Maybe

by Morris Gleitzman

  If they can’t, it’s too late now.

  This Lancaster is very comfortable for a warplane that was built for bombing, not sleeping.

  I closed my eyes about half an hour ago for a nap and dropped straight off. Must be the steady drone of the engines and the gentle vibration. The whole plane sort of rocks you to sleep.

  Wait a minute.

  It’s dark. It was daylight when we took off.

  I try to stand up.

  Then I remember I’m plugged in and hooked up to oxygen and other important things.

  ‘Hello,’ I say into the intercom.

  I hope the others aren’t all asleep too. It’s starting to feel lonely down here.

  I shiver because I’ve just realised what this turret was probably used for. Aiming large numbers of bombs at people and cows.

  ‘Felix is awake,’ says Simmo’s voice.

  ‘Yes I am,’ I say, relieved.

  ‘You know how to sleep,’ says Ken’s voice. ‘Been out for hours. I was going to wake you when we landed in Beirut to refuel, but the others said to let you be.’

  Landed?

  How did I sleep through a landing?

  I realise what’s happened. It’s the travel sickness pills that the supervising medical officer gave me.

  I took a couple earlier in case the flight got bumpy.

  They must be sleeping pills as well.

  ‘Where are we now?’ I say.

  ‘Dunno exactly,’ says Ken. ‘On our way to India.’

  ‘We’re over Saudi Arabia,’ says another voice, which must be Gav the navigator.

  ‘You hungry, young fella?’ says Simmo’s voice.

  ‘You missed your meal in Beirut. No problem, we’ve got rations. Fancy some dried beef?’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  I’ve never had dried beef, but it can’t be that different from beef that’s still a bit damp.

  ‘I’ll get him a feed,’ says Simmo.

  ‘Rations are in the kitbags,’ says Rusty’s voice.

  ‘Rear turret.’

  It’s very thoughtful of them. I am hungry. But there’s something else gnawing at my tummy.

  With all the rushing around before we left Poland, and all the sleeping since, I haven’t had a chance to check something with Ken.

  ‘Ken,’ I say. ‘What did the base commander say about medical backup for Anya when she has the baby?’

  The intercom is silent for a while.

  ‘We had a good conversation,’ says Ken’s voice eventually. ‘It went well. Very well.’

  I don’t say anything. I wait for details.

  ‘As I predicted earlier,’ says Ken, ‘the commander wasn’t specifically prepared to authorise the birth of a baby at the base hospital. But he did offer to arrange something else. Just as good, if not better.’

  I don’t believe it.

  I struggle not to get furious. Being furious might use up too much oxygen.

  It’s no good, I am furious.

  We had a deal.

  I’m on this plane because we had a deal. And now Ken is telling me, when we’re halfway to India, that the deal is off.

  ‘What something else?’ I say. ‘What is it that’s just as good, if not better?’

  I have a horrible feeling I know.

  ‘A very good charity,’ says Ken. ‘One that’s totally kitted out for babies. Hundreds are born in their excellent hospitals every month.’

  I knew it.

  I want to scream.

  I want to go up into the fuselage and place my hands round Ken’s neck and squeeze it very hard. I want to make Rusty turn this crate around, now.

  Anya and I talked about charities months ago. We made enquiries to see if any of them would be a good place to have a baby. And we decided that for a person of Anya’s age, definitely not.

  For one very good reason.

  If you’re under eighteen, charities take your baby away. They have it adopted. No choice. You never see your baby again.

  ‘Felix,’ says Ken.

  He can probably tell how upset I am from my heavy breathing on the intercom.

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ he says.

  I’m speechless. How does a person this stupid get a job this important?

  Simmo must have plugged his helmet back in at the rear of the plane because I hear him give a puzzled grunt.

  ‘Weird,’ he says. ‘There’s definitely dried beef here somewhere.’

  I hear him undoing a kitbag.

  And giving another grunt.

  ‘This doesn’t feel like dried beef,’ he says.

