." Jen and I cried too, and the youngest boys also cried. Then everyone started hugging and I introduced Jen and it felt like a family reunion. None of the boys could say her name correctly because the J-sound was unpronounceable in Arabic. I soon quit trying to correct them as our tears quickly turned into laughter and pure happiness. Octavio had the same problem with her name because in Spanish the J is pronounced like an H in English, so her name became Hen. Who knows if that meant anything nasty in Arabic!
I assured Octavio again this was a social visit, not an official visit. We were sightseeing in Spain and decided to see how the family was doing. Hen apologized in Spanish for showing up unannounced.
He gestured for Naji then leaned over and whispered something in his ear and the boy took off running toward the house and bent over to pick up the rifle along the way. Octavio invited us to join them for dinner and after Hen nodded yes I did too and we all walked toward the house. She leaned over on the walk to the house and whispered in my ear, "My name's not HEN!" I squeezed her hand hoping she'd tolerate it for now. I considered asking her if she preferred Hennifer, but let it drop.
As we got near the house I caught another glimpse of the vineyard back in the trees, I pointed to it so Hen could see their trellised grape vines. His house looked homemade. It was a plastered square box with a few windows and a flat roof. The place looked like it could easily be over 100 years old, but maybe it was just run down.
All three boys stopped near the house where a pipe came up from the ground with a tiny garden hose faucet on top and patio stones underneath. Each one paused to wash and dry their feet before entering the house. That behavior comes naturally to Arabs I whispered to Jen.
Inside it had hardwood floors but it was tiny. There was an old sofa and an arm chair, an old B&W CRT TV, and a nice Grundig multiband radio on a small table. The ground floor was mostly one large open room with a small kitchen, living room, and a ladder on the wall that went upstairs through a square opening to the bunk room where everyone slept. The shower was a small steel unit that stood against the wall in the kitchen, obviously a recent addition. They had a small water closet with a sink and flush toilet. I saw the sink only had one faucet, the only places with hot water were the shower stall and kitchen sink. There was a tiny hot water heater, maybe 10 gallons on a shelf on the wall near the shower.
Since they were a working farm the place was dusty but neat. Everything looked antique inside. We sat at the oak kitchen table and the boys brought over small folding chairs and Naji showed off a new bottle of wine. Octavio handed me the bottle, sure enough the label had a pencil sketch of his house and barn and the name of Octavio's great grandfather. They used a simple cork puller and poured four glasses. It was a rather stout red wine, sort of like a Malbec, with a big flavor and nose. It was like Merlot on steroids. He handed me the bottle after pouring and I saw it said the year was Vintage 1997, which I think meant it was an exceptional crop.
One of the glasses he poured went to Hadi, since he was now the 2nd oldest in the house and next in line to operate the family business. Octavio still had that twinkle in his old eyes and the boys listened to us talk in Spanish, once in a while Hadi said something in Spanish. It was clear all of them were learning Spanish, I bet they were watching educational TV, sort of like Sesame Street. Octavio said they were home schooled, and all three had visas now, thanks to me. Jen and I applauded and the boys all smiled proudly. It was good to have a stable home and family and it showed on their faces.
Hadi left the table and started dinner, which would be a pasta dish, like a type of spaghetti with olive oil, garlic, pepper, spices, and a homemade tomato sauce sparingly applied on the side. They also sauteed some sliced zucchini and some tiny homemade pork meatballs. I got my second glass of wine and already felt a little buzz from the first glass.
During the time that Hadi got dinner ready Hen whispered in my ear, "Why can they say Naji but not Jennifer? I don't get it." I said I guessed the J sound at the start of the word is always pronounced like our H sound. She mumbled "Thanks asshole." I had a hard time not laughing over it because it sounded funny.
I think it took them 10 minutes to make dinner and we all took seats at the homemade oak table. The boys brought over spare chairs from the room and we all took our seats. Octavio said grace in Spanish and the boys all mumbled, "Amen." Every time I hear Catholics say Amen, I always finish it by mumbling Ra, to complete God's name (Amun-Ra).
