Maybe

by Morris Gleitzman

  Anya didn’t argue with that.

  ‘Here’s a suggestion,’ said Gabriek. ‘Why don’t you both learn English? Then you’ll understand every word.’

  We stared at him.

  ‘Learn English?’ said Anya.

  ‘You know a bit already,’ said Gabriek to Anya. ‘From all those British and American soldiers you used to sell things to. You know some as well, Felix.

  From when we had our mending business and we branched out into soldiers’ boots.’

  Anya snorted.

  ‘I speak about ten words,’ she said.

  ‘After a war,’ said Gabriek, ‘smart people learn the language of the side that won.’

  Me and Anya thought about this.

  It made sense.

  And now here’s Anya, reading happily in the back of the cart, not even fussed by difficult English words like cervix and placenta.

  Anya looks up from the baby book and sees me watching her.

  She gives me a smile.

  I wish she wouldn’t do that. I might have to be her doctor in a few weeks and the feeling I get when she smiles at me like that isn’t the sort of feeling a doctor should have with a patient.

  I give her a quick smile back and turn away. My face is hot again. And not just because I’m walking fast to keep up with Gabriek. To calm myself down I wipe my glasses and peer into the distance.

  Up ahead is a hill covered in trees. A very familiar hill.

  We must be almost there. I feel myself relaxing. I start feeling happy and hopeful about all the good things waiting for us in the future.

  That happens when Anya smiles at me.

  We reach the top of the hill.

  Gabriek steers Henk and the cart off the road and into the trees. After he tethers Henk, he peers down the other side of the hill.

  I do too. I recognise the hillside. And the small road winding down it. Leading to something else I recognise.

  The gate to Gabriek’s farm.

  I stare.

  This isn’t what I expected.

  I look at Gabriek. I can see it isn’t what he expected either.

  I thought there’d be abandoned fields and in the middle of them a pile of rubble that used to be the farmhouse.

  But the fields aren’t abandoned. They’ve got cabbages and turnips growing in them.

  And the rubble is gone. The farmyard is a patch of clean raw dirt.

  There are men in the farmyard, quite a few of them. I see what the men are doing.

  Rebuilding the farmhouse.

  My insides tingle with excitement.

  I peer down through the trees at the big pieces of timber the men are lifting and the careful way they’re hammering them to make a roof frame.

  Friendly neighbours helping to rebuild things after the war.

  Me and Gabriek did that in the city. Helped our neighbours mend their places. Lots of people did. Nobody asked for money. Just a bit of pork fat or a few English lessons.

  ‘Gabriek,’ says Anya, climbing out of the cart.

  ‘What are those people doing on your farm?’

  Anya hasn’t had much experience with friendly neighbours. Before she lived with Gabriek and me, most of the people she met weren’t friendly at all.

  Including the man who made her pregnant.

  ‘If we’re lucky,’ says Gabriek, squinting down the hill, ‘that lot are building me a new house.’

  ‘Let’s find out,’ says Anya.

  She grabs her pistol and clicks the safety catch off.

  Gabriek puts his hand on the gun.

  ‘I need you to stay here, Anya,’ he says. ‘Out of sight. To protect our belongings.’

  Anya opens her mouth to protest.

  Gabriek gives her a look.

  She scowls but doesn’t say anything. Gabriek is the kindest friend in the world, but he’s stubborn. Specially about good protection. So you don’t argue.

  Anya offers her gun to me.

  It’s a kind thought, but I won’t need it. And I’m hoping that after Anya watches me and Gabriek go down the hill to greet the men, she’ll start to feel she can meet neighbours without a gun too.

  ‘No thanks,’ I say to her. ‘It’s better if we look friendly.’

  I turn to Gabriek, who must be as excited about all this as I am.

  But he isn’t looking excited at all.

  He’s staring at the distant men, frowning.

  When Gabriek frowns, there’s usually a good reason.

