Fallen Air Plane, Zurich, 1950's

[mckenzee]

very rough draft inspired by a René Burri photo and a conversation in the laundry.

I was standing in the laundrymat earlier today when an older gentleman pushed in a cart full of posters. He started pulling down the old advertisements. He worked his way around the room, then noticed me.

“Bonjour.”

I nodded and smiled.

“Est-ce que something something something?”

Oops. er... “pardon, je ne parle français.”

“Oh, are you English?”

“No, American”

“I used to have many American friends. I have been to Los Angeles.”

He started taping up new gallery posters.

“I used to be a painter... when I was very young. Please, may I speak the English with you?”

“Sure. I’m not going anywhere until my clothes are dry.”

“Thank you.”

He then went off into an incredible story. The rest of the words are his, so I’m going to quit typing the quotes.

I am from Switzerland. I was born just before World War Two. When I was a young man, I decided that I was tired of living in Rottenschwil, that I belonged to be on an adventure, then I decided to run away to Africa.

At the airport, there was an old plane, you know, with two wings, one above the other? A Nieuport 28-C left over from the war. Very early one day I went hidden onto the base with my good friend and we managed to get it started. I worked the the controls and drove it around the parking field until I learned what most of the controls did. Then I went onto the runway and managed to get it into the air. I flew!

He paused, looking down at the now crumpled poster in his hand.

I flew like a bird, the wind beating against my face, the controls fighting me like a cat. I never noticed if my friend was waving or watching. I was convinced I was going to die. The plane rose higher and higher... I was sure I was going to never see the ground again.

I pushed forward on the stick, to try to come down some and now I saw my friend. He was running across the field, jumping and waving, but I couldn’t hear a thing he yelled. Then a large cloth hit me in the face.

The wing was peeling off. The ground was approaching and the wing was peeling! I pulled back on the stick, prayed and managed to avoid the ground. I also avoided a tree.

I finally landed about 2 kilometers away in a large field. No one was around, so I ran all the way back home. I was somewhere between Rottenschwil and Oberlunkhoven then. My friend was waiting when I got home. He said that at the airport they had seen where the plane was going down but that it was behind trees and no one saw me run away.

After that, I no longer wanted adventure. I no longer wanted to drink, I no longer wanted painting. I got a job and worked all the time and never made any money and now I am here, putting up posters in Paris. But I flew... I was an adventure, I used up my life’s entire luck in one minute and now I am here.



”You say ‘nice to meet you’ when leaving, correct?”

“Normally, yes.”

“Yes, c’est normale.”

“Well,” he nods, “nice to meet you.”

“Bon soirée.”