There are pictures round the walls – people flying – men with wings and helmets; women, too, and children, soaring through the air. There’s a poem pasted up, a long one with long words. It took me hours to read it.
I turn back to the notice board, spell out the last verse again. I can’t follow quite a lot of it, but it’s so beautiful, it makes me want to cry.
Up, up, the long delirious burning blue
I’ve topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark nor even eagle flew.
And while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
“The face of God.” Maybe I can touch it. Even if I don’t, just to be that close …
The woman’s calling out. She wants my money. It costs fifteen dollars, which isn’t all that much for the chance of touching God. The plane cost more than that, much more. Victor gave me money in my chocolate box. I like Victor. Carole’s with him now, I think. She lost him for a while and I had to help her find him.
We found another man, a Poet called John Milton who took us to a restaurant. I didn’t like the restaurant. Someone had stolen all the knives and forks. It’s rude to eat with fingers and everyone was punished for it. We had to get up and dance round and round the room while they played this loud and painful music. If you stopped, or went too slowly, or tried to find your seat again, they dragged you back and the music played still faster.
I hurt my leg, so I was allowed to leave before the others could. Carole ordered me a taxi, came right out to the street to say goodbye; told me not to worry if she was late.
She’s not just late, she hasn’t come back at all. I’m not sure what the time is, but it’s been morning for some while. It may be even twelve o’ clock and dinner time. I did worry, quite a lot, even went out looking for her. She didn’t like the Poet much. I could tell that by her face. Vic’s the one she really likes; the one who makes her happy. I think she must have found him in the end; got her miracle. That’s why she’s still out.
I got my miracle as well. When I went to look for Carole, I found this place instead, saw the notice tacked outside the building. “Soar like an eagle, float like a butterfly.” I shall, in just a moment. I’d rather fly than have my dinner. I’d rather fly than do anything at all.
I go back to the desk. I’ve lost my place in the queue now. There are a lot of people lining up, mostly little boys. I hope I’m not too old to fly. It says “safe for all ages” on the poster, but I ask the lady, just in case.
“It’s nothing to do with age, honey. Just yesterday we had a great-grandmother of ninety-one come in, and the day before, a fifteen-months-old baby. They had a ball, both of them. If you want to fly, you fly. So long as you’re fit, that is.”
I nod. I’m hardly ever ill. And of course I want to fly. I’ve been waiting all my life for it. I just wish I was smaller. There are two grown-ups in the queue now, but they both look small and thin.
“I’m … not too heavy, am I?”
The lady really laughs. “Heavy? You should see some of the tubs who walk in here. We had a prize-fighter the other day who weighed three hundred and eighty pounds and he floated like a feather.”
A feather! I can see whole wings. Angels’ wings. The lady’s counted out my money and is handing me a form, which she says I have to sign. There’s too much print, small and hard to read, with some things underlined. I don’t like the beginning. The words are very difficult and lots I’ve never heard of. I start again, halfway down. The word “INJURY” appears a lot of times in big black capitals, so I don’t read that bit either.
The bottom is the best part. There are just blank spaces where you write your name, address, and driving licence number. I print “N. TOOMEY, GOLD RUSH”. I don’t know the address and I haven’t got a driving licence, but the lady says it doesn’t matter and would I sign there and there and …
My arm is getting tired and I’m so excited the letters look like squiggles. The lady gives me a slip of paper, waves me up the stairs. I climb them shakily, until I reach a door marked “FLIERS”, at the top.
Fliers. That’s me. That’s Norah Toomey. An eagle and a butterfly. An angel. I push the door, walk in.
It’s just an ordinary room. I can’t believe it. I thought I’d see a great hall full of sky, with the rushing noise of wings. The only noise is giggling boys and a man on the radio telling me to drive a Ford. There’s nothing much to see at all, except rows of metal lockers like we had at Westham Hall and a padded bench to sit on. The girl behind the desk hands me out a locker key and tells me to take my coat off and the jacket of my suit, and also my shoes and any jewellery. I haven’t any jewellery, except my silver shamrock which I never ever wear because if I lost it I’d lose the last trace of my mother.
