The Somber Side of a Scientific Mind. Christian Tyoder
Logan Airport, Hans was the last passenger who entered the old plane before the baby-faced young male flight attendant closed the front entrance door.
He extricated himself from the carry-on that had been banging on his left hip for the last five minutes. Hans squeezed his leather suitcase and his heavy winter coat into the overhead bin, then slumped into the window seat 28A, panting. The DC-6 was already at least fifteen minutes in the air, yet the rhythmic rattle of the fuselage had not subsided. The copilot announced that the plane was at 16,000 feet altitude at a speed of 250 knots. The rattling sound kept Hans awake even though he had not slept for more than thirteen hours, counting from the time he left Bronx, NY City, early that morning on a sardine-packed Greyhound bus. Hans’s mind was wandering from an ice-cold, wind-swept Reykjavik airport tarmac upon disembarkation, to a three-hour refueling overstay, then the final landing at the snowy Luxembourg Findel International Airport, where he would have no difficulty catching a public bus in the early morning hours, heading for the city railroad station. His imagination ended only at the completion of his six-hour train trip to Buchs, a Swiss town a few miles west of the border; then a twenty-minute bus ride to Vaduz, his hometown.
Even though still suffering of an aching body, tired arms and legs, Hans already rejoiced over the prospect of viewing from the train the snowy landscape that he had been familiar with from the past. The joy of a reunion with his parents and sibling and that of rejoining a childhood friend pervaded his imagination. Three long years in the US for his postgraduate education followed by the two-semester vocational training in the banking business, interrupted by a couple of return Christmas visits, was then regarded as an eternity by people in a tightly knit community like Vaduz.
The plane’s vibration gradually became less perceptible and eventually was replaced by a perpetual humming. Hans’s breathing was getting heavier. The elder lady sitting at the aisle threw him a quick look, expressing her annoyance. Suddenly the lights on the ceiling turned off, leaving the travelers with spot illuminations shining down from the bottom of the overhead luggage bins. Passengers quieted down. The majority of them prepared for a night’s rest, while an elderly man dragged his feet back and forth on the aisle. Otherwise, there was no noticeable human activity. Almost the entire cabin plunged into a light sleep, frequently interrupted by the presence of a quiet female flight attendant walking up and down the aisle. Here and there one still noticed a spotty but bright shining light over an opened book or a magazine. The monotonous engine sound pervaded the cabin. Several resting hours had passed when the wake-up light turned on.
The captain’s rattled voice was heard, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We are approximately forty-five minutes from Reykjavik. The weather there is partially cloudy, and the temperature is thirty-four degrees. The visibility is over two miles, and the wind less than twenty-five miles.” Two blond female flight attendants, each with one hand carrying a tray and the other, forceps, were offering hot facial towels. Human activity slowly resumed in the cabin. The captain announced the preparation for landing. The fuselage front end slightly tipped down. The usual noise of the landing gear was heard, and then the plane made a quick, shallow left turn. Within a few minutes, the plane was on the runway. After the smooth landing, hand clapping, rejoicing, the uneventful flight broke the anxious silence.
Awakened by the commotion, Hans lifted up the porthole cover and looked out into the distance. Everything on the ground was white except for a few ragged mountain peaks toward the north side of the airport. He gathered his two pieces of luggage and his coat and then followed the disembarking crowd. A sensation of cold, numbing fresh air invaded his floundered body as he stepped out onto the movable staircase. He smiled to himself, thinking that the three-hour stay over at the Reykjavik airport shouldn’t be too hard as by now he had regained some badly needed sleep.
Once Hans passed the custom and immigration checkout point, he looked for the sign Connecting Flights guiding him to the in-transit passengers’ waiting room. He sat down at the far corner, stretched his legs, rested his tired body against the leather couch, pulled the pieces of luggage close to his feet, and then fell asleep. Suddenly he was aroused by a loudspeaker announcement that he could not distinctly hear. He was somewhat disoriented, probably because his sleep was at stage 4 of its cycle. The only word he heard was boarding. He dashed to the nearby gate desk where a friendly Icelandic Airlines agent confirmed that was indeed the second call for the reboarding at gate 2B for Luxembourg. He had exited that same gate three hours earlier.
After showing his boarding pass, Hans reoccupied his 28A seat. When he was about to settle down, ready for another nap, a deep voice from a tall, bearded man was addressed to him, “Is this seat taken?” In his half-sleep state, Hans nonchalantly replied no, then slumped back into his seat. The plane was now up in the air, but the same rattle didn’t seem to keep him awake this time. He went into his deep sleep, and once again he skipped the hot meal served by two different female flight attendants. Suddenly the background music stopped. A clear female voice came on, “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain is about to make an announcement.” Within approximately fifteen seconds of total impatient silence, a deep male voice came on, “We were just informed by the ground control tower that a severe snowstorm is presently affecting air and ground travels over South UK, Northeast France, Belgium, Southwest Netherlands, and entire Luxemburg. We are advised to divert our landing to Paris or to London. You will be kept informed of our final decision as soon as we get further instructions from the ground control agent.”
Conversations between passengers resumed, interrupting the silence in the cabin. They noted that the plane was slowly climbing to a higher altitude. Several overhead dim lights calling flight attendants became lit one after another, possibly an indication of passengers’ anxiety. Then the background music stopped, followed by a few seconds of complete silence. The captain’s follow-up announcement was back on loudspeakers: “We have been given instructions to make an early landing in Paris at Orly Airport as we are now almost over London airspace. Please fasten your seatbelts. We might encounter air turbulence soon. Thank you for your patience.”
Flight attendants were seen walking up and down the aisle. Occasionally they bent down listening to questions from passengers while keeping a friendly voice and a pleasant facial appearance while discreetly having their eyes on the seatbelts.
Hans slept through the commotion, then finally opened his eyes, looked around then at the empty seat next to him. Slowly he leaned over it, turning his head in the direction of the gentleman sitting at seat 28C. “Sir, please explain to me what is going on.”
“The captain has announced that a heavy snowstorm is developing over the entire area, including Luxemburg.”
“Thank you.”
Right after Hans’s inquiry, the air turbulence became very noticeable. Some passengers were trying to locate the air sickness bags that were supposed to be kept in the pouch behind the front seat. Hans checked his seatbelt, adjusted it, and abruptly placed his left palm over his mouth, hiding his yawn he often experienced after having a sleep of several hours. After a few minutes of resting his neck over the headrest, he unfastened his seatbelt, stood up, excused himself, got out of his seat, and assumed a stretching position while standing in the aisle for a few seconds. He tightened his loose right shoelace then proceeded to slowly walk toward the back of the carrier.
On his way, he had to stop when facing the brunette ponytail of a female wearing a green flight attendant uniform. The latter turned around when she heard, “Please inform me of what has been going on since the plane left Reykjavik. Sorry, I missed what the captain had said a few minutes ago on loudspeakers.”
Not exactly on purpose, but for sure with this approach, Hans had the chance of taking a glimpse at the face of the young and slim descendant of Norse origin. She gave him the same answer as the one he received a few minutes earlier from the man sitting at seat 28C; but this time he got, in addition, a friendly smile.
“Please return to your seat as soon as possible and be sure to fasten your seatbelt. The turbulence is likely getting worse.”
The plane was coming down fairly fast. Hans heard someone in the next front row saying, “We are in Orly.” At the same time, he looked out the window and saw the words “Orly Airport” on one of several hangars. The landing of the aircraft was relatively