During the meal Hadi told us how scared they all were when we rescued them. They all thought they were being taken somewhere to be raped and killed and when we started setting the older boys free was the first time they believed they really were being rescued. None of them mentioned their sister so I never asked.
The dinner was fantastic but I needed more protein or I'd be low blood sugaring within an hour.
Our time with the fam was great, tears of happiness were shed several times and the boys looked happy and healthy and well fed, they were being educated and properly raised. Their teeth looked great and they had no ribs showing. I asked about the lack of shoes and Octavio sighed and said the boys preferred bare feet, but they all had boots and shoes upstairs by their beds. Each one had his own locking trunk, and a mattress on the floor. Octavio also said they agreed to attend the local Catholic Church, they are allowed to go in overalls but they have to wear shirts and shoes. Then Naji blurted out "No shirt, no shoes, no Salvation!" I laughed so hard it hurt my ribs.
Then Zaki confessed they still have no privacy when showering because `...it's in the damn kitchen.' His brothers scolded him for complaining, and then it turned into laughter. Octavio recalled how he built the house in the 1960s and added the 2nd floor in the 1970s. He had 3.5 acres and sold out his entire crop every year but he kept a little for home use, that's what we were drinking.
He said when he built the house there was no electricity service on this part of the mountain, he was here almost five years before they ran the poles and wires. So the first floor was built by hand with no electric saws and no running water!
Jen asked how cold it got up here in the winter and Zaki said it rarely ever went below zero and they got just a dusting of snow but it was always gone in a few hours. Octavio nodded in agreement.
After dinner Naji and Zaki showed us their Spanish, math, world history, and plant biology text books. They asked me to show them where on the maps (inside their history book) Jen and I were from, and I pointed first to Tangier and then to Houston and they all said, "Wow!" since it was so far away. One of them said "You get hurricanes?" and I smiled and replied in Spanish: maybe once in ten years. I looked at his textbooks and showed Jen, this was the first time I saw a Spanish teaching textbook written in Arabic. Naji was in a playful mood and said "Texas Cowboys!" He made pistols out of both hands and told us to "Stick em up!" (in English) and we all laughed at the sight of an Arab boy pretending to be a Texas Outlaw. I never thought in my life I would ever hear stick `em up' spoken with an Arab accent! It got me laughing almost to tears. Naji of course loved the attention and while I was fighting back the giggles he stood by my side and rested his arm across my shoulders like we were reunited best friends.
Naji hung on my every word and eagerly invited us to see his room upstairs, so he speedily climbed up the wood ladder and I followed. The upstairs had four small windows and each boy had a twin size mattress on the floor, except Grandpa had his mattress on a homemade stand. Each boy had a bed below a window and beside it they had a trunk with an old alarm clock (wind-up, no batteries), some books and a reading lamp. They also had curtains for some visual privacy and hooks on the wall for hanging clothes. It looked like each boy only owned books and a few changes of clothing. Each bed had new boots ready to slide on but they preferred bare feet in the soft sandy soil on their farm. Each boy also had a locking truck for personal items.
Naji seemed eager to say things in Spanish to show off his new language. I asked what language they spoke at home and he said both, Spanish and Arabic, but getting to be more and more Spanish. He said he has dreams now in Spanish too. I patted his shoulders as we started our way back down the ladder.
Octavio said Spain agreed to grant citizenship to each boy as he turned 18, they must attend school and pass the Spain equivalent of a US GED exam. Two boys agreed Spanish was much easier to read and write than Arabic. Back downstairs Hadi (the oldest boy) asked if we'd like to see the vineyard and we both said yes so we walked out the kitchen door, past the rather large farm tractor, around the barn and out into a vineyard surrounded by thick pine forest. I pointed out to Jen that his vines were trellised, and they used a tiny plastic tube irrigation system. Both of those were state of the art in California.