I don’t like to take my jacket off with young boys in the room, so I just remove my coat and shoes and put them in the locker. I have to wear a flight-suit which is a bright shiny red with a zip right up the middle. I like clothes which come in halves – top and bottom, skirt and jumper, pyjama legs and jacket. This is just one-piece and not easy to put on. It’s too short in the body and too long in the legs and my skirt gets in the way and then the zip sticks.
The boys are getting ready too, chattering and joking with each other. No one talks to me, though one lad points and laughs. I wish we had curtains like we do in Florence Ward. They could only see my feet then.
I sit down to put my shoes on, though it’s hard to bend with the suit zipped up, and my feet seem a long way from my hands. The shoes are white, the sort of shoes which people wear on tennis courts, except they don’t have laces. I’m not sure how you do them up. They’re too small anyway. The girl asked what size I wore and I whispered “eights”, very very softly, because I’m ashamed to have big feet. I don’t think she heard me right because they’re pinching at the sides and there’s no room for my toes.
I hobble to the mirror at the far end of the room. I don’t look like an eagle. Or an angel. I’d rather fly without the suit at all. I don’t know why we need suits. Or white shoes. Birds don’t wear white shoes.
I hope we start soon. I think it must be one by now, or even quarter past. No one’s moved at all. I slip behind the last locker in the row so that nobody can laugh. I look very large and red and bulky as if someone’s blown me up.
I stand there quite a while. Then a tall man in a tracksuit opens a door I haven’t seen and says “Right, fliers, come this way.”
Fliers. Every time I hear that word, my stomach jumps a bit, as if I’ve got the pains still, but happy pains this time. “Fliers, fliers …” I say it once or twice. Nobody can hear me. I’m saying it inside.
We follow the man into another smaller room, which is very dark and stuffy and has all the curtains drawn as if it’s night-time. We couldn’t fly in there. It’s far too small and poky. He tells us to sit down, then switches on the television. There must be some mistake. I don’t want to watch TV. I’ve been watching it all morning.
“Excuse me, Sir, I want to fly.”
“You’ll fly, Ma’am. When you’re ready. We have to brief you first, instruct you what to do. We’ve made this special pre-flight video which shows you how to fly, and – more important – how not to fly. Right, just watch the screen and I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
He shuts the door, leaves me in the dark with all the boys. There’s a sudden noise from the television screen and I see a big fat figure in a scarlet suit like mine falling on his face. This must be the wrong film. Nobody is flying, only falling. A girl in a blue suit crashes down, followed by a little boy who bounces as he falls. There isn’t any sky or space at all, just a sort of cage. Perhaps they couldn’t take pictures in the sky – it’s probably far too high or the sun would burn the camera.
A voice is speaking very loud. I think it’s speaking English, but it’s not the same as ours. It’s hard t
o understand it, but I try and concentrate. Flying isn’t easy. There are lots of things you mustn’t do, but I don’t think I’ll remember them because they’re rushing by so fast. Everybody’s falling still.
The boys are laughing, pointing at the screen. I expect they’ll laugh at me. I can’t follow it at all. I wonder how birds learn.
The voice becomes a head and smile, then the head gets smaller to make room for the body on the screen. The body has bare legs. It isn’t wearing a flight-suit, just a pair of shorts. Men’s shorts. He must be very cold. He asks us to stand up and check our own suits. He says they should be comfortable and not pulling anywhere. Mine is pulling under the arms and between the legs. I try to tell him, but he’s saying something else now – how dangerous it is to leave anything in our pockets or to wear a ring or bracelet which might fly off and injure someone. I begin to feel quite frightened. I check both my wrists and all my fingers. I never wear rings or bracelets, but I’d hate to injure someone.
