by Eugene L. Meltsner

Greetings and salutations, fellow sojourners of literature! I, Eugene Meltsner, have been asked to explain the circumstances surrounding my sudden disappearance from the town of Odyssey some time ago.

My wife, Katrina, and I traveled to many different places around the world with the purpose of helping people. I would like to tell you one of my favorite stories from our expedition.

African Adventure

One of our first trips took us to an isolated African village to set up an emergency communication system. At that time, the villagers had no way of telling the outside world about problems, medical emergencies or anything else. We planned to set up a modern communication tower, so they could call for help with the simple touch of a button.

A dozen thatched huts greeted us as we staggered into the village with our heavy boxes. Children and their parents peered from doorways, watching us with anticipation and curiosity. A tall man approached and introduced himself as Gobir. He seemed pleased to see us and was excited for us to set up the system. We agreed to start the assembly, and he directed us to a clearing at the north end of the village.

Children gathered around as we began to take the equipment out of its containers. Soon our audience swelled to more than two dozen. They watched with fascination as I pulled out the long poles to construct a transmitter tower.

Katrina and I worked feverishly, despite our exhaustion and the feeling that we had become the evening's entertainment.

By nightfall we were ready to test the equipment. Many adults joined the children, all of them silently wondering what would happen when we turned it on.

I raised my hand and faced the crowd. I felt a dramatic introduction would ease their fears about this technology and inspire them to use the system when it was needed.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I began in their native language (Katrina and I had studied numerous dialects before embarking on our adventure), “we stand at the brink of a new era in the history of your village. When I throw this lever, you shall loose yourselves of the chains of isolation and soar into the communication age!”

The crowd replied with blank stares - something I'm used to - as I dramatically threw the lever.

Nothing happened.

I checked a few possible causes for the malfunction and flipped the lever again.

Still nothing.

“What's wrong, Eugene?” Katrina asked.

“I don't know,” I said, in an admittedly panicked tone. “Everything is in place. Perhaps we've encountered a short circuit.”

“Could the equipment have been damaged on the way here?” Katrina asked.

Almost afraid to look, I checked the circuit board inside the transmitter. Indeed, it was cracked. Perhaps the bumpy jeep ride on the way to the village caused the break. I sheepishly faced the crowd.

“Our presentation has been postponed until we can repair a minor bit of damage. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

With darkness approaching, the crowd disappeared. I worked by firelight through the night but to no avail.

The equipment didn't work. And the plane, which could have supplied replacement parts to us, wasn't coming back for a week.

Grounded

The next morning, I was utterly discouraged. “Katrina, what are we going to do here for an entire week?” I asked.

“I don't know. Perhaps we can get to know the people.”

“I don't think they want to know either of us. I've failed to give them what I promised.”

“What else can we do, Eugene? Ignore them? We need to interact.”

That night the people of the village invited Katrina and me to a banquet. I was grateful for their hospitality, though I had no idea what I was going to say to any of them.

Forty of us sat in a circle as the food was served. While we ate, one of the children asked: “Where did you come from?”

Katrina answered like a kindergarten teacher. “We are from America.”

She quickly drew a map of the world in the dirt with a stick, then pointed to the United States.

“We live right here.”

Another child turned to me. “What is it like in America?”

I cleared my throat and answered: “America is . . . quite beautiful with a variety of breath-taking scenery. It's also comparatively modern. The conveniences are state of the art. The population density is quite different than it is here, though there are some parts of the terrain that have similarities. . . .”

I saw the child's eyes glaze over and realized he had little interest in what I was saying. The children directed the rest of the questions to Katrina. I sat quietly while they gathered around her and smiled and laughed while she spoke. When I left the circle 20 minutes later, no one noticed.

Flying High

The next morning I awoke early to work on the communications tower. After a couple of hours, Katrina joined me.

“You know that's not going to work,” she said bluntly.

I stopped my tinkering for a moment and sighed. “Indeed.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“I suppose I simply need something to keep myself busy. I seem to have no other purpose here.”

I tightened a nut for no reason.

“Why don't you spend some time with the people?” Katrina suggested. “Get to know them.”

“How? I don't relate to any of them. I don't even believe they want me here.”

“They're fascinated by you.”

“They're bored by me.”

“That's not true. The least you could do is try it for a day. If you don't like it, you could come back here and tinker to your heart's content.”

Katrina left me with my thoughts.

Despite Katrina's words, I simply couldn't return to the village. I sat at the base of the nonfunctioning tower and read the manual over and over, hoping that something I hadn't yet considered would suddenly reveal itself.

“Hello,” a voice said.

Startled, I looked up to find a young boy staring at me.

“Greetings,” I said. “Who are you?”

“I'm Kwame. Does it work?”

“The tower? I'm afraid not. I won't be able to repair it until the next plane brings the parts I need.”

“Plane? Did you come in an airplane?” he asked.

“Two, to be precise.”

“I like planes. I've seen them fly over. But I've never seen one up close.”

“Really?”

I expected him to say something else. Instead, he just stared at me. We sat, looking at one another for an uncomfortably long time.

“So . . .” I began, uncertain of how I was going to finish the sentence, “you have an interest in planes?”

“Yes.”

Another awkward moment of silence followed, and then a thought occurred to me.

“I could make you one. Out of paper, of course.”

“An airplane out of paper?” he asked, perking up.

“Yes, it's called a . . . well, most simply call it a paper airplane.”

I reached for my backpack before I realized I had no paper. I scurried around, desperate for anything until my eyes fell upon the communication tower manual. I picked it up, ripped out a page and deftly made Kwame his very own airplane.

“Now watch,” I said, carefully aiming the nose and launching it into the air. It flew about 10 feet and did a nosedive into the dirt. I was disappointed it didn't fly farther or longer. But Kwame was ecstatic.

“It flew!” he shouted. “The airplane flew! Can you teach me how to make one?”

I felt like I had struck oil.

“Yes, of course.” I made another one slowly, showing him each step with care. “Here. You can fly this one.” Kwame threw the plane into the air. It flew about 20 feet. He squealed with joy.

We spent the next two hours making and flying paper airplanes. The boy left for dinner with his arms full and his smile wide.

From the Heart

A few days later, the real plane arrived with the proper equipment, and we finished the tower without incident. Making the correct connections proved more difficult than I anticipated because I couldn't find the remains of the manual. Eventually, I was able to make it work. I turned it on, and the village could communicate with the rest of the world. This time, though, no one was there to applaud the big moment.

Katrina and I packed our things and prepared to depart. All of the kids approached Katrina and hugged her. Tears formed in their eyes at the thought of her leaving. I watched from behind.

“Goodbye, everyone,” we said to a crowd of people. We turned to leave, but before we took a step, Kwame ran up to me.

“Come with me,” he said, motioning toward his nearby hut. Katrina and I followed.

I stepped inside and gazed at the incredible sight. The walls were covered with paper airplanes in different styles and shapes - a much greater variety than I had shown him. And there, on the floor, was the manual. Nothing remained but the spiral binding.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“I think it's . . . amazing,” I said.

Kwame beamed with pride, took a plane off the wall and flew it past me out the window. It soared more than 30 feet.

On my way out of the house, Gobir stopped me. “Thank you, Eugene.”

“For what?”

“Kwame hasn't smiled like that in months. You've given him wings.”

“Literally,” I said, smiling.

I learned a great lesson that day: The best kind of help doesn't always come from a manual - it comes from the heart.

	Q: What is a bird’s favorite game? A: Air hockey. Adam O., 9, Arkansas Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe