Now

by Morris Gleitzman

  Being in this hole must be so much harder for Felix than for me and Jumble. For me it’s just a scary new experience. And Jumble has always wanted to have his hole this deep. But for poor Felix it must be like being buried in sad memories.

  I grope around, trying to find the cylinder so Felix can have some oxygen. I’m hoping oxygen isn’t just good for breathing, I’m hoping it’s good for sadness too.

  Before I can find it, Felix starts telling me another story.

  He squeezes the words out between sobs.

  It’s about a boy and a girl in Poland in 1942. The boy is Jewish and the girl is Polish and they’re best friends.

  Felix doesn’t have to tell me their names. I know who they are.

  The boy is worried that the girl is in terrible danger. If the Nazis catch her with him, they’ll think she’s Jewish and kill her too. He tries everything he can to keep her safe. Finally he can only think of one more thing.

  To protect her, he has to leave her.

  ‘So the boy wasn’t there when the Nazis caught her,’ says Felix, his voice almost a whisper in my ear. ‘And they hung her. They put a rope round her neck and hung her in the town square.’

  I didn’t know that.

  I close my eyes but I can still see it.

  I’ve got tears of my own now.

  It’s the saddest story I’ve ever heard. It’s also the best good protection story I’ve ever heard. Even if it does have a sad ending.

  Poor Zelda.

  I’m eleven and look how scared I am.

  She was only six.

  I snuggle even closer and hold Felix as tight as I can without squashing Jumble.

  ‘Felix,’ I say. ‘You did your best.’

  Now what’s happening?

  I think I’ve been asleep.

  The screaming noise is going away. I can still hear it, but it’s in the distance. There are other sounds above us, creaking and cracking sounds, but compared to the terrible screaming roar it’s almost like silence.

  Does this mean we’ve survived?

  As soon as I have that thought, I have another one.

  My phone.

  It’s in my pocket.

  If the firestorm has passed, I can ring emergency and get someone to come and rescue us.

  If only it wasn’t so hot and smoky in here. I can hardly keep my