  Another voice replies, muffled. I can’t make out what it’s saying, but I can tell it’s angry.

  ‘Jeez,’ says Simmo, sounding very alarmed.

  There’s a confusion of voices, all alarmed, all speaking at once.

  Then Wally’s voice breaks through.

  ‘Rusty,’ he yells. ‘There’s someone here hiding in a bag. Can’t see who it is, but they’ve got a gun and they’re pointing it at Simmo’s head.’

  The plane gives a wobble, then straightens up.

  ‘Everyone stay calm,’ says Rusty’s voice.

  He doesn’t sound calm.

  My insides have gone weak. Just as well I’ve got a urine bottle tucked inside this flying suit.

  Did Zliv find out I was going to Australia even before I sent the letter? Did he stow away on the plane?

  ‘Don’t,’ yells Simmo’s voice. ‘Don’t shoot.’

  ‘I won’t,’ says another voice. ‘But only if you remove your very rude hands.’

  My insides go even weaker.

  It’s Anya.

  Ken will calm down soon.

  Stop panicking about what his bosses in the Australian government will say. See that Anya needs his help, not his bad temper.

  Anya has tried to explain several times.

  ‘What other choice did I have?’ she said to Ken.

  ‘I had to get away. The stupid base commander told some charity where I was. The charity is probably at Celeste’s right now, tearing up the floorboards looking for me. Once charities decide to help you, they never give up till they find you.’

  I’m very proud of her.

  She’s risked everything for her baby, which I think Australians will admire.

  Ken isn’t convinced.

  ‘The Australian people,’ he yells at Anya, ‘will have no sympathy at all for a girl with a baby and a gun.’

  I think he’s wrong.

  They’ll love her.

  Except maybe the gun.

  Ken is even worse now we’ve landed in India. I think it’s the heat. He’s leaning against an oil drum on the tarmac, glaring at Anya.

  ‘I should have you arrested,’ he growls. ‘Thrown in a local jail and left to rot.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘You can’t do that.’

  If he makes Anya leave the plane here in India, she’s finished. A sixteen-year-old girl having a baby in a foreign prison wouldn’t stand a chance. The prison guards probably don’t even know what a placenta is, or a cervix.

  I can see that the crew agree with me.

  Well, Rusty and Gav and Wally do. They’ve stopped chewing their chicken and are giving Ken unhappy looks. I think Simmo would agree as well if he wasn’t up a ladder with a couple of Indian mechanics fixing the wing flap.

  ‘Before I decide, young lady,’ says Ken with a scowl, ‘your best hope is to tell me who helped you. A kid like you doesn’t kit yourself out with a flying suit and an oxygen tank and then smuggle yourself onto a plane, not all on your own.’

  Ken clearly doesn’t know Anya.

  But instead of saying that nobody helped her, Anya just shakes her head.

  ‘I don’t rat on my friends,’ she says in Polish.

  I hope Ken didn’t understand that. Because it sounds like Celeste and Dougie must have helped. Probably Gabriek too. The three of them will be in big trouble if anyone finds out.

  I change the subject to get
the pressure off Anya.

  ‘Let’s eat our food,’ I say to Ken. ‘It’ll get cold.’

  Ken gives me a scathing look.

  ‘Looks like good tucker,’ Simmo calls down to Ken from the ladder.

  I think he’s trying to get the pressure off Anya too. Which is kind, seeing he’s still got a small pink circle on his forehead from Anya’s gun barrel.

  ‘Best chicken in brown sauce I’ve ever tasted,’ says Wally, also trying to help.

  I’m too stressed to eat.

  So is Anya.

  ‘One day you’ll understand,’ she says to Ken. ‘You’ll be sick of people taking things from you. You’ll decide that just once in your life you’re going to keep something that’s yours.’

  Ken scowls at her.

  ‘There’s only one thing I’d like to keep,’ he says, speaking very slowly as if he wants every word to hurt Anya. ‘I’d like to keep the very large amount of cash we could have pocketed if we’d wanted an extra passenger. Europe’s full of people who’ll pay anything to get away. Nazis, criminals, politicians, all kinds of cashed-up desperados. And what have we got instead? A freeloader. A parasite.’

