Just about everyone has had one strange happening or two in their life, something that probably makes for a good story to tell at a bar counter or around a campfire. Mine takes place on a transpacific flight, in the spring of 2015.

I was on a business trip to Shanghai, and my seat neighbor was a very talkative man named Chu. I was window, he was aisle. Chu looked on the young side of middle age, unusually tall and broad-shouldered, with restless hands and a friendly, good-natured face. He wore lots of gel, lots of rings, and a luxury gold watch that looked authentic to me. His English was awfully broken, and yet in the time between shaking hands and taking off I learned that he was an illusionist, something of a celebrity in his homeland, that he owned a penthouse in the VIP district of Shanghai, that he had started off as a husband-and-wife duo but was now divorced and solo, no children, that he had a breakthrough tour of the States coming up, that he had been a big fan of NBA ever since his fellow citizen Yao Ming joined the Rockets, that the Chinese government was to take all necessary steps to delay the burst of the real estate bubble, and that Washington had no business interfering with Beijing's internal affairs. Chu seemed perfectly at ease and confident as he spoke, like he had been born on an airplane seat. As for me I simply hate flying with a passion, and all I managed was the occasional nod, a stupid smile plastered on my face.

We had already been given the signal to unlatch our seat belts when it occurred to me that I hadn't posed the most obvious of questions yet, so during a rare break in the rain of words I asked Chu if he was willing to show me a trick of his repertoire. Not that I really cared, I've never got magic, never understood the fun in being fooled, not even as a little kid. It just seemed like the polite thing to do.
Unsurprisingly, Chu was more than happy to oblige. The man stood up, scanned around, sat back down. He told me that he needed to get a flight attendant. For the next fifteen minutes or so he kept glancing down the aisle at regular intervals, patiently waiting for his intended prey to show up, while my ears enjoyed the silence. At last Chu got the attention of a woman, his compatriot, who strode up to us in a very shapely display of nyloned legs. I remembered her from the boarding gates. Up to her neck, tightly hugged by the high collar of her uniform, she was an airline's poster girl come to life, but her face sort of ruined the picture for me. Not that it was ugly, just unremarkable. A Han face like a million others.
The flight attendant approached us with a toothy grin, her eyes little more than slits above her cheekbones. She had the waxlike skin of a doll, a nose much wider than it was high, and I couldn't spot a single hair out of place in her inky black bun. According to the badge pinned to her breast her name was Lisa, but that, I figured, was just for the benefit of us Westerners onboard.

Chu telegrammed a request to her in their common language. The man's voice, I found, sounded completely different when he spoke Mandarin. The stewardess seemed perplexed for a second, but then she nodded and walked off to the back of the aircraft. Chu watched her until she disappeared behind the curtain at the end of the aisle, then he turned to me again. "I think idea, big fun. Good for here. Good for airplane." He said that in a conspiratorial voice, smirking a mischievous smirk. The man sure loved his job.

Soon enough our Lisa returned, holding a small item in her neatly manicured hand. As she presented it to Chu I saw that it was nothing more than a cutlery pack.
My seatmate thanked the woman, "xie xie" being one of the few Mandarin sentences I can recognize, then stopped her as she made to leave, actually tugging at her jacket. He went into another monologue, which the stewardess politely listened through with her hands clasped before her. Her brows raised closer and closer to her hairline as my fellow passenger spoke on. At the end of his speech, whatever it had been about, Chu unlocked and opened his table tray, put the cutlery pack down on it, and gestured at the empty space in the middle of the grey surface.

Lisa blinked, several times.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, breathed in, thought better of it. With both index fingers pointed at her feet, she leaned over Chu's armrest and stuttered a question. That, I realized, had been her first time actually saying anything. Chu nodded vigorously, and emitted a hail of little sounds of approval.
"Uh," whispered the stewardess, with as doubtful a frown as her profession allowed. "Hao de, hao de." That was "ok, ok." Her nasal, wicked-witch voice was at odds with her age, or what I reckoned her age to be.

