The Other Things

by Jonathan Dransfield

  Soon they were in the clouds, with Ford informing him at every turn and change of altitude as if it were a real lesson. Two hours into the flight Ford announced that all was going so well that they might as well give Buzz a little practice. With the words ’You have control’, Ford let him fly the aircraft.

  ‘I have control.’ And there he was, coffee cups strapped to his feet, ‘in control’ of 1,400HP of radial engine and airframe.

  Ford also needed to refocus his eyes. The same tiredness that had overcome him the previous day had returned. ‘Just a few minutes of meditation will clear my head,’ thought Ford. The last thing Buzz heard from Granf was, ‘Carry on just as you are until I take over.’

  Ford drifted into a dream. He was on a long journey, sometimes in space or the offices of NASA. He would open an office door and fall into a black dimensionless void with no space suit. He had to hold his breath and, as time ticked away, he saw through a yellow haze the silver spaceships flying almost within reach, yet too far to grasp. Helpless in the emptiness, he could thrash and kick and wave his arms to no avail. Suddenly he was surrounded by children and Buzz was pulling them to the safety of the ship. Then Ford was back in the office again with Sharon.

  Buzz was enjoying the flying. He thought the gentle wheezing over the headphones was Ford’s throat mic playing up, but he knew from experience at home that keeping quiet was the best way to keep a good thing going.

  Nearing a course correction according to the itinerary, he saw the landscape still matched the course. ‘Granf, time to take over!’ No answer, more snores. Buzz kicked the rudder and banked to the compass bearing on the paper. ‘Granf must be testing me.’ On he went, keeping things straight and level until the next turn. Buzz felt worried. It was as if he were in a field of tall corn, lost and alone. This time he shouted as loud as he could, but to no avail. The shouting entered Ford’s slumbers, drowned by the scream of rockets in the dream. Buzz could not turn and tap him on the head without losing control.

  ‘Pretend it’s “AirAce”,’ he thought. ‘Just keep to the itinerary and Granf will soon be awake.’ He could remember all the controls. His remarkable memory for figures ran through his mind like another child’s ability to recall the course of a Cup Final. The calming melody of Granf’s snoring only gave way to an inner panic when he realised two things: one, they were getting close to their airfield, and two, they were at the end of their range. Meanwhile, Ford was fighting a green Stephen with a pink fire extinguisher.

  A plane has to transform itself for landing. Stifling a high-pitched scream, Buzz’s bottom lip started to quiver. ‘Mom!’ he shouted as the roar of the engine stole the scream away. The controls on a trainer aircraft are duplicated, and with tears rolling down his cheeks, the terrified boy heaved with deep sobs, feeling abandoned by everyone he loved. He could see the cockpit controls in misty focus. ‘OK, it’s really quite simple. First, I need to slow the plane and lose height.’ His right hand eased the throttle back and he started to gently lower the flaps to brake the plane and increase the lift. He could see the familiar airstrip in the far distance and wished fervently that Granf would wake up. Pushing the stick forward, he forced the big bird to lose height. He knew instinctively the rate of descent needed and kept a beady eye on the altimeter as he considered the next adjustment. With his coffee-cupped foot he kicked the rudder and gave a slow bank to bring the ‘old crate’ into line with the figures on the flight details. Peering back over the cockpit into the outside world, he could see the strip moving into alignment.

  The headphone crackled. ‘N99ZZ?’ demanded the control tower.

  Swallowing the last of his sobs, he assumed a persona and replied, ‘N99ZZ here!’ in his best ‘faux Ford’ voice.

  ‘Hi, Ford!’ came the reply, then a cough and then, more formally, ‘N99ZZ, it’s nice and quiet here today. Come straight in. The wind’s at 10 knots and from 230 degrees.’

  The one thing Buzz didn’t know how to do was to turn off the radio to stop the control tower listening in. So he banged on the cockpit canopy and bashed his head on the seat to wake his sleeping grandfather, not daring to give the game away. Bash, bash, bash!

  In Ford’s dream, something was trying to get into the spacecraft. Droves of reporters were floating around outside, waving their notebooks.

