This is a story about angels (yes, the winged ones) and my encounter with two.
The year was 1996, as a respite from two straight years of bending over backwards in grad school, I decided to go backpacking in Europe for three months, starting in Greece hopping on its scattered islands and then going northwest up to the pristine beaches and elegant ruins of cathedrals and castles in Portugal. I was with Luigi (my hubby) who then was just my boyfriend; we travelled by every conceivable form of transportation: by ship, ferry, bus, rented car, on foot, moped, mule (in Morocco),we even hitchhiked on pick-up and 8 wheeler trucks, etc. It had been a very pleasant trip and there was nary an occurence of any trouble or mishap in the course of that three months of constant wandering and wonderement.
The last leg of our trip was Madrid after which where we were to catch our flight back to New York which was at 6:30 in the morning, which means we had to be at the airport at approx 4 a.m. or 2 hours or so before departure. Madrid’s Barajas International Airport was only 20 minutes by cab from our hotel so we assumed it would be a brisk getting there, but we were wrong. What we were wrong about was our assumption that hailing a cab would be easy at 3 o’clock in the morning (we were staying in a youth hostel so don’t expect there would be cabs queueing outside ready for us anytime we wish for one). We had no choice but to take the subway that would take us to the airport bus station at Plaza Cristobal de Colon, and from there catch the limousine bus that runs to and from the airport.
From the outside of the subway station to the Plaza was only about 7 minutes walk but it would certainly take us longer with the amount of baggage that we were hauling- 15 kilos backpack each on us, my husband’s camera bag slung on his shoulder (hubby is a photojournalist and he always carries all his equipment in a huge camera bag, another15 -20 kilos), 3 enormous paper bags full of souvenirs, clothes, a new pair of Spanish leather boots, an alabaster bust of Socrates that weighed about 4 kilos, and about 5 ltrs. of Nenuco Cologne. Very heavy indeed. So, we got off the subway, climbed the stairs up exiting towards an avenue that we had to cross in order to gain access to an underpass that would connect us to another passage to the bus station which was located at the basement of the Plaza. It was dark but the street was not empty of vehicles and there were very few people around. While crossing, I noticed a white car, small and dilapidated and in it 4 men all in their early 20’s or probably late teens; it was in a halt and the people in it were looking at us while we were walking.
We got to the underpass, it was deserted (wee hour of the morning that’s why), about 100 meters in distance to the entrance to the basement of Plaza de Colon, filthy and reeky and the walls were smothered with graffiti. We were already halfway through it when I heard foot steps and Spanish words which I couldn’t make sense out of, the men had followed us; I turned my head back and saw that they were already by the steps and running towards us. We sensed trouble so we hurried and ran as fast as we could, I was running while looking back and being on-guard (hubby was carrying a heavier load so it was very difficult for him to turn his head back)because judging from their looks I knew they were running after us with the intention of robbing (and maybe hurting) us, and they were getting closer. So I concentrated on my running for a while but suddenly it was silence and I couldn’t hear anymore footsteps, just ours.
I looked back again and saw a man and a woman (young, both in their 20’s) walking casually behind us about 5 meters apart, in the meantime, the men had discontinued chasing us and retreated back. Although it scared the living daylights out of me I tried to think how did the two behind us suddenly get there; they weren’t in the underpass when we got there and they certainly didn’t look like part of that group of young men in the car. I was very sure they weren’t there because I didn’t see them coming behind us as we were in very close proximity. They both looked like normal people, I mean not homeless who might have just been hiding in one of the piles of huge garbage that were all over the place,and, who had suddenly decided to get up and shield us from danger. I managed to look at their faces too. The man had brown wavy hair with very fragile features, aquiline nose and deep set eyes with a soft gaze. He was also wearing round eyeglasses, like John Lennon’s. The woman had long frizzy hair, also brown but lighter than the man’s. She was of the same height as me (165 cm.) but kinda stocky for a woman, pretty but had a rather stern face; they were talking to each other as they walk, more of soft murmurs than clearly defined talk. I particularly noticed her gray Jurilla shirt because I had one that was almost identical.
We finally reached the end of the underpass, and there, was the entrance to the bus station. Safety at last. There were many people waiting, cab drivers sitting in their parked cars, security guards, and other backpackers. I looked towards the direction of the man and the woman once again and saw them climbing the stairs that lead to the outside street, my husband looked too and even mustered a coy “ciao” (instead of “adios”)and proceeded to the entrance; they didn’t seem to hear it and continued their ascent. At that point I was still trembling and panting but I couldn’t take my eyes off them. And for one split moment I saw WINGS, yes wings!! big and white and fluffy wings slowly moving up. In great disbelief I said, “My God they have wings!” My husband heard me and turned around to look …..
To be continued.
