Now

by Morris Gleitzman

  ‘Sorry,’ I say quietly.

  ‘You don’t have to be sorry, babushka,’ says Felix. ‘Of course you were upset.’

  He slows the car down and swings it into a carpark. We stop in front of a small tin building with a huge aerial on the roof and the letters CFA painted on the door.

  ‘Where are we?’ I say.

  ‘Local bushfire command centre,’ says Felix. ‘We’re going to talk with the fire chief.’

  I stare at the building.

  The fire chief?

  Why?

  Dread flickers inside me.

  At my last school some parents handed their kid over to the police after he stole chocolate marshmallows from a shop. Mum said it was called tough love, but she didn’t think she could do it.

  I don’t reckon Felix would do it either. Except maybe to a hospital administrator.

  ‘Why do we need to talk with the fire chief?’ I say, nervously.

  ‘Come on,’ says Felix. ‘You’ll see.’

  We get out of the car.

  Felix looks like he’s on a mission, so we must be going to help in some way. Perhaps give the fire chief a clue about where the fire started.

  I know Felix wouldn’t dob me in, but this is pretty risky.

  I can feel my insides coiling up with stress.

  Calm down, Zelda, you’re not a fire hose.

  Inside the bushfire command centre it’s even hotter.

  There are big fans going, but all they’re doing is making a hot wind like the one outside.

  Several people in firefighter shirts with sweat patches on them are standing around a table talking urgently into big mobile phones, which are crackling like old-fashioned radios from the 1990s.

  The distant voices on the other end of the phones all sound like they’re shouting.

  The computers on the table have got maps on their screens, and the printer is printing all the time, and the table is covered with pieces of paper.

  There are quite a few used mugs too, all empty. I decide to be helpful and start making up for what I’ve done.

  ‘Would anyone like more tea?’ I say.

  Nobody replies. Which I understand completely. When you’re the command centre for a bushfire, you’ve got more important things to think about.

  ‘Excuse me,’ says Felix. ‘Who’s in charge?’

  A couple of the firefighters glance at him but don’t stop talking into their phones.

  Felix waits. You probably learn really good patience hiding in a hole for two years.

  Finally a woman comes out of a back room carrying an esky full of drinks. She sees us, dumps the esky and hurries over.

  ‘Sorry, you two,’ she says. ‘You can’t come in here. This is an operations centre.’

  I wait for Felix to relax the mood by saying he’s an expert at operations. But he doesn’t.

  ‘I appreciate you’re busy,’ he says to the woman. ‘But I’d be grateful if whoever’s in charge could take a moment to quickly reassure my granddaughter about something.’

  I look at Felix.

  Aren’t we meant to be telling them stuff?

  The woman is looking at him too. Crossly.

  ‘We don’t have time for this,’ she says.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ says Felix. ‘But it’s important.’

  I can see he’s not going to give in. Which is sort of fair. Mum reckons he always had time for anxious parents outside his operating theatre.

  The woman goes over to a man on the other side of the room with lots of badges on his shirt. She says something to him apologetically.

  The man gives us an irritated look, and comes striding over.

  ‘I’m in charge,’ he says.

  ‘Could you please show my granddaughter where the fire started,’ says Felix.

  The fire chief rolls his eyes. Then he stabs his finger into the middle of a big map on the wall.

  ‘Round about there,’ he says.

  ‘And how far away is that from the forest at the back of Lofty Road?’ says Felix.

  Now I’m confused.

  What is Felix doing?

  The fire chief is looking very annoyed. I’m not surprised. He’d be worked off his feet if every local resident came in asking how far away the fire is from their house.

  ‘About fifty kilometres,’ snaps the fire chief.

  ‘One more question,’ says Felix. ‘How far can a burning letter travel in a strong wind?’

  The fire chief doesn’t reply. He just gives a disgusted snort and starts to turn away.

  Felix looks disappointed. Then determined.

