Oliver Benjamin
“Eat beans,” Roy responded giving the old man a long hug. As
they parted Webele called him back.
“I have a gift for you,” he said, handing him a brown glass bottle.
“Water?” Roy replied, taking the bottle of Ambowith both hands.
“My dear King Sheba,” Webele said, “Is there anything under
heaven more valuable than water?”
He could still hear the laughter rising in his ears as he boarded
the plane.
The plane landed terribly and Roy’s water bottle emptied onto his
pants. They skipped down the runway, fishtailing a bit. The
passengers all let out clipped marine chirps of seagulls and dolphins,
“Gip!” “Ack!” “Ook!” they squawked, as if trying to right the course of
the hurtling air monster by cajoling it. The plane finally complied and
they taxied delicately down the runway.
“We should file a complaint,” someone cried. Others agreed. A
lawsuit was suggested and lawyers quickly proffered their cards.
Righteous indignation filled the atmosphere, lightening the mood.
Yes, thought Roy, man, confronted with an absence of problems
must create them. That was the secret of Yankee success. Yank the
chains. Rousseau’s chains. If there are none, invent them.
They stood up to leave the plane, crowding into the aisle to save
precious seconds. Only Roy remained sitting, hoping that his pants
would dry before they were released. But they didn’t, and he was
forced to walk through the Los Angeles airport with a giant wet spot
circumnavigating the crotch of his tattered Ethiopian clothing.
There was some trouble in customs. It wasn’t every day they
encountered a traveler whose only item of luggage was a huge sack of
coffee beans. This raised a red flag because drug smugglers often
camouflaged the scent of contraband with coffee. It took the officials
half an hour to dutifully examine each one.
“Come on, ‘fess up. You got drugs in here, bub?” one of them
said, “This is taking forever.”
“Of course I do!” Roy said and they all looked up. He said, “What
do you think coffee is?” But they didn’t find it funny.
Finally they let him through into the massive free zone and Roy
approached a security guard. “Excuse me,” he said. “Sorry pal,” the
guard replied, examining his sad rags, “No begging allowed here.”
But Roy only wanted to know where the telephones were. After the
guard showed him Roy made a collect call to Undergrounds. It was
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