  Buzz’s heart raced and his whole body trembled. This wasn’t a game – they could both die! ‘Come on, remember the last time!’ he said to himself. The brake, the air brake! He rummaged for the handle and felt the fuselage judder as it gripped the air. He focused on the narrow strip of grey as the earphones crackled again.

  ‘Wake up, N99ZZ! Don’t forget your wheels. Schoolboy error!’

  That was not surprising, given the circumstances. No wonder they were going a little fast. He lowered the undercarriage and extended the flaps to regain the trajectory, and saw the treetops beneath the wings and the perimeter fences flashing by. He knew from Ford’s commentary on previous flights that you just needed to keep the plane level and allow it to find its own way onto the tarmac. Bump! Screech! As he overworked the brakes, a vortex of blue-grey smoke whirled into the distance.

  ‘What, what…? Where…?’ came a terrified voice from the rear seat, as Ford finally lost the monsters of the subconscious and awoke, palpitating, into a living nightmare, only to find Buzz had safely brought them home.

  Suddenly the control tower crackled again over the headphones. ‘Usual bumpy landing, N99ZZ!’

  In an enchanted corner of their Icelandic farmstead, the earthy aroma of rising wood smoke evoked the comforting memories of camps with her mother in Elin’s mind. The drone of her grandfather’s monotone voice soothed the cold air of the morning. Afi turned the sausages on the griddle and moved the bread to avoid the skittish flames. They were huddled in a nook where a warm spring emerged bubbling from a cleft in the dark rock. The steamy vapours moistened the air, rather than warming it. These moments, when the old man and the young child could share their intimacies and questions of life, were special. ‘Afi, really Icelandic am I?’ questioned Elin as she leaned towards the fire.

  ‘Of course you are.’

  Not to be put off, she pursued the questioning. She studied her grandfather as he chomped on a morsel of burned sausage, rescued from the margins of the fire. ‘No, I mean from Iceland am I really?’

  This time he gave a more complete answer. ‘Well, barnabarn, your father’s German, but your mother’s from Iceland. You were born here so, on balance, you’re definitely Icelandic!’ She still looked confused and frustrated. Gunnar felt quite inadequate. ‘Why do you ask?’

  The little white face rose to his and replied, ‘Absolutely ff-freezing am I!’

  ‘Well, you’re off to the warmth of Italy soon. I’m going to take you to Mummia. She’s still stuck helping out at the Harpa.’

  Gunnar had been fretting about breaking the news that her mother didn’t have time to pick her up. He discovered that Elin was already up to date.

  ‘I know, Afi, helping her with her presentation I’ve been. Mummia is so busy and to help I love. After all, we have such fun during the field trips.’

  Gunnar chuckled. ‘I thought it was more than school work. What are you doing for her?’ He leaned over to grab a bowl of eggs that he’d been scrambling in the trivet.

  Elin carefully explained in tortuous detail how she had processed and imported all of Kirsten’s photographs into the presentation software. ‘“The Land of Mars and Iceland” it’s called.’

  Her grandfather dished out and placed the two camping dishes on their respective laps.

  ‘Ouch, that’s hot!’ Elin squeaked.

  ‘Too cold, too hot! What’s the problem with you, barnabarn?’

  With a cheeky smile Elin replied, ‘I want it like Goldilocks, just right!’

  ‘Where are you getting the images from Mars?’

  ‘Pictures taken by the rovers on Mars I find and I’m matching them to the photos from our trips. Then I tint our ima
ges red. It looks just like Mars. Mummia is very pleased with the images, but not the words.’

  ‘Can you paint on the computer? Or is it technical?’

  ‘Technical, Afi, but easy if you’re little.’ Elin took a huge mouthful of her sandwich into her ever expanding mouth and said, ‘Húnffgerðvvekki einsffogvvsvolítið um ffálfa!’ She didn’t like the bit about the elves!

  ‘Your mother always loved the huldufólk, and she has been friends with this one since your age.’ Gunnar gestured towards the steaming opening in the hillside. It was an elves’ lair. ‘What do have they to do with Mars, though?’

  ‘Well, Afi, you told me that the elves were here long before we were and live hidden underground. God was the God of the whole universe you told me. He is invisible too,’ the little girl reasoned. ‘So I thought if he made the elves on Earth, why not on Mars?’

