Signs of the Time

Signs of the Time by Timothy Dewey
copyright 1992


Leon folded the well scrutinized map of Thailand up and put
it back in the large manila envelope that held the other
paraphernalia vital to his upcoming vacation. He quickly modeled
the new hat he had bought, a rather khaki colored bush hat, the
side pinned up with an airline logo pin in an Australian Outback
kind of way. Leon pulled the hat from his head and stuffed back
into the bag from whence it came. He smiled widely, "Leavin'
tomorrow!"
To say I was envious was an understatement. A vacation to
Thailand was as far away to me as a date with Lady Di. "I won't
think of this place, or you guys, for the next eight days." Leon
stated as he returned to the flap drive motor he was
reconditioning. I gave him a curt smile and looked back and the
large valve I was working. It lay in twenty pieces in and around
my work bench. Time for an unauthorized coffee break. I would
most certainly go unnoticed in this football field size shop at
the airline. I could, in fact, light my hair on fire and run
around in circles and my associates would not bat an eye. Doing
your eight hours a day in an airline accessories shop conditioned
you to just do your work, and never mind what anyone else did.
I took my cup of coffee in hand and meandered over to Leon's
bench.
So when are you leaving pal? Have you got a choice of
flights?"
Leon fended me off as he continued to work on his unit
while he logged down a minute bearing tolerance he had just
measured, then considered an answer to my inquiry. "While you
are walking in from the parking lot tomorrow, look up. There's
only one flight and I'll be on it... leaves at 2:30 in the
afternoon."
I sipped down the coffee with my teeth clenched to
avoid any surprise at the bottom of the cup. "Ever been there
before, in a war or something?"
Leon shook his head, "Korea was before me, Vietnam after me.
Nope, I haven't been to Asia... up until now."
As I walked back to the bench, my nemesis, Dave,
tossed a balled up piece of garbage into my coffee cup. "Ten
points..." he yelled and then returned to his work. I made a
mental note that I would have to get my revenge before the night
was over and then returned to the headache of a unit sitting on my
bench.
As promised, Leon hopped the one and only flight, a 747-400,
destined for Bangkok, Thailand. His work bench stood empty.
This vacancy would only be noticed by several workers who relied
on him for technical assistance, good conversation, or a good
laugh. Anybody else at this immense operation would be oblivious
to his absence.
The day dragged on with it's usual lack of vibrancy and
variety. Because it was a Friday, the traditional weekend inquiry
was passed about like a hot potato. One person would ask the
next what they had planned so they could tell them in turn what
they had planned, then they would move to another location and ask
the next person. It was a rudimentary custom in the shop and
gave a gave you an artificial sense that someone actually cared
what you were doing.
Dave and Bob were having some last minute discussion at Bob's
bench that took on hushed tones as I arrived. It wasn't that they were
talking about me or had something they didn't want me to know about,
Dave just did it to tick me off.
"So," I said, "What are you going to do this weekend Dave?"
"Yard work." The reply was standard for Dave. If he actually
did yard work every weekend his yard would look like Buchardt
Gardens.
Bob announced he was to take his leave of this stinking
city and motor up to his soon to be retirement retreat. "What
are you going to do Tim?" Bob asked with what seemed to be
genuine concern.
"I have to go to the library. Still doing that report on the MIA/POW's
of the Vietnam War for my night class. It is due in two weeks."
As the remainder of the afternoon decayed into night, we
would take turns wondering what Leon was doing on his 15 hour
flight.

Leon took a long draw off of the bronze beverage swilling
about in the plastic cup among the clutch of ice cubes. His
flight was already to long, and he had already watched two movies
and read a tree's worth of magazines. He flagged down the
flight attendant and ordered a couple more drinks. If all went well, he
would be sound asleep for the next six hours of his flight, and wake up in Thailand.
He finished the last of the drinks and laid his head back. It what seemed like
minutes the flight attendant walk by and ask him to raise his seat to the full
upright position. He looked at his watch, could it be? He had been asleep for six hours.
He silently thanked Jim Beam as he focused in on what was going on around him.
The passengers were made ready for landing by a throng of flight attendants
who were busy stuffing pillows and blankets into overhead compartments and
gathering complaints and food trays.
The plane touched down on the tarmac in Bangkok and the passengers gave
a collective sigh. As they exited the aircraft the warm, humid air blasted them
like a belch from a volcano. This did nothing to improve Leon's general condition,
which was mildly hung over. He showed his passport and went through the normal
motions of entering a foreign country. Before leaving the airport he exchanged his
currency into Baht, the local dollar, and then claimed his luggage. He only spoke two
languages, English and money. At least one of them would be helpful here in Thailand.

