I wanted a different take on the hurricane. I’ve seen the death and devastation, but what else was there? nnWhen I asked at the hurricane center if I could ride along on the tracking plane, they laughed.
But at a small airport, I found a grizzled old pilot named Han Slogo.
“Han, can you fly me into the eye of the hurricane,” I inquired.
“Are you nuts? Do you want to get killed?”
“But Han, you dared to fly under the radar running coke from Colombia.”
“Ancient history. Big Pharma put me out of business. They’re the new cartels.”
“I’ll make it worth your while. I’m prepared to pay $50 for your time, plus gas money.
“That’s an insult. But why not, I need a case of beer.”
We took off in his rickety little jet and soon we were over a dense cloud mass.
“Can you get down in the eye?” I asked.
“We’ll find out.”
Han swooped downward but another jet did the same. He swerved hard, barely missing the other jet, and we wound up in the ear of the hurricane.
I slid open the jet’s window and hollered, “HEY HURRICANE, CAN YOU HEAR ME?”
“No need to shout, you’re in my ear. And who the hell are you?” replied the hurricane.
“Frank Lingo looking for the inside story. Let me ask first, I’m not sure if Dorian is a male or female name, so what pronoun do you identify with?”
“It.”
“Fair enough. Now no offense, but why are hurricanes always coming around and causing such havoc?”
“We’re not ALWAYS coming around. We’re seasonal, from mid-summer to mid-winter. As for causing havoc, that’s our purpose. What is humans’ purpose?”
“Wow, that’s deep. I’m not sure. So don’t you feel guilty for killing people and destroying cities?”
“Nah, it all comes out in the wash. You’re all going back to the Earth eventually anyway.”
“That makes it sound like you’re doing God’s will.”
“Could be. Depends what God you’re talking about. Native Americans named us after their God of evil ‘Huracan.’ But that’s judgmental.”
“Well, sure,” I said. “All that destruction seems evil, like God’s wrath coming down on us.”
“I’m just a storm, man. I get hot, pick up some rain and blow around. Get over it.”
“You seem callous when so much damage is all your fault.”
“Oh, really. Have you heard of global warming? Humans have caused the oceans to heat up, increasing the frequency and ferocity of hurricanes.”
“We didn’t know what we were doing. And we’re trying to make it better. Aren’t you doing this on purpose?” I asked.
“No, you give me too much credit. I’m just a cog in nature’s forces, cycling elements around the world. And your ways aren’t getting better. Humans still act like you own nature.”
“Hey Lingo, we gotta get outta here,” said Han.
“Yeah, you’re annoying me anyway,” said the hurricane.
Han maneuvered the jet out of the hurricane’s other ear and soared above it. When we got back to the airport, the runway was inundated.
He put the plane down on the water, Sully style. We got out and swam away but the jet was ruined.
“You’re paying for a new plane,” Han demanded.
“Sure, send the bill to this newspaper,” I said, sputtering some drops of Dorian.
Frank Lingo is a freelance writer and former columnist for the Kansas City Star. We deducted the cost of the jet from his fee.
From The Progressive Populist, October 15, 2019
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