Chapter 8 chapter eight

Hilary thought, How alike are all airports!They are all so featureless, and so far from the towns they belong to, that one hardly feels their presence.You can fly from London to Madrid, Rome, Istanbul, Cairo, wherever you want.And, if you fly through, you have no idea what those cities look like, if you glance at them from the sky, they are just a shiny map, like a child's building blocks. She looked around and wondered to herself: Why does one always have to get these places so early? They waited in the waiting room for nearly half an hour.Mrs. Calvin Baker, who had decided to accompany Hillary to Marrakech, babbled with her as soon as she arrived.Hillary just answered like a machine.However, at this moment, she found that Mrs. Baker stopped nagging.It turned out that Mrs. Baker had turned her attention to the two other passengers sitting near her.Both were young, slender, and handsome.One is an American, smiling; the other is a Dane or Norwegian with a serious expression.The Norwegian spoke very slowly and in a low voice, and his English was measured and pedantic.The American was clearly pleased to find other Americans among his traveling companions.Immediately, Mrs. Baker turned to Hilary in a very earnest manner and said:

"Sir, I would like to introduce you to my friend Mrs. Betterton." "I'm Andrew Peters, my friends call me Andy." Another young man also stood up, nodded stiffly, and introduced himself, "Tokir Eriksson." "Well, we're all acquainted now," said Mrs. Baker cheerfully. "Shall we all go to Marrakech? My friend is going there for the first time." "Me too," Eriksson said, "I went there for the first time too." "It's my first time too," Peters said. Suddenly the speaker blared, broadcasting an announcement in hoarse French.The content was barely audible, as if calling everyone to get on the plane.

In addition to Mrs. Baker and Hilary, there were four other passengers.Among them, in addition to Peters and Eriksson, there was a tall, thin Frenchman and a nun with a serious expression. The sky was clear and perfect for flying.Leaning back against the seat and squinting her eyes, Hilary was full of doubts and felt like sitting on pins and needles, so she had to look at her traveling companions, hoping to distract herself from the burden of thinking. On the other side of the aisle, Mrs. Baker sat in a seat ahead of her, in a gray traveling dress, looking like a fat duck smug.With light blue hair and a little tasseled hat, she was leafing through a magazine with a beautiful cover.The smiling young American with blond hair, Peters, sat in front of her, and she leaned forward to tap him on the shoulder every now and then.At this moment, he turned around, smiled more cheerfully, and answered her words with great vitality.How nice and friendly Americans are, Hilary thought!Very different from those dull English travelers.She could hardly imagine, for example, that Miss Hetherington could strike up conversation so easily with a young man from her own country on the plane, and she doubted that that young man could answer people as pleasantly as this young American.

Across the aisle was Eriksson the Norwegian. When her eyes met his, he nodded stiffly and leaned over to hand her the magazine he had just loaded.She thanked her and took it.In the seat behind Eriksson was the lean, dark-haired Frenchman, his legs spread out, as if fast asleep. Hilary rolled her eyes and looked back.The stern-looking nun sat behind her.The eyes are very indifferent and quiet, and when they meet Hillary's eyes, there is no expression.She sat there motionless, her hands clasped.For Hillary, it was a wacky time trick: a woman in traditional medieval clothing traveling by plane in the twentieth century!

Hilary thought, six people traveled together, with different purposes and different destinations, and after a few hours, they went their own way again, and maybe they would never see each other again in this lifetime.She had read a novel with a similar theme, in which the details of those six people were all explained.The Frenchman must be on vacation, she thought, looking tired.This young American is probably some kind of student.Eriksson may be on his way.As for the nun, there was no doubt that she was going back to her convent. Hilary closed her eyes and forgot about her traveling companion.She was bewildered now and all last night by the instructions she had received.She is going back to England!It's crazy!Perhaps, she was found to have certain flaws and could not be trusted: she did not say what the real Olive should have said or present the credentials that should have been presented.She sighed and felt restless. "Well," she thought, "that's all I can do. If I fail... so shall I. I did my best anyway."

Another thought flooded her mind.Henri Laurier had long thought that it was natural and inevitable that someone would nail her in Morocco.Is this a means of clearing her of suspicion?In view of Mrs Betterton's sudden return to England, it must be concluded that she did not "run away" in Morocco, as her husband had done.Doubts about her will ease - will see her as a trustworthy traveler. She was going to England, via Paris on a regular flight—perhaps in Paris... Yes, of course--in Paris, where Thomas Betterton disappeared.It's all too easy to get lost in that place.Perhaps Thomas Betterton had not left Paris at all.Perhaps... Hilary had been dreaming meaninglessly like this for a long time, and fell asleep unconsciously.She woke up...dozed off again...from time to time, she flipped through the magazine in her hand carelessly.Suddenly, waking up from a deep sleep, she found that the plane was rapidly descending and circling.She looked at her watch, it was still early for her scheduled arrival time.Moreover, looking down through the window, there is no sign of the airport at all below.