  He picks up a cigarette lighter from the table, and a piece of paper, and sets fire to the edge of the paper.

  The fire chief stares at him, gobsmacked.

  I’m feeling the same.

  Felix holds the burning paper up and launches it into the hot breeze from the fans so it floats across the room in flames.

  Everyone is staring now, mostly with their mouths open.

  The burning paper floats down to the floor on the other side of the room, and after a few more seconds the flames die away.

  Just ash on the floor.

  ‘OK, you joker,’ explodes the fire chief. ‘That’s it. Out.’

  ‘See, babushka,’ says Felix to me. ‘Burning letters can’t travel fifty kilometres. Not alight.’

  I stare at the ash on the floor.

  ‘Which means,’ says Felix, ‘you didn’t start the fire.’

  I want to hug him.

  I want all the firefighters in the room to hug him. I want to tell them they’ve just seen the kindest and most loving thing a grandfather has ever done.

  But I don’t because the fire chief is yelling at us.

  And then suddenly one of the other firefighters is yelling even louder.

  ‘Gav, listen to this.’

  The fire chief goes quiet and turns to him.

  ‘Units sixteen and twenty-three have just called in,’ says the firefighter.

  From his face I can see it’s bad news.

  ‘The wind’s changed,’ says the firefighter. ‘Totally. It’s swung right round. The fire front’s heading for the western exit road. They reckon an hour if we’re lucky.’

  I glance around the room. Everybody’s looking like it’s definitely bad news.

  Then I work it out for myself.

  The western exit road must be the highway out of town that goes west, towards Melbourne. It’s called Cairnkilley Road and it runs past the bottom of Lofty Road.

  Which means the news is really bad.

  Lofty Road is the road to Felix’s place.

  I look at Felix.

  ‘Sorry to trouble you,’ says Felix to the fire chief.

  Then he grabs me and hurries me towards the door. I can see he’s having exactly the same thought as me.

  Jumble.

  Now. We have to get home now.

  We drive back towards town with the windows closed and the airconditioning on full. I can see smoke in the sky ahead of us.

  It wasn’t there before.

  Not on our side of town.

  Jumble must be terrified.

  Felix doesn’t usually drive fast. It’s not a good idea when you’ve got shaky hands. But now I want him to pretend he’s a tank.

  Drive over things.

  Smash through things.

  Anything so we can get to Jumble before the fire.

  ‘Can’t we go faster?’ I say.

  ‘We’re not much use to anyone if we crash,’ says Felix. ‘Anyway, they said the fire would probably take an hour to get to our place.’

  He reaches over and squeezes my shoulder.

  ‘That was a very brave thing you did, babushka,’ he says. ‘Volunteering to fight the fire. Taking responsibility for what you thought you’d done. I’m proud you’re my granddaughter.’

  I feel myself glowing, and it’s not from the hot wind and smoke.

  I’m so lucky to have Felix for my grandfather. I could h
ave spent the rest of my life thinking I’d started this fire. Even after all the trees had grown back and the injured firefighter’s arms had healed and I’d said sorry to everybody and given the firefighter some skin moisturiser, I’d still have felt guilty.

  Felix has saved me from that.

  I wish there was something I could do in return.

  The main street is in chaos. Vehicles are parked everywhere. Not fire trucks this time. Family cars and people movers and trailers piled high with furniture and big screen tellies.

  People are running across the road, shouting at each other and talking on phones. I can see somebody on the roof of the post office holding a hose and peering into the distance. The ladies from the cake shop are stacking cakes in the back of a ute.

  Normally Felix would stop and help them, but not now.

  He drives on the footpath to get past them, which isn’t easy because the wind is rocking the car and the air is full of swirling black soot.

  Up ahead people are getting onto the school bus, which is strange because it’s Sunday.

  ‘They’ve started evacuating,’ says Felix.

  I know what evacuating means. I’ve seen it in war movies. It’s when people don’t want to stay, so they get out.

