Maggie Gee - Virginia Woolf in Manhattan

‘Thanks, I’ll be fine,’ said the student.

The American bored on regardless. ‘If you earn their respect, they’ll be friends for life …’

‘Do you have any Turkish friends?’ asked the student.

Then we all gasped in unison.

VIRGINIA

‘Catastrophe,’ I said to Angela.

‘What?’ she said, anxious.

‘Your crossword clue.’

ANGELA

We were going down, we were racketing down through blinding yellow nets of lightning, bumping like a stone through black attics of cloud, floor after floor through a great broken building, electrics flashing to left and right.

VIRGINIA

‘Angela, are you all right?’

ANGELA

(

her hand shoots out, unthinking, and lands on Virginia’s lap: Virginia clasps it

)

‘Tiny bit bumpy, isn’t it?’

VIRGINIA

‘The sea voyage was so much worse.’

ANGELA

I valued her hand. I didn’t want to lose it. In that moment, she mothered me.

Ten minutes of fear can be a very long time. I was almost glad when she started talking, until I heard what she had to say –

VIRGINIA

‘So what WILL happen at my conference? The conference, I mean. Not my conference.’

(There is a collective groan and laugh as the plane tips and swoops, spectacularly.)

PILOT

‘Cabin crew to positions for landing.’

ANGELA

(

withdrawing her hand

)

‘Virginia, I just want to get there.’

VIRGINIA

Now we plunged into another universe, a parallel universe of playful demons. Yes, I was ready, I felt excited –

It was the moment when darkness threatens, when if a feather alighted in the scale we would be cast down into the bottomless pit. One feather, and the plane, its back broken, would pitch us down into the depths — in the burning wreck, they might have found my bones, and who would they have thought I was?

I saw the body of the plane strewn over the city, perhaps in the wide green space in Pera, a broken, blackened insect of steel. They would remove our charred bodies. Later, picnickers might seek shelter there; lovers at night might lie on the gangways; a man with a goat might sleep in the galley, and a tramp creep up near them to ward off the cold. Then the roof would fall in; briars and hemlocks would blot out the seats, the lavatories, the eyes of windows. Grass and young plants would take root in blown sand, then brambles would flower and fruit above them, till some trespasser, losing his way in the park, could tell only by the fin of one wing, sticking up forlornly from a tangle of blackberries, that here once hundreds of people had flown, a plane full of people, their hopes, their plans, the families with babies, the couple holding hands, the young mother planning her next play for young people, ‘Follow the ways of our forefathers’ –

But a force was working that kept us flying. Angela shook her pen: the story went on.

ANGELA

‘Oh God, oh God, oh God save us — ’

( They bump, hit, bump, bump-bump to a stop .)

God. Thank God.

I am not religious, but at such moments, one calls on someone. A wash of relief left me exhausted. I loosened my seat belt and sank back to rest as the plane taxied towards its station.

We could have died. We were here, alive.

I thought of Gerda. And I thought of Edward.

What would they feel if I died in an air crash? Edward would suffer, and have regrets.

CHIEF STEWARD

‘Please remain seated till the seat belt signs are turned off.’

ANGELA

No, he would never marry again. He might turn our house into a museum … Yes, the Angela Lamb Museum … Schools would bring parties to visit it …

It was summer, the lawn was mown and all the roses were in full bloom. Edward, wearing the chief steward’s uniform, was pushing a trolley of tea and coffee and selling duty-free copies of my books … he could barely cope with the numbers. They poured down the gangways, unstoppable, jostling, with bags and cases and people treading hard on my foot, and flight attendants who tapped me on the shoulder and said –

AMARA

‘Excuse me, Miss, perhaps you are dozing. Time to disembark from the aircraft. I’ll get my colleague to help you, ladies.’

ANGELA

(

jerking awake

)

‘I’m not asleep.’

( Takes stock of the half-empty plane .)

‘Virginia, why didn’t you wake me? I must have been in everybody’s way.’

VIRGINIA

‘The Jews weren’t bothered, they simply pushed past. And I took the opportunity to look at your map. Our hotel is in the heart of the old city.’

SÜLEYMAN

(

to Virginia, not Angela

)

‘Madam, please, let me carry your cases.’

ANGELA

(

crossly, to Amara

)

‘Actually half her things are in my hand luggage. It’s very heavy. Can you help me?’

A minute later they were on their way. The two spoiled women — Americans, weren’t they? — were almost the last straw for the flight attendants, blood sugar low after the eleven-hour journey. The praying passengers, the nappy changes, the kosher meals, the extra hand-luggage … Now these American bitches couldn’t leave the plane.

They found one last smile: ‘Enjoy your holiday, Madam.’

‘It’s work, actually,’ Angela huffed.

And then they were gone, and the plane was their own. Littered with plastic, paper-bags, blankets, newspapers, tissues — but their own. The crew smiled and drew a deep breath. Amara said ‘I can’t stand Americans,’ and Süleyman said ‘And I can’t stand Jews.’

But the empty, disordered plane was in sunlight, the last strip of gold before the storm came, and Süleyman touched his friend on the arm and said ‘You know I don’t really mean it,’ and Amara nodded. ‘I didn’t mind the older one. She actually gave me a lovely smile.’

‘Which one was older?’ asked Süleyman. He was blind to the finer points of women, or maybe Angela was looking exhausted.

‘We have to look after them in any case,’ Amara said.

‘Not for a bit,’ said Süleyman. He was off until the flight back to New York tomorrow.

Time to go home, kick the nearest human and de-stress by stroking the cat.

Turkish people love cats: Americans, dogs.

VIRGINIA

I stood just inside the cabin door, dazzled by the light at the top of the steps, trembling before a new beginning. Through the open door the beauty of the world came murmuring, too softly to hear exactly what it said — but there were birds, who sounded like the same birds that sang in New York and in London, I didn’t know exactly what species they were, there was deep golden light as I walked forward and all I saw was their wing-tips scattering like little black letters on the clouds’ dark velvet — the storm through which we’d swooped was still alive above us, on the point of breaking. What did it matter if I didn’t know the names of the birds, if their meaning, which was life, which was beauty, was plain? Air on my face. Fresh living air.

Angela still lingered behind me somewhere.

ANGELA

I faltered at the point when I landed with Virginia. I was, after a fashion, at home in New York, but in Turkey I was still a newbie. Yes, I had been there several times before, but I didn’t have the skills to look after her. I had only brought her because she pleaded.

I trudged like a zombie through the queue for visas. The storm rumbled like a giant’s borborygms through the airport roof above us. I didn’t care, we were on the ground.

Virginia’s big shining eyes were darting about, up, down, everywhere. I envied her vivacity — no wonder she had bounced back from the dead. The visa queues were even longer than usual. Virginia tried to chat to the official, who smiled tolerantly but stayed silent. She was interested by such irrelevant things — the baggage carousel, a good-looking policeman.