We walked along the wide tractor path and looked at the vines and how it was the time of the year when they were about to grow flowers. I showed Jen how the space between the rows was a perfect match for the tractor and with four of them they could harvest the entire vineyard in a few days (working 16 hours a day). They had large plastic shipping tanks they dump the harvested grape clusters then they go by truck to the processor. They had a small plant to do their own and produced about 90 bottles of their own label each year. There was still space to plant more vines and each year Grandpa tried to plant one more, but it meant extending the irrigation drip system which was expensive and complicated.
They showed me the irrigation controls which were powered by a single solar panel and the wine processing tank where they were crushed and filtered, then tanked and fermented were all manually operated but made of copper and aged oak. His wine aged for one year in old oak barrels then was bottled here too, but they had to build a large fire to heat enough water to sterilize everything and the bottles too. He said they collected used wine bottles from the trash and sometimes the garbage man offered some that people threw away and the garbage man picked out to sell.
They showed us the irrigation system. They hand pumped well water into a plastic tank raised on legs to the entire system worked by gravity, but each day one boy spent about ten minutes hand pumping the elevated plastic tank full of water.
Everyone had chores, like using a hoe to chop the weeds. They discovered burning pine needles kept grasshopper swarms away from the vineyard, and they even had an outdoor classroom where Octavio taught them about plant genetics and reproduction. They showed us how they were clearing an area to increase the produce they grew at home, like zucchini, lettuce, cucumbers, onions, and even some sweet corn (next year). Once we got outside into the vineyard all three boys suddenly lit up and talked up a storm about farming. Hadi said Arabs really get into making and growing things and him and his brothers really loved it here, it's like Heaven to them, but without camel droppings.
I never told Octavio or Jen about the time I hand-washed all three boys with my soapy bare hands, so I've handled every square inch of each of their bodies. I wondered if they remembered that day. All of them were taller now and looked like they all put on some weight too. Their teeth were brilliant white and their skin was flawless smooth and all of them were totally adorable running around shirtless with bib overalls, too bad I couldn't see belly buttons to see how clean they might be. They all had crew cut hair and short trimmed nails since they spend most of the day in the dirt.
While we wandered down some of the vine rows Octavio's attention was on each plant, as if he personally knew each one. He said he was born and raised on this land and will be buried here like his parents and grandparents. Inside the barn sat some of the equipment for crushing grapes, filtering the juice, and fermenting it into wine. He had stacks of oak barrels for aging wine and a number were still corked. Much of the bottling and processing equipment looked old but stainless steel, and covered under plastic tarps.
I could tell by looking at them that Hadi was the still the only one of the three that had started puberty, he had hair in his arm pits now and like a lot of adolescent boys his brown nipples were twice as wide as the straps on his bib overalls; it was very difficult not to stare. I guessed he was about 5'6" now but he might not get a lot taller because of the years he had poor nutrition as a beggar on the streets of Oran.
Jen gestured that we should be leaving soon so we started walking back toward the barn, I handed Hadi my business card when nobody else was watching. I never told him why, it was just a resource to him. All of us stood in the vineyard for a few photos on Jen's cell camera. Then she did some kind of transfer from her phone to Octavio's cell, after he figured out how to turn it on. The boys had no clue about technology, which was odd.
At 6pm we made it back to the car and we hugged again and left hoping we didn't get lost in the woods on the way home. This mountain forest they call home is a beautiful place to be a young boy growing up outside in nature. About the only thing they needed was something like a smaller 4-wheel Honda ATV. Back on the farm that would be a huge resource. I might even consider donating a used one, but they already had a full size farm tractor.
We re-traced our route back into town relying totally on the GPS app.
Jen and I stopped at a fast food place in the city and I got a four piece fried chicken dinner with sides and we sat on the hood of the car and ate the chicken so we didn't get sick on the way back to downtown Barcelona. The dinner they made was so high in carbs I knew it would bother me an hour or two later when my blood sugar started to drop quickly.
We returned the rental car and walked to a hotel across the street, we were only one block from the train station too.