The man has turned into a bird, a large white bird flying through a bright blue sky with little fluffy clouds. It flies very high, right up close to God. It hardly moves its wings. It’s just gliding like the angels do, not crashing down or clumsy like those people in the suits. There’s music now, very gentle music. The music flies as well. I close my eyes, flying with the music, with the bird. I think I was a bird once, long ago. I remember flying. I was very light and white and I flew across great white shining spaces, never fell.
The man’s voice pulls me back, tramples down the music. He’s bending his knees, leaping in the air. I shan’t watch any more. They only make it stupid on the screen, pretend flying’s very difficult and dangerous. I try to see the bird again, make it fly inside my head, but the voice keeps frightening it, scaring it away. It’s telling us to check our pockets, take off any jewellery. It’s said that once already. I don’t think it’s a good film.
“And if anyone wears dentures, it’s essential you remove them. They could fly out of your mouth in the force of the wind and cause an injury.”
I open my eyes, stare at him in horror. All my teeth aren’t false, just the top ones. A dentist took them out once. I don’t know why. They weren’t decayed or hurting. He was going to remove the bottom ones as well, but he died on the Tuesday and my second appointment was the Friday afternoon.
I’d hate to take my denture out. I never do unless it’s really private. I even leave it in at night, now Carole’s sleeping next to me. I don’t want her to know I’ve got false teeth. People laugh at them.
The voice is still speaking, but I can only think of dentures. It’s very dark in here, so maybe I could slip it in my pocket. No. You’re not allowed to put things in your pockets, not anything at all. The tall man in the tracksuit has just come in again, and is switching on the lights. The film has ended, the boys all standing up. I stay sitting where I am. I feel very very heavy, as if I’m made of iron. I don’t think I can fly.
“Are you all right, Ma’am?”
I could do it now, ease it out while he’s standing there blocking me from view. At least the boys won’t see. But my mouth will go a funny shape without it, and I’ll sound odd when I speak. I try to speak, but my voice has flown away. It does that when I’m frightened.
“It’s quite normal to be nervous, Ma’am. A lot of folks feel scared when they haven’t flown before. Once we start, you’ll be just fine.”
I nod. It’s easier to nod. He leads us into a passage, hands us each a helmet and a pair of green foam ear-plugs, and some things called goggles which he says protect your eyes. The boys all put theirs on. I don’t. He checks the other helmets, then stops in front of me.
“You’ll need to take your glasses off. Just leave them on this windowsill and you can pick them up after your flight. Okay? The helmet goes like this.”
He’s trying to explain, but I’m feeling very strange now. Everything has blurred without my glasses. He’s very big and close and very blue.
“What’s the matter? Can’t you manage? Here, bend your head. That’s it.”
He’s putting on my goggles for me, making sure the helmet fits. It feels very hard and heavy, weighing down my head, and there are metal bars across my face as if I’m in a cage. I can’t hear with the ear-plugs in, and my voice has not come back yet. All the boys are ready. They’re whispering and giggling, looking back at me. One of them has lovely eyes like Carole’s. I’ll feel dreadful if my teeth fly out and hit him.
“I … I …” It’s no good. They can’t hear me. I can’t even hear myself. I’m shut in like a locked-ward dangerous patient in a tiny padded cell with no windows, only bars, and strapped into a straitjacket with a blindfold and a gag.
The man in the tracksuit is still standing over me. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but it’s something very angry. He’s pointing to my feet. I bend over, stare down at my shoes. They’re still undone. I feel too weak to try to do them up, so I simply walk away. I think he’s shouting after me, but I don’t turn round to check.
I’ve found another passage where there isn’t anyone. I see a door marked “TOILET”. They don’t have toilets in America. I walk in, shut the door. I’m trembling now, all over. I’d forgotten about toilets, forgotten my weak bladder. Sometimes I need to go very suddenly and quickly. I couldn’t in this suit. I’m trapped in it, closed in by the zip. I’ve got to take it off. I start pulling at the helmet. My head is throbbing with all the fear and worry, and the metal hurts my ears.
At last I tug it off, remove my goggles and the ear-plugs. I can hear noises now, the dripping of a tap, footsteps down the passage.