He checked into his lodging at the Bangkok Towers and was quite impressed.
The room actually seemed to be worth the two hundred and eighty dollar a night
price tag. He pulled several bottles of his favorite liquors from the mini bar and
what looked to be a crystal glass disguised as a bud vase and took them out onto the
balcony.
The view was splendid, again worth the money. The balmy weather was working
on him, conditioning him. He looked off into the distance through the Bangkok skyline.
Below him the city was in full swing, traffic blaring away below him with only the slightest of noises actually reaching his ear. Far off to the left of the hotel was the thick mat of the triple canopy jungle that extended beyond view in a misty wave of heat. He had told the company travel agent to put him in a hotel at the edge of the city so he could experience a little of Thai wilderness and adventure.
Leon called down to the concierge and made dinner reservations in the Tower restaurant. "Seven o'clock, I want to eat at seven.... good. Hey, are there any nice walking trails for a quick hike?" Leon wanted to shake off the thirteen hours of sitting he had done on the flight over. A young lady on the other end of the line told him that she had some brochures that offered several fine hikes on the hotel property.
Leon hung up the phone and mixed himself a large cocktail, donned his shorts and walking shoes, his new hat, and he was out the door. He strolled through the cool air-conditioned lobby and up to the beautiful young girl behind the concierge desk. "Hi there. I
just called about the hiking brochure." She smiled in a public
relations manner and handed him the brochure. He spared her any
compliment about her gorgeous appearance, figuring that she
probably heard it from any number of drunken, out of line tourists.
Leon stood there and examined the map of trails. The one
that skirted the jungle behind the hotel looked as though it
would provide him with the most to see.
The young lady confirmed it, "That is one of the finest trails to hike... it goes by a
waterfall and through the outskirts of the jungle. Please obey the signs though, sir.
You may not go off of the trail, it could be very dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Leon echoed.
"Yes sir," she continued with wide eyes, " there are many wild animals... and snakes. There's a shuttle leaving for the trail head in about two minutes outside that door..." The young lady was interrupted by a phone call and Leon took his leave of her.
He sipped down part of the potion he had mixed himself in the hotel room and boarded the shuttle. After a short ride the shuttle heaved to a stop and Leon got out and took off down the
trail that led towards the jungle. There was hardly a sole on the path, it was quite peaceful. The whirring noise of the city eventually gave way to the motion and tones of the living jungle.
Leon tipped his hat to a German couple that offered a cheerful "Guten Tag" as they passed on the trail on their return to the hotel. He walked further into the jungle with every step,
the path offering glimpses at lizards and colorful insects.
Off to his right he watched as a long green snake slithered down the branch of a tree. "Look at that." He said in mild amazement.
As he walked further down the trail the daylight was having increasing difficulty filtering it's way down through the thick cover of jungle trees and foliage. He could hear a waterfall
ahead, it's unending fluid motion lending a pleasing hush to the noises emitting from the jungle. He reached the end of the trail and watched the water cascade over several rock formations and end in an emerald green pool at it's base.
The sign mounted on one of the trees read;
End of Jungle Trail - Do not continue - Trespassing Forbidden.
Another just below it detailed the waterfall and thickly matted jungle.
Leon walked several yards past the sign in defiance. He could hear another waterfall in the distance. He looked around to see if anyone was looking and then continued on into the jungle forging his own path as he went. The warning sign disappeared in the thick growth behind him, and although he was not aware of it, he had become lost... in more ways than one.
The sound of the waterfall he had been following diminished until it was gone altogether. He stopped and listened carefully, but heard nothing but the life of the jungle around him. He
turned back and walked in the opposite direction to get back onto the jungle trail. After several minutes he began to realize the situation. Looking up offered no navigational bearing, around
him was the never ending forest of analogous trees and ferns. He continued in the direction of the hotel, trying in mounting desperation to find some discernable landmark. As he strode through the bush, he was aware of a different sound in the jungle around him. In an instant he was surrounded by a squad of men, clad in black, carrying automatic weapons.
Leon froze at their shrill command, their leader pushing him to the ground as they spoke in what sounded like local tongue. A thonged foot put unbearable pressure on his neck and he soon
passed out.
Leon was slapped into consciousness and then yanked to his feet. The cold barrel of a weapon prodded him down what appeared to be a trail. In front of him, two of the black clad men led Leon and the others with a destination in mind. Leon was two bewildered to speak at the moment. All he could think of was why he didn't see this trail before... and who the hell were these guys.
He shot a quick glance behind him as he was prodded along. There were six altogether, the last one sported Leon's new hat. He had no idea what was going on. "You guys with the hotel?"
His question was answered with a quick blow from the butt of an automatic rifle. He stumbled forward, the open wound on the back of his head flowed scarlet. Who ever these men were, Leon seemed to be their prisoner.

