A pilot landed his tiny seaplane upon a lake – deep in the northern forests – intending to offer rides to the guests at an exclusive hotel. He unloaded a sack of mail, parcels and a few essential medical supplies – but then the hotel manager approached him with an unusual request.
“Can you fly that thing to the big city?”
“Yes, I can land in the bay.”
“We’ve got a very important guest – he’s extremely wealthy – and he needs to get there urgently. He’s offering $10,000 for a lift!”
The pilot drew a very deep breath. “Well … I think I can accommodate him! Is he ready to go? Bags packed?”
“No luggage, here he is!” said the hotel manager.
A man of less than 40 years, in jeans and suede boots, padded down the steps and on to the jetty. He was wearing a white jersey and had a corduroy jacket over one shoulder.
“He’s rich?” gasped the pilot.
“Very successful,” hissed the hotel manager. “Look after him, he’s worth a damn fortune.”
The passenger nodded and boarded the plane. “Let’s go,” he drawled.
“You got it!” laughed the pilot, starting up.
They taxied along the water and took to the air, high above the forest – and the pilot set his course for the big city.
“See those trees down there?” he said. “Some are over a hundred metres. You’re looking at some of the tallest trees in the world!”
“No. No. Please, stop it!” said the passenger. “Don’t say anything about trees. I don’t even want to see them. I’m covering my eyes!”
The pilot was surprised. “O … K. I won’t say nothing about trees. We can go down the coast if you like. Hey? Why don’t you like ’em anyway?”
The passenger paused. “Well, if you must know, when I was a child I had a best friend called Mickey – and he fell out of a tree we were climbing and broke his neck. It didn’t kill him, but he’s been in a wheelchair ever since. It’s haunted me all these years. I won’t even have one in the house at Christmas.”
They gained height and left the forest far beneath them. Presently they came to the coast.
“Will you look at that ocean?” said the pilot. ”Nothing but water – all the way to Japan! And look at that surface shining like gold, and those breakers hittin’ the beaches. It must be beautiful down there – ”
“No please!” said the passenger. “Not the water!”
The pilot gulped. “You don’t like the ocean?”
“No. No. I can barely stand to hear the word!”
“Well I’m sorry,” said the pilot. “May I ask why?”
“We were in love,” the passenger answered. “Sure, we were only college kids. Me and Loretta – the love of my life – what did we know?”
“Hmm. And she drowned?” the pilot deduced.
“No, not exactly,” said the passenger. “But we parted and she went to work … over seas.”
The pilot coughed and said no more. Briefly, he whistled a tune.
“Please, not the Poulenc sonata,” said the passenger. “It was mother’s favourite.”
They flew on for another hour in total silence. The pilot radioed in a couple of times. Eventually, the view ahead began to change.
“There’s your big city!” said the pilot. “I’ll put her down in the bay, maybe another 20 minutes. You can see it from here if you focus – where those clouds are stacked up – they kinda look like porridge … ”
“Not the porridge!” shrieked the passenger. ”I can’t stand porridge!”
The plane lurched a little. “It’s not real porridge,” said the pilot. “It just looks like porridge.”
The passenger all but seized the pilot by the throat. The plane began to skew. “My great-great grandfather was forced to eat porridge by the monks who raised him in Siberia, over a hundred years ago! There was nothing else to eat! It destroyed him!”
The passenger started to cry, uncontrollably, almost retching every time he inhaled.
The pilot steadied the aircraft. “O … K!” he replied – viewing the situation as an emergency. “We’ll be down in a minute then we can all just breathe easy.”
The passenger shivered. “I’m … all … right … now.”
They turned in a great arc and began to descend.
“It’s extraordinary that you ever even met your great-great grandfather,” said the pilot. “He must have been a very old man?”
“I didn’t,” confessed the passenger. “It is an inherited trauma.”
They landed in the bay. They taxied to a mooring. The pilot cut the engines and flicked the switches. He reached across the passenger to open the door and let him out.
The passenger counted out $10,000 in cash and disembarked.
“One thing – ” said the pilot, as the passenger was about to walk away. “If you don’t mind me asking. You seem to be a very sensitive person. How the hell does a guy that sensitive get to be a rich and successful businessman?”
The passenger sighed. “Oh I’m not in business,” he explained. “I’m an award-winning movie scriptwriter. We’re all like this.”
Moral: You know? This fable reminds me of something I read when I was a child. Excuse me, I think I’m becoming emotional …
© Adam Acidophilus 2026