Maybe

by Morris Gleitzman

  She doesn’t do much stretching out.

  She huddles on her side, knees against her chest, panting painfully.

  I kneel next to her and stroke her hair.

  ‘Anya,’ I say gently. ‘If there’s anything we can do to help you with the pain of the contractions, just say so, OK?’

  Anya looks up at me with her big dark eyes.

  ‘Shut up,’ she snarls.

  The baby book didn’t make it clear that women in labour could be this grumpy.

  I hear thunder in the distance and glance at the sky. Rain clouds are building up. We need to get Anya inside.

  Gosling must be thinking the same thing. He’s inspecting the padlock on the waiting room door.

  ‘I’ve still got the toothpick,’ he says to Anya.

  I wait for her to snarl at him.

  ‘Thank you, Tyrone,’ she says.

  At least it’s dry in here.

  Outside, the rain is lashing across the platform and the wind is howling in the dusk almost as loudly as Anya.

  I wish there was more I could do for her.

  All the medical books I’ve carefully read, all the medical information I’ve tried hard to remember, all the knowledge I’ve studied about how the human body works, and it turns out that the human body knows how it works all on its own.

  Anya arches her back on the cushions as a big contraction makes her gasp and yell and screech.

  I wipe her wet face with the sleeve that Gosling kindly tore off my shirt.

  He gives her sips from the water bottle.

  The contractions are every couple of minutes now. The baby book says that means not long to go.

  ‘Not long to go,’ I say to Anya.

  ‘Get lost,’ she grunts.

  After the next contraction passes, Anya leaves her knees raised and pulls her skirt further up and puts her hand between her legs.

  ‘Don’t look,’ she moans.

  ‘We’re not looking,’ I say. ‘We’re helping.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ says Gosling. ‘Look at that.’

  I look. The top of the baby’s head is appearing.

  ‘Breathe,’ I say to Anya and I do it myself, big regular panting breaths to remind her what to do between pushes.

  Another contraction.

  Anya bares her teeth and stops breathing and her face bulges with the pushing.

  More of the baby’s head comes out.

  I put my hands down there, ready.

  Anya drags a huge groaning gasp of air into herself and pushes again and suddenly the baby tumbles out in a gush, wet and wriggling and alive.

  It’s not dry in here any more.

  There’s blood on the floor.

  Anya’s face and hair are sodden with sweat.

  And as I put the tiny slippery person into Anya’s arms, we’re all crying, all of us, because ever since we were born the world has been boiling over with bad things and now we’ve got a thing that is wonderful and precious and really really good.

  the pawn shop.

  Or would the dentist be better?

  No, I think the pawn shop, because there doesn’t seem to be a dentist anywhere along this deserted dusty main street.

  That’s the problem with trying to sell gold in a very small Australian country town. No dentist.

  I check my clothes for streaks of dirt and visible bloodstains, and go into the pawn shop.

  The man behind the counter wakes up and looks at me suspiciously.

  ‘Hello,’ I say. ‘Can you please tell me how much this is worth?’

  I put Cyryl’s ring on the counter.

  The man rubs his ginger hair and does a few more suspicious looks at me and at least a couple at the ring.

  I notice his looks are getting a bit less suspicious and a bit more greedy.

  This is probably because I forgot to brush my hair and I’ve got cobwebs in it from sleeping on the waiting room floor and he thinks I’m desperate.

  Which I am.

  ‘You’re not from around here,’ says the man.

  ‘Just passing through,’ I say.

  ‘Ah,’ says the man. ‘Fruit-picking family. Season’s almost over, so you’ll be gone soon.’

  I don’t tell him he’s wrong, because he’s right about the last bit. We’ll be gone as soon as Anya feels ready to go.

  ‘Where’s it from?’ says the man.

  ‘Poland,’ I say.

  ‘May I?’ he says.

  He picks up the ring, examines it, weighs it, taps it, puts a drop of liquid onto it, and does some other things to it.

  ‘It’s solid gold,’ I say.

  ‘I know,’ says the man.

  ‘How much is it worth?’ I say.

  ‘Fifty pounds,’ says the man. ‘Or two pounds if it’s stolen.’