  Anya glares at him.

  We both know that word, parasite. It’s in the hygiene section of the baby book.

  I know how that must hurt Anya.

  She’s taken care of herself since she was a little kid. She’s always paid her way, even if she did have to borrow a bit from shops and armies without them realising it.

  Rusty is giving Ken a hard look too.

  ‘Not,’ says Rusty, ‘that we’d ever take a cashed-up desperado. Not if we had a choice between that and a mother protecting her baby.’

  Ken glares at Rusty then stands up as if he’s made a decision.

  ‘There must be a Polish Consul in India,’ he says. ‘We’ll leave our illegal stowaway with the local police. They can contact the Polish Consul and he can take over the whole mess.’

  I stand up too.

  ‘If you leave Anya here,’ I say to Ken, ‘you’ll leave me as well.’

  Ken glowers.

  ‘And what if I don’t want to?’ he says. ‘What if I make you get back on the plane?’

  ‘You won’t be able to,’ I say, trying to stop my voice wobbling. ‘I was trained by partisans.’

  ‘And I have friends in the Indian army,’ snarls Ken. ‘One phone call, that’s all it would take.’

  Rusty and Gav and Wally have stopped eating again. They look like they’re in shock.

  ‘If you do,’ I say, ‘I’ll tell the Australian people about my most horrible and terrible experience.

  The time a dear friend of mine, an innocent child violated by war, was abandoned by an employee of the Australian government thousands of miles from home.’

  ‘Yeah,’ mutters Wally. ‘We’ll tell them that too.’

  ‘I’m not a child,’ says Anya. ‘But thanks.’

  ‘All fixed,’ yells Simmo from up the ladder. ‘All ready to go.’

  Ken glares across the runway into the heat haze as if he’s hoping there’s another young European war survivor blowing around out there among the dust spirals.

  There isn’t.

  ‘Back on the plane,’ he snaps.

  ‘Thank you, Ken,’ says Anya.

  He turns to her, furious.

  ‘Not another word from you,’ he says. ‘Not one squeak for the rest of the flight.’

  ‘Ken,’ I say. ‘Anya will be wonderful in Australia.

  We can keep her gun out of sight and she’ll win everyone’s heart. Australians love babies. You told us yourself the Australian government wants all the population it can get.’

  Ken scowls at me.

  ‘If you want to get to Australia in one piece,’ he says, ‘you’ll keep your trap shut too.’

  As he storms off, Anya turns to me, grinning, and makes a motion of buttoning her lip.

  I smile back, then turn away.

  Another grateful look from Anya is more than I can deal with right now.

  I’ve got too much to do.

  Pluck up the courage, mostly, to tell Anya the main reason I was too stressed to eat.

  To tell her that while Australia has wonderful hospitals, and her baby will be born in the safest possible way, I’ve done something that could put them both in terrible danger.

  says Anya, ‘the reason these stars are so clear and bright is because the air in Australia doesn’t have much bomb dust in it.’

  We’re in the upper gun turret and she’s gazing out through the perspex dome, happier than I’ve ever seen her. Which makes me feel even more desperate and miserable.

  I’m such a coward. All the hours and all the refuelling stops since Bombay, and I still haven’t told her.

  ‘Hurry up sunrise,’ says Anya, peering into the darkness whizzing past below us. ‘If Australia is as beautiful as its stars, I can’t wait to see it.’

  I sigh.

  I should be feeling as happy as she is. Snuggled up in our private place on top of the plane. Our shoulders pressed together. Sharing an oxygen cylinder. Warmed by the gentle breeze from the heating tube Simmo rigged up for us.

  This should be the happiest night of my life.

  But it’s not.

  ‘Anya,’ I say in a shaky voice. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’

  She looks at me.

  We’re only using our breathing masks when we need them, and there’s enough moonlight for me to see the little smile on her face.

  Oh no. She thinks I’m going to say something romantic.