The steps are coming nearer. Someone’s at the door, rattling the handle, trying to get in.
“Everything okay in there?”
It’s the man in the tracksuit. I recognise his voice. I stand up very straight, close my eyes.
“I can’t hear what you’re saying, Ma’am. We’re waiting for you. Are you nearly through?”
I don’t say anything. I pretend I’m just my feet, sink down into them, curl up in the pain. My toes are all squashed under, so the pain is very bad. I can hear time passing, ticking very loudly in my head. I think the man has gone now. I open the door as softly as I can, eyes still on the ground.
“My friend,” I say, in case there’s someone there. “I’m going to go and fetch her. Her name’s Carole. Carole Joseph. She’s small. She only wears size threes. And she doesn’t have false teeth. She’ll be able to fly …”
“God! Am I cheesed off! He left me, Norah, just like that. I woke up in the morning and he’d gone. Not a note. Nothing. I rang down to reception and they said he’d checked out two whole hours ago, had to catch a plane and …”
“Victor didn’t fly here. He’s got a car. He drove here. He told me that. He said he …”
“I’m not talking about Victor. I’m talking about Milt. Milton Sherwood bastard Jones. Fine for him to fly first class and leave muggins to walk back. All that Big-Guy talk last night about missing planes. Well, he should have missed another one, bought us both some breakfast, before buggering off like that – or at least ordered me a cab. I traipsed the whole way in these rotten fucking shoes, from his hotel to ours. I hadn’t got a cent left for a bus, let alone a taxi. Hey Norah, you can’t spare me a few dollars, can you?”
I fetch my chocolate box. There’s not much money left and only two lime creams.
“Where’s the rest?”
“I ate them. Just now. I’m sorry. I didn’t have my dinner. Or my breakfast.” This is the first day I’ve felt hungry. I couldn’t eat before, not even at that restaurant where the fat man got so cross.
“I don’t mean the chocolates, silly. The cash.”
“I … I spent it.”
“What d’ you mean, spent it? What on?”
“I got lost, Jan. I had to take a taxi in the end. A lady told me to. She said I’d never …”
“Carole. My name’s Carole.”
“But you said I had
to call you …”
“Not now. I’m not Jan any more. Jan’s unlucky. Jan’s a stupid little fool. And Atalanta’s worse.”
She’s almost crying. I feel very sad myself still, but I’m glad she isn’t Jan. When I called her that, I felt I’d lost my friend. Jan is Carole’s friend, not mine. I’ve never had a friend before.
“Carole,” I say carefully. I hope I don’t forget and call her Jan again. I spent a long time practising, said Jan a hundred times before I went to sleep, so I wouldn’t make her angry.
“Have a chocolate.” I pass her a lime cream. I wish I’d bought those chocolates with the wine in. Wine always makes her better. I hate it when she swears. She doesn’t mean it, though. Inside, she isn’t happy, so she swears instead of crying.
“I don’t want a fucking chocolate. I want some cash. Look, how did you get lost, Norah? And why did you go out at all when I told you to stay in and wait for me?”
“I did wait. I only went to look for you, not far. And then I saw this place where you can fly.”
“Oh, don’t start that again. Not now. I’ve got a splitting headache.”
“Everyone can fly now, except people with false teeth. It cost fifteen dollars. I didn’t know you’d mind. You said Victor was rich and he’d won some money for us.”
“If you mention Victor again, I’ll …” She bites into a chocolate, puts it down, suddenly grabs me by the arm. “Norah, you haven’t just spent fifteen dollars, have you?”
“Well, yes …” I hand her all the brochures. That lady gave them to me when I said I was going back to get my friend.
Carole stares at them, sinks into a chair. We’re in the downstairs room, the one that’s ours, but very red and grand. I prefer the bedroom.
“Good God! You really can fly.”
“Yes,” I say. “You can.” I shan’t explain about the teeth. She might not be my friend if she knows I’ve got false teeth. She’s found that form now, the one I had to sign.
“Norah, you didn’t sign this, did you?”
Sin City Page 22