  ‘It’s stolen,’ I say. ‘I’ll take the two pounds.’

  When I get back to the waiting room, my arms are aching from all the things I’m carrying.

  The ache disappears as soon as I step inside and see Anya sitting on the cushions with her tiny daughter. Who is sucking Anya’s milk, just like the baby book says she would.

  I put my load down and stand there, grinning. Anya grins back at me.

  ‘Hooray,’ says Gosling, who’s crouching next to them. ‘What did you get?’

  Gosling has filled the bowl with water and is wringing out the torn-off sleeve of my shirt. Judging by the pink colour of the liquid, he’s been helping Anya clean up.

  I think he’s getting over his fear of cold water, which is good.

  ‘Bread and cheese,’ I say. ‘And milk and fruit and carrots and nappies. And blankets from the pawn shop. And soap and disinfectant and a sharp knife for the clean and heat.’

  There’s more, but I stop and stare.

  It doesn’t look like a clean and heat will be needed. The umbilical cord attached to the baby’s tummy has disappeared.

  Anya sees me looking.

  ‘Tyrone did it,’ she says. ‘He bit it off.’

  I go over and have a look at the baby’s tummy, slowly, so I don’t seem bossy.

  It’s a good bite. The little stump that will be the baby’s belly button looks clean and neat. Bit of disinfectant and it’ll be fine.

  ‘Tyrone was very kind,’ says Anya. ‘He went outside and buried the cord and the placenta.’

  She gives Gosling a grateful look.

  ‘And see,’ she says, ‘He’s made us curtains. He stuck them up with tree sap.’

  All over the windows of the waiting room are sheets of old newspaper.

  ‘There’s only four trains a week,’ says Gosling. ‘Two in each direction. Monday and Thursday. So if we keep the door locked and stay quiet, I think we’ll be right.’

  I give him a grateful nod.

  I should say something, but I need a moment to get used to Gosling being such a housekeeping and train timetable expert.

  ‘You’re very kind too, Felix,’ says Anya. ‘Getting us all these things.’

  ‘There’s no rush to go,’ I say. ‘Take your time and get strong and we’ll head off to Melbourne in a few days when you’re ready.’

  Anya gives me one of her grateful looks.

  I don’t want her and Gosling seeing me blushing, so I say something to distract them.

  ‘I called Neal from a public phone,’ I tell them. ‘He panicked a bit at first when he heard we aren’t in a hospital. But when I told him we’re in a place specially designed for people to rest in, he calmed down. He said he’ll be waiting for us in Melbourne when we get there.’

  ‘You’re amazing,’ says Gosling.

  ‘We’re very grateful,’ says Anya, stroking the baby’s head. ‘Me and Ruby.’

  I smile. It’s a nice name.

  Anya pats the floor.

  I sit down next to them.

  Anya holds Ruby out to me and I take her.

  I cradle her in my arms, one of the most precious things I’ve ever held.

  I can’t help feeling sad all
of a sudden, thinking about other precious people I’ve held in my arms. I held them as close as I could, really close, but I still lost them.

  Sunlight is filtering in through the newspaper curtains, making the big headlines stand out in silhouette.

  WAR OVER

  FIGHTING ENDS

  PEACE

  I gaze at them.

  Old newspapers, about the past.

  But I hope they’re telling us something about the future too.

  ‘Neal,’ I yell into the phone. ‘Calm down.’

  I don’t know if swearing on the telephone is illegal in Australia. If it is, Neal’s in big trouble.

  ‘You’re right,’ I say to him. ‘Our stay is turning out to be longer than I said. But Anya isn’t ready, so we’ll get the train on Monday. We’ll be arriving in Melbourne at the same time as we would have done a week ago.’

  Neal says we’d better.

  Which is the first thing he’s said this morning that a nun wouldn’t mind hearing.

  Speaking of nuns . . .

  ‘Neal,’ I say, lowering my voice even though the post office is deserted. ‘Any problem about me and Anya escaping from the children’s homes?’

  ‘Nothing,’ says Neal. ‘I think the authorities want to keep it under wraps. I’m trying to find out what’s going on.’

