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laughed again – even our friend laughed – and we found a patch of grass bordering the beach, where we smoked and finished the grog. Now, will you fly? we asked. Give the kids and their old dears a treat!

    Flying is intuitive, but to make good use of it takes time and craft. It’s an art form, a skill. We can all fly. Yet we not only don’t choose to – we rarely, if ever, attempt it. The risks of crashing, of losing control, are so great. But falling is the most important part of flying – its heart, and very likely its soul.

    Do you need a run-up? someone joked.
    No, it’s from a standing start.
    You’re a helicopter!
    Or one of those VTO military aircraft – a vertical take-off jet. A jump jet!
    We cacked ourselves, but he didn’t seem fazed. He just said, I don’t like the military. It is an abuse of flying to use it to hurt people.
    We weren’t sure what to say, but offered him another cigarette, which he took.
    So, I said, to break the ice, it’s a gift …? Like some people can read minds, or bend spoons?
    No, he said.
    He was sitting in front of me, and the sun was low in the sky behind him. He was burnt into the sea, like a shadow puppet. I have to admit, it really looked like he had a halo. But he still stank. And I mean stank. I was pretty sure he’d shat himself, and the other guys thought the same, I could tell.
    One of the mothers walked past to pick up her towel and gear from nearby. She’d been keeping an eye on it and the kids, and on our friend. I hadn’t noticed till then but she was almost hot-looking – for a mum. She bent over, her arse towards us, shook her towel more than it needed shaking, folded and packed it into her bag, stretched, then walked really close to whisper something in our friend’s ear.
    He didn’t move. Then she added, And you really do stink. She flicked us a look, and went off with her kids.
    What did she say? What did she say? Come on, tell us!
    Nothing, really. It’s not important, he said.
    We’re all mates here. Come on, we’d tell you!
    He rocked in and out of the sea, the sun. Gulls arced over his head and called violently into the sea breeze, which was picking up.
    She said, I know, I’ve seen you.
    What does that mean? Come on!
    It means she has seen me fly somewhere. Maybe another town. Maybe she was one of a crowd who made me leave, move on to the next town. Maybe she’s the vanguard. Maybe she’s an avenging …
    â€¦ angel?! we said stupidly. We were really pissed.
    No, no angels. It’s nothing to do with angels. They’re mythic, and such an idea would be delusional, he said.

    I was a very practical youth. I only ever flew when necessary. I got out of practice quickly. I had other things to do. Landings are difficult at the best of times, but when your hormones are, as they say, raging, a landing is just dangerous. What’s more, my mother went through a religious crisis, and bundled us off to Sunday school and church services every weekend, and even after school some days. That short-circuited my flying urge, as well as my flying abilities. Scripture convinced me there was no point in flying, and almost convinced me that I couldn’t fly – even that I had never flown at all. Deep down, I knew this was rubbish, but the mind will believe what it wants, and, sadly, what is drummed into it.
    Then my mum lost God as fast as she’d found Him, and I had total recall. But I still remained hesitant. The first flight after such a long break was actually painful. I ached for a week and could barely eat. I developed a fever of 108 and almost died, cooked from the soul out. When I was well again, my mother decided we’d move to a different state, and we packed up and I flew in a plane for the first time. It was like being on the ground. Looking out the window was like watching television. It’s a fraud, a hoax.

    He was either going to fly or