Dreams. Chronicles of the Night.


Aerobatics

I was an aeroplane pilot, flying in a squadron of three with old Chinese propeller planes dating from the Second World War. Beneath me I could see the Pacific Ocean glimmering in the hues of sapphire and cobolt. Our direction was towards the continent, where the audience followed our flight from big TV screens. The picture quality was poor and the colours looked faded. The presenter spoke Chinese or Japanese.

We had already made a number of manoevres that required skill and precision but now we were getting close to a climax. We set ourselves in a formation with me in the lead and the two other planes following me. We then turned our direction up and started whirling each plane around its axis. The speed slowed down as the planes spiralled upwards. When my plane came to a standstill, I opened the cockpit, stepped out and walked towards the propeller so as to stand on it. This was possible due to the gravity, which made sure that the plane was absolutely still for a moment. I stood on the propeller, which hardly moved, and the plane below me whirled instead. For an instant, then, with my hand sheltering from the sun's glare, I stood there in mid-air looking down at the audience. The other pilots did the same and, as we started sinking, I quickly returned to the cockpit.

As my plane was falling down, I grabbed the steering wheel, directed the plane, and set the course back towards the ocean. From my mirror I could see that the audience in the ground was still applauding at our incredible stunt.


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11 August 2003