The airplane was smaller than Birendra had thought it would be, though it did seem quite long. Mama Maddy—that’s what they decided he would call her—got him situated first. She let him sit by the window and told him that he could have whatever he wanted to eat or drink on the next flight, from Delhi, which would be a much longer flight, across the ocean to America.
“As a special Christmas treat, we’re going to be flying first class,” she said. She cast a nervous glance around them and farther down the aisle. “I get claustrophobic with so many people on these little planes.” She paused. “Do you know what claustrophobic means?”
He shook his head, worrying that his lack of vocabulary would disappoint her, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“It’s like you can’t breathe because you don’t have any space or air around you. Does that make sense?” He was considering his answer while at the same time trying to recall the word. “But you’ve never been on a plane before, have you?”
He shook his head again and was about to say he’d always wanted to go on one, that his aunt in West London had told him about flying. But he remembered Mr. Channar’s warning and thought he shouldn’t mention that.
“Oh, sweetheart, you must be a little scared, then. But there’s nothing to worry about; it’s the safest way to travel. I take planes all the time. All the time.”
She tightened his seat belt across his lap and began explaining about how noisy it was for takeoff and landing and about the pulling sensation in the pit of your stomach when taking off. And the bumpiness when the wheels touched down. About the dinging noises that meant passengers could or could not get out of their seats. About the whooshing sound in the bathroom when flushing. He hadn’t been scared before, but now he was getting concerned. It didn’t sound as fun as he’d hoped. Then she began describing what she called the wonderful things about flying, such as looking out the window and seeing the world in miniature below. Houses and cars like ants, and you floating above the clouds like magic. He lifted the shade and looked out the window. There were two men leaning against a truck, all still ordinary in size. She showed him the button to push if you wanted someone to bring you Champagne, or juice in his case. The food wasn’t even terrible, she said, certainly not in first class. Best of all, when you were on a plane, that was it: anything left undone back home was just too bad and would have to wait. No point even worrying about it. Not once you were up in the air. He tried hard to follow her words. He’d always thought English was English, but now he was beginning to fear it wasn’t quite the same in America.
“How long?” he said, finally able to get a question in.
“How long what, sweetie?”
“How long will it have to wait?”
“Ah, well, in your case,” she said, “you’re leaving home, but you’re also going home. And when you get there, everything will be ready and waiting for you. I’ve tried to cover all bases, but you’ll let me know if I forgot something, won’t you?”
She began speaking aloud to herself about rooms and furniture.
“A desk beneath the window would work; the blue dresser opposite the bed; only primary colors, don’t you think?”
There was something about the way she talked to him, almost as if he were an adult and not a child, that he liked very much.
“I’m not scared,” he said. Once he had her attention, he added, “I always wanted to fly in a plane.”
“Of course you’re not scared, you brave little man.”
She fastened her own seat belt now, then she suddenly seized the arms of her chair.
“My God, Christmas is only two days away,” she said. “I don’t even have decorations!” She turned to him. “You want a tree, right?” But again she didn’t wait for his answer. “And I’ll have to call everyone so they can meet you. Do we host a Christmas dinner? Would that be too weird?”
He wondered who “everyone” was. Maybe Mama Maddy had a big family. That would make his mother happy, he thought. He unhooked his seat belt and reached for his backpack, which he had stowed below. He placed it on his lap and admired the face of his new watch, which she’d given him after breakfast; his early Christmas present, she’d called it. He’d never had a watch before, but he knew how to tell time. It was 2:34, and the plane would be leaving in just eleven minutes.
“At school,” he said, “we learned about the twelve days of Christmas.”
“Did you celebrate Christmas?”
“I think so,” he said. “Not twelve days. Just one.”
Again, he almost told her that his aunt and uncle always sent him books, and that he wrote special thank-you notes on the backs of his mother’s letters, and that he and his mother always called them from town on the Saturday before Christmas. But again, he remembered Mr. Channar’s warning. He reached in his backpack and pulled out her present.
“For you,” he said, and she covered her mouth in surprise. He would make her something else for Christmas Day, maybe write down one of the stories he knew, with a drawing. He remembered what she’d called his watch, and he said, “Your early Christmas present.”
She pulled at the taped ends, then stopped because she’d begun to cry. He worried he’d upset her somehow, but then she reached her hand to his leg and squeezed it, thanking him. She unrolled the paper to reveal the patchwork monkey that had watched him fall asleep from its spot on the crate near his bed in the little green room.
“Oh! It’s just wonderful. I love it,” she said, pulling it to her heart, and he was so glad she did.
“My mother made it,” he said, feeling proud of the monkey.
She covered her mouth again and began to cry even more. He’d gone and upset her in the end, even though he was trying so hard to follow Mr. Channar’s advice.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her tears away and smiling down at him. He felt confused. Maybe she wasn’t upset. “Don’t mind me.”
But the tears kept coming, and he didn’t know what to do or how to comfort her. Finally she lifted the arm that separated their seats and she reached for the back of his head and pulled him close, kissing his forehead and comforting him instead. She smelled nice, and she was warm. He felt better there at her side, but also tired. He stifled a yawn.
“It’s perfect,” she said, still holding him close. He could fall asleep like this, he thought. “I’ll cherish it always.”