R.I.P

R.I.P

         Air France jet landed in Salé airport. Around the check-in desk, people were waiting to meet their “arriving” or see off their “traveling” relatives with smiles, hugs, flowers or hand waives. The Smokys were standing together near the receptionist’s. Thirty minutes after the five o’clock plane landed, almost all passengers had left the place. There were still a couple of suitcases turning around the carousel but nothing was coming for The Smokys. They waited until they could no longer take it. Ahmed took two steps to the receptionist.

“A big wooden box to be delivered to the Smoky; may I know if it is ready or not?” Ahmed asked, and added “Ah, it was supposed to be in the five o’clock flight. I am in charge of it.”

“The plane has not yet landed. It is going to be late sir. Sorry!” replied the receptionist.

“Oh, hogwash; I can’t believe it! What you are telling me is that I’m not even here in front of you. I just got off that jet,” said Ahmed.

The receptionist went red in the face, grabbed the phone and mumbled something to someone at the other end of the line. She got back to Ahmed and said: “Ok, you will have to go to the Goods Delivery Exit at the air terminal end.”

The Smoky rushed to the exit immediately and there was the brown box with the name Brahim engraved on a plate firmly fixed to it.

“Here is the key to the box in case you guys want to take a look at it,” said Ahmed to the Smokys.

The airport authorities demanded a copy of Mr. Smokys ID and death certificate before the delivery could take place. This meant going outside the airport to make copies of the original documents. Ahmed who was a close friend of the deceased felt his blood simmer. “Mérde!” He shouted, “c’est pas vrai! un aéroport sans photocopieur ! Waini t`nz nwarradn aya”[1] Ahmed said to himself.

An ambulance was already waiting in place. A man in white came with the medical statement which was handed over to the ambulance-man. The casket was carefully placed in the ambulance. Finally, the vehicle headed to the nearest morgue at 6:30 PM.

At exactly 7:15 PM, the casket was at the morgue gate. Much to everyone chagrin, the mortician or rather the morgue keeper, because it was night and the mortician went home; therefore the keeper replaced him, refused to let in the dead body since he had not been notified by any authorities. Ahmed protested but then, in a desperately calm tone, confided that that was the only place they could leave the body; besides, the burial was due the next day. After some long negotiations, a moment of silence -the smell of death started emanating from everywhere. Should the corpses stink in a morgue! The place had been enclosed; in addition, the morgue’s coolers had not been functioning; to add insult to injury; it was really hot down there. All that made it impossible to stand there for half a minute without your stomach coming up your throat. There were some bodies wrapped in white shrouds with stains of blood all over them and all over the place- The guard mentioned in passing that some bleeding car-accident cadavers were brought there which allowed blood to get there. He then gave the Smokeys some forms to fill out, which they started working on soon. The ambulance-man handed him the papers he was given at the airport.

“Some original papers are still missing,” He said to Ahmed.

“How come? These papers have been checked and rechecked a thousand times,” Ahmed exclaimed in bewilderment and asked “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” answered the morgue keeper with his nose in the air.

B.M dug deep in his pocket. Before he pulled out his hand, the mortician had anticipated his move. He stretched out his hand too and got it back immediately into his own pocket. He then said: “you can go now; I’ll take care of the rest. Have a good night.”

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[1] “Waini t`nz nwarradn aya” to express the situation as childish and not serious.