  I’m puzzled.

  ‘Why don’t people want to stay and fight the fire?’ I say. ‘Protect their homes and trees and stuff?’

  ‘Some do, some don’t,’ says Felix. ‘It’s a personal choice.’

  I think about this. If people get scared, I don’t blame them. Not everybody has a grandfather like mine.

  Felix stops the car behind the school bus.

  I’m about to remind him that we have to keep going when I see we’re outside the chemist.

  ‘I’ll run in and get your pills,’ I say. ‘And some throat lozenges in case the smoke gets really bad while we’re defending the house.’

  Felix shakes his head.

  ‘I want you to get on the bus,’ he says.

  I stare at him.

  ‘I mean it, babushka,’ he says. ‘I’ll be OK. I’ve got hoses at the house and lots of buckets and the gutters are clear. And if things get too bad, I’ll evacuate as well, with Jumble.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I want to stay with you.’

  I give him a determined look so he can see it’s my personal choice.

  Felix shakes his head. He grips my shoulders.

  ‘I can’t let you,’ he says. ‘I can’t let it happen again.’

  He takes out his wallet and pushes some money into my hand. Then he leans across and opens my door.

  ‘Go,’ he says.

  He looks even fiercer than the fire chief did.

  Stunned, I get out of the car.

  ‘Go to the South Melbourne house,’ calls Felix. ‘You’ve got a key, right? I’ll come and collect you when all this is over. I love you, babushka.’

  ‘I love you too,’ I say.

  I just want to get back in the car, but I can see Felix doesn’t want me to.

  I start walking miserably towards the bus.

  What did Felix mean, he can’t let it happen again?

  I don’t understand.

  Then I do.

  I remember something Mum and Dad told me. Something that happened seventy years ago, when Felix was put on a train to a Nazi death camp. Zelda could have gone free, but she wanted to stay with Felix. So she bit a Nazi officer and she was put on the train too.

  She would rather be with the person she loved than be safe.

  Just like me.

  But there’s one important thing that’s different, and I want to tell Felix what it is.

  I turn back to the car. Felix is sitting there. I’ve never seen him look so miserable.

  I get back in the car.

  ‘I’m not her,’ I say.

  We sit looking at each other and I can see Felix is having a really big struggle deciding what to do.

  ‘Poor Zelda was killed,’ I say. ‘But that doesn’t mean I will be.’

  Felix looks at me some more.

  He looks at the bus.

  He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can the bus drives away.

  ‘Anyway,’ I say. ‘There’s too much leaving in our family and not enough staying.’

  Felix still doesn’t say anything. I can see he’s still having the struggle.

  ‘I can’t leave Jumble,’ I say. ‘He’s my sister.’

  That’s probably not the best argument anybody’s ever come out with, but because Felix is a grown-up who listens to other people instead of just himself, he does a really good thing.

  He puts the car into gear and we head off again.

  The traffic on Cairnkilley Road is terrible. A long line of cars and trucks is heading out of town. We have to slow down.

  Felix looks concerned, but he’s not panicking, so I don’t. He must be used to emergencies. The number of times he must have cut a person open and reached inside and found something he wasn’t expecting. A lump of cancer. An extra kidney. A footy mouthguard.

  I want to show him I can be good in emergencies too.

  ‘I didn’t have a shower this morning,’ I say. ‘So there’ll be even more water in the tank.’

  Felix nods.

  ‘Good positive attitude, Margaret,’ he says. ‘Five out of five.’

  He switches on the wipers to get rid of the black bits that are settling on the windscreen now we’ve slowed down.

  Except they’re not just black bits any more, they’re black flakes.

  Black glowing flakes.

  Some of them have got little flames on them.

  Lots of them have.

  It’s raining fire.

  Felix squirts the windscreen and makes the wipers go faster. Some of the cars ahead of us pull over to the side of the road. Their wipers mustn’t be as good as ours.

