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Chapter 192 – The Journey Home
🕑 Added 2025-09-28 15:20:06 +0000 UTC
Waiting by the plane, Givenchy spread his arms wide:
“Audrey, my dearest friend.”
The lady, seated in her wheelchair, leaned in for a warm cheek-to-cheek kiss.
Then came the handshake between Givenchy and Robert.
Henry, meanwhile, was at the tarmac handling customs clearance. Since this flight was bound for Europe, they had to officially leave U.S. territory.
Before, Henry had thought that the ultimate privilege in such matters was access to VIP or diplomatic channels.
He hadn’t known that flying on a Mellon family jet meant the customs officers came directly to the plane, stamping passports without inspections or questions.
Now that was true privilege.
Supported by the two men she loved most, Audrey Hepburn rose from her wheelchair and boarded the Gulfstream. Inside, the cabin overflowed with fresh flowers. For anyone with hay fever, the sight alone would be terrifying.
As Henry carried the wheelchair aboard, he couldn’t help but marvel at the foreigners’ flair for romance. No matter their age, if there was still love, there was still extravagance.
Hepburn was helped onto the specially fitted bed, the backrest raised so she could sit comfortably. Henry and a flight attendant trained as a nurse checked the safety belts—necessary restraints in case of turbulence.
Yet the roar of the engines made Hepburn frown in discomfort.
Robert noticed. “What’s wrong?”
“The noise,” she admitted softly. “Perhaps once we’re airborne it’ll be better.”
Although Gulfstreams were well insulated, her weakened body could not endure much.
Henry, prepared, took a pair of over-ear headphones and a Walkman from his bag, slipping them onto her ears before pressing play.
“Better?” he asked.
Startled by the effect, Hepburn could only widen her eyes in surprise. She hadn’t heard him clearly through the music.
Henry lifted one side of the headset. “Does it help with the noise?”
“Yes, much better.”
“What music would you like?” Henry opened a small bag filled with cassettes—classical, popular, all sorts.
The Walkman was already playing Mozart—gentle, soothing. “This will do,” she said. “Change it once it finishes.”
“Of course.” Henry replaced the earpiece, letting her settle back into comfort.
Both Givenchy and Robert were astonished. “Listening to music during flight can really ease the discomfort? Why didn’t it work when we tried?”
Henry pointed to the headset. “It’s not the Walkman—it’s the headphones. You know how noisy cockpits are in planes and helicopters? Pilots need to hear each other and air traffic control.
“To solve that, their headsets are designed with noise-canceling functions. The patent’s been around since ’34, applied to headphones in ’78, and mass-produced only three years ago.
“But the manufacturers only supply the military. There’s no civilian version. I thought it might be useful, so I built one myself.”
Since the technology already existed, neither man found it particularly astonishing. They were more curious: “So you can’t buy these yet?”
“Not for a few years, maybe. And long-term use isn’t good. With less variety of sound reaching the brain, without external stimulation, your ability to filter voices diminishes.
“In crowds, you might struggle to focus on one speaker or judge distance and direction.
“But for occasional use, there’s no problem. For music, they’re excellent—though not quite like a concert hall. Want me to make you a pair?”
Hearing the drawbacks, both men lost interest. Airplane noise was tolerable enough. They found their seats and waited for takeoff.
On this private jet, there were no pre-flight safety demonstrations—unless the guests had some eccentric wish for one.
Soon, the aircraft lifted off, bound for Europe.
As Hepburn dozed with her noise-canceling headset, the three men chatted idly. Henry even played chess with Givenchy, casually moving pieces without much strategy.
Robert, flipping through a newspaper, suddenly asked: “Have you heard the rumors?”
Henry wanted to hit him. Another cryptic opener! Still, he played along. “What rumors?”
“They say the U.S., inspired by Audrey’s UN speech, plans to step up intervention in Somalia—to end the civil strife. Otherwise, the famine will never be solved.”
“About time.” “Oh.” Givenchy and Henry’s responses—one warm, one cold.
Both men looked at Henry, puzzled. “Don’t you think it’s a good thing?”
Henry put down a chess piece, expression indifferent. “The U.S. won the Gulf War, the Red Empire collapsed, and now Washington feels like the world’s sole superpower again. You really think that’s good?”
Robert pressed: “Isn’t it?”
Henry countered: “Since World War II, in every place America has ‘helped’—to put it bluntly, interfered—has there ever been true peace?”
Robert thought, but found no counterexample. “None?”
“Always one of the same problems: conflict, unrest, poverty, corruption. And the U.S. never works for free. Every intervention, they take something home.
“To plunder so righteously—that was Britain before the world wars. Like father, like son. If America truly wanted world peace, it would leave the world alone.”
The two Europeans burst into laughter. A Frenchman and a Dutchman—how could they resist? An American mocking his own country hit them right in the sweet spot.
Little did they know Henry wasn’t really American at all—just an alien, a time-traveler, and an oddball.
Audrey Hepburn, half-asleep, didn’t hear their banter through her headset. Opening her eyes, she saw the men laughing together and could only gaze at them in puzzled bemusement.
