I step out of the cockpit and gently close the door behind me.
The two of them are just a few steps away. I don't even need to cough suggestively to catch their eyes. The German and the German woman are already staring at me as if I've just emerged from a tomb, which isn't too far from the truth.
We're in a flying coffin.
I greet them both and nod with a smile. No movement from the other side. Just four eyes scrutinizing me without blinking.
I wonder how to say in German, "We're all screwed"?
Now, why are you being silent, Tiberiu?
Say something.
I would have loved to speak Goethe's language fluently to communicate more easily with these poor souls. There's an icy silence in the air. It's a bit awkward. Fuck this language barrier!
I probably don't look great, but I feel calm and resigned. I hope that transmits to them. What need is there for words, anyway?
Anyway... I'll try to be friendly. Can lasting friendships be forged in such moments?
"Um... hello," I say. "I... was in the cockpit." I wave my hand and gesture towards the door behind me. "Cockpit? Comprende? I'm really sorry I don't know your language, good people. If I knew German, I'd tell you how complicated it is to fly this damn plane. A bunch of buttons and clocks."
The chubby German stares at me. He looks weird with his bald head. Yeah, bald men look strange. Lord, please help me not to go bald ever.
But why are they both staring at me like that? It annoys me. Maybe they think I'm crazy.
"I'm not crazy!" I announce with a frown.
The guy coughs, then speaks in fluent English:
"No one said you were, sir."
"Wow! Well, look at that," I exclaim cheerfully. "So you do know English! Very nice! Wonderful! So you can read Shakespeare in the original."
The other one is silent. He stares at me, and he's silent as a fish.
"And, since we're on the topic of reading," I continue hopefully, "does either of you know how to read the indicators and clocks of an airplane? I mean... have you taken any flying lessons?"
"No," he responds, blinking rapidly.
I clear my throat to clear my voice. I feel a hoarseness coming on.
"I thought so. Of course not. Neither have I. What a coincidence! You know English, I know English. I don't know how to fly a plane, you don't know how to fly a plane. We could be bosom buddies, right? By the way, my name is Tiberiu."
The woman and the man look at each other, then both towards me.
"I'm not sure I understand," the woman says softly. "Did something happen?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing," I say. "I was just saying."
I look at them and smile cheerfully.
"Just one more question and then I won't say anything, okay? Have you met Jesus yet?"
If I wanted to grab their attention, it seems like I succeeded this time.
"We have," he responds. "We're both Catholics."
"Bravo, lovely! Sir, let me congratulate you again on your English. It's impeccable! You know... English is the language of... the future."
I look amusedly at him. What future?
The truth is, I'm glad he's going to die. What a scoundrel! Hey, German... You've known English all along, but you didn't even ask me what time it is. You deserve to die because you're arrogant and poorly raised. Yes, you do. And you, and that cat next to you.
"But I don't understand something," he says.
"What?" I ask curiously.
"Why do you want to talk about Jesus?"
"Well... why? Why, why? Just... without any special reason. We're just having a little conversation. Maybe we'll clarify about... the afterlife. If it exists, if it doesn't exist... Stuff like that."
The Germans are looking increasingly frowning at me. Damn if I understand why anyone would frown at a discussion about Jesus.
"Friend," says the man coolly, "thank you very much for the intention, but both the lady and I have already met Jesus."
"Not yet," I grin. "Not yet, dear ones. In fact, none of us has met Him yet. But the pilot," and I point to the door, "has definitely met Him. Personally and directly. Right now, he's talking to Jesus."
The guy exchanges a quick glance with the girl, then – as chubby as he is – he jumps and quickly advances towards the cockpit door.
"Mann ist tot!" he shouts.
"Bingo!" I laugh. "Those are three of the words I know in German. Yes, buddy, the man is 'tot.' Meaning he's dead! He's Kaputt!" (Oops, that's the fourth word).
The German rushes to the tail of the seaplane and quickly returns with a small suitcase. He sits next to Jean-Louis and lifts his shirt, then takes out from that suitcase... hmm... a stethoscope.
He listens to the dead man, touches him, moves him.
The girl looks long at me, then gets up and goes into the cockpit herself. Although they both chatter in German, this time I know exactly what they're talking about.
"Useless," says the German. "He's dead."
"Yes, he's kaputt beyond repair," I confirm calmly from my seat in the back. "Ha, ha!"
The chubby guy gives me a nasty look and says, pressing each word:
"What have you done to this man? He has at least two broken ribs."