  There’s one more thing I need to ask him.

  ‘Any news about Mrs Prejenka?’ I say.

  ‘I’ve found her,’ says Neal. ‘She works in a pub in South Melbourne.’

  For a moment I can’t speak. I think about how Celeste will feel when she hears.

  ‘Does Celeste know?’ I say.

  ‘I sent her a telegram today,’ says Neal.

  We say goodbye.

  I don’t ask him if he’s heard anything about Zliv. Sometimes a piece of news is so good, you don’t want to spoil it with something bad.

  Why do trains make you sleepy?

  We’ve all been dozing on this one too.

  I’m not complaining. Sometimes sleep is what you need to get away from your problems for a while. Specially problems that don’t involve your neck possibly being broken, just your heart.

  Anya is still asleep, her face peaceful, her head on Gosling’s shoulder. She’s been doing that a lot over the last few days. I don’t blame her. Gosling’s shoulder is almost as big as a pillow.

  But I could put a pillow on my shoulder if she wanted me to.

  Gosling is awake, with Ruby tucked in the crook of his big arm. He’s very gentle with her, which he should be, all the practice he gets looking after her.

  ‘Hello, Ruby,’ I whisper, smiling at her.

  Anya opens her eyes and smiles too.

  ‘Ruby was my mother’s name,’ says Gosling, with a fond look at Anya. ‘I’m very honoured.’

  I struggle to keep the smile on my face.

  I don’t manage to. I’ve got a mother as well, and she’s also dead.

  But it’s not just hearing about Ruby’s name that’s making me feel jealous.

  I’ve noticed something else.

  Gosling and Anya are doing it again.

  Holding hands.

  They’ve been doing it for the last couple of days. When they thought I wasn’t watching. Now they’re doing it out in the open.

  Anya is watching me.

  ‘Tyrone,’ she says. ‘Could you get more water from the corridor, please?’

  ‘Of course,’ says Gosling, giving Ruby to Anya and grabbing our water bottle and going outside.

  Anya looks at me and pats the cushion where Gosling was just sitting.

  I go and sit next to her.

  She puts Ruby into my arms.

  When I look up from Ruby’s dear little face, from the bubbles of saliva on her tiny lips, Anya is gazing at me.

  It’s a fond gaze, and a sad one.

  ‘Felix,’ she says. ‘You’re my best friend and I love you. But we can’t always choose what happens.’

  We look at each other for a long time.

  ‘You’re right,’ I say quietly. ‘We can’t.’

  She is right.

  In a few hours we’ll arrive in Melbourne.

  Our hope is that Anya will be able to keep Ruby, and I’ll be able to get Gabriek and Celeste to Australia, and the Australian police will be able to handle something very scary if it comes along.

  But we don’t know what will happen.

  We can only hope.

  Over the next few days and weeks, life will let us know if it plans to be good or bad.

  Neal isn’t allowed onto the platform without a ticket. Maybe he’s waiting for us on the other side of the barrier.

  ‘Hey,’ says the ticket inspector at the barrier gate. ‘These tickets are a week old.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘We had to break the journey. The baby. You know what it’s like.’

  I hope he does. I can see faint dribble stains on his shoulder, but they might be his.

  The inspector looks sternly at Anya and Ruby.

  Ruby gurgles at him and Anya smiles wearily.

  ‘If you’re going to arrest anybody,’ say Gosling, ‘arrest me. If you have to.’

  The inspector looks tempted, but waves us all through. And there, on the other side of the barrier, is Neal.

  ‘Hello,’ he says.

  Then he stops and stares.

  ‘This is Ruby,’ I say.

  ‘Hello, Ruby,’ says Neal.

  I could tell on the phone how worried he was about Anya and Ruby. I told him to concentrate on the good things, but he wouldn’t listen.

  He looks very relieved.

  ‘Congratulations, Anya,’ says Neal. ‘People will be very happy to meet you and little Ruby.’

  A smiling woman with grey hair steps forward, shakes Anya’s hand, then Gosling’s, then mine.

  ‘Wonderful to meet you,’ she says in Polish.

