Boneca [Doll]

Chapter 4: I Hate Countless Things In Life

Seated in the café's corner, Luuk shielded himself from prying eyes. Outside, the airport sky matched his somber mood, with tears silently landing on the table as he spoke on the phone with his brother.

"I'll let you know when I'm in Manaus. Love you." Luuk hummed.

"Yeah, you better. Love you too, squirt."

Luuk exhaled the weight from his chest as he stood. It seemed that as he did, the sun chose to dance on the metal curtain wall rails. His reaction to the airport bustle was a groan—thousands of humans swarming like ants around the terminal.

Best to steer clear—never really sure of their intentions, he mused. For all he knew, they could be plotting to sell someone's kidney to a dialysis-needing Belarusian.

He grabbed his black mask from the table, looping it over his ears. Only a reckless fool ignores caution... his vigilant instinct hovered at the back of his mind as he walked along the curtain walls, passing a group of research delegates.

Eleven of them were bound for the expedition site, with Luuk acting as the Principal Investigator (in place of Norman), overseeing Norman's Ph.D. students and research assistant—who had become his personal burden to bear. But those burdens seemed light as feathers, as they laughed and snapped selfies by the chocolate kiosk, their faces without a care. Three forestry students were sipping drinks at the café he had just vacated. Dr. John, the medical assistant, and Dr. Chen, the psychologist from the School of Medicine, attempted to engage him in conversation, but the talk of aero engine systems felt as stimulating as a brick wall. So, he veered off to check in his luggage instead. Approaching the airport security gate ten minutes later, a smooth voice halted him in his tracks.

"Good dawn, Professor Smit."

Was that a joke? Seriously?

Luuk turned, his gaze climbing to meet the tall man's face. A small tattoo of a tutu-wearing queen caught his eye beneath the man's right ear. He bore an uncanny resemblance to Brazilian footballer David Luiz—except for the hair. Annoyingly, the man pulled off the pompadour look, which was not everyone's cup of tea. Luuk had tried it once and ended up resembling Brienne of Tarth.

The tall man extended his massive arm toward Luuk, who eyed it with little inclination to shake it.

Handshakes, an eerie ritual, he thought. His father's company had a tradition where, at the start of each year, everyone lined up to shake hands. The social interaction felt odd, never quite gripping, and as the faces blurred past, it grew surreal with the different handshake styles (limp, firm, fingertip-grabbing, barely any grip). By the end, his hand felt slimy, imagining the places those hands had been.

But courtesy demanded participation, so he shook the proffered hand briefly—no more than two breaths, in and out. "We call it 'Good morning' back where I come from."

The man's attempt to stifle his laughter was obvious. "You feeling all right?" He gestured a circle around his own mouth, pointing to Luuk's mask. "Should I call John if you're not well?" He nodded toward Dr. John, rummaging through his backpack at the security gate.

"I'm as fit as a horse, so no, thanks," Luuk replied.

"Odd, considering horses have plenty of underlying diseases."

"Sure thing, Dr. Dolittle." Luuk realized he'd have to engage in pointless conversations at some point.

The man's laughter sounded like he needed a Heimlich maneuver. "Well, well. Finally meeting the celebrity professor in person. You look the part, especially with the mask." Humor laced his voice.