It would be enough if he could survive long enough to talk this boy down with the plane" at Cairo. That would be absolutely enough. That was the only chance.

That thought was what helped him get into the plane. Then he was trying to tell the boy what to do, but he could not get it out. The boy was going to panic, Ben turned his head and felt it, and he said, "Did I bring up the camera, Davy? Or did I leave it on the bottom?"

"It's down near the water."

"Go and get it."

"It's going to be you, Davy. You will have to do it. So listen. Are the wheels clear?"

"Yes, I pulled all the stones away." Davy was sitting there with his teeth clenched.

"What's that shaking us?"

"The wind."

He had forgotten that. "Now this is what you do, Davy," he said, and thought it out slowly. "Give the throttle an inch, not too much. Do it now. Put your whole foot on the brakes, Davy. Good! You've done that! Now switch her on; the black switch on my side. That's fine, Davy. Now you have to push the button; and when the plane starts you open up the throttle a little."

"I can do it," the boy said, and Ben thought he heard the sharp note of his own voice in it, but not quite. "There's so much wind now," the boy said. "It's too strong and I don't like it."

"Are we facing into wind, Davy? Did you get us down wind? Don't be afraid of the wind."

He'll do it, though, Ben decided wearily and happily. Then he passed out into the depths he had tried to keep out of for the boy's sake. And even as he went out, deep, he thought he would be lucky this time if he came out of it at all. He was going too far. And the boy would be lucky if he came out of it. That was all he could think of before he lost contact with himself.

At three thousand feet on his own Davy did not think he could cry again in his lifetime. He had dried himself out of tears. He had boasted only once in his ten years that his father was a pilot. He had remembered everything his father had told him about this plane, and he guessed a lot more which his father had not told him.

It was clam and almost white up here. The sea was green. The desert was very dirty-looking with the high wind blowing a sheet of dust over it. In front the horizon was not clear any more, and the dust was coming up higher, but he could see the sea very clearly.

He understood maps. They were not difficult to understand. He knew where the chart was and he pulled it out of the door pocket and wondered what he must do at Suez. He knew that too. There was a toad to Cairo which went west across the desert. West would be easy. The road would be easy to see, and he would know Suez because that was where the sea ended and the canal began. There, you turned left.

He was afraid of his father, or he had been. But now he couldn't look at his father because he was asleep with his mouth open, and was horribly covered with blood and half-naked and tied up. He did not want his father to die; and he did not want his mother to die; or anyone; and yet that was what happened. People did die."

He did not like to be so high. It was unpleasant, and the plane moved so slowly over the earth. He had noticed that. But he would be afraid to go down into the wind again when he had to land. He did not know what he would do. He would not have control of the plane when it began to bump and lurch. He wouldn't keep it straight," and he wouldn't be able to level it off when it came near the ground.

His father might be dead. He looked and saw the quick breaths that came not very often. The tears that Davy thought had dried up in him were on the lower lids of his dark eyes and he felt them run over and come down his cheeks. He licked them in and watched the sea.

It was at the last inch from the ground that Davy lost his nerve at last; and he was lost in his own fears and in his own death, and he could not speak nor shout nor cry nor sob. He was trying to shout Now! Now! Now! but the fear was too great and in that last moment he felt the lift of the nose, and heard the hard roar of the engine still rotating and felt the bump as the plane hit the ground with its wheels, and the sickening rise and the long wait for the next touch-down; and then he left the touch- down on the tail and the wheels, the last inch of it. The plane turned as the wind threw it around in a ground circle, and when it stopped dead he heard the stillness.[...]

When they brought Davy in, it seemed to Ben that this was the same boy, with the same face he had discovered not long ago. What he had discovered was one thing. But the boy had probably not made any such discoveries about his father.

"Well, Davy?" he said shyly to the boy. "That was pretty good, wasn't it!""

Davy nodded. Ben knew he didn't think it pretty good at all; but some day he would. Some day the boy would understand how good it was. That was worth working on.

Ben smiled. Well, at least it was the truth. This would take time. It would t,ake all the time the boy had given him. But it seemed to Ben, looking at those pale eyes and non-American face, that it would be such valuable time. It would be time so valuably spent that nothing else would be so important. He would get to the boy. Sooner or later he would get to him. That last inch, which parted all things, was never easy to overcome, until you knew how. But knowing how'-' was the flyer's business, and at heart Ben remained a very good flyer.

NOTES:

waiting for the boy to be airsick – ожидая, что мальчика укачает

there were no feet to spare – было очень мало места