  I realise with a sick feeling what it probably is. Something we’ve both experienced quite a lot.

  Something I shouldn’t ever forget.

  After a war has happened, things can sometimes look good when they’re actually very bad.

  worrying is a habit you can catch. Maybe Gabriek’s caught it from me.

  But maybe he’s wrong and those men down there are just friendly neighbours.

  We’ll soon find out.

  ‘Can we slow down a bit?’ I say to Gabriek.

  He’s so caught up in his thoughts as we hurry down the hillside, he hasn’t noticed I’m in pain. And my limp is getting worse. Which can happen when you use bad legs to stop a bolting donkey.

  ‘Sorry,’ says Gabriek.

  We slow down a bit.

  The closer we get to the farm, the better I feel. Partly because of the memories I’m having.

  I spent two of the happiest years of my life on this farm.

  OK, it was mostly in a hole under the barn, but you can be very happy in a hole if you’ve got someone like Gabriek looking after you.

  There were sad things too, very sad things, but when you spend a lot of time alone you learn to concentrate on the good things. Like the food Gabriek brought me. The stories we told each other. The very useful things he taught me for my education. The good protection he gave me.

  I was very lucky.

  Gabriek glances back up the hill towards where Anya is hiding among the trees.

  ‘Let’s keep it relaxed and friendly,’ he says.

  I know what he’s thinking. If things do get difficult, Anya won’t be able to stop herself. She’ll come rushing to help. And I’m almost certain the baby book would advise against a person in her condition running down a hill waving a gun.

  ‘She’s pretty incredible, isn’t she?’ says Gabriek.

  ‘Everything she’s been through.’

  I nod.

  I think she’s very incredible.

  Gabriek looks at me. For a bit too long. I feel myself starting to blush.

  I change the subject.

  ‘Very well-cut timber,’ I say.

  I point to the men in the farmyard and the good job they’re doing. Well-cut timber, carefully positioned and thoughtfully joined. They’re obviously people who take pride in their work. Who want to contribute to their community.

  Gabriek always says that to build something well you need a good heart.

  We speed up again, which is OK. I’m looking forward to meeting our good neighbours.

  We’ll compliment them on their work and thank them for their generosity. Tell them that when Gabriek’s farmhouse is finished, we’ll help them build anything else that’s needed. Schools, hospitals, chicken sheds, we’re very experienced builders.

  And of course I’ll tell them I’m happy to share my medical experience with the whole community.

  ‘Here we go,’ says Gabriek.

  The men have seen us.

  I wave to them as we go in through the farm gate. They don’t wave back. They’ve all stopped working and they’re standing with their hands on their hips, staring at us.

  Which is normal after a war.

  ‘So,’ says Gabriek loudly to the men. ‘Bit of a surprise, this.’

  That didn’t really sound as friendly as I think he meant it to.

  ‘A good surprise,’ I say to the men.

  The men’s expressions don’t change. They keep staring in a not very friendly way.

  ‘I wonder,’ say
s Gabriek to the men, still loudly,

  ‘how should I feel about this?’

  The men don’t seem to know.

  ‘Delighted?’ says Gabriek. ‘Or not so delighted?’

  One of the men, glaring down from a roof beam, spits onto the ground at Gabriek’s feet.

  ‘You should feel scared,’ says the man. ‘Terrified. Wetting your pants.’

  Gabriek looks at the man for several moments. I can hear somebody’s heart beating loudly and I think it’s mine.

  ‘And why should I be scared on my own farm?’ says Gabriek.

  Several of the other men take steps towards us.

  Gabriek doesn’t move, so I don’t.

  ‘Because it’s not your farm any more,’ says the man on the beam.

  I’m shocked.

  But Gabriek stays calm. He doesn’t say anything. ‘

  We didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to come back here, Borowski,’ says another man. ‘Not after what you did.’

  Gabriek looks at the man.

  ‘And what was that, Mr Placek?’ he says, starting to sound annoyed.