  ‘Mrs Prejenka,’ I say.

  Sometimes you can be a different height, shape and age, and still look just like somebody else.

  ‘I’ve heard lots about you all,’ says Mrs Prejenka. ‘Or rather I’ve read lots.’

  She holds up several copies of a newspaper.

  She said that last bit in English. I think it was so Neal could understand. The newspaper must be the one he works for.

  I reach inside my shirt for my envelope with Celeste’s letter in it.

  ‘You must all be parched,’ says Neal. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea. We’ve got lots to catch up on.’

  ‘And then afterwards,’ says Mrs Prejenka, ‘you will all come to my house. For a rest.’ She looks at Gosling. ‘And a bath. It’s not a big house, but I hope you will all stay for as long as you like.’

  We all thank her very much. After a week on a hard waiting room floor, an actual house sounds wonderful.

  Neal’s right, we are all parched, so I like the idea of a cup of tea as well.

  What I’m not so keen on is the nervous glance Neal gives me as we head to the station cafe. As if there’s something he’s worried about telling me.

  Mrs Prejenka slowly lowers Celeste’s letter onto the cafe table and looks at us with tears in her eyes.

  ‘Neal told me my daughter is alive,’ she says. ‘But now I really know.’

  ‘Celeste wants to see you very much,’ I say.

  Mrs Prejenka leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

  ‘Thank you, Felix,’ she whispers.

  ‘I sent Celeste a telegram yesterday,’ says Neal. ‘Care of Flight Lieutenant Wagstaff at the air base in Poland. I gave her my newspaper’s phone number and told her she can call reverse charges.’

  Mrs Prejenka’s eyes are shining.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says.

  ‘As her mother,’ says Neal, ‘you should be the

  one to tell her the good news. That she’ll be here as

  soon as the migrant boats start sailing.’

  I stare at Neal.

  That must mean Gabriek as well.

 
‘It’s not official yet,’ says Neal to Mrs Prejenka. ‘But the Australian government are planning a new policy. They want to increase our population. Bring in lots of people to help build the Australia of the future. Skilled people like Celeste.’

  ‘And Gabriek,’ I say.

  ‘If he’s the person who brought you up,’ says Neal, giving me a grin, ‘I’d say he’s very skilled.’

  Neal hands me one of the newspapers that Mrs Prejenka was holding. It’s folded to a page with a big article on it. In the middle of the article is the photo from the local paper of me and Gosling in our cricket shirts.

  ‘We published this a few days ago,’ says Neal.

  ‘Read it,’ says Anya. ‘It’s brilliant.’

  She and Gosling are reading it in one of Mrs Prejenka’s other copies. While I was listening to Neal, I could hear Gosling helping Anya with some of the English words.

  I study the article.

  Neal has written about everything me and Anya told him. Our war experiences and our trip out here and my dream of studying medicine at Melbourne University and everything.

  ‘I thought the Australian government wanted to keep the plane crash secret,’ I say to Neal.

  ‘They did,’ he says. ‘But my editor decided to print the details whether they liked it or not. So the government has decided there’s a positive side to the story. And that positive side, Felix, is you.’

  ‘Me?’ I say.

  ‘Felix Salinger, the first post-war migrant to Australia,’ says Neal. ‘Leading the way for the thousands who’ll follow. Showing the Australian people what a good idea it’ll be.’

  I’m stunned.

  As it sinks in, I’m also a bit worried about Anya feeling left out.

  I glance at her.

  She gives me a look across little Ruby’s head. One of the grateful ones that still make me blush, but not quite as much.

  I’m going to be a bit busy, her look says. Would you mind doing it?

  I’m so lucky to have her as a friend.

  ‘Tomorrow, Felix,’ says Neal, ‘we’re doing a special photo shoot. In the Faculty of Medicine at Melbourne University. My editor wants a follow-up article about your plans to be a doctor. With lots of photos.’

  Neal pauses, and I can see there’s definitely something he’s nervous about telling me.

  ‘In particular,’ says Neal, ‘he wants photos of you at a lecture with medical students. With lots of real medical science on display. There might be body parts. Could you cope with that?’