  As we drive past, Felix winds down his window.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ he yells at them. ‘Keep moving.’

  I’m not sure if they hear us. Felix has to close his window quickly when the burning flakes start coming in.

  He glances back at the stopped cars and shakes his head.

  ‘Never slow down when you’re being attacked from above,’ he mutters. ‘Very bad idea, Margaret. Nought out of five.’

  ‘Did you learn that in the war?’ I say.

  Felix nods.

  ‘Here we are at last,’ he says.

  It’s a relief to get off the highway and onto Lofty Road where there’s no traffic at all. As we speed up the hill towards the house, I see that the burning flakes are getting bigger. They’re sounding more solid as they ping and clatter against the car roof.

  I wonder if Felix feels like he’s in the war now. I don’t ask him because it doesn’t help to dwell in the past.

  It’s like me and Zelda. I could feel jealous of her, but what’s the point?

  She’s not here and I am. And I’m the one who’s going to help Felix save Jumble and our house.

  ‘Now, Jumble. Come out now.’

  My throat is hurting from yelling in this smoke. The swirling flakes of ash are stinging my face. I’m nearly fainting from the heat inside this jumper. But I carry on anyway.

  ‘Jumble, don’t be frightened.’

  I take a breath through the wet towel I’m holding over my mouth, then yell, then put the towel back.

  ‘Jumble.’

  I don’t get it.

  Why would Jumble be hiding out here in the carport or the wood pile or wherever he is when he could be safe indoors? But he’s not indoors. I checked all his hiding places, including under Felix’s bed and in my school bag. I even checked the fridge because he’s always trying to get in there.

  I could understand if Jumble was in his chook hole. He does most of his digging when me and Felix are out. But he’s not there either.

  ‘Jumble,’ I yell again.

  I squirt the hose everywhere I think he might be, like under the verandah and inside the barbeque, pa
rtly to stop those places catching fire and partly because Jumble hates water so it’ll encourage him to come out.

  ‘Jumble.’

  I’m also having to squirt lots of places he probably wouldn’t be, like up trees and in the birdbath, because the wind is blowing millions of red-hot embers. Small fires are breaking out all over the place.

  I spray my jumper and towel like Felix told me to. But breathing still hurts. And my mouth tastes of burnt cakes.

  ‘Come on, Jumble.’

  Felix is yelling to Jumble as well, and spraying with two hoses at the same time, which is worrying me a bit. Without his stick he’s pretty wobbly. But when a grandfather’s that brave, what can you say to him?

  ‘Under the eaves,’ yells Felix.

  It’s hard to hear in this wind, but I realise he’s yelling at me. He’s pointing up under the edge of the roof. For a sec I think Felix has seen Jumble up there, hanging by his claws, practising being a smoke-detector.

  But it’s not Jumble, it’s a dark patch where the wood is blistering and smoking. Suddenly flames burst through. Embers must be piling up in the gutter and making the metal so hot that the wood is burning.

  I squirt the burning wood and when it’s out I do the same to the gutter.

  But only for a moment.

  My hose goes limp and the water stops.

  I peer through the smoke. Felix’s hoses have stopped too.

  ‘Power’s off,’ yells Felix.

  That’s a big problem. Our water pump runs on electricity.

  ‘I’ll switch to the diesel generator,’ he shouts.

  As Felix hobbles past me on his way to the water tank at the back of the house, he puts a mop in my hand. I know why. We did fire plans on my first day at the new school. Thank goodness Felix had time to get his plan ready before he came into town to find me.

  I need two hands for the mop so I wrap my wet towel round my head and face. I jam the mop into the nearest bucket of water and then splat it down onto the front door mat, which is smoking badly.

  The wind is so strong I can hardly stand up.

  ‘Jumble, where are you?’ I yell.

  The wind blows my words away in a stinging spray of red-hot grit.

  Something drops onto the verandah behind me with a thud. I turn round, hoping it’s Jumble, even if he’s fainted from the heat.