In our hotel room we spent an hour soaking in the tub. I played with her feet and she smiled the entire time. I let about half the water drain out and spent time French kissing her belly button and tongue massaging her spot while she moaned but she never came. Then she slid her right hand down and pushed my face out of the way and worked it herself. After she came I rose up to look at her and saw her face was sweaty and she had that ultra satisfied and relaxed smile.
As we got into our PJs Jen told me, "You should be very proud of what you did for that family, you saved their lives. Not too many people would have done that at the risk of damaging their own careers, but you did." She paused briefly then in a different tone she said, "That is cool as hell what you did."
"Yah, but the bad part is Octavio is old and the boys are very young. He'll need to hang on until Hadi turns 18, in a few more years so he can inherit the property and learn the business."
"I wonder how much he's worth?" she pondered.
"Daniel and I at first thought he was a poor farmer, but with his crop of grapes hand harvested every year and sold to the highest bidder my guess is he could easily have over a mil in cash in the mattress, he's smart enough to not put it in the bank."
"You notice Naji approached us with a rifle?" She asked.
I said, "Yes, that is probably based on experience, but it's also possible they did it because he has a load of cash in the house and all the neighbors know it. He said he's not the only grape farmer in those hills."
We were silent in bed briefly and then Jen said, "Imagine what would have happened if you got stopped by the police driving that truck loaded with rescued teenagers back to Oran."
"Oh that's easy, I would have faced their firing squad and my corpse burned with the trash. I can never vacation in Algeria again. I bet I'm on the detain list for every cop and immigration officer. They said I kidnapped those three boys and smuggled them to another country. When some countries punish citizens they also punish the entire family, so their lives as street beggars was punishment for the crimes of their father when he spoke out on facebook against government corruption."
We climbed under the sheets and turned out the lights and went to sleep. As my face hit the pillow I smiled because it was nice to smell a woman in my bed again.
The last thing Jennifer said, with her head pressed into the pillow she confessed she had a hard time keeping their names straight. I said I had a hard time too so I memorized the letters NZH, the first letter of their names by age rank. Nadi, Zaki, Hadi. She said they sounded too cutesy for men's names, they all sounded like little boys names. I suggested it might not be that way in Arab culture.
The next morning we got up early and looked around for a nearby restaurant and found nothing open so we boarded the train to Algeciras and decided to buy something from the food vendors on the train. It's like a five hour ride down to Algeciras because the train makes several stops and the route isn't straight so they have to slow down for many sharp turns and small stations on the way.
We got to the port and purchased our tickets to ride on the jet catamaran and made it home in a taxi at 8:10pm. I told Jen several times that day her idea to rent a car and check on Octavio was fantastic, I was super glad we did it, but I am not going to report (to State or the embassy) what we saw unless asked.
On Day #4 of her visit we walked along the beach and then did some shopping at Kmart, we made two trips there getting more bathroom and kitchen stuff. She said she wanted to go to one of the souvenir shops (in the Petit Socco) near my first apartment, so we decided since it was so nice out we'd walk there, about two miles each way.
She did something I never thought I'd see Jennifer do, she spent almost $350 on stuff and had them box and UPS it to her address in Austin! That added another $127 to the bill, but it was all decorative stuff for her apartment. Most of what she bought had had designs with Morocco themed images: mountains, minarets, fortress walls, camels, palm trees, and sea gulls, with a setting sun or midday sun.
She said the old motif in her apartment was Texas Nerd Girl, she wanted a new look and decided Ancient Arab looked beautiful. She had a Texas state flag replica on the wall in her bedroom and some framed line drawing/water colors of cats on her living room wall, but all that old stuff has to go!
I asked if she had a Texas Longhorn skull with horns on top of her TV and she laughed and said no! I thought she might punch me for even asking!
That evening we went to the other store in a red taxi and got steaks and veggies and pan fried them in butter and wine on the stove and sauteed the mushrooms and onions while the steaks rested. It was a great meal and we chased it with wine smuggled in from Spain.