  ‘Hiding vermin,’ says the man. ‘Putting the whole district at risk. All our families.’

  The men are looking at me now.

  I feel sick.

  I want to yell at them, ‘The war’s over. The Nazis are defeated. Why are you doing this?’

  But Gabriek said we should be relaxed and friendly. I think I know why.

  These men might be finding it hard after six years of war to get used to it being over. Specially if some of their loved ones were killed.

  I know how that feels.

  So it’s best for us all to be extra friendly.

  I open my mouth to tell the men what good builders they are and to ask them if they’ve got any hospitals me and Gabriek can help with.

  Before I can say it, Gabriek speaks again.

  ‘Hiding vermin?’ he says. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  The man up on the roof beam snaps his fingers.

  Another man goes over to a rubbish heap and rummages among old bits of wood and charred bricks and empty food tins and what looks like a couple of dead rats.

  He comes over to me and Gabriek, smoothing out several screwed-up pieces of paper that are burnt at the edges.

  I stare at them.

  I thought I’d never see them again.

  Zelda’s drawings. And a story I wrote about the good protection I got on this farm. I left them all in my hole for people to find after the war was over. So they’d know. But when the Nazis burned the barn down, I thought my evidence got destroyed too.

  The men are still glaring at me.

  As if they hate me.

  Maybe hating is another habit people catch.

  A difficult one to give up, by the looks of it. If my best friend’s funny drawings and my own grateful story haven’t cheered these men up, I don’t think anything will.

  I stare unhappily at the pieces of paper again. My evidence has turned into evidence against me. I don’t know whether to feel grateful the pages have survived, or not so grateful.

  Yes I do.

  I snatch the pages so fast the man who was holding them looks dazed. But only for a moment. Then he moves towards me.

  Gabriek moves towards him.

  ‘Get off my farm,’ says Gabriek.

  ‘You didn’t hear us,’ says the man on the beam. ‘It’s not your farm any more. You forfeited it when you let that Jew vermin pollute the place.’

  The veins in Gabriek’s throat go tight.

  Medically, that can be a dangerous thing.

  For the men as well.

  ‘So,’ says the man on the beam to Gabriek. ‘You get off my farm.’

  Gabriek doesn’t say anything for quite a while.

  Just stands very still, thinking.

  I wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking. How chances are, none of these men were partisan fighters. So none of them have had any weapons training. So if they attack us, me and Gabriek are probably the only ones here who know how to kill quickly with blunt pieces of wood.

  Probably best if Gabriek isn’t thinking that. The moment one of us grabs an offcut, Anya will be hurling herself down the hillside, risking her life and the baby’s.

  Gabriek gives the men a big smile.

  ‘I’m thinking this is a matter for the town hall,’ he says. ‘What do you say? Shall we all go into town?’

  The men look confused.

  They glance at each other, frowning.

  I’m a bit confused too.

  Then the man on the beam laughs. It’s not a friendly laugh.

  ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Let’s.’

  He gives a look to one of the other men, who gets on a rusty old motorbike and starts the engine.

  For a second I think he’s going to give me and Gabriek a lift, but he roars off on his own.

  ‘Good,’ says Gabriek, still smiling at the men.

  Suddenly, to their amazement and mine too, Gabriek starts shaking all the men by the hand.

  The men are so stunned, they let him.

  Incredible. Is Gabriek taking a gamble that, deep down, everyone wants to live in peace?

  No, I think he’s just being very smart.

  Up the hill, Anya will be watching this. When she sees everyone being so friendly, she’ll probably decide not to come down here with her gun.

  Not yet, anyway.

  I don’t know why the men made us wait for this horse and cart.

  The town’s not that far away. We could have walked faster than this poor half-dead horse and this rickety old cart that smells of pigs.

  And we wouldn’t be sharing the journey with three of the nastiest people I’ve ever met.

  I try to ignore them and the looks of hatred they keep giving me. Which isn’t easy when we’re all sitting knee to knee.

