The sound doused him with such a heavy feeling of melancholy to the extent that he found himself clenching his hand till his tan knuckles whitened.
It made this evening wistful more than anything.
It still hadn't sunk in yet, but the reality was that this would be the last time he saw his father in a long, long time.
The problem was that he knew it would wrench his heart later, when he was no longer around. When he was sitting alone on the aeroplane and reminiscing on all their... questionable memories, but at the moment, he could not help but be his usual self around his pops.
His carefree, contented self.
That's what his father made it to be ever since he was a child. Albeit his whole upbringing was riddled with difficulties and desperate flees for survival-
'We did get caught a few times, he he.'
- His father never failed to radiate a sense of reassurance, and that was despite his immaturity and flippant demeanour.
In all truthfulness, he'd grown too accustomed to their calm... okay, not exactly calm, but rather minimalistic lifestyle that, as Elyas gazed at the approaching vehicle, he realised that if it were up to him, he'd prefer to stay in the Anarchist desert.
Prefer to stay at home.
Where Aunty Henriette, their scrapyard dealer or Uncle Franky, their reckless and loud surveillance contact, lived.
But as his father said, this life wasn't sustainable.
It wasn't enough.
He hadn't a clue of the reasons for any of their circumstances, but he knew enough to trust that old geezer.
Elyas wended his finger between his protruding ribs; he had to remember.
"There he is," his father said, watching the bulky truck roll down the dune towards the airstrip.
Anchored to it from behind was a small, scrappy-looking one-engine plane.
"Hey, pops, am I gonna be riding on that?" Elyas asked incredulously.
His father nodded firmly with a satisfied smirk on his face.
"Antonio truly does live up to his word, eh?"
Elyas's jaw dropped.
"What am I, royalty?! Goodness, Dad, that's amazing!"
Keppa tilted his head, face contorted in disbelief.
"No... I think his twentieth execution will be in the desert," he muttered.
The truck reached the airstrip, parked so that the plane was facing the runway, and a funny-looking, unusually short and chubby man stepped out.
He looked like his face was permanently twisted in an oblivious smile.
But Elyas was distracted by something else.
'Is he... is he wearing a toupee, now?'
Every few seconds, Antonio reached up to his head and adjusted his toupee lest it fall off.
Antonio giggled like a little child when he saw his father.
"He, he, he, Laith, you son of a gun! You're still smiling and kicking, eh?!
His father chuckled, beaming delightfully and spreading his arms for his friend.
"Antonio! Antonio! Antonio! What are you talking about, buddy? When was the last time we saw each other, huh?!
They embraced each other fiercely, laughing in fervent joy at their reunion.
But his father did have to bend down a little, given their height difference.
Antonio patted him on the back energetically with his pudgy hands and said, "I think it was your uh... ninth... or maybe tenth execution."
"Eighth!" Keppa yelled from the back, reluctantly smiling a little at the reunion.
After their embrace, Antonio scurried to Elyas.
"Oh! And look at this little bugger."
He once again reached up to hug him, and Elyas, like his father, bent a little for it to work.
"Goodness, you look even more handsome now! Now, don't go marrying girls beyond our pay grade!"
Elays chuckled awkwardly, making sure not to knock his toupee off accidentally.
"It's good to see you again, too, Mister Antonio! I like your toupee!"
"Oh, you do! Well, let me tell you, my wife is in love! It's like our honeymoon all over again in there!"
They laughed, and Antonio moved to the back.
"Well, if it isn't our stiff buddy Keppa!"
To Keppa's mild surprise, he received a warm embrace too.
"It isn't every day that one sees a law-abiding fella in the Anarchist Desert, eh?! How have you been?! When was the last time we saw each other?! No wait, it was the eighth, as you mentioned earlier, correct?!"
Keppa sighed and muttered, "Yes, sure it was."
After exchanging a few more unnecessary pleasantries, Antonio stood as straight as he could, hands to his hips, and sighed.
"My goodness. Our own Elyas is going to Rosendale! You know, when I told my wife, she flipped out so bad, I had to get the neighbours to calm her down! Rosendale! Rosendale goddammit! Rosendale!"
His father chuckled. "He, that's my son! That's my son for you, Antonio, that's my son!"
"Well, pops," Elyas said, smiling proudly, "You did do most of the admissions work yourself! I think you should pat yourself on the back a little more!"
"Oh, trust me, son, I did, and I'm not stopping anytime soon! The whole desert will hear about it, I tell you! Your old man has a big mouth on 'em, you know?!"
Antonio grinned. "Oh, we know, you old scruff, we know! So when's Induction day?!"
Elyas scratched his head. "In two days."
"Oh... you got plenty of time."
His father cleared his throat smugly.
"That's a considerate father for you! By the way, Antonio, how are the kids?"
Elyas sighed at another bout of dull conversation, and after thirty minutes or so, his Father sighed, turned to him with a forlorn smile, and placed a weathered hand on his shoulder.
"So, son, this is it. This is all your incompetent pops could do for you."
No, there was no incompetence; Elyas didn't think so in the least.
All he was thinking about now was how much he was gonna hit him. How much his vacancy would gnaw at his heart.
'And maybe he's thinking that too?'
He had to, right?
Yes, he did.
He saw it in his father now, a slight shiver suppressed by a clenched jaw. Glassy eyes blinked to make them dry again.
Then, his old man suddenly embraced him in the warmest, dearest hug he'd felt since his mother's death.
It was to the extent that Elyas was a little taken aback.
'Wha...'
His father remained silent in that embrace, tucking his chin and hiding his face in his son's shoulder.
He didn't say a word, nor did he need to.
His father was never proficient in expressing emotions, but Elyas knew.
He knew and he felt the boundless love, worry, pride, and sadness in his father's embrace.
And then, it finally happened.
Something powerful and blue rose to his throat, and this time, he let it rise undisturbed. He hugged his father back tightly and sobbed.
"I'm... I'm gonna miss you, Pops," he wept.
His father took a little too long to answer, and when he did, he sounded just as weak as his son.
"Yeah, me too."
They remained so for a few seconds too long before his father whispered with a shuddering voice that was unlike him in every way, "Stay safe, son. Seize it all. And don't let anyone hurt you like that again, ya hear?"
Elyas understood what he meant and murmured in agreement.
And just like that, his old man pulled away, making sure to hide his face by pretending to ponder the sky.
"Oh... It really is a beautiful day, isn't it, son?"
Elyas, too, was pretending to ponder the sky a distance away from his father.
"Yeah, pops. Uh... no clouds and stuff. It's nice. It's very nice."
Well, there were never clouds to begin with in the Anarchist desert, but sure.