Twice already he’d made the assault, and he was preparing to do so again. When Payne noticed this he moved quickly, undoing his seat belt and grabbing hold of the headrest in front of him. A polite tap on his elbow stopped him from lifting himself any farther. There ensued a smiling pantomime, the silly dumb show of those who do not speak one another’s language. The mummeries of his fellow traveller won out, and Payne settled back uncomfortably. He watched as the man went through his strange pre-clambering routine. In the impossibly narrow gap afforded by their coach-class berth, made only slightly more spacious by the vacancy of the middle seat in their row, the man executed several knee thrusts, like a sprinter warming in the blocks. Then, without a pause, he climbed, gracefully Payne had to admit, onto the empty seat. And after two more knee thrusts, possibly to synchronize his rhythm, he passed over Payne and into the aisle. A queer little fellow, Payne thought as he turned in his seat and watched the man make his way toward the toilets in the rear of the airplane.
