The Bat(120)

‘Hotel check!’ Joseph screamed into his ear.

‘Checking in!’ Harry shouted and glanced at the pilot in the cockpit, who gave him the thumbs up. ‘Checking out!’ He glanced at Joseph, who was wearing a helmet, goggles and a big smile.

Harry leaned away from the stay and raised his right foot.

‘Horizon! Up! Down! Go!’

Then he was in the air, feeling like he was being blown backwards as the plane continued its undisturbed flight ahead. From the corner of his eye he saw the plane turn before realising that he was the one turning. He looked towards the horizon where the earth arced and the sky gradually became bluer until it merged into the azure Pacific Ocean that Captain Cook had sailed to get here.

Joseph grabbed him and Harry adopted a better free-fall posture. He checked the altimeter. Nine thousand feet. My God, they had oceans of time! He twisted his upper torso and held his arms out to make a half-turn. Jeez, he was Superman!

Ahead, to the west, were the Blue Mountains, which were blue because the very special eucalyptus trees gave off a blue vapour that could be seen from far away. Joseph had told him that. He had also said that behind them was what his forefathers, the semi-nomadic Indigenous people, called home. The endless, arid plains – the outback – constituted the greatest part of this immense continent, a merciless furnace where it seemed improbable that anything could survive, yet Joseph’s people had done so for thousands of years until the whites came.

Harry looked down. It seemed so calm and deserted below, it had to be a peaceful and kind planet. The altimeter showed seven thousand feet. Joseph let go of him as they’d agreed. A serious breach of training rules, but they’d already broken any rules there were by coming out here alone and jumping. Harry watched Joseph put his arms to his sides to gain horizontal speed and swoop down to his left at an amazing rate.

Then Harry was alone. As we always are. It just feels so much better when you’re in free fall six thousand feet above the ground.

Kristin had made her choice in a hotel room one grey Monday morning. Perhaps she had woken up, exhausted by the new day before it had even started, looked out of the window and decided enough was enough. What mental processes she had gone through Harry didn’t know. The human soul was a deep, dark forest and all decisions are made alone.

Five thousand feet.

Perhaps she had made the right choice. The empty bottle of pills suggested that at least she’d had no doubts. And one day it would have to end anyway; one day it would be time. The need to leave this world with a certain style bore testimony, of course, to a vanity – a weakness – only a few people had.

Four thousand, five hundred feet.

Others just had a weakness for living. Simple and uncomplicated. Well, not only simple and uncomplicated perhaps, but all that lay far below him right now. Four thousand feet below, to be absolutely precise. He grabbed the orange handle to the right of his stomach, pulled the ripcord with a firm wrench and began to count: ‘A thousand and one, a thousand and . . .’