She straightened up, slowly, and looked both ways, as if she was about to cross a busy street. Holding on to the seat in front of Chu, she put one leg before the other, reached down for her shoe, then stopped short of removing it and looked up at the man for approval. It was the right kind of shoe for her job, with a small and wide heel that aimed at a balance between comfort and style. With my fellow passenger's encouragement Lisa went ahead and took it off, and put it away under his seat. After that Chu patted a few times on his table tray, which turned out to be the clue for the woman to lay her foot on it. This drew the attention of the surrounding passengers: out the corner of my eye I saw them shift in their seats and crane their necks at the scene. Lisa had positioned her foot almost vertically rather than flat, with the sole facing my way and the pinky toe touching the seat-back. I figured she didn't dare put too much pressure on the tray. An awkward pose, but the stewardess pulled it off nicely. By the look on her face she was every bit as confused as I, along with the other onlookers, was. She mumbled something, which Chu answered in a dismissive tone. The magician opened his cutlery pack, took out the plastic fork and the knife and held them up between the two of us, looking me in the eye. "Now you relax, my friend. This is illusion. Ok?"
I didn't know what to say to that, and Chu didn't wait for a reply either: he stuck his fork into Lisa's calf, getting a little gasp out of her, and began to work his knife between her ankle bone and the top of her foot.
At first I took that as nothing but an innocent pantomime. I knew firsthand those things to be ineffective against the tenderest of meat. This only added to my surprise as I saw the knife sink into Lisa's ankle.

There was just the shortest of lags, just the time to process that sight, then I literally jumped in my seat. My muscles spasmed on their own like an electric shock. A loud shrill rang in my head, and I confusedly chalked it off as my mind soundtracking the jumpscare. Stunned and dizzy, like I had been hit on the head, I leaned closer to the tray. Yes, I was seeing that right: the knife appeared to be cutting through the woman's limb. It slid completely in, then out, deepening the cut at each stroke.
I shifted my gaze from the foot to Chu, who was intent on cutting, to Lisa, whose free hand was cupped over her mouth to muffle her hysterical giggle-screams. The sound from a moment before, I knew then, had been her reaction. I noticed in the back of my mind that people were standing up, and that a gathering of worried faces was forming around us.
The table tray rattled: Lisa was trying to pull away, by instinct if nothing else, but Chu had her firmly pinned under his forearm. With the knife already halfway through to the heel cord, the woman's foot began to come loose. Soon it was hanging off at an unnatural angle, shaking conspicuously under the thrusts of the plastic weapon.

Astonishment had filled me up so completely that there was no room left for horror. At least, thank God, I hadn't seen a single drop of blood, which helped me remind myself that it was all just a trick. What kind of trick, though, I had no idea. I considered all rational explanations that came to mind, and ruled them off one by one.
Peering into the space between Lisa's foot and her ankle, I saw that even her hose was undamaged. The dark sheer fabric extended seamlessly over the cross section of her leg, clinging to the cut surface as if custom-made. Somehow this is the detail that stuck with me the most.

Chu suddenly paused his cutting to have a word with the stewardess, a question, which went unnoticed since Lisa was now at the center of a growing commotion, her head darting left and right in response to the prodding and the poking and the yelling. Her face wasn't unlike all others, a gaping mask of shock and awe.
Chu insisted, shaking the woman stronger than anybody else until he got his question through. Lisa focused on him as best she could and shook her head. The two exchanged a few more sentences that I didn't hear, their voices lost in the turmoil. Not that it would have made a difference. Then the magician turned to me. "This is the foot, do you believe? The woman has the real foot. No fake. See? I show you." He slipped his hand under Lisa's sole and rubbed his thumb across her toes, which wiggled. "See? The foot of the woman, she can move. Ok? Do you believe?"
I didn't understand why he sounded like he was proving a point. Perhaps it was just his poor command of English. In any case the man definitely wanted an answer from me. My throat was painfully dry and my temples throbbed. I said something along the lines of "Uh, sure. I... I believe."
Chu burst out laughing, a big, fat laugh, then he stood up and shouted something in Mandarin at the crowd, flailing his arms. That was good enough, since there wasn't a single Caucasian face in sight. Beyond the thick cluster of passengers I made out a dozen flight attendants, equally divided between men and women, who probably comprised the totality of the cabin crew. They looked alarmed, and not quite sure as to how to proceed.
As word was passed that there was no terrorist or criminal activity going on, just a local celebrity performing an impromptu magic trick, the clamor diminished by only a little. Panic gave way to thrill, and soon the mass of compressed bodies was covered in a growth of arms terminating in mobile devices.
I checked on Lisa. She was looking down at her semi-detached extremity, comforted that she could still flex it. Her eyes met mine for the briefest moment, then she looked away as if in embarrassment.

