Adultery(69)

“Madam, I’ve been working here for ten years. I paraglide at least once a year. I’ve never seen a single accident.”

He is smiling. He must have repeated those words thousands of times over those ten years.

“Shall we?”

What? Why don’t you go alone?

“Sure, I can go by myself. You can wait for me down here with the camera. But I need and want to have this experience in life. It’s always terrified me. Just yesterday we talked about when everything gets stuck in a rut and how we no longer test our limits. It was a very sad night for me.”

I know. He asks the concierge to set a time.

“Now, this morning, or in the afternoon, when you can see the sunset reflected on the surrounding snow?”

Now, I reply.

“So, will it be one person or two?”

Two, if we do it now. If I don’t have a chance to think about what I’m doing. If I don’t have time to open the box and let the demons out—fear of heights, of the unknown, of death, of life, of extreme feelings. Now or never.

“We have the option of twenty-minute, half-hour, and one-hour flights.”

Are there ten-minute flights?

No.

“Would you like to jump from one thousand three hundred and fifty or one thousand eight hundred meters?”

I’m already starting to back down. I didn’t need all this information. Of course I want the lowest possible jump.

“Darling, that makes no sense. I’m sure nothing will happen, but if it did, the danger is the same. Falling from twenty-one meters, or the equivalent of the seventh floor of a building, would have just the same consequences.”

The concierge laughs. I laugh to hide my feelings. How could I have been so na?ve to think that a measly five hundred meters would make any difference?

The concierge picks up the phone and talks to someone.

“There is only space available for jumps at one thousand three hundred and fifty meters.”

More absurd than my earlier fear is the relief I feel now. Oh, good!

The car will be at the hotel doorstep in ten minutes.





I STAND before the chasm with my husband and five or six other people, waiting for my turn. On the way up I thought about my children and the possibility of losing their parents … Then I realized we wouldn’t be jumping together.

We put on special thermal outfits and helmets. Why the helmet? So my skull will still be intact if I hit a rock and skip three thousand feet to the ground?

The helmet is mandatory.

Perfect. I put on the helmet—just like the ones worn by cyclists on the streets of Geneva. Completely stupid, but I won’t argue.

I look ahead; between us and the chasm is a snow-covered slope. I can stop the flight in the first second by landing there and walking back up. I don’t have to go all the way to the end.

I’ve never been afraid of flying. It’s always been a part of my life. But the thing is, when we’re in a plane, it doesn’t occur to us that it’s exactly the same as going paragliding. The only difference is that the metal cocoon feels like a shield and gives us the feeling that we’re protected. That’s it.

That’s it? In my meager understanding of the laws of aerodynamics, I suppose so.

I need to convince myself. I need a better argument.

This is a better argument; the airplane is made of metal. It’s extremely heavy. And it carries luggage, people, equipment, and tons of explosive fuel. The paraglider, in turn, is light, descends with the wind, and obeys the laws of nature like a leaf falling from a tree. It makes much more sense.

“Do you want to go first?”

Yes, I do. Because if something happens to me, you’ll know and can take care of our children. And you’ll feel guilty for the rest of your life for having this insane idea. I will be remembered as a companion for all seasons, one who always stood by her husband’s side, in sorrow and in joy, adventure and routine.

“We’re ready, madam.”

Are you the instructor? Aren’t you too young for this? I’d rather go with your boss. It’s my first time, after all.

“I’ve been jumping since I reached the age minimum of sixteen. I’ve been jumping for five years, not just here, but many different places around the world. Don’t worry, madam.”

His condescending tone annoys me. Old people and their fears should be respected. Besides, he must tell everybody that.

“Remember the instructions. And when we start to run, don’t stop. Let me take care of the rest.”