  ‘Jew vermin,’ mutters one of the men under his breath.

  I feel Gabriek go tense next to me. I try to show him he doesn’t have to get stressed or violent.

  ‘If you think you’re hurting my feelings,’ I say to the man, ‘you’re not. I know you’re just trying to make trouble because you want Gabriek’s farm.’

  Gabriek smiles grimly.

  ‘Very perceptive, Felix,’ he says, not taking his eyes off the three men. ‘Isn’t that right, Placek? You always were a greedy little sulk, even at school. And you, Milowski, you were stealing things even then, weren’t you? And Szynsky, wasn’t it you who used to torture cats?’

  The men don’t say anything, just scowl.

  This time I don’t try to make things friendly. I scowl back at the men. Anya can’t see us now and these men deserve it.

  Mr Szynsky smirks, possibly at the memory of the cats.

  ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ he says to Gabriek.

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ says Gabriek. ‘I get that things have changed. The bad days are over. So you’d better get ready for some decency and justice.’

  The men don’t look convinced.

  I’m tempted to tell them they won’t be ready till they get the hatred out of their hearts. But I don’t bother. They wouldn’t hear me now because we’ve reached the town and the cartwheels are very noisy on the cobblestones.

  Years ago the Nazis got rid of the town council. There must be a new one that Gabriek’s heard about, one that’s already busy with decency and justice.

  ‘By the way,’ says Gabriek to the men. ‘Who’s the mayor these days?’

  Mr Szynsky smirks even more than when he was thinking about the cats.

  ‘I am,’ he says.

  For the first time in ages I see a flicker of fear on Gabriek’s face.

  Straight away he hides it.

  I wish I was good at doing that. But I’m not. Specially not now. Because the cart is rumbling into the town square and I can see who’s waiting for us.

  Glaring at us.

  Muttering and clenching their fists.

&nb
sp; A large mob.

  this isn’t a mob.

  Maybe all these people are just citizens having a meeting. Maybe they’re angry because the town council hasn’t been doing enough repairs.

  Those big posts over there, for example. They look like they need attention. They’re leaning badly and they’re extremely weatherbeaten.

  Oh.

  I stare at the posts, feeling sick.

  I think I recognise them.

  They’re bringing back memories I don’t want to have. Please let these be different posts. Ones I’ve never seen before. Posts for holding up Christmas decorations or showing the prices of pigs in the market.

  But they’re not.

  They’re the ones.

  I glance at Gabriek. I can tell from his face that he knows it too.

  They’re the posts the Nazis hanged people from. Innocent, loving people who never did anything bad in their lives.

  My best friend, Zelda.

  Gabriek’s wife, Genia.

  I stare at the posts. Memories burn inside me.

  Genia saving me from the Nazis. Zelda saving me from becoming a killer.

  Me not able to save either of them.

  Suddenly I’m grabbed by angry hands and pulled out of the cart and dragged across the cobblestones and now I know for certain that this is a mob.

  ‘Stop,’ I yell at them. ‘You can’t. The war is over. You can’t do this any more.’

  Nobody listens.

  They yank me to my feet. I’m surrounded. Not just by men, by women and kids too. All shouting things and looking like they want to kill me.

  I try to see Gabriek. But I can’t. Just a seething mass of twisted faces.

  ‘Gabriek,’ I yell.

  We have to stay close, watching each other’s back like we always do.

  And we must try to calm this mob. Offer them repairs to their town and medical attention and hot tea and cakes.

  Except suddenly I don’t want to do that. I want to get out of here. Go back to the city with Gabriek and Anya and take our chances with Zliv.

  ‘So,’ hisses a voice in my ear. ‘The vermin returns.’

  A familiar voice.

  I haven’t heard it for years.

  But I know exactly who it is.

  I turn. A boy is smirking at me, a boy of about my age with very fair hair and wet pink lips.

  Cyryl Szynsky.

  He sticks his face close to mine.