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SNOWING IN BALI

they would kick in the door. He was hysterical. He ran to the window. Rafael pulled him back, telling him to cool it, as he was 100 per cent sure he hadn’t been followed.

Barbara stood smiling, amused by the dramatic outburst. She knew she’d simply grabbed the wrong, similar-looking, bag. She nonchalantly suggested driving back to the airport and switching it. Rafael and Poca turned and looked at her, incredulous. The old mare was nuts. Poca started screaming at Rafael again, ‘You are fucking estúpido, you didn’t check the bag, stupid motherfucker.’

Rafael didn’t want to risk going to the airport, but felt he had no choice. Any second now, Poca’s shouting was going to bring hotel security running. ‘Calm down, my friend, I’m going to fix this,’ he said, grabbing his keys and the backpack. ‘Let’s go quick, Barbara, let’s pick up the fucking bag.’ On his way out he turned, snarling at Poca, ‘And you shut up, pussy, stay here and shit your pants.’

They sped to the airport, parked the car, and raced to look through the windows into the baggage claim area. It was empty between flights, and the conveyor belts stood still. They briskly walked inside, anxious to find the valuable bag. It was eerily quiet, with only sounds echoing from afar. In the distance they could see one or two people, but the baggage area seemed devoid of life.

‘Eh, you’re not allowed in here, what are you doing?’ a voice snapped out of the blue.

They turned and saw a customs official had materialised behind them. Rafael quickly explained that his friend had picked up the wrong bag.

‘Follow me,’ he said, leading them to a luggage storeroom where they saw the bag sitting on the floor, under a table. Only at that moment did Rafael realise the stress he’d been suppressing.

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