Ivan Klima - Lovers for a Day

Providence and trust blindly that the 350 or so passengers did not include even one suicidal maniac.

What percentage of the world's population was suicidal maniacs? And the percentage of ordinary suicidal individuals? If someone is intent on killing himself why shouldn't he take along a few dozen others who would prefer to survive?

As he was leaving, Leona gave him a letter, asking him to open it before he boarded the plane. He had been determined not to open it until he was in the plane, but because he was obliged to wait in the terminal building he pulled the envelope out of his pocket and opened it.

My one and only darling,

Don't get on the plane. Don't fly anywhere. Australia is a country like any other. You can see kangaroos at the zoo and you wouldn't learn anything about the theatre even if you did arrive. But I'm afraid you won't. I know you won't. I want you. I need you alive.

The call for the first batch of passengers came over the PA. He folded up the letter, which he actually found quite touching, and put it back in his pocket. For a moment he toyed with the idea of not boarding. He'd simply announce that he was not going aboard because he was afraid.

Afraid of what?

He had received a serious warning. However, it concerned only him.

Fine, that's your business. But your tickets will no longer be valid.

Tickets, tickets, what did tickets matter compared to his own life?

He would still be sitting here in the terminal when the first news of the tragic accident came on the television. They 'would put his survival down to miraculous good fortune. He could actually visualize the headlines, Another Triumph for Astrology! And how would he get home? Or was he going to stay sitting here in the terminal until Uranus slipped out of his house of death? Meanwhile the festival would be over and he would never get a chance to cross the equator, see the Southern Cross or set his face to the cold southern breeze bringing with it the scent of the Antarctic.

Now they were calling his row, so he stood up and joined the crowd swarming onto the plane.

He did not catch sight of the gangster on board, but that did not reassure him. In fact it had the opposite effect. The aircraft was a double-decker so he hadn't the faintest idea who was on the lower floor.

On one side of him sat a man with protruding ears and a Mafia-style moustache who greeted him with a 'Buona sera' and then mumbled something unintelligible. On the other side, there was quite an interesting-looking blonde who immediately started reading an English-language booklet.

He had also brought some books with him but instead he took the letter out of his pocket. He was moved by the fact that Leona was so afraid for him. As soon as he stepped off the plane onto Australian soil he would call her. Assuming he ever found himself on Australian soil.

The aircraft slowly and quietly started to move. Its enormous bulk rolled along the concrete runway. A map flashed onto the television screen in front of him with the route of the flight. Height zero, speed 1 knot.

Then the aircraft came to a halt and the jet engines suddenly

roared into life. The stewardess was demonstrating how to attach the safety belt and how to put on the oxygen mask and lifebelt.

Did any of the stewardesses have their stars read before a flight? What would happen to a stewardess who refused to go on duty because she discovered Uranus was entering her house of death?

He took his notebook and pencil out of his pocket and started to write.

Sweetheart,

We've just taken off. The flight takes about sixteen hours with a stopover in Singapore. I'll send you a postcard from Singapore. Just so you know I was there and was thinking of you. If I don't write it will mean I didn't arrive as you prophesied but that I crashed thniking of you.

He suddenly realized that if he didn't arrive this piece of paper would never reach his lover, so he stuffed his notebook back in his pocket.

The stewardesses started bringing round drinks. Many stewardesses, many drinks. They also handed out headphones to listen to any of five radio programmes or the soundtrack for the films.

The blonde at his side closed her book, put on her headphones and listened intently to something for a while. Two little Indian girls chased each other up and down the aisle between the seats. Figures flashed onto the screen with the map. They were 400 kilometres from London at a height of 10,580 metres. Outside the window it was 47 degrees below zero.

He shut his eyes. He felt extremely lonely in this overcrowded space.

He didn't tend to think about death, but of all deaths the most horrible to his mind was death by drowning. One lacked nothing, one just needed to breathe and instead there was 'water, water everywhere'.

In the middle of the ocean in a life jacket. As if anyone could ever free themselves from this enormous structure if it crashed into the sea. It suddenly struck him that the entire trip was pointless. He had no need to fly to Australia. It was gratuitous pride, the pride of the modern man, who doesn't even know the neighbours in his block of flats yet can boast he has been to the antipodes. How many of the people here really needed to travel from one end of the world to the other? Pride comes before a fall. People invented that saying before they had any inkling that they would proudly fly and also fall.

It was interesting how many famous and presumably otherwise sensible people believed in astrology.

Australia — Austrology.

People wanted to believe in something, naturally. The thought of our journeys being unpredictable, solely dependent on chance circumstances, was too disheartening. Just like the thought that we came from nothing and would disappear into nothing.

The weakest return to nothingness was via water. When the water-logged lungs could no longer take in a single gasp of air. Water, water everywhere.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

The Mafioso at his side was muttering something under his breath. He was praying most likely. It struck him that everyone in this particular space was acting as if everything was all right

when in fact they were gripped by fear. He could feel it; the atoms of panic were floating in the air: silent, sticky and oppressive.

The fair-haired woman at his side took off her headphones and turned to ask him where he was flying to. As if he could fly anywhere else apart from the plane's destination.

But she was flying on to New Zealand. She was a physics teacher from Dunedin.

No, he'd never been there.

Almost no one had been there apart from those who were born there or who had emigrated there. But it was a beautiful place at the southern tip of South Island. A rugged coastline, picturesque with cliffs, seals and cormorants.

It struck him that as a physics teacher she was bound to know something about the laws which allowed such a colossus to hold itself up at this frosty height. She would also know something about the planets, and even astrology. But he was too shy to ask.

Food was brought round. They were already 1,080 kilometres from London and nearing the coast of Africa. But the surrounding air temperature had dropped another three degrees. The aircraft was travelling at a speed of 970 kilometres per hour.

He finished his meal. The stewardesses gave out lightweight slippers, pillows, blankets and black eye-masks.

He had hardly slept a wink the night before his departure. First he had taken leave of his friends and then of Leona. She hadn't tried to dissuade him any more but had simply given him the letter as they parted. He suppressed the urge to read the dismal prophecy once more. No, it would be pointless by now. He ought to sleep instead. Or at least think about something cheerful, such as the antipodean theatre festival, a land full of