  Gunnar stroked his moustache and gave his dótturdóttir a friendly poke. ‘What did Mummia think about your excellent theory?’

  ‘“I think we’ll keep to the geography!” she said. She likes the pictures and the layout.’

  Elin then completely changed tack. ‘Italy, what’s it like?’

  Gunnar slowly picked up the salt and pepper and held them in front of her eyes.

  ‘If Iceland is salt, Italy is pepper, and like pepper it can be hot, so you should like it!’

  Chapter 13

  The Conference

  Group in Pompeii

  The wrought-iron railings almost burned the little hands as they grasped the handrail. Afi was right – it was hot, especially on this south-facing balcony where Elin was taking in this new country. It wasn’t just the heat, it was the light and the earthy hues of the stones that made this place so different. Instead of northern blue light, there was a golden southern glow. It smelled different too. If her homeland was of the sea, Italy was of the land, and all the aromas of the dust, the country’s flora and its earthy food. The simple timber-and-tin houses of her hometown now seemed fragile compared with the stone-and-terracotta solidity of these dense and ancient streets. Her mother had been delighted when she discovered that their accommodation was in the centre of Rome, rather than in the modern quarters in Frascati. The Via dei Santi Quattro ran east to west, and as Elin’s eyes ran along the busy street from her perch, she gasped at the sight blocking the vista beyond. She recognised it immediately: the looming and curvy mass of the Colosseum. She turned to shout for her mother, but the words died in her throat. A small, slight boy on the balcony next door was staring intently at her. For an instant he appeared startled as her clear blue eyes pierced his. With a nervous shake he broke the moment and darted back into the darkness of his own room.

  Rome

  Lazio Region, Italy

  41.5N 12.3E

  Altitude: 69ft

  Geology: River valley between seven hills

  ‘Mummia!’ Elin shouted. ‘Koma, koma!’

  Kirsten’s low voice came from the room. ‘Not now, I need to work on the presentation.’ Despite Elin’s help, Kirsten had still come ill-prepared and had to submit her paper by the next morning.

  Buzz was also trying to get attention. ‘Granf, Granf! Come here, this is really cool. Gladiator is just down the road. I saw it and it’s still there!’

  ‘In a minute, kiddo! I need to get sorted,’ was Ford’s muffled reply.

  Jane’s cheery tones cut in. ‘Poor Granddad’s trying to get his head round my, ahem, his paper, so we’ll leave him be.’ Buzz took Jane’s hand as she led him back onto the terrace. ‘Look, Buzz, it’s the Colosseum! I just love it here.’ He watched her shake her hair in the breeze, as if washing away the cobwebs of the journey. She waved at the strange-looking girl on the next balcony along. With her bright blonde hair, sculptured face and Icelandic sweater, she looked like a fish out of water.

  She waved back. ‘Hi! I’m Elin, too I like it here.’ Then she turned and vanished back into her own room, leaving Buzz and Jane basking in the sunshine and history.

  ‘Can we go and see it? Please, Jane?’ requested Buzz, leaning over the balcony rail.

  ‘Later. I have to help Granf with the work first. You’ll have to amuse yourself for a while. Why not explore the hotel and report back, sweetheart?’

  Buzz decided to walk down to the ground floor – a building with this many stairs was a bit of a novelty. As he slowly descended, the decoration reminded him of the older parts of his hometown. His determined footsteps echoed behind him down the void, only interrupted by the whir of the descending lift. As he reached the bottom steps, the smiling concierge’s eyes were momentarily distracted. Giulio’s attention had been drawn to another diminutive figure, emerging as the lift doors glided open. Elin, like Buzz, was unaccustomed to buildings taller than two floors, and a lift was a funfair ride.

  She turned to go back up the stairs just as Buzz rushed to reach the lift before the doors closed. Bang! They collided and recoiled like two billiard balls.

  Buzz and Elin regained their composure but seeing Giulio’s concerned face, started to laugh. Then turned to each other and simultaneously declared, ‘I saw you on the balcony!’

  ‘Jinx!’ they shouted in unison and that was that. Try as Giulio might to engage them in conversation, they both stood, tight-lipped, unspeaking.

  ‘What is this game? A game of silence? What is this “jinx”?’