After a while, she faintly woke up.The thin, black-haired Frenchman stood up, yawned, stretched his arms, looked out, and said something in French she didn't understand.But Eriksson leaned over and said: "We seem to be landing here...but why?" "Looks like we're going to land here," Hilary said, and Mrs. Baker leaned over and nodded cheerfully. The plane circled lower.The land below them seemed to be a desert, completely devoid of houses and villages.The landing gear hit the ground with a thud, bouncing forward, and finally came to a stop.The landing was a bit rough, and no one knew where it landed.

There must be something wrong with the engine, Hilary thought, or out of gas?The pilot, the dark-skinned, heroic young man walked along the plane from the front door. He said, "Everyone please get off the plane." He opened the rear hatch, lowered a short set of ladders, and stood aside waiting for them all to descend.The six of them stood on the ground, trembling a little.The wind blowing from the distant mountains was very strong and very cold.Hilary noticed that there was snow on the mountain, which was very spectacular.The air was bitterly cold.The driver also came down and said to them in French:

"Are you all there? Sorry, maybe you have to wait here for a while. Oh, no need to wait, you look." He pointed to a small speck on the horizon, gradually getting closer.Hillary said in a slightly bewildered tone: "Why are we landing here? Is something wrong? How long are we going to be here?" The French traveler said, "I know there's a van coming. Let's get in that and go on." "Is the engine failing?" Hilary asked. Andy Peters smiled happily. "No, I don't think so," he said. "I can hear the engine in perfect order. But there's no doubt they're going to make something like that."

She was startled and puzzled.Mrs Baker murmured: "My God, it's so cold standing here, the weather is so bad. It looks cloudless, but it's so cold at sunset!" The driver muttered to himself.Hillary thought he must be cursing.In fact he said: "It's always wasting time. I can't stand it." The van was flying towards them, and the (North African) Berber driver slammed on the brakes and stopped.As soon as he jumped out of the car, the driver shouted angrily.Hilary really didn't expect Mrs. Baker to interject in French. She said decisively: "Don't waste time. What's the use of arguing? We're going."

The driver shrugged and walked to the van, where he opened the cargo compartment in the back, revealing a very large suitcase.With the help of Eriksson and Peters, the box was lifted down with the driver.They are so hard.The box was probably heavy.As the lid was lifted, Mrs. Baker put her hand on Hillary's arm and said: "Don't look, my dear. It's never a pretty thing." She led Hillary away to the other side of the van.The Frenchman and Peters were with them.The Frenchman said in French: "What's that? What are they doing there?" Mrs. Baker said: "Are you Mr. Barron?" The Frenchman nodded. "It's a pleasure to see you," said Mrs. Baker.She held out her hand like a hostess welcoming him to a ball.Hillary was even more puzzled and asked, "I really don't understand what's in the box? Why don't you take a look?" Peters looked down at her thoughtfully.His face, Hilary thought, was very agreeable.He was probably fair and reliable.He said: "I know what that's about. The driver told me. It might not look good. But, it's probably inevitable." He added serenely: "There are dead bodies in there." "Corpse?" She stared at him dumbfounded. "Well, they didn't do any murder or anything," he smiled as if to reassure her. "They did these corpses for medical research, perfectly legal." Still, Hillary was overwhelmed with panic, saying: "I really don't understand what's going on." "Oh, Mrs. Betterton, you know, our journey is over, I mean part of it." "The journey is over?" "Yes. They'll get the body into the plane shortly, and the pilot will get things sorted out. We'll see the flames go up in the distance as we drive out of here in a moment. Another plane crashes and burns, wrecked. People died and no one survived." "But why? What absurdity!" "But, sure..." It was Mr. Barron who was speaking to her now. "Surely you know where we're going?" Mrs. Baker came over and said with a smile: "Of course she knows. But maybe she didn't expect it so soon." After a brief pause for inexplicability, Hillary said: "You mean—all of us?" She looked around at everyone. "We are fellow travelers," Peters said softly. The young Norwegian nodded, and said, too, with almost unimaginable enthusiasm: "Yes, we are all fellow travelers."