We discussed wine and what that one bottle from Octavio's private collection might have been worth, I suggested close to a hundred fifty bucks a bottle. I told Jen after dinner we screwed up. She was puzzled what we did wrong. I told her we should have stocked up on sliced bacon and ham in a store near the ferry platform and brought it home. She thought that was funny, she's never had to smuggle anything before.
After dinner we napped briefly then played in the tub again, this time with bubble bath and oil lamps. I did my famous baby oil body-massage of almost her entire body. It got her so horny she about burst with desire, so I got in missionary position while she did the important part with two fingers and we managed to both come about the same time, which was great fun.
She liked it when I raised her knees and slipped my erection inside her so she could watch my entire front side. Jen actually liked my twinkish appearance.
After we cooled down in candle light in the horrible little bathtub she told me she loved me and I said the three words back to her when our noses were maybe four inches apart looking deeply into each other's eyes, "Jennifer, I love you, I always have. You are my best friend ever. I trust you more than anyone else on Earth. I've never said these things to anyone else in my life. There. That's 33 words, not three."
She replied, "Did you practice that speech in the mirror?"
"Uh huh." I nodded without smiling like I was being honest.
She shook her head and once again mumbled that I was a nerd too. And then she turned her face away but I knew she was emotionally moved by what I said, but she wanted to hide it because I practiced.
I could see she was very emotional and nearly cried. I lowered back down and folded my arms across her hips to rest my chin on my hands, then slid one hand up to her left breast and gently massaged her wide-soft areola, around and around. I slid up and took it in my mouth and nursed on her tit gently for a while, she hummed with pleasure and gently held my skull at her breast like she was cupping the head of an infant. I swear I could have fallen asleep there but half my body was smashed into the other end of the tub.
We got dried off and went to bed again, she moved around to offer her breast again so I got on my knees and wanked on her stomach and used my fingers to move as much semen as I could onto her nipples and licked them clean.
She asked me how much I liked eating semen and I said, "As long as it's not bitter I don't mind at all, but I want to have water nearby so I can wash them down." I told her if you leave semen in your mouth sometimes the tadpoles will attack some of the flesh inside your mouth, like your lips, and it can actually get painful.
Our last full day together was what I call an Underwear Day. We never left the apartment but I had the two windows wide open for good ocean breezes, which were rather cool when the clouds moved in. That afternoon we got a bad storm and the power went out for almost two hours.
After the storm was over we actually saw two couples walk on the beach, but nobody got in the water.
She wanked me in bed, I spurt twice across my belly and chest, so she used a spoon to scrape up one and move it to inside her belly button and the other rope she smeared on her right nipple and I cleaned both of them off with my tongue and ended up getting semen all over my face, but it was nice. She actually let me deep clean her belly button with my tongue which took almost 15 minutes, then I moved up to her breast and latched on and drank my own milk from her tit. Jen stayed topless most of the day, which was very nice. And she finally learned something.
I spent parts of the day naked and with her topless she finally got to see for herself how easily I get turned on. When she faced me my dick would start to get hard and most of the time I wasn't even aware of it. She told me at dinner time she had no idea how easily I got turned on simply by looking at her naked upper body. I was tempted to say something sarcastic, no shit Sherlock,' but I told her that her belly button and areolas turn me on quickly. She doesn't have to say or do anything, just expose some areas of flesh and I'm ready to fuck. Jen apologized for not understanding it years ago. Then she asked if I got turned on when we were kids and played doctor games in the woods and I said usually no because those parts weren't that interesting to me until after my first orgasm around my 13th birthday.'
That evening we packed her stuff and got ready for an early morning taxi ride to the airport. While we packed I tried to explain how seriously being concrete and literal effects how I see the world. The world is exactly as it appears. I said it twice, and then gave her an example of how it is applied. I said when we used to take off our clothes back in 4th grade she had different parts but that was simply how she was, I didn't understand why, or what it meant, that was just the way it was. I never questioned it. Same with her chest when her nipples started to grow larger around that was simply the way her chest looked, it wasn't sexual or even weird, it's just how she was.
Getting people to understand that (literal and concrete) about people with autism is really hard for neuro-typicals to understand or learn because it is totally foreign.
