“I refuse to be hurried in such matters,” I told her. “My advice is for the gentlemen to go away from the door. Actually, their presence is slowing matters down. It inhibits me. How is a man supposed to function with people hovering about this way?”
“You see,” the stewardess told Luigi and Vito. “It really does seem that if you’ll only return to your seats, it might expedite matters.”
“We’re staying right here!” Luigi muttered stubbornly.
“But really, gentlemen—” The stewardess‘s remonstrations were interrupted by a new development.
“But, Mama, I have to make!” A child’s voice.
“You have to wait, Marcello. There’s someone in there. Can’t you see these people are waiting?”
“I can’t wait!” Marcello whined. “I have to make now!”
“Now you just hold it!”
“I can't!” Marcello began to sob shrilly.
“I said hold it!” The mother’s voice was followed by a slap, and Marcello began to howl in earnest.
“Excuse me.” The quavery voice of an old man. “May I get through here? I would like to use the facilities.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to wait like these others,” the stewardess told him. “There’s someone in there.”
“You mean I have to wait until all these people are through?”
“I’m afraid so, sir.”
“Impossible!” The old man’s voice began to develop a touch of panic. “You don’t understand. Let me explain to all you good people." His loudness must have gotten their attention. “I have but recently been operated on, and I must wear a little sac now to collect the waste matter of my kidneys. When this sac fills up it must be emptied. If it is not, I suffer indescribable agony. I beg of you people to let me use the lavatory first, just as soon as it is vacated.”
“You can have my turn,” Vito told him, “I was first. But the problem is how to get the man in there to come out.”
“Please, sir.” The old man rattled the doorknob. “Would you be so good as to hurry?"
“Sorry.” What else could I say? “If you’ll all go away, I’ll be out—in a jiffy,” I promised.
“What’s the matter?” A new voice. Male. “Is the door stuck or something?”
“He won‘t come out,” the old man whined.
“Perhaps he's having some difficulty.” Again the doorknob was rattled. “Can I be of some help, sir? I am a physician.”
“What kind of physician?” I stalled.
“An obstetrician."
“Thank God you’re here, Doctor.” Another new voice. Female this time. “I’m eight months gone.”
“I can see that for myself, Signora.”
“Si. But the infant has just shifted, Doctor. He is pressing down on my kidneys. It is imperative that I get in there.”
“Your problem is not exclusive, Madame. It is why we have all gathered here. Sir.” he called. “You are inconveniencing many people. If there is no difficulty, I beg you to come out.”
“If you’ll just give me a little privacy, maybe I will,” I called back.
“A little privacy!” A new female voice. Indignant. “The nerve of him! And me with my back teeth starting to float!”
“How is a man supposed to concentrate on what he’s doing with you holding a convention out there?” I shot back.
“Make way!” It was the voice of authority. “I have to get in there.”
“You’ll just have to wait your turn like the rest of us.” The doctor’s voice.
“Nonsense. I claim the privilege of rank. After all, I am the pilot. And I promise you that if you don’t let me through, I’ll turn this plane right around and head back for the men’s room at the Geneva airport.”
There was a mutter of resentment from everyone except the stewardess. She explained the problem to the pilot. “There’s a gentleman who’s been in there since take-off," she told him respectfully, “and he won’t come out, sir.”
“Oh, he won’t, won’t he?” A fist pounded on the door loudly. “You in there! This is Captain Flagella speaking. I am in command of this aircraft, and I order you to come out immediately!”
“Sorry, Captain,” I replied. “But that isn’t possible!”
There was a babble of protest. It was followed by each of them confiding the particular urgency of his or her need to the pilot. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. He muttered something about having to get back to the controls and left. After that, they started confiding in each other about the states of their respective kidneys and bladders.
All this talk had its effect on me. Psychosomatic, no doubt, but I suddenly felt an urgent need to relieve myself. Having cornered the monopoly on the plumbing, I saw no reason not to utilize it. I did, and when I was through I flushed the toilet. The rush of water was extremely loud.
“Thank God!” the old man exclaimed fervently. “He’s done at last!”
“No, I’m not.” I relieved him of his false hope.
A heartfelt groan went up from the entire assemblage.
“Now why don’t we all just calm down a little?" The stewardess oozed a combination of common sense and compassion. “Perhaps some of you would like some coffee? Or perhaps a drink?”
It was the wrong thing to say. They turned their wrath on her. Finally it broke her iron good humor.
“Don’t blame me!” she sobbed. “I’m human too, you know! I want to-get in there as badly’ as any of you. But that monster won’t come out!”
“The fiend! The monster! The Nazi! The Communist! The torturer!” The crowd echoed her sentiments.
Somehow I knew I was never going to win any popularity contests aboard that plane. Their mounting wrath gave me more reason than the Mafia waiting to pounce on me for not coming out. The ugly mood they were in, they would have saved Luigi and Vito the trouble of unlifing me. I suspected they would tear me to shreds with relish.
“Signor!” The pilot was back. “If you do not come out immediately, I shall radio ahead to Paris and have the police waiting to arrest you the moment we land.”
“Now let us not be hasty,” Luigi interjected.
I cut him off before he might have a chance to influence the pilot. “I hope all your kidneys burst!” I shouted.
"That did it!" the pilot roared.
And it did. When the plane finally did land in Paris, it wasn’t fists but the clubs of the gendarmes which pounded on the locked door of the john. As soon as I was sure of that, I opened the door.
The pilot had been wise. He’d judged the situation correctly. There was a riot squad waiting for me. And a lucky thing, too. Even with them there, that mob of passengers surged toward me with lynch-blood in their eyes. The last thing I saw as the cordon of police hustled me off the plane was Luigi and Vito watching me go with the mutual expression of children who have dropped their lollipops in the sand.
The pilot was waiting in the paddy-wagon, his face a study in bladder-contracting rage. But he said nothing until we were in the police station. Then he exploded.
“I want this man arrested,” he told the inspector in charge.
“And the charge, M’sieur?"
“Mutiny!” the pilot roared. “Mutiny aboard ship!”
“That is not in our jurisdiction, M’sieur. I believe you must bring such charges in a maritime court.”
“A maritime court? But I’m not a sailor. I’m a pilot. I’m the captain of an aircraft. And this man came perilously close to fomenting an insurrection.”
“Nevertheless, M’sieur, such a charge is not in our province. Perhaps if you could be more explicit as to the alleged criminal act-—”
“Damn right I can! He hogged the john!”
“I beg pardon, M’sieur?”
“Monopolizing a public utility! That’s the charge!"
“I’m afraid that would be a matter for the Chamber of Deputies,” the inspector said doubtfully.