The three of us sit there, listening hard.
"Are you sure, Eva?" I ask. "You sure--really sure? Look, the moment came and nothing happened. What kind of German math is that? Are you sure you calculated right?"
All three of us are in the back, by the tail of the plane.
"I'm not sure. It depends on how much fuel the aircraft had," the girl answers after thinking for a second. "Anyway, we should've been there four minutes ago."
"That means we should be seeing the Malaysian coast. We ought to see land." I stand up carefully and look out each window one by one--first the left side, then the right. Nothing. Blue water everywhere. I go forward. From the cockpit you can see the same endless blue stretch. The girl comes next to me.
"Tell me straight," I ask her, "did you touch the yoke at all? Did you touch it? Did you even breathe on it?"
"I didn't touch anything," she answers, a bit annoyed, and points at the panel. "Out of everything here, I only touched the headset and the microphone. I only fiddled with the radio."
"Then I don't understand a damn thing anymore!" I growl, furious. "This autopilot was supposed to take us straight to Kelantan. Where the hell is Kelantan?"
I glance at the gauges and see we've got the same speed and the same altitude. Nothing has changed.
"Eva, any idea where the fuel gauge is? How much fuel do we have left?"
"I don't know," she answers, thoughtful. "I can't tell."
"It'd be interesting to know what each lever does. I wonder if this plane yoke works like a car's steering wheel. Like, same idea: 'Turn right, go right'? And what are these little crooked levers in different colors even for, anyway?"
"I think you'd better leave them the way they are."
"But I'm not touching them. I'm just asking. Look, this button, for example, looks like it's meant to be pressed. It's bigger. That means it's important. What does 'PTRW' mean? Probably if we press--"
"Probably you and me are walking out of here and heading straight to the back. Now!"
"But why are you getting so worked up?" I say, surprised. "It wouldn't hurt to experiment a little, would it?"
"Leave the buttons alone! Come on! Now!"
She grabs me by the arm and drags me like some zealous German cop. Halfway back I stop short.
"Come on!"
"Shut up for a second!" I yell, scared. "Listen!"
I raise a finger, then slowly turn toward the nearest window. The right engine sounds kind of weird. I stare at the propeller for a while. It's spinning. Still.
We all stare out the windows. Both the left and right propellers are spinning like before. Maybe I imagined it.
"I don't..." The doctor stares at his hands and shakes like a leaf. "I mean," he starts again, "I don't think the pilot fueled up with an exact amount. Usually you have more fuel, right? A reserve. Logically?"
"Uh-huh," I say, edgy. "And after the reserve runs out?"
Dead silence. I can feel all our courage draining away. This waiting is terrifying. I look at them and I get even more scared when I see them: both of them are white as chalk. The German bites his top lip. My own face probably looks like shit too.
Third try, I finally get a cigarette lit. I hold the pack out to them, offering, but I drop them, scatter them on the floor. My hands won't obey me anymore.
I take a deep drag and calm down a little. Enough to realize time is crawling in a way that doesn't feel real. Everything feels heavier, slower. Time starts to... ripple. I rub my eyes.
"It's not my eyes," I whisper. "It's real. God, I wish it would just end! Why is time passing so damn slowly?" I suddenly scream. "Why aren't we dying? I can't take it anymore. Hey, you two, listen to me for a second! I say we speed up and point this seaplane straight into... into the water."
"Are you insane?" the man snaps.
"I'm not insane, my friend. But this waiting is killing me."
"It's clear," he says flatly. "You've gone crazy. Stay there on those bags. Don't come near us. From this moment on, you're not going into the cockpit. None of us is going in there anymore."
I'm not insane. He's wrong. I'm painfully lucid.
I look at the poor bastard with brotherly understanding. These two are the last people I'll ever see. I should love them, right? They're my brothers in suffering.
"It's pointless, kids!" I tell them with a smile. "None of us knows how to land this piece of shit on the sea, and nobody answered us on the radio. Around us, everywhere... it's just water and more water. And we're two kilometers up in the air."
"So what?" the doctor yells, tense. "If you touch the controls in the cockpit, you'll have to deal with me!"
"I'm not touching them, to hell with them. I was just trying to explain that, good people, the waiting is stupid. We have to do something, to..."
