Part 7

Pinned to the floor, enveloped in fears and sadness, the sounds of people around me screaming in terror as trays and other galley items crash around me. I cover my head and my life’s regrets flash before my eyes. I regret the party last New Years Eve, my Mothers last. We were visiting distant relatives in Cupertino just outside San Francisco. The sprawling estate was built on a hillside and was originally an orchard later to become Silicon Valley. A grand party was arranged with marquees set-up throughout the gardens. Mother was always convinced that Eartha Kitt and her were just one chromosome apart despite the obvious skin shading. They shared the same birthday although different hemispheres and her love of men was equally legendary. Mother being a night person would subscribe to the late performance of the opera, I was never allowed to accompany her as performances never began before 11 pm and she always explained that it required intense concentration. The morning after I would awaken and walk down the hall past her bedroom. I think she was in love with the same opera as she could always be heard singing the same growling primal sounds in repetition and varying intensities, I always thought it was Philip Glass. I’ve never been able to verify the opera and Mother nonchalantly said it was 20th Century experimental. The next day, she was always physically exhausted from her intense concentration, so much so that she never arose before midday. I would return from my late morning constitutional to see her in the Drawing Room with rosy cheeks puffing satisfyingly on a Davidoff Cigar – she was deeply moved by her music.

I digress.

Mothers performance this night involved a performance of her kindred sister’s epic hit song “Where is my Man” whereby she would appear at the top of a set of stairs that lead up a hill-side overlooking the entire valley, the lighting provided by remotely controlled oil burners would command the attention of the gathered guests and she would be guided her down the stairs flanked by muscular young men in leopard print G-strings. The impression of an African Queen descending into the gathering was to be topped with a spectacular fireworks display over the estate as she reached the guests below.

My job was to ensure the burners were filled with oil and to keep the path clear of debris that could possibly cause an accident. It was a brilliant concept and I took ownership of my role as if it was the most important part of the act. In the late evening, aided by a torch I carefully filled the burners to ensure they would provide sufficient light to illuminate the performance. My overzealousness was to turn to disaster and even before my Mother had belted out the first bars it was clear something was wrong. The dry grass caught fire and although Mother was a true performer even she had trouble dealing with the ever increasing scrub fire that eventually resulted in the entire hillside ablaze and the fire brigade arriving as late, unannounced guests. The party was a disaster from there on in and feeling partially responsible I retired for the evening to the gardeners cottage. All was not lost and although the fireworks were abandoned a short, torrid and passionate relationship developed soon after between my Mother and Fire Officer Proctor . Mother nicknamed hin Doc as he was always running down to the discrete pharmacy above the pool hall to get generic medicine for Mothers ever increasing ailments. He later died when a tennis ball knocked him off his umpire seat and he drowned in the slushy iced water of the drinks container below him. An autopsy revealed high blood alcohol and it was later discovered that his refreshment bottle was more than just simple “refreshment”.

Other lamentations flashed before me including that of dying with the carbonated, dry puckering of cheap “champagne” in my mouth. I lamented not being in the cosy confines of my first class sleeper. Just as I was thinking of joining Mother in her leopard print boudoir in the sky, an eerie calm pervaded throughout the aeroplane. We began to level out and our plummet towards terra firma stopped and I could feel the nose of the aeroplane lift into the sky we were safe!

I could hear the chattering of the other passengers as they renounced hastily confessed statements and disturbingly above it, growing louder and louder a voice. It was Oz and I could hear her coming closer. She was alive and running towards the rear galley to see if I too were alive. There was something slightly disturbing in her voice, she still sounded highly agitated when all around I could hear comforting words and the odd clash of hand on flesh.

I looked up towards the aisle to which Oz had last disappeared and where I thought I would never see her before. Her voice was getting louder and there, in the distance she appeared just as I had seen her depart only this time the trolley was on a screaming reverse, hurtling back towards whence she had come, her arms and legs still upright in some gymnastic prose her head arched forward, Mr. Gravy-Shirt’s arms locked in a strong grip around her buttocks and her skirt riding high above her thighs. The trolley sped closer, gathering speed and I looked on helplessly fearing it would crush her against the rear wall. Poor Oz.

From the corner of my eye I saw the door to the crew quarters open and the figure of Captain Merri appeared in a violent clash of lime green underwear, beige socks and black shiny shoes. His uniform was scrunched in a pile under his arm. His nakedness was strangely incongruent in the confines and surrounds of an aeroplane galley as if he had arrived on set of a play in the wrong costume. It was clear that his “indiscretions” were about to be met full on by his rapidly approaching wife. I covered my head awaiting the inevitable to happen. Captain Merri looked at me on the floor then followed my gaze up towards the rapidly approaching Oz on a platter. His jaw dropped as he realised the inevitable and threw his arms in the air in a pathetic gesture to protect himself from a very serious “confrontation” with his wife.


[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Jan 20, 2004).]

[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Jan 20, 2004).]