Crossair ZH-SAJ
In Sarajevo I had been happy; I had become happy and I had stayed happy. I flew from Paris to Sarajevo via Zurich. Leyla was the passenger in the seat next to mine. She went to school in Geneva. She was on holidays, and she was flying back to her grandparents in Sarajevo. During the flight she played language games with me. I had to repeat her words:
"Une gare,
Deux gares,
Trois gares,
Quatre gares,
Cinq gares,
Six gares, Cigares."
She laughed and went on:
"Un trône,
Deux trônes,
Trois trônes,
Quatre trônes,
Cinq trônes,
Six trônes, Citrones."
She laughed and then immediately fell silent.
"Are you frightened?" she asked.
"No." I wanted to keep her courage up, but I was frightened. The plane was being thrown about everywhere. Gusts of wind from left and right, from above and below. In all my almost forty years I had never seen a flight like this.
"Are you afraid?" Leyla would ask every couple of minutes. When once I answered "Yes" she started to shout and cry.
"Please say no, just for me, please!", she implored me.
I didn't dare say yes again. My heart was trembling but I remained steadfast.
We landed and Leyla clapped her hands. She was crying, like a squeezed lemon.
