Out of the Box

Chapter 6

Reg heard the hissing suction of the cargo doors opening and his box was invaded by the commotion of French airport workers. Loud voices clamored as outgoing freight was barged and cajoled across the hold. He felt vulnerable; a blind man trapped on some frantic construction site. He longed for the peace of the clouds again. Heavy boots bumped the side of his container amidst the rhythm of men’s breathing. Then the voices became louder; something had caught their attention. ‘Sanglantes ouvriers anglais sont dégoûtants. Ne peut même pas pris la peine de nettoyer leur pisse,’ someone shouted angrily.

Reg’s mouth stretched into a smug smile at the thought of someone washing his bottle and returning it. He locked his body and waited patiently amid the confusion. Whirring sounds from distant runways wafted into his hideaway as other aircraft came and went. Heavy machinery jarred as mechanics thrust massive pipes into thirsty engines. He sucked beads of moisture from his bottom lip. His cheek felt like sandpaper as he stroked it along the inside of his strapped forearm, imagining the luxury of shaving and the bliss of cool water on his face.

It was a struggle to separate his mind from his aching body. Thank God the Frenchmen had stopped shouting. Their babble was a quiet conversation now, floating through the hold door. He tried not to think about how long he’d been stationary, and when he heard the double clunk of the door closing relief swept over him. His arms throbbed as he pulled them out of the side straps. He released the belt across his stomach, circling his shoulder blades as he arched his stiff back. 

The engines gave a low growl as the plane taxied down the runway. 

‘About bloody time,’ he muttered.

The plane tilted, and the hold echoed with creaking metal and grumbling rows of freight. Reg prepared to leave the box, then wondered if he should. Perhaps he should stay put for a while – save something to look forward to through the long hours ahead.

He ate four squares of chocolate and found the fruit gums and torch, fidgeting to find a comfortable position to read the book on athletics coaching in Britain. He stared at the cover and thought about Annie. She liked reading; usually wildlife magazines with articles about saving animals. Waterford had probably read loads of books. He was bound to try to impress her with his incredible knowledge.

 Oh God, please don’t let her fall for his bullshit credentials!

 Reg bunched the towel between his shoulders and head, lay flat with his knees bent and held the book a few inches above his face to focus the beam on chapter one. The lines of print moved, slowly at first, before they toppled into a jumbled tide of black letters. He couldn’t concentrate, he kept thinking about his meeting with Forbes, the man from the shipping office in Adelaide. If Forbes hadn’t offered him a free passage to England then Annie wouldn’t be dating that damn lawyer.

 When Reg realized he’d read the same paragraph twice, he flicked off the torch and rested the open pages on his chest, drifting through the darkness.

                                                               *     *    *

 ‘Have you got an appointment sir?’ the mousy receptionist at the Adelaide shipping office had asked.

 ‘No, but Mr Brown said I could call to discuss a particular matter any time,’ Reg lied.

He hoped she thought it possible that Brown had left before she had joined the company. She told him to take a seat until it was his turn to see a Mr Forbes. While he waited Reg flipped through magazines with titles like ‘Cruise into a Different World,’ and ‘Fantasy Escapes, your Dreams made Real.’  He liked the sound of them all.