At the Airport

What happened to the Romero family at the airport served them right. Having arrived at the last minute, the Romeros and their young son found that they almost missed taking their trip. This should serve as an unforgettable lesson for everyone.

The ticket agent asked Mr. Romero,

“Where are your brooms?”

“We didn’t bring any brooms.”

“No flying without a broom.”

“Then I’ll go buy them!”

“It’s only fifteen minutes until departure. So hurry. No flying without a broom,” he repeated.

This all happened to Mr. Romero because of his extreme calmness and his obsessive belief that there is always time for everything. He didn’t even take into account that it was their first airplane flight.

“The travel agency will take care of everything,” he said.

His wife had warned him a thousand times:

“Everything, no; not everything.”

And Mrs. Romero was right. The travel agency had seen to the airline tickets and the tickets for the bus to the airport, taken charge of the baggage, and had presented them with the brochure concerning ‘behavior during the flight’. The agency had even reserved a room at their destination, and of course, gave them the Sweeping Manual. But it was well known that the travel agencies now did not take responsibility for the brooms. Earlier, they had; but in the end, the demands were too much for them. Since all of the passengers were of different sizes and constitutions, making brooms available in the required numbers, weights and sizes obliged them to maintain enormous storehouses and a large number of trained staff for a service that, in reality, had little or nothing to do with the functions of air travel agencies. Brooms, after all, could be acquired at many other places; at pharmacies, kiosks, cinemas, medical clinics, public urinals – and retired immigration employees had the right to sell them as well. As a last resort, it was also possible to obtain them at the broom storehouse of the airport itself.

Having put his trust in the airport’s broom storehouse, Mr. Romero had placed his family in the embarrassing situation in which they now found themselves. Mrs. Romero was furious:

“Didn’t I tell you? Everyone has brooms and we are the only ones without them. Look at how they’re staring at us.”
It was true. Everyone was looking at them. What were these intruders doing, the other travelers asked themselves. They weren’t employees since they weren’t wearing uniforms, nor travelers since they didn’t have brooms.

“People are going to think we have never traveled before,” grumbled Mrs. Romero. And the boy complained:

“Daddy, all the children have their little brooms, but not me.”

Mr. Romero pressed his lips together, forcing himself not to say anything, while organizing their documents.

As soon as their passports were stamped, he told his wife:

“I’m going to run over to the storehouse. I’ll be back in a jiffy with the brooms.”

As soon as Mr. Romero left, an employee approached Mrs. Romero.

“Excuse me, are you traveling? And your brooms?”

“Daddy went for the brooms,” said the little boy.

“My husband went for the brooms. He already knows that it’s not possible to travel without brooms. Thank you very much but it’s common knowledge.”

“What an adorable child,” said the employee, and he gave the boy a yellow button with a little broom painted on it.

Mrs. Romero sat down with her son, who was whimpering in a corner. When another family walked between them, each member carrying their own broom, Mrs. Romero bent her head, pretending to say something to the boy. But in reality she did it to avoid the glances of this family and the others who stared at them with impertinence because she and her son had no brooms.

“Look what your father has gotten us into . . . I knew in my heart that we would end up without brooms and not be able to travel.”

“I want Daddy to buy me a little broom.”

Whistles blew and the crowd of travelers began to move in hectic commotion. The multicolored broomsticks lent the surroundings an air of optimism and joy, just like an open-air dance. The people ran from one end to another as teams of travelers were being organized. The colors of the brooms made the task easier. Women had yellow brooms, the men’s were red, and blue was for children.

“Look what your father . . .! They’re going to begin sweeping and we don’t have our brooms.”

The teams formed in no time at all and quickly dispersed through the different offices, hallways and departments of that section of the airport. Immediately the intense whoosh of an immense collective sweeping was heard. The travelers swept the floors with considerable vigor and brushed the edges and corners with enthusiasm..

Mr. Romero appeared suddenly, exiting the elevator. He was carrying the brooms which he lifted triumphantly.

That day very few white brooms (those of the single women) and black ones (those for bachelors) were in evidence. No one knew why brooms for widows and widowers were green. Yellow brooms were the most abundant, so the uproar was phenomenal. But now, with their brooms, the Romeros found themselves in a situation as ridiculous – or even more so – as when they didn’t have them. There they were, with their brooms, not sweeping or anything, because they weren’t a part of any team. They were just awkwardly, bashfully standing around. When a large, noisy group of youths of both sexes, all with the white and black brooms, shot out of the escalator and spread through the rotunda, they felt an enormous sense of relief.

The new arrivals were organized into teams on the spot. Mr. Romero joined one of the teams, then looked at his wife as if to say, “Didn’t I tell you?” Mrs. Romero joined another group (but she didn’t even look at her husband). Couples could join a team of other married couples, or separately join teams of singles. In the end the colors of the brooms indicated the status of each traveler.

For the time being, the boy was bewildered. An employee encouraged him:

“Go ahead, sweep anywhere you like, until we see what they’ll do with you. But how well you sweep! You’re a real traveler. You sweep beautifully!”

The boy was eagerly doing what he could. A nurse appeared carrying in her arms a little girl who was coughing, saying, “She’s allergic, it’s just that she’s allergic . . .”. The employee who was taking care of the boy asked the nurse:

“Which team?”

Everything turned out happily. In the blink of an eye the airport was perfectly swept. The individual effort, imperceptible. The result of the collective action, a marvel. The teams came back together. Each one stood in their place. Now they had their brooms facing up – that is, brushes pointing towards the ceiling. With so many brilliant broomsticks of various colors, it gave the impression of an enchanted forest in motion.

Replacement employees arrived with their knapsacks, pressing a button on each broom that transformed the airport-sweeping brush into another, much smaller and softer, that was now the airplane-sweeping brush. They also gave each traveler a metal hook:

“It’s to stow the broom beneath the seat when it’s not being used,” they explained.

Thus provisioned with their equipment for use and storage, the travelers – without disbanding their groups, only changing direction to line up – headed for the exit doors. Soon long lines of happy passengers could be seen setting off for their respective planes from various gates in the airport. Just a few children were twirling their broomsticks, but they would go on learning, little by little, to carry them erect, as God intended.

Translated by David Coulter + Kathryn Kirkhuff

Another translation of “At the Airport” by Beatriz Hausner was published in The Lunatic Gazette, Series Two: Volume One, Number Two, November-December 1982.