"Possibly. Actually, probably! Yes, I think I broke some ribs," I reply sincerely.
"But why are you laughing?" the frightened girl asks.
I answer honestly:
"Sometimes I have opposite reactions. I laugh when I should cry and... and vice versa. It happens especially when pilots in the planes I'm on die. But I think the laughter and the tears will pass very quickly. This flight won't last much longer."
"I'm a doctor and I'll testify upon landing!" the German threatens. "I promise you, this mischief won't remain like this!"
Fuck! I hadn't thought of that hypothesis. You know, the German is right! At first glance, a superficial one, it seems that... I killed the Frenchman. I blink in amazement.
What does the inside of a Malaysian prison look like?
I respond without enthusiasm:
"You said 'upon landing,' doctor? Well done, you hit the nail on the head! Let me give you a tip: that dead man over there, on the floor, is the least of our problems.
This, on the other hand," - and I point to the airplane's control panel - "is a BIG problem. You know why? Because none of us had the common sense to take flying lessons.
Seriously! How long can this darn thing fly before... before the engines stop?"
The girl calmly says, with her eyes on the mobile phone's clock:
"We departed from Phuket at 11:30. We were supposed to reach our destination in two hours and fifteen minutes, around 13:45. It's now 13:07."
"So?"
"So we have 38 minutes left."
"Extraordinary!" I exclaim, making the sign of the cross. "Well done! That's what I call German precision. It means... we have enough time to say our prayers and dictate our wills to each other. Doctor! You're going to have more work. You need to write a statement for the police.
However, for the sake of truth, I tell you with my hand on my heart: the pilot died from natural causes, choking on a piece of sandwich. You can believe me. I was there."
"I believe you," the girl quickly says. "Now, both of you, help me carry as many objects as possible to the tail. If we lighten the nose of the plane as much as we can, we gain a few extra minutes of flight."
The logic of the girl seems flawless. We quickly carry everything we can to the tail. In the end, the doctor and I grab Jean-Louis by the arms and throw him like a sack of potatoes over the pile of luggage.
"How much time do we have left?" the German asks the girl.
"29 minutes."
"Okay," I say, finishing with that. "Maybe someone else has a constructive idea. Ideas, ideas, ideas... Where are the life jackets?"
We find them.
We equip ourselves with them.
It's the first time I've seen a life jacket up close. Each of them has a small pocket at the top left, a flashlight, and a plastic whistle tied with a string. At the bottom, they have two metal cylinders and two ropes.
I look at the drawings on the yellow vest and understand that I need to pull the ropes, so I pull both ropes at once and - Poof! - I inflate like a hedgehog.
"That's not how you do it," the doctor tells me. "What's wrong with you? You should inflate it when you get into the water, not now."
"I know, doctor, but when we hit the water at a thousand kilometers per hour, the inflated vest will absorb some of the shock!"
He looks at me with pity.
"Do you think so? The human body is over 80% water. If we have too much speed at impact, we'll explode like ripe tomatoes, whether we hit the water or concrete."
"Really?" I gasp, pale-faced. "That sounds kind of crazy. I have another idea then: I suggest we reduce the speed of the plane. We shut off the engines, slow down, and wait to descend slowly to about fifty meters, then jump out of the plane."
"Nein! Have you ever seen how water hits a polished stone? If we jump, that's exactly what will happen to us. No way! But you can jump if you want," quickly adds.
"That's ridiculous!" I say irritated. "No matter what idea I have, you say it's not good. Okay, I'm done! Don't rely on me anymore."
"We are much safer if we stay here, inside," the girl says. "Besides, after the impact, it's very important to stay as close to the seaplane as possible."
"Why?"
"Because every plane has a transponder."
"Aha! Why didn't I think of that? Let's stay as close to the transponder as possible, good idea! Uh... what's a transponder?"
"A device. It emits radio signals to the control tower. With the radio signal, the rescue teams will find us. At least I think so."
"And I bet there's a black box too," I add. "Doctor, when they recover the black box from the sharks' belly and listen to the cockpit recording, you'll realize I didn't kill anyone, and you'll apologize."
"I don't think this seaplane has a black box!"
"Yes, doctor, all airplanes have them! And if we're talking about finding a criminal, I think you're the criminal."
"Me?" the doctor explodes.
"Yes, you! How was I supposed to know you're a doctor? You've always spoken only in German, and I don't understand German."
"And what did you want me to do?"
