Chapter Seventy-Two
I’m so happy to be back, and arriving first class rocks!
When I’d first arrived in Dubai, I’d had a twenty minute bus ride to the arrivals area because the airport is so large. This time around, it’s still huge—in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it had grown while I’ve been in Aus as things move so fast out here—but I’m stoked to avoid the bus. No hanging onto a pole, pushed up against some sweaty oik for me, as this time I’ve just a short stroll through one of those tunnel-y things from the plane straight into the brightly-lit terminal, escaping a trip on the crowded peasant wagon. Not that I have anything against buses, but my hair does. Or at least, it objects to being exposed to the evening humidity, which in Dubai can be a bit like wearing a hot, wet blanket, I’ve found. So by the time Kai and I get to the security checkpoint, my clothes are clean because my airline pyjamas bore the brunt of my sloppiness, my hair is behaving nicely—because, no bus—and I smell as fresh as a daisy, thanks to the first-class showers, instead of smelling like last week’s socks.
Next stop, immigration. Fast-tracked, of course.
I glance over at the rows of people queuing at the adjoining desks, trying not to feeltoosmug that I don’t have to wait in any of those massive lines. It’s gone midnight but the airport is still mega busy with flights arriving from all over the globe, at least judging by the myriad of nationalities waiting in lines snaking around red rope barriers.
Two desks over, a couple about my age, backpackers by their appearance, are having a viciously whispered argument as they stand in line. It’s kind of funny that they haven’t realised how damned audible their hissing is.
‘I only said—’
With a roll of her eyes, the girl answers. ‘I know what you said,Justin. And if it wasn’t funny at Changi Airport, it’s not gonna be funny here.’
‘Ah, come on,’ Justin replies with a cadence that leads me to believe he’s more than half pissed. ‘Alls I said was d’ya think they’ll let me through security with these guns!’
Flexing his biceps earns him an elbow in the ribs and a hissed, ‘Do you wanna get arrested?’ along with a ‘Shut the fuck up!’
As the girl catches my gaze, I turn away to hide my smile, feeling it physically slip from my face as I notice, for the first time, a change in tone from Kai. Beyond his pleasantly delivered greeting ofAs’salaam Alaikum, I hadn’t understood the conversation, given I don’t speak Arabic, so I’d zoned out to people watch. But as my attention returns, his tenor is unmistakable: he’s the other kind of pissed.
At Kai’s guttural utterances, the immigration guy, an Emirati in national dress, holds out his hands, the tone of his answer placating as he gestures to his computer screen.
‘What’s wrong? Is his terminal not working?’
Kai doesn’t answer me beyond the tersely delivered command. ‘Wait.’
My eyebrows now sit somewhere in my hairline but I refrain saying anything. Until we’re alone, at least.
With a flurry of words, the man grabs our passports, and opening the door to the cubicle, he slides from behind his counter. Hang on, he doesn’t takeourpassports. Just mine.
‘Hey.’ I tug Kai’s sleeve. ‘What’s going on? And don’t give me any of your high-handed shushing, all right?’
He turns with a frown. ‘Seems there’s something wrong with your visa.’
‘Nobody said anything on the way out?’ I reply questioningly. My passport was scanned without comment at that point. Kai replies with a vague gesture, barely a distracted half shrug. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. Look, here comes the organ grinder.’ So denoted by his officious swagger and gaudy uniform.
Kai laughs, covering it with a tactic cough as the immigration guy and his boss approach. It is an old fashioned idiom, the organ grinder and his monkey, but I didn’t think it was that funny. On second thought, judging by the tone of his outburst and the tickled look he has on his face, I’ll bet he thought I meant something entirely else.
I can only think of one other inference fororgan,so that much is obvious. But grinder?Oh. Yes, well.
Seriously, what is he, twelve?
Looks like we’ve disturbed this organ grinder’s dinner, judging by the crumbs his neatly clipped beard has accrued. Going on appearances alone, the immigration guy looks to be the senior of the pair, his clean cut countenance and gleamingkandurarobe giving him the appearance of elegance, especially as his boss begins pushing his shirt into his pants. But no, it’s clear from the exchange who’s the boss. The senior guy takes my passport, and leaning over the counter, begins poking the keyboard with one pudgy finger.
‘Can’t imagine anyone grinding their organ over him,’ I whisper, hiding my mouth behind Kai’s arm. ‘Anyway, how come you find something smutty in everything?’
Kai coughs again, this time to cover a harshly expelled laugh. Turning to look at me he answers with a smile. ‘Must be the company I keep.’
His smile doesn’t last long, however, as he turns back and begins to show signs of becoming seriously irate. Not having learned the key to the Arabic language during the last five minutes, I still don’t understand, but there’s no doubt he’s on the verge of doing his block. Big time.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, as he turns with an air of frustration. The expression on his face startles me because as well as irate, he’s clearly concerned.
‘Your visa has been cancelled and there’s a block on your return to the country.’
‘What?’ I swallow thickly. Surely there’s some misunderstanding, or maybeI’vemisunderstood? ‘What did I do?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all, as far as anyone can tell.’ He shoves one hand roughly through his hair. ‘This has happened while we’ve been away. It must be a mistake.’
