I stretched my swollen feet out into the aisle, narrowly missing the trailing leg of a flight attendant. She scurried to placate a passenger a few rows ahead. His call light had been flashing indignant and unabated under heavy sweaty paws for some time. Glancing briefly at my watch, and then the flight path, I realised that we would be landing early. My stomach churned.
I was too hyped to sleep. I had tried to meditate but amidst the noise of the cabin, the exercise remained futile. My mind -frenetic - longed for the safety of my apartment in Rome.
... what can I get for you, sir?
The drinks trolley was making its final rounds. The same air hostess now smiled sweetly down at me, her cheerful demeanour belying her maligned spirit.
um... just water please,
I replied.
She caught the waver because she continued...
Are you sure, sir? Last chance for an Americano, Arrabiata...?
I knew I was in a privileged position, but I was already wired and didn't want to draw attention. It wouldn't be sensible, would it? I had the finest Columbian Arabica safely sewn into the silk lining of my luggage; beans from the greatest coffee triangle in the world. Why would I risk it? I sighed and politely declined - I'd have to take a hard pass.
She moved on, served a few more passengers, and then stopped alongside Sweaty Paws again. He wanted a coffee but was having to wait for another brewing jug from the flight galley; the dissonant tapping of his left foot revealed his displeasure. Two minutes later a second flight attendant marched down the aisle. Coffee jug in hand, he stood ready to dispense its golden hue into the white porcelain being gripped tightly between clenched hands.
Sweaty Paws remained unapologetic as he sipped from his mug, shifting back and forth in his chair, and avoiding direct eye contact.
As the attendant returned to the galley, the aroma of freshly percolated coffee beans wafted from the steaming spout and permeated my senses, wakening a desire in me too strong to resist.
Damn it! I swore under my breath. Damn that Sweaty Paws! I had almost made it without breaking. But now... the temptation was too much and I succumbed. A double espresso and an Americano later, we had dropped 20,000 ft and were preparing to land.
As I stood waiting for my luggage, my loathesome fellow traveller pulled up beside me with a trolley. Wedging his stout body between the edge of the conveyer belt and the other passengers, he commanded a front-row seat to the action. Suitcase after suitcase circled the carousel. Sweat beads lined the furrows of his brow, gathering in pools. The obnoxious odour coming from his pores was matched only by his abrasive attitude. I looked up to the Customs Channels ahead of us and heaved a little.
Alone and nauseous, I stood staring at the green and red routes. The customs officials were just finishing with the people in front of me.
If I made it through, I could write my cheque. If I failed? I would probably never again know the headiness of delicately perfumed coffee beans nor taste the rich decadence of chocolate caramel and nuts captured in a gentle medium roast. Tough choice.
Ouch!
My knees buckled slightly as a trolley rammed into the back of my ankles, removing several layers of skin. A string of expletives rolled off my tongue. I spun around to see Sweaty Paws, completely oblivious to his callous ineptitude. He was like a nefarious drunken sailor guiding his over-laden ship towards the NOTHING TO DECLARE signs.
Without knowing why, I decided at that moment to follow him. Within seconds the dogs were onto both of us, a frenzy of panting hounds, straining against their masters' leashes; trained to recognise the sharp scent of contraband.
Coffee most certainly fell into that class, ever since European governments had banned its production, import, and consumption within their borders. It was hedonistic! - they claimed, raising self-indulgence above moral value; a drug to rival all others.
Hedonism was the farthest thing from my mind as the pain still seared through my ankles. I hobbled backward in an attempt to avoid the curious canines.
Fermare! Fermare! Fermare! (Stop! Stop! Stop!)
The official line rang out. Rifles were waved in my direction. As their words echoed inside my head, I froze.
The dogs, however, were taking a far keener interest in my fellow traveller than they were in me. Sweaty Paws was surrounded. Officials were pushing and yelling. A sombre-looking suit ushered me to one side. With my paranoia fully engaged and now feeling slightly terrified, I decided to 'fess up. I choked back a nervous laugh and spluttered,
I have... coffee.
I paused, head bowed, waiting for the hammer to fall... but instead, the official broke out in guffaws of laughter. His colleagues were too busy with Sweaty Paws to notice or care.
I looked up to see Sweaty Paws stagger, and then collapse to the floor, convulsing and writhing, and clearly in pain. The official caught the look on my face and, pointing to Sweaty Paws, laughed again,
It's ok. Your lucky day. Drug mule.
... and with that, I felt the colour drain from my face before emptying the contents of my stomach over his Italian leather shoes.
The laughter stopped immediately, and he waved me through the exit gates amidst a flurry of technicolour speech.
I did not know if he had misheard me, but I didn't wait to find out. I wiped my sleeve across my mouth and, staring straight ahead, strode off without a second glance.
Within a few hours, I was sitting on my balcony, in the upmarket neighbourhood of Aventino, drinking the finest Columbian Arabica in the world.
The newspapers that evening led with the arrest, at Fiumicino - Leonardo da Vinci Intl. Airport, of a drug mule, who had swallowed two keys of coke in tied-off balloons. One of the balloons had burst and the man was lucky to be alive.
A gentle breeze wafted through the leaves of newsprint adorning the table for one. Leaning back into my chair to enjoy my spoils, I sighed, shaking my head in disbelief at my good fortune. Perhaps too close a shave... I thought, and perhaps my last coffee adventure abroad.
I focused my attention back on the newspaper and turned the page.
This post was inspired by a previous #spillthebeans contest post. Since the deadline for that has long passed, I have used the #coffee-fiction tag instead.
Dreemport banner used with permission of 
