It’s starting!
Mats Krüger put his briefcase down in the aisle and took out his phone again to take a look at the text his daughter had sent as if a secret message were hidden in the two words, which he hadn’t decrypted on the first reading.
Wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, he wondered why there was no movement after row 14. They were already delayed by half an hour. White light from the ceiling flooded the interior of the brand-new aircraft with its lilac-upholstered seats, and Mats could smell air freshener and carpet cleaner. The high-pitched hum of the auxiliary power in his ears, he stood in the right-hand aisle of the gargantuan aircraft with his back to the cockpit. Twenty-four metres tall, taller than an eight-story office building – or ‘five giraffes’, as a newspaper once commented.
The journalist with a love for animal comparisons had also calculated that the plane was as long as two blue whales.
It’s starting!
The text that Mats received four minutes prior to boarding had both excited and troubled him.
He was looking forward to seeing his first grandchild, to maybe even being permitted to hold it in his arms. At the same time he was afraid of encountering in Nele’s eyes the same coldness with which she composed her brusque messages.
Only a fool would entertain the hope that she’d forgive him. And although Mats felt old, he was certainly no fool. He knew what he’d destroyed when he’d abandoned her mother, and he was still unsure why Nele had asked him to come back to Germany for the birth of her first child. Was she reaching out for a cautious new beginning? Or to give him a slap?
‘Finally,’ muttered the man in front of him with the rucksack, and the line started moving again.
Finally?
Mats would’ve preferred to wait a while longer in the aisle, as long as the 550-ton colossus remained on the ground. Four years ago he’d emigrated to Argentina on a freighter, to settle in Buenos Aires as a psychiatrist. He was terrified of flying, and had even attended an aviophobia seminar, but that hadn’t helped much. He himself had often used phrases such as ‘Accept your fear; don’t try to fight it’ or ‘Try to take longer breathing in than breathing out’ on his phobia patients and knew that such advice helped many of them. But it didn’t in the slightest alter his view that human beings were not made to be propelled ten thousand metres into the troposphere in an over-pressurised metal tube with wings. Homo erectus simply didn’t belong in this hostile environment; with outside temperatures at negative fifty-five degrees, the smallest error could lead to disaster.
Mats was less worried by any technical details, however, than by the principal cause of error responsible for most fatalities, not just in the air, but on the ground and in the water too: mankind. And there was scarcely another flight on which mankind would have so many opportunities to showcase his imperfections as the one Mats was about to make.
Mats hadn’t just chosen the largest passenger aeroplane currently in operation for his first flight in over twenty years, his was also one of the longest non-stop flights in civilian air travel. It would take the flying colossus a little over thirteen hours to complete the 11,987 kilometres from Buenos Aires to Berlin. Not counting the hour it took for the 608 passengers to occupy their seats in the double-decker. Mats would’ve much rather travelled by ship again – he had, after all, known about Nele’s pregnancy for months – but at this time of year there were no convenient transatlantic connections.
It’s starting!
Mats was shuffling along with his briefcase past an on-board kitchen smelling of coffee, situated on the same level as the central emergency exits directly above the wings, when a distraught-sounding woman stopped him in his tracks.
‘You’re not understanding me.’
Key words for a psychiatrist.
Turning to his left, Mats peered into the kitchen and saw a tall male flight attendant with a dark-blue uniform that looked tailor-made. He was standing beside the coffee machine talking to a young, red-haired woman holding a baby in her arms.
Outside it was dry and twenty-eight degrees, but the steward’s freshly gelled blond hair looked as if it had just escaped a stormy drizzle. Only upon closer examination was it clear that he must’ve spent considerable time in front of the mirror to make his hairstyle look so skilfully unstyled.
‘I’m really sorry.’
The steward managed to pull off the feat of nodding sympathetically while stealing a glance at his chunky wristwatch while the mother dexterously balanced her cooing baby on her hip.
‘My online booking was for a family seat,’ the woman said wearily. She had her back to Mats, but from her wavering voice he guessed that she was on the verge of tears.
‘I think this old guy in front of me has fallen asleep,’ Mats heard a teenager grumble behind him. Now he was the one blocking the aisle, but he was riveted by the emotional conflict playing out in the on-board kitchen so he stepped aside to allow the other passengers through.
‘Honestly, I really do understand your problem,’ the steward attempted to comfort the mother. His firm poise exuded experience and competence; his voice betrayed impatience. ‘But there’s nothing I can do. Unfortunately they gave us the wrong baby beds in Chile. They don’t fit in the brackets in the partition in front of your seat.’
‘So now I’ve got to sit with my baby on my lap for thirteen hours?’
Rocking her hips to keep the gurgling baby quiet, she said, ‘Suza suffers from colic. I’m really worried that if she can’t lie down she’ll scream all night long.’
Another sympathetic nod, another glance at the watch. ‘I wish things were different, ma’am, but I’m afraid I can’t help you.’
‘Maybe I can,’ Mats heard himself say, immediately annoyed at himself for having opened his mouth.
Two astonished pairs of eyes turned to him.
‘I’m sorry, what did you just say?’ asked the mother.
The light in the on-board kitchen that Mats believed was officially called the ‘galley’ was harsh and unfriendly, emphasising every blemish and wrinkle in the young woman’s face. Her eyes were as red as her hair and she looked as tired as he felt. She was wearing subtle lipstick that matched her freckles, and both her jewellery and clothes suggested that, despite the helpless little thing on her hip, she still wanted to be regarded as a woman, not just as a mother.