"To what?" the girl asks. Her black eyes look even darker now. "Why do you want to crash the plane?"
"Because it's pathetic to cling to life like desperate idiots. It's stupid."
I look at them and try to explain, to win them over, "Our problem is simple: we're going to die. I know it, you know it! But for the love of God, why die a thousand times before we die for real? Do these minutes really matter that much to you two? What's better? Holding hands and screaming our heads off while the plane crashes, or crashing it deliberately and yelling Banzai with our arms up?"
"You disgust me!" the doctor screams. "Half an hour ago you were trying to tell us about Jesus, and now you want group suicide! Don't listen to him, Eva. He's deranged. He wants to kill us!"
"You'd rather get eaten by sharks?" I ask with nervous laughter. "Does that feel more uplifting to you?"
"Maybe he's right!" the girl cuts in.
The doctor jumps to his feet like something stung him. He plants himself between us and the cockpit, throwing us murderous looks.
"Don't let him fool you, Eva!" he begs her. "This kind of maniac can spew a bunch of nonsense and still be very, very convincing." He turns to me and says: "Mein Herr, we'll make it out alive even if this aircraft breaks into pieces! Do you understand? I feel we'll make it out alive. Today's not the day I die! It's not over yet. I feel it, do you understand?"
We stare at each other in silence.
"I say we vote," I say calmly. "I'm for 'Banzai.' What about you? I already know your opinion, doctor. Maybe this little girl has more courage. Eva, I understood that's your name. Vote, Eva! Banzai or no-banzai?"
"Fine," the German says, shoulders slumped. "Let Eva choose. She decides!"
We both look at the girl in silence. Eva looks at her travel companion and tells him with a strange gentleness:
"My choice is already made, Herr Doktor. Don't worry. If you weren't here, I'd gladly vote for 'Banzai,' but with you here... I choose that we wait."
"Wait for what?" I growl. "The Holy Trinity? You disappoint me, Eva, honestly! Wait for what?"
"Whatever," she answers. "Anything."
"Thank you, Eva," the doctor says, relieved.
"Beautiful!" I shout, furious. "Uplifting moment, I'll say that. All we need now are trumpets and drums. Damn you! The Krauts stick together. As always."
"Shut up!" the girl snaps. "You're saying nothing but stupid shit. Sit down and shut up."
"I'm shutting up, may the fucking plague take you!" I bark. "From this moment on I'm not saying another word! I'm shutting up! And I'm not moving from this spot. Coward Germans! I'm shutting up! Fine, I'm shutting up."
Nobody speaks anymore. Minutes pass one after another, and I smoke cigarette after cigarette. I don't know how much time has passed, but in the end I've got no cigarettes left, so I stare at my empty pack that says "Thank you for choosing Marlboro."
Filthy capitalists!
"I don't think we'll sink," the German mutters to himself. "These craft are built specially to float. Even if it broke into pieces, I still don't think we'd go down."
He stops suddenly, terrified, and pricks up his ears.
"What's that?" he says in a thin voice. "Did an engine just stop?"
I stand up calmly and look out the window. Yep. The right engine died. The prop is moving weird. Then it stops.
"Bravo," I say, grinning. "The show's starting! You didn't want 'Banzai'? Piss yourselves with fear. It's better this way. The left engine's going too, any second. What the hell... dying this young next to two idiots!"
In less than a minute, the left engine coughs. The prop dances back and forth, then stops. I look down. The sea looks calm. There are some waves, but it's not a storm and it's not night.
You never know. Maybe the German is right. Maybe we won't die today. How cold is the Pacific, anyway? Are there sharks down there? Big ones, Great Whites? I guess we'll find out real soon.
You can see it with the naked eye--we're losing altitude. As long as it doesn't tilt to one side. God, don't let it tilt! If it tilts...
"You feel that too?" the girl asks.
"What?"
"You really don't feel anything?" she adds, pointing at the floor.
All three of us stare at the floor. It hypnotizes us. The luggage starts sliding toward the front. The doctor has tears on his cheeks.
"Everybody buckle up!" the girl shouts. "Now! Hurry!"
I jump into a seat at the tail of the seaplane, yank my belt as tight as it will go, and lean forward as far as I can. God, please, help me! If you help me, I promise that... I promise that...
"Heeelp!"