  ‘I have to confess something,’ I say.

  She’s still smiling.

  Surely there’s enough moonlight for Anya to see the look on my face, which I’m pretty sure isn’t romantic. I’m pretty sure it’s anxious and miserable.

  So why can’t she see?

  She does.

  She’s not smiling now.

  ‘What?’ she says.

  I reach into the pocket of my flying suit and take out the piece of paper I’ve been trying to be brave enough to show her since we left Bombay. The copy of the letter I wrote in Poland.

  ‘This letter,’ I say. ‘I sent it to some of our old neighbours in the city. I figured that at least one of them would be able to get it to the person it’s actually written to.’

  I don’t say any more. I just let her read it. I know it off by heart, so I don’t look at the words, just Anya’s face.

  Dear Zliv,

  It’s me you want, not Gabriek or Anya.

  I caused your brother’s death, just me.

  But you’ll have to come to Australia to

  kill me, because that’s where I’m going.

  If you don’t believe me, check the

  Australian newspapers.

  Felix.

  Anya stares at me.

  I know what she’s going to say.

  That I shouldn’t have written the letter. That it was a crazy idea.

  But she doesn’t say that.

  ‘Felix,’ she says, exasperated. ‘How can Zliv check Australian newspapers in Poland?’

  I’ve thought about this.

  ‘The city library,’ I say.

  ‘The last time I looked,’ says Anya, ‘the library didn’t have any newspapers. Just rats.’

  I’ve thought about that too. It’s true this plan does partly depend on Polish libraries being fixed up very quickly.

  The plane gives a sudden jolt.

  A big one.

  We both glance through the perspex.

  That’s strange. The stars have vanished. For a second I don’t get it. Then I realise they must be behind clouds.

  ‘Zliv can look at Polish newspapers too,’ I say. ‘Ken said he was sending the photos he took of me at the air base to the Polish press as well.’

  The plane jolts again.

  A storm.

  From Anya’s face when I showed her the letter, I think there’s a storm inside her too.

>   ‘I’m sorry I put you and the baby in danger,’ I say.

  Anya looks at me.

  ‘You were trying to protect us,’ she says.

  She kisses me on the cheek.

  A searing flash of white light leaves my eyeballs blurred and tingling. When my vision clears, I see Anya rubbing her eyes too.

  ‘Lightning,’ says Anya. ‘That was close.’

  Thunder rumbles all around us.

  I can hear a different sound coming from the plane engines. As if they’re working harder. And a whining sound. As if some other part of the plane isn’t working properly.

  At our last refuelling stop, Rusty explained what a pilot does with storms. Tries to fly around them.

  The plane gives another big jolt. Several of them.

  I don’t think we’re flying around this storm.

  ‘Let’s not worry, Felix,’ says Anya. ‘Zliv probably won’t come to Australia.’

  I know she’s trying to make me feel better, but the thought of that makes me feel even worse.

  Zliv and Gabriek both in Poland. Zliv deciding that killing Gabriek is better than nothing.

  No, he has to come.

  I think he will. Flying to Australia is much easier than swimming across the Danube in winter.

  Anya is reaching into her flying suit. It’s too big for her so the cuffs are rolled up, which makes it hard to get her hand into the pocket.

  But she does, and pulls out her gun.

  ‘If he does come,’ she says, ‘we’ll deal with him.

  You and me.’

  ‘And the Australian police,’ I say.

  Anya doesn’t hear me because of another huge crash of thunder.

  ‘Everything will be fine,’ she says after it stops.

  She squeezes my hand.

  There’s an explosion that leaves my ears ringing.

  White light even brighter than before. Except this time it doesn’t disappear, it stays all around us.

  Everywhere. All over the plane.

  White fire dancing.

  ‘Don’t touch anything,’ yells Anya. ‘I think we’ve been struck by lightning.’

  Below us on one wing there’s suddenly fire of a different colour. Yellow and red flames, pouring out of both engines.

  ‘We’ve got to tell the others,’ I say.