The next morning the alarm went off at 4am. She was excited about something and told me she totally forgot to tell me, she purchased a training DVD on doing erotic belly dancing, she wanted to demonstrate. I sat on the sofa in my underwear and watched as she moved the coffee table out of the way and wearing panties only she started her dance routine. She told me she only watched two of the fifteen lessons so she was a beginner but she started without any music and she looked wild moving her hips to contort her stomach like I've never seen before.
I've seen her dance to modern disco type music before at a bar in Austin, but this was totally new and it really turned me on.
To prove my point I slid down my shorts to expose myself so she could see me get hard without even touching myself. Her demo ended and we had to get ready quickly so I dropped two toaster pastries in the toaster and we ate them in the elevator on the way downstairs to the waiting taxi.
In the elevator she joked that she would finish those lessons and do a proper show for me on her next trip. I told her for that show I'd crawl to Austin! She said she was thinking about taking a night class at the high school for adult women's belly dance, they also had one for men. My guess is a belly dance class would not be done publically in Morocco, but taught privately with the curtains shut and doors locked. I also considered as a joke buying her a brass pole for Christmas, but in all honesty she might not recognize what it was or what it meant.
The taxi arrived in the circle driveway and we got in back, traffic was thin at that hour so we made great time crossing the metro area and had to wait at the airport. We got seats at the coffee place and split a hot bagel with cheese sauce and butter. Her flight started boarding at 5:40 for a 6am departure from the gate, we walked to the security theater area and hugged and she got in the short line, I walked to the baggage claim and went outside and sat on the bench at the bus stop. I rode a bus route that went near my office which was on the west side of the old city, just outside the wall.
Did I ever explain to you the taxi situation in Morocco? There are two types of taxis here. The first type is a traditional taxi, black car with a light on the roof and a meter on the dashboard. Most of the taxis in Morocco are solid black, a few are school bus yellow. If you need to go somewhere specific you call them and they arrive within half an hour. You have to negotiate a price regardless of the meter.
Then comes the Petit Taxi, they are all bright red and are sort of like ride sharing. They park at Petit Taxi signs and you get in and negotiate a price first, most have meters too. But they may take on more passengers going to the same destination or along the way. They might get 7 passengers in one taxi that started off as your ride alone. The red taxis mostly only go from sign to sign, sort of like bus stops along designated routes. The red taxis are dirt cheap because multiple people are paying.
If you live in the right part of town you could get around totally on red taxis and never own a car, and it would be cheaper than owning one.
There are also city busses but they do not have many routes, just the major avenues. So with those three ways to get around you'll probably have some walking to do eventually. And if the old city is your destination there are no taxis or cars, so you gotta walk, skateboard, or ride a bicycle. Being in the walled city is a lot like an indoor mall without a roof. And Heaven help you if you need an ambulance right away inside the walled city! You'd be lucky to get a paramedic on a tuk-tuk.
That is my summary of transit in Tangier.
Jen texted me when she was on the regional jet in Tangier and again on her next flight (to Atlanta) in Madrid. At my apartment it was 10pm when she texted me she was on her connecting flight about to take off, Atlanta to Austin. I tried to nap for most of her trip because I'm too mentally distracted the day she flies home. I think I slept about an hour in my office then took the bus home.
That evening I got a text from my young friend Patrik, the college kid from Lubbock. I warned him I had my head up my ass but he wanted to come over regardless, so I cleaned up the apartment, he said he was coming over on the bus this time.
Half an hour later there was a bold knock on my door, like the cops wanted to search the place, but it was just Patrik, he brought a warm 6-pack in a brown paper bag. It went directly to the freezer.
Patrik said something I never heard before about the Mod Squad. He said if you carry alcohol in a brown paper bag they can't see it and won't bother you about it. He said he heard they'll gang up on individuals carrying uncovered alcohol and take it away and dump all the bottles. I thanked him for the insight with a quick kiss on his mouth. That made him smile!
