It was 9 a.m. before John, Marta, and the two boys headed back to their jungle home. Marta sat in front with John this time, leaving the boys to keep each other company. Digul, more aware of his surroundings, was amazed at all he saw below, and commented fearfully yet inquisitively to Tucker. The back of the plane was filled with shouts as the boys tried to talk above the roar of the engine.
Below, the green hills and cloud filled valleys glowed in the morning light. The fiery sun hadn’t yet burned off the fog from the lower laying valleys. To Digul, it looked as if the rivers were steaming, and it frightened him.
Even with all the attention of the cast signing, Digul was ready to go home. After the weekend stay, all the pain he had been through, and inevitably, the homesickness, he wanted his mother. Tucker kept assuring him the ride wouldn’t be much longer, but the more they flew, the more Digul wanted to get down. Marta overheard the excitement in his voice and his comments about feeling sick. She opened a window and adjusted the fresh air vents toward the rear. The newness of flight was quickly replaced by the pangs of nausea.
“He doesn’t look good, John. How much longer?” Marta asked.
Tucker sat wide-eyed in helplessness as he anticipated what would happen next. He wanted to be brave for his companion’s sake, but friendship responsibilities only went so far. If only he could increase the distance between himself and his queasy seat mate.
“The warm ground is heating the air, therefore giving us a bumpy ride. I don’t think there is anything I can do to make this any better. Hey, reach behind your seat and get one of those barf bags,” John ordered.
Marta undid her seat belt and shifted to her knees. John felt her arm and long hair brushed his shoulder. He could smell perfume from the advertisements in the magazines he had given her last night and was momentarily brought back to the kiss.
A horrible retching and splattering sound interrupted his warm thoughts as vomit hit the back of Marta’s seat and oozed to the floor. A putrid smell filled the cabin forcing John to let out a moan of disgust. Marta chastised him with a wicked glance.
“Did he make the bag? Did he make the bag?” John asked excitedly.
“Not exactly,” Marta chuckled as she leaned over the seat. “I think it was a direct hit into the seat pouch though.”
“Oh, great!” John threw up his hands.
Meanwhile, Tucker was about to climb out of his seat to escape any more episodes with Digul. Marta winked and asked him to hand her bag from the rear of the plane. She opened it and used one of her shirts to clean up some of the sickness.
“I can wash it later,” Marta shrugged.