  The two children were now silently daring each other to speak. For an age they stood there staring at each other.

  Giulio, totally confused, had started to worry that they’d sustained some kind of injury.

  ‘OK, I may have to call your parents. What are your names?’ The silence still prevailed, except now Buzz was pulling faces to break Elin’s steely stare. The concierge studied the register and, looking up, declared, ‘You must be Aldrin and Elin?’

  At that point they both burst out, ‘Jinx over!’ in gales of laughter.

  Buzz had been sent by Jane to explore the hotel and wasn’t ready to go back. He wouldn’t be able to explore under Giulio’s watchful eye. The bright daylight beckoned through the entrance doors, and he plunged into the outside world, swiftly followed by Elin, who’d been given the same brief by her distracted mother.

  Turning right out of the hotel, they padded down the hot stone pavement towards the jagged form of the imperial icon. ‘My granddad’s here for the planet conference. I live with my mom. This is the first time I’ve left the States.’ Buzz wasn’t used to talking to girls.

  ‘My mummia is here too for it. With my granddad I live and I’ve never been to America.’

  This puzzled Buzz. ‘But you talk American!’

  Elin felt quite affronted. ‘No, Icelandic I speak, but loads of American programmes we get on TV. Anyway, where’s your pa?’

  ‘My mom says he’s lost in some weird corner of the world.’

  Elin recognised this scenario and replied, ‘That’s what my mummia says, except Germany she calls it.’

  In the next minute Elin saw more cars than she’d ever seen in her life, and some of the worst driving that she would ever see in the rest of it. They were on one side of the hectic circus cutting them off from the Colosseum. It appeared to her that the stream of traffic would never stop, so she started to devise a plan to cross. ‘When there’s an accident, dash we could into the middle?’ she suggested, pointing to a spot.

  Buzz replied, ‘No need, I’ve just pressed the button.’ And as if by magic, the swirling mass of vehicles screeched to a stop and a little green man signalled it was safe to go. Then there they were, standing outside the Colosseum.

  ‘It’s amazing!’ said Elin. ‘It looks like a football stadium.’

  ‘It was a stadium and that’s where the name comes from, except this was the biggest,’ explained Buzz. ‘It was built in 72 BC by the Emperor Vespasian and was used for gladiatorial fights, sea battles, executions, wild animal hunts, plays and poetry readings. Usually there were a lot of killings.’

  ‘Not at the poet
ry readings?’ quizzed Elin.

  ‘Only when they combined those with the wild animals.’

  Elin was intrigued, but to her dismay, unlike the famous Museum of Practical Jokes, she saw that children didn’t get in free. It was nearly eight euros each! Buzz emptied out his pockets and found just one. Undeterred, Elin announced that she’d heard you could make money on the streets of a big city.

  Buzz looked worried. ‘They sell drugs in Baton Rouge… or worse!’

  Taktu okkur á staðinn

  þar sem tveir heimarnir hittast

  og dansbylgjur

  líkama okkar berst

  þar sem saltvatnurinn er freyður

  Kallar okkur heim.

  Chorus of ‘The Song of the Whale’

  ‘No, by singing. You hold out a hat and sing, and give you money people will. Here, take it!’ Elin took off her bobble hat for the first time since she’d left Iceland, and began singing in a high, ethereal voice. It cut through the dust and the traffic noise, and very soon a small crowd had gathered, listening intently to the little girl in the sweater and felt skirt and the mournful lament of ‘The Song of the Whale’.

  Buzz was slightly embarrassed, until coins started dropping into the hat. The numbers had swelled as Elin finished the final chorus, with a surprisingly low but faultless ‘Kalla Okkur Heim’.

  ‘Bravo, bravo!’ encouraged the crowd.

  Buzz looked in the hat – sixteen euros, enough to get in. But… if they had a little more, they could get ice creams as well. ‘Do you know any other songs?’ he whispered to Elin.

  ‘“Petrol Rain” by KikiD it is,’ came the reply. It was surprising, as it was a strange song for Elin to have in her repertoire, and, even stranger, Buzz knew it! It was a song Jane would sing in the kitchen while peeling onions. She said it stopped her crying. In his head he could hear the snuffling contralto, ‘I feel the rainfall of a Titanic moon…’