Chu patted on my arm. "Ok, my friend," he said, "now we finish."
And he meant that.
He swiftly cut through what little there was left to cut, slammed the knife down on the tray and howled in triumph as the foot came clean off. I mean, that's what it appeared to be. I knew there had to be a point where reality ended and illusion began, but it was all just so jaw-droppingly convincing.
Chu speared the foot on his fork and hoisted it high above his head, at which point the audience reached a level of wild that scared me. Save for a few that fell back in shock, the passengers went into a photo frenzy and started jabbing and elbowing each other to get a better shot. Their shrieks were deafening, their faces blood red. Lisa was crushed against the seat she had been holding. Hands reached around from behind her, groping for her leg and the stump at the end of it. Some more hands assaulted Chu, reaching for the woman's foot, so the magician entrusted it to me. Or maybe he was just trying to keep it out of their reach. Either way, the thing smacked me across my face and came off the fork, landing in my lap. I recovered fast enough to pin it between my legs before it could roll away.
I looked down.
Now that I was in physical contact with it, there was no more denying the incredible fact that the foot was, indeed, real. Flesh and bone, like you and me. I could make out its hard, bumpy shape against my inner thighs. I could feel its warmth. The big toe stuck out, and maybe the second toe as well. I couldn't tell for sure since the tip of the hose was black, and not see-through. The rest of the foot was buried in my jeans, near my crotch. Dangerously near. And it was still wriggling.

Now, I don't really have a foot fetish. But I usually don't have a problem with feet, either. Especially when they are the delicate, well-kept kind that Chinese women are rightly famous for. So between the warmth and the wriggling and the silky hose, well, I couldn't help getting turned on a little. Talk about a weird boner!
With my heart up in my throat, I reached down between my legs and tore the foot away from my bulging dick. It was amazingly light and had no odor at all, at least not at that distance from my nostrils. The hose wrapped it up completely, including the flat spot where the ankle joint should have been. All I could see through the nylon was a blank surface, like a continuation of the skin. I ran a finger over that fascinating spot, wishing I could get under the fabric, but there was no way unless I ripped a hole in it.
My own thoughts of violation snapped me back to reality, suddenly feeling ashamed and guilty. I had no clear idea how long I had been lost in my head. Had Lisa noticed anything?
More importantly, was she alright?
I looked up at the stewardess, only to find that she was busy taking pictures with the passengers. She had her back to me and was pointing her ankle stump at the many camera eyes, one arm hooked under her knee, the other one around somebody's shoulders. A flash went off in my face, and I realized that I was being a popular subject too. "Portrait of a man holding a severed foot."
Apparently, I had been so deeply enraptured that I had missed the cabin crew taking action to restore order.
"Good, my friend." At my side, Chu gestured towards me. "Can you give me the foot, please?"

Well, of course I could. Chu snatched it off my hands, thanked me, and took it with himself into the cheering crowd. I was instantly forgotten, which was just fine for me. My dumbstruck face was already going to pop up on too many Chinese social media for my liking.
I decided to remain in my seat for a while, just studying the passengers. I found their changeability somewhat disturbing. The general mood now was one of acceptance. Hysteria had vanished, just like horror before it. I remember a small, chubby, curly-haired lady chuckling as she waved her hand through the void where Lisa's foot should have been. I remember Chu passing the foot around, allowing people to pet it as long as he had everything in control. I remember a gangly boy with huge glasses tickling its sole, and the stewardess down on the floor, laughing and squirming and begging for mercy, much to the general amusement.

