Troubling a Star by Madeleine L'Engle Page B

the airport, Owain shook hands formally with me, then gave me a quick hug. Cook and I had our tickets checked, then went through security and on to the boarding area. I was excited, excited by the bustle at the airport, excited at the idea of flying to two continents, South America and Antarctica. If I’d been younger, I’d have reached out and held Cook’s hand. But there was something aloof about him as he sat beside me on one of the plastic chairs, and I couldn’t push John’s warning suggestion out of my mind. There wasn’t anybody except Cook who could have known all that I knew. But Cook hadn’t seen Adam II’s unfinished letter I’d found in The Jungle Book . John was the only other person besides me who’d seen that.
    Then Cook turned to me and smiled. “I’m glad we’re sharing this adventure, Vicky.”
    â€œYou called me plain Vicky!” I said.

    He grinned. “I told you I’d be more informal once we started our travels.”
    When we boarded the plane, Cookie gave me the window seat, so I could look out as we taxied along the runway, gathering speed, and then the plane nosed up and we were flying above buildings, above water. I looked at the land dropping below us and finally disappearing as we flew through a layer of clouds and then burst out into the sunlight, blue sky above, white cloud below. The flight attendant came around with lunch, and after lunch Cook suggested that we both snooze, because we were going to have a long wait in Miami before the overnight flight to San Sebastián. I was sure I was too excited to sleep, but I surprised myself by drifting off, and when the pilot announced that we were going to be landing in a few minutes, I lifted my head from where it had drooped onto Cook’s shoulder.
    In Miami, retrieving our bags from the luggage carousel took forever, largely because half a dozen flights came in at the same time and they were all being unloaded onto the same carousel.
    Cook said, “I gather these delays happen more and more frequently nowadays. It’s a good thing we don’t have a close connection.”
    Our bags finally arrived, and as we headed to the boarding areas we saw two people in blue uniforms holding up a sign: ANTARCTIC ARGOSY. We had tags for our bags which said ARGOSY, and blue-and-white plastic name pins, which Cook had suggested that we wear. The people with the sign saw us and waved, and we hurried over to them. They were friendly
and greeted us by name, checking their clipboards. They took our bags with the ARGOSY tags and told us we needn’t worry about them till we arrived in San Sebastián. Then they directed us to a lounge where we could wait till time to board. Some of the other Argosy passengers, who’d flown in from California and other points west, were already there, and probably would be stretched out on couches, trying to sleep.
    As we walked toward the lounge, Cook commented, “One thing that helps protect the Antarctic is that it’s so hard to get to.” He found us a couple of chairs and brought Cokes from the bar. “We’ll get dinner on the plane, but it probably won’t be before midnight. Do you want to scavenge around for something to eat? That lunch on the plane was pretty plastic.”
    I shook my head. “I think I’ll be okay.”
    â€œThe fare tonight will be good. The Vespugian airline is really trying to please its North American customers. I’m off to find a newspaper. You’ll be all right?”
    â€œSure. I’ll catch up on my journal.” I settled into my seat and started to write. “Here I am in a large waiting room in the airport in Miami. Even though I’m with Cook, I’m suddenly feeling displaced. I wish John hadn’t—” I stopped, holding my pen over the page. Started to scratch out what I’d written when I noticed a tall, elderly man standing in front of me, looking