‘You can have my seat.’
His first German words in a long time tumbled awkwardly from his mouth, and no sooner had they been uttered than Mats wished they’d stuck in his throat.
‘Your seat?’ the mother asked.
His trained eye detected a minuscule contraction of the musculus orbicularis oculi. However exhausted the young woman might be, her eye muscles moved involuntarily, indicating to Mats an unmistakable sign of genuine delight.
‘I could offer you seat 7A,’ Mats said.
‘But that’s in business class,’ the steward said, baffled. The silver badge on his lapel shone with the name ‘Valentino’. Mats didn’t know whether this was the pretty boy’s first name or surname.
Two questions were probably running through Valentino’s mind: why would a man voluntarily give up his comfortable bed seat to a complete stranger on such a long flight? And what was he doing down here in cattle class when they were meant to be boarding?
‘I’m afraid there won’t be a basket for your baby in business class, either,’ the steward said.
‘But the seats are so wide that Suza could lie beside you comfortably,’ Mats interrupted, pointing to the baby. ‘According to your ads, the seats turn into flat beds.’
‘And you’re really willing to swap seats with me?’ the mother asked in disbelief.
No, Mats thought, wondering again what on earth had got into him. Agitation heightens fear. It was a perfectly simple formula. He’d resolved to go to his seat, learn the safety instructions on the laminated sheet by heart and, once he’d watched the on-board demonstration, begin his autogenic training exercises to calm himself. Yet now, within the first few minutes of boarding, he was already straying from this plan.
How damn counterproductive could he be?
There was no rational explanation for why he’d given up seat 7A to a mother and baby.
And yet he often behaved like this. With his patients, Dr Mats Krüger was calmness and sobriety personified. In his private life he’d often struggled with the irritants that triggered his emotional ups and downs.
Mats could hardly withdraw his impulsive offer now, so he asked, ‘Would you like the seat?’
As a shadow wandered across the mother’s face, no expertise in the interpretation of mimic micro-expressions was required this time to read the frustration in her eyes.
‘Listen, Herr…?’
‘Krüger.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Herr Krüger. My name is Salina Piehl.’ She pointed to the wall separating the galley from the passenger cabin, in the vague direction of where her seat must be. ‘My seat is in the middle of a loud group of slightly drunk men. Do you really want to do that to yourself?’
Shit.
Had Salina politely declined, he could’ve given her a friendly nod and moved on. But now that he knew she was doubly in need of help, there was no way he could leave her in the lurch.
‘My offer isn’t quite as generous as you think. You see, I don’t mean to swap with you; I have another seat on board.’
‘But… why?’ She looked at him wide-eyed.
‘I suffer from an acute fear of flying. In preparation for this flight I evaluated all the available statistics relating to aeroplane crashes. According to the data there are seats in which passengers have a greater chance of survival following a disaster than in others.’
Valentino the steward raised an eyebrow. ‘And?’
‘I booked all of them.’
‘Are you being serious?’ the mother asked.
‘As far as was possible, at least.’
‘Oh, that was you,’ Valentino said. Mats wasn’t surprised that he was already known to the cabin crew. His peculiar booking activity must’ve become quite the topic of conversation.
‘How many seats did you book?’ the mother said.
‘Four. Besides 7A in business class, there’s 19F, 23D and 47F.’
The mother’s eyes widened even further in amazement. ‘Four?’ she asked in disbelief.
In actual fact he’d wanted to book seven seats, but the others were already taken. And Mats had encountered considerable problems reserving multiple seats. Although the airline had an online booking option for overweight passengers who needed two seats, these of course were next to each other, not dotted throughout the aircraft. It had taken him numerous telephone calls and emails to explain to the airline what he wanted and to convince those responsible that he was neither a lunatic nor a terrorist. Finally there were problems with his credit card limit, as his fear of flying had cost him a small fortune. Luckily he earned enough and for the last few years had been leading a fairly frugal life as a single man.
‘But why? I mean, couldn’t you decide on one seat?’ the mother asked.
‘I plan on changing seats during the flight,’ Mats explained, making the bewilderment complete. ‘You see, the relative safety of the individual seats depends on whether we’re taking off or landing, or flying over land or water.’
The young mother grabbed her hair nervously. ‘So for what part of the flight would you want your business class seat back?’
‘I won’t.’
She could hardly have looked more perplexed if he’d undressed in front of her and started dancing around naked.
Mats sighed. He’d already been marked out as an oddball, so he stuck to the truth. ‘In 2013, scientists wired up a passenger aeroplane and deliberately made it come down on the US–Mexico border. A sort of crash test for civil aviation.’
‘And they concluded that seat 7A is the safest?’ Salina said.
Valentino had clearly lost his tongue. His jaw dropped even further when Mats gave his answer: ‘The way the crash test dummies were deformed revealed that, in the case of an accident, being in the first seven rows would mean almost certain death. Seat 7A was even catapulted from the Boeing – the only one.’
The baby gave a dry cough then started whining quietly as Mats concluded: ‘7A is the most dangerous seat on an aeroplane. I only booked it out of superstition. Because I wanted to be absolutely sure it was empty on this flight.’