truly be like flying, and when Billie and I boarded the plane for our first trip to Canada, I was all aflutter with anticipation and a little tremor of fear. For her part, Billie was so sharp and cross I knew she was simply frightened.
“You sit by the window,” she said. “I have no intention of looking out at any time.”
Throughout the take-off procedures she kept her eyes firmly on a copy of
Vogue
and didn’t look up till a stewardess pushing a drinks trolley bent over to ask what she’d like.
“Oh but Bill,” I said, peering down as the horizon tilted under us and we began to climb. “Look at the little fields down there and the river – look, there’s the Thames, that sort of snake.” But she refused even a glance through the little porthole across which drops of moisture climbed upside-down but never fell. “A vodka martini,” she said to the stewardess. “A large one.”
Seconds later we were enveloped in billows of cloud; then we emerged into a bright blue, limitless sky in which from then on we seemed to hang perfectly motionless. The only movement to be felt was a slight vibration. Billie’s drink on its little tray stood without a tremor. Occasionally there was a slight bump, but the muffled thunder of the engines never changed volume or pitch.Before we’d been airborne an hour, my legs felt restless and the seat too small. “What a swiz flying is, after all,” I thought, deflated. “It’s not half as exciting as riding a bike downhill.”
“Great, isn’t it,” remarked the bald man in the aisle seat beside Billie. “Cruising at 32,000 feet. Gives me a thrill every time. This your first flight, young lady?”
“Yes,” I said, politely concealing my boredom.
“First trip to Canada too, maybe?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Got relatives there, I suppose. Everybody has.”
“No, we’re – just visiting.” Remembering that Max would meet us at the airport, I tried to cheer up; but it was hard to imagine this ponderous robot was actually taking us anywhere. I pushed my lunch about fretfully in its divided plastic container and suppressed a sigh.
“Well, you’re in for a great experience, then, I can tell you that, even if it does sound like bragging. Canada’s just plain the best damn place on earth anybody can be in A . D . ’70, and I’m not afraid to stand up and say it.”
He didn’t look as if he knew how to be afraid of anything, this big man with his broad, fresh-coloured face and the easy, confident smile all North Americans seemed to have, as if they trusted everybody and liked everything. Billie was pretending to doze in order to avoid being drawn into the conversation, but I said. “Do you live in Toronto, sir? What’s it like?”
“Well, I’ll tell you something, young lady. It’s a place we bought off the Indians in Mississauga a couple of hundred years ago. The price included a bunch of brass kettles and a few carrots. Now there’s upwards of three million people living there in one of the handsomest cities going. I mean it. The place is huge, booming, runs like some big, clean machine – but somehow it’s a town that’s managed to stay human. You get trees growing downtown. Rightin the middle of the city you can go fishing in High Park. You can take the subway even late at night without any real serious risk of getting mugged. In other words, Toronto’s still a neighbourhood. Sure, people out west and in Quebec like to make fun of good old TO, but I figure they’re just jealous. Or they haven’t looked lately. You just wait till you see it.”
“It sounds marvellous,” I said, trying to sound convinced. Surely no city could be that impressive, or need that much salesmanship. Besides, it didn’t exist. Nothing did. We weren’t going to Toronto, or any other destination. The plane droned on like a mechanical bird caught forever in the monotony of space, while people tried to doze in their cramped chairs or pacify whining children.
After a vacuum
“You sit by the window,” she said. “I have no intention of looking out at any time.”
Throughout the take-off procedures she kept her eyes firmly on a copy of
Vogue
and didn’t look up till a stewardess pushing a drinks trolley bent over to ask what she’d like.
“Oh but Bill,” I said, peering down as the horizon tilted under us and we began to climb. “Look at the little fields down there and the river – look, there’s the Thames, that sort of snake.” But she refused even a glance through the little porthole across which drops of moisture climbed upside-down but never fell. “A vodka martini,” she said to the stewardess. “A large one.”
Seconds later we were enveloped in billows of cloud; then we emerged into a bright blue, limitless sky in which from then on we seemed to hang perfectly motionless. The only movement to be felt was a slight vibration. Billie’s drink on its little tray stood without a tremor. Occasionally there was a slight bump, but the muffled thunder of the engines never changed volume or pitch.Before we’d been airborne an hour, my legs felt restless and the seat too small. “What a swiz flying is, after all,” I thought, deflated. “It’s not half as exciting as riding a bike downhill.”
“Great, isn’t it,” remarked the bald man in the aisle seat beside Billie. “Cruising at 32,000 feet. Gives me a thrill every time. This your first flight, young lady?”
“Yes,” I said, politely concealing my boredom.
“First trip to Canada too, maybe?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Got relatives there, I suppose. Everybody has.”
“No, we’re – just visiting.” Remembering that Max would meet us at the airport, I tried to cheer up; but it was hard to imagine this ponderous robot was actually taking us anywhere. I pushed my lunch about fretfully in its divided plastic container and suppressed a sigh.
“Well, you’re in for a great experience, then, I can tell you that, even if it does sound like bragging. Canada’s just plain the best damn place on earth anybody can be in A . D . ’70, and I’m not afraid to stand up and say it.”
He didn’t look as if he knew how to be afraid of anything, this big man with his broad, fresh-coloured face and the easy, confident smile all North Americans seemed to have, as if they trusted everybody and liked everything. Billie was pretending to doze in order to avoid being drawn into the conversation, but I said. “Do you live in Toronto, sir? What’s it like?”
“Well, I’ll tell you something, young lady. It’s a place we bought off the Indians in Mississauga a couple of hundred years ago. The price included a bunch of brass kettles and a few carrots. Now there’s upwards of three million people living there in one of the handsomest cities going. I mean it. The place is huge, booming, runs like some big, clean machine – but somehow it’s a town that’s managed to stay human. You get trees growing downtown. Rightin the middle of the city you can go fishing in High Park. You can take the subway even late at night without any real serious risk of getting mugged. In other words, Toronto’s still a neighbourhood. Sure, people out west and in Quebec like to make fun of good old TO, but I figure they’re just jealous. Or they haven’t looked lately. You just wait till you see it.”
“It sounds marvellous,” I said, trying to sound convinced. Surely no city could be that impressive, or need that much salesmanship. Besides, it didn’t exist. Nothing did. We weren’t going to Toronto, or any other destination. The plane droned on like a mechanical bird caught forever in the monotony of space, while people tried to doze in their cramped chairs or pacify whining children.
After a vacuum
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