Eventually the magician and his improvised assistant reunited. Lisa offered her abbreviated leg to Chu, probably expecting to get her missing piece back, but the man put it in her hands instead and had her go through one last round of pictures. That's when he invited me to join in. He was very persistent. He borrowed my phone and took a picture of me and the flight attendant, both of us looking very awkward. He directed the shot like he was a professional photographer, having me put an arm around Lisa's waist and another under her raised leg, while she held up her foot next to her face and made a peace sign with the other hand, kiss-pouting at the camera.
As I looked the photo over, Chu fetched Lisa's shoe from under his seat. He put it back onto her detached foot, then placed the whole thing down on the ground in front of her, and told her to do something. The stewardess stepped onto her own foot as if she was wearing a slipper, and it fused back to her ankle. She yelped, flexed it in a circle, and took a tentative step forward: everything was fine. It was as if nothing had ever happened.
The cabin broke out in applause, and Lisa flashed her broad smile of relief left and right. One last, closed-lips smile was addressed specifically to me. Right at that moment Chu reappeared beside her. With one hand he grasped her jaw, turning her head towards him and forcing her mouth open. He had something clenched in his other hand, but I couldn't immediately recognize it. The applause faltered.
Chu shoved the object into Lisa's mouth. It was, I saw then, the used cutlery pack. The magician had put the fork and the knife back inside it, together with the spoon and the tissue that he had never needed. "Recycling!" he boomed out, and winked. Then he slammed Lisa's jaw shut. The crack of her teeth was so loud that it startled me.
The stewardess didn't complain, didn't try to break free. Unable to speak, she just stared at Chu. The man wasn't going to let go. Lisa had no choice but swallow, grimacing for the effort. A big bulge traveled down her neck and disappeared into her torso. The woman blinked, swallowed some more, then opened her mouth wide and stuck her tongue out: the pack was gone. There were ooh's and aah's and giggles, followed by more applause.
Chu thanked the stewardess and dismissed her with a pat on the small of her back. Lisa, hair and uniform messy, walked away on unsteady legs, her exit captured on memory card by dozens of phones and tablets.

Nothing much happened during the rest of the flight. From time to time people would stop by Chu's seat for a little chat, which he was always happy to deliver. That gave me some time to chew on my thoughts. I wanted nothing more than a clue as to how he had done that, but a magician never reveals his secrets. Plus, it wasn't like Chu was going to give me any room for speaking my mind. I listened, even more speechless than before, to his plans for the upcoming tour, as well as his memories of shows past. He recounted about the time with his ex-wife, the things he used to do to her on and off stage, what she liked and what she didn't, and what he thought had ultimately been the cause of their breakup. In my mind, his ex-wife had the appearance of Lisa. At the first good moment I excused myself to the restroom, where I jerked off to the photo of me and the stewardess.
I only ever saw her again on two occasions. The first one was little more than a glimpse, it was dinner time and she was serving the aisle across the cabin from us. The second one was after landing, while on my way out. Like her fellow cabin crew she was standing at a gap between the rows of empty seats, cross-handed and smiling. She croaked me her high-pitched "bye bye", then immediately repeated it for the passenger after me. I felt the urge to stop and ask if she was okay, but I gulped the question down before I made a fool of myself.
Of course she was okay.

As for Chu, I haven't heard of him ever since. He gave me his business card, said I had a friend in Shanghai if I needed one. It was very nice of him, but I'm afraid I have no idea what became of that card. I also have no idea whether his tour was the success he was hoping for. Honestly I have never done a lot of investigating, I just googled him a couple of times and gave up as soon as I ran out of results in English.
I had to delete my only photo of that day, out of fear that my girlfriend at the time would see it and make a scene. She was extremely possessive. The girl I'm dating now is one-quarter Filipina, and even though she looks nothing like Lisa I can't help being reminded of her. I can't help thinking, when I fondle my girl's legs and she's wearing nylon, that I wouldn't mind if one of her feet came off in my hands. Maybe then I would tickle her sole, and she would roll on the ground, laughing and squirming and begging for mercy.