Back at work I toyed with the project sitting on my bench. A hapless array of diaphragms and regulators, poppets and pins, that, when assembled correctly, kept an airliner full of people
safe and on time. Time for another unauthorized coffee break. I took my cup and went on a social tour of the shop to pay my respects to my associates. After all, they had given up the better part of a day to be here at work with me. That in itself deserved a little of my time, work to do or not.
As I passed by Leon's bench, I couldn't help but notice he was not there today, or the last four for that matter. "Hey Bob, when was Leon suppose to be back?"
Bob, one who was always ready to converse with almost anybody, stood up and walked over to Leon's empty work bench. "Tim lad, I thought he was suppose to be back on Monday... I think he must have had a little trouble catching a return flight."
I scoffed at the idea, "Come on Bob, he has enough seniority to bump Moses. He would at least be able to catch a flight at least some time during the week. It's Friday, he must have caught a bug over there and is sick."
The reasoning was there. He was after all in Thailand, a single man's paradise. There must be more things you could catch there than trout in the Russian River. We passed that answer in and about the shop to anyone who asked. On my way to the sink to rinse out my coffee cup I passed the foreman's office.
"Hey there," I called to get his attention, "is Leon sick?"
The foreman looked at a well stacked pile of paperwork and pulled a single sheet from the middle. He ran his finger down the page and stopped, "Leon is A.W.O.L. since Monday."
I thanked him and returned to my bench. Bob noticed my quick exit from the foreman's office and surmised correctly as to why I was there.
"Is Leon sick?" He asked with concern.
"No... He's A.W.O.L., since Monday."
We both silently began to worry much more than just minutes ago. Where was Leon?
The night passed quickly, as does every Friday night in the shop. We traded the usual insults and practical jokes. We were playing the "what are you going to do this weekend" game as the clock counted down the minutes. None of the responses seemed to change from week to week, month to month, but we asked anyway.
"Yard work." Dave replied.
Bob was going to lock himself in this weekend and finally rent a video or two he had wanted to watch. And of course I still had the finishing touches to make on my POW / MIA's of the Vietnam era report for my night class.

My reading table held the books I had checked out of the library, dangerously stacked like rock pinnacles in the Utah desert. I completed the bulk of the report, and had to leaf through a few of the picture filled publications to get a note or two for my reference page. My eyes were heavy, and if I didn't stop soon I would do more harm than good. I turned several pages in a pictorial edition of Time / Life... and something caught my eye. I turned back the page and looked at the top picture. I rubbed my eyes slowly to allow my them to focus and stop playing tricks on me. The man in the picture wore a hat just like the one Leon had shown us before he left on his trip.
The caption under the photo read, "Viet Cong with prisoners on Thai / Laos border." It was dated 1969. The man in the picture guarded the small group. His left hand holding an AK-47 at waist level, the barrel aimed at five men. One of the small indiscernible faces seemed familiar. I got up out of my chair and rustled through a desk drawer to find my magnifying glass. When I had it in hand, I returned to the photo and lowered it into viewing range.
The hat the man with the gun wore bore the airline pin, one of recent logo, holding the side up in Australian Outback kind of way. Behind him, the prisoners sat on the ground, there hands on their heads. I felt a chill rake through my body as though I had been dumped naked into the frozen waters of Lake Tahoe. There was Leon... sitting in shorts and a shirt, a wide eyed helpless look on his face. Around him sat several others, dressed in fatigues and torn flight suits. Prisoners of a war long since over, lost with time, and for Leon... lost in time.