I noticed he had some kind of bandage on his left forearm. I asked and he said he fell hiking in the Atlas Mountains and lost some skin. I asked who cleaned and dressed it and he said it was done at a cash clinic near where he fell. He said he was climbing and sliding down a smooth rock face, a slope and it was slipperier than he expected and he slid uncontrolled about 50 feet and crashed into a cactus at the bottom, it hurt badly but he never hit his head. He said he wrapped it with his shirt and made his way to town and the first cash clinic, luckily he had enough money to pay. They also gave him a tetanus shot. He offered to unwrap it but I told him not to, but he should check once a day that it wasn't getting infected or worse looking. So his left arm was out of commission tonight and for a few more days.
I guess that meant the shower was out of the question too, so I got us seated on the sofa and turned on the computer to some music videos from the 1990s that most people like, we had similar taste in music in general. At 40 minutes I got two beers from the freezer and poured them into glasses. I could be wrong but Morocco does not produce any beer, but they do make some wines down in the hill country around Marrakesh. I've never had any, never seen any bottles either, but I heard it's true.
We ended up sitting at opposite ends of the sofa with the lights off, windows open, and we talked about personal stuff for a few hours. He got up to pee and asked for help with his pants since he was sort of one-handed. Of course I couldn't resist the request (or was it an offer?). I would have done that for him even if he wasn't injured!
He walked to the toilet and I opened his pants and pulled it out and let it hang naturally so he could pee. I leaned over the bathroom sink and closely watched the urine flow from the tip of his penis. We talked while he pissed a mighty stream, then it was my turn. When I was done I put his away too but he said to leave it open because with all this beer he'd be back again soon. I told him he had a very pretty dick and he bent over and shouted at his crotch "Hear that, he thinks you're cute!" We both chuckled and had another round of cerveza fria.
He walked slowly back to the sofa, I sort of stayed behind him and after he got positioned on the sofa against one end with his legs stretched out I got on my knees on the floor beside him. He watched as I unbuttoned his shirt and rubbed his tummy then up to his chest. I rubbed my fingers around his wide nipples like horses on a race track, around and around. He closed his eyes and moaned softly and whispered that it felt really nice. I noticed he was fully erect down in his underwear. With one hand I reached in and moved it to aim at his belly button and rubbed the back side from end to end.
"That won't last long." He warned at a whisper so I kept rubbing the bottom side and sure enough he spurt onto his belly. I leaned over and tasted him again then used paper towels to clean up his belly. We got into our spots and continued our conversation.
After another half hour of guy talk I got up to piss and he joined me in the bathroom so I could help with his pants. After that he said he had to leave soon, we were down to two beers left. That is the mark of a good friend; he brings 6 but only drinks 2. Just before he left Patrik grabbed my crotch so I helped by pulling it out then my shorts fell to the floor. He got on his knees and nursed on my boner for about three minutes then stroked it to a really nice orgasm in his mouth, and then we kissed again. He rinsed his mouth in the kitchen sink while I stood beside him with a towel ready to dry his face.
We rode downstairs in the elevator and sat on the bus stop bench for 25 minutes until the next bus came along. After midnight they slow to twice an hour. At 3am the city busses stop until 0530, but the taxis run all day and night.
The next week was my normal routine. I heard from Daniel, he was making progress getting his life back. He told me he saw in the newspaper there was a memorial service coming in a few weeks for the prosecutor who hid evidence of his innocence. He was planning on going and standing and calmly speaking the truth to his family that the guy was a corrupt dishonest piece of shit human that imprisoned innocent people just to make himself look qualified to do his job. Let there be no mistake amongst his relatives the man was a sleazy liar and incompetent lawyer. That was his plan. I tried to talk him out of it but he said he was not on parole or probation so all they could do if arrested is charge him with disorderly conduct, a very minor criminal act. But he was likely to do it and walk out untouched but at least he said he'll feel better knowing his family heard the truth. I told him to keep me posted if he did it.
I sent an email to Jen about our conversation but she said she had the same conversation with him one day earlier, she believed he was really going to do it.
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