"You could have introduced yourself in English from the beginning: 'Hello, good day, my name is Fritz, and I'm a doctor! I have a lot of diplomas and specializations in human medicine, and, most importantly, folks, I know how to give first aid!' But you didn't, so you're a criminal!"
"That's the biggest nonsense I've ever heard in my life!" he bursts out. "You should have called us immediately when you saw he was choking."
"It didn't occur to me! But if I had known you had a stethoscope and a scalpel with you, I would have called you. Come on, stop trying to evade it; you'll share the cell with me!"
"Both of you stop," the girl says. "Enough!"
"But, Eva, don't you hear the nonsense this man is saying?"
Aha! Her name is Eva. Nice name.
"We only have 17 minutes left," she says. "I'm going into the cockpit to try to contact someone via radio. There must be a radio."
I warn her:
"Be careful not to deactivate the autopilot! If you start pulling the stick up and down, we won't have to worry about our retirement plan."
The girl disappears into the cockpit, and I remain with the doctor and Jean-Louis, whose shirt I lift and cover his bruised face so I don't have to see it anymore. Then I turn to the doctor and say:
"Look, I'm reaching out to you! I want us to part on good terms. I'm not a killer. Jean-Louis will confirm that in a few minutes."
"Maybe you're not a killer, but you're quite crazy!" he says, shaking my hand without enthusiasm.
"You know what? You're getting on my nerves! Do you really want to send me to visit the prisons in Malaysia?"
"I hope from the bottom of my heart that you'll see them, yes!"
"Damn German! What interest do I have in killing my own pilot in mid-flight?"
"Suicide," he replies sharply. "You seem a bit... disturbed here, on the top floor!" he points to his temple with his finger. "You stare at people, talk about Jesus and the afterlife, laugh when you should cry... there are a lot of things that are starting to make sense now."
"I'm not crazy, you... fucker! That's just how I am! Anyway, thank you for making me laugh. I admit you have humor. German humor, dry!"
"And breaking two ribs on a corpse, what kind of humor is that?"
"I was desperate, chubby! You... you... Be careful! I'm starting to feel desperate again!"
"Yeah, what can I tell you. Do you think I care?"
"But understand once and for all, man, that I didn't need to travel a million kilometers to commit suicide on a plane. I could have done it quietly, at home, in my living room, on the eleventh floor. And I wouldn't have had to meet an alcoholic pilot, a doctor-cop, and his blonde daughter."
"Eva is not my daughter."
Aha! So, after all, she's not his daughter.
Then what is she? His girlfriend? That means she's not available, darn it!
Anyway, it doesn't matter... I only have about ten minutes left to live. In ten minutes, you can't pick up a chick. Or can you?
Hmm, I was right: I really have a sick mind. That's why it burns when I'm halfway to the grave. Or in the water. Or in jail.
Brr... jail!
What else is there to say? Nothing. If I survive, I'll go straight to prison. 'Everyone's sweetheart.'
A white European sweetheart...
They'll line up for me.
Yeah, sure, I'll end up in prison. All clues point to me. The Malaysian police will have the simplest case in their history. I'm starting to believe myself that I'm guilty.
I can already see the newspaper headlines:
"FASCINATING AND EXCITING!
A crazy passenger kills the pilot at six thousand meters above the sea.
A German doctor hands over the scoundrel to the police!
Malaysian prisoners will have fresh meat.
Spicy details on page 5."
Oh, no!
Death is better.
There's nothing more to say. What else can I say? I sink into a silence worthy of an old wise Chinese man. From the front of the plane, I hear the radio calls made by the girl, but no response.
"Eva, how many minutes left?" I shout. "I'm running out of patience!"
"Thirteen! Help, we're the Phuket - Kelantan passenger flight! Can anyone receive us? We need emergency assistance! The pilot is dead. We only have fuel for 13 more minutes of flight! Mayday, Mayday! Can anyone receive us?"
"Bravo, girl!" I whisper. "Not even I could have summarized it better."
I calm down, close my eyes, and start to pray. Occasionally, I stop and make another cross, just in case. I kneel beside Jean-Louis's body and take his cold hand affectionately.
"Frenchman, say a good word for me to The Almighty, okay? Don't be a selfish pig, okay? I'll be there soon, and we'll have a drink together. I'll treat you to front-row seats! Don't start without me."
I sit somberly next to the dead man, on the luggage. This whole story is starting to bore me. It takes too long.
Why don't we just die already and be done with it?! Why?
Time passes slowly.
I read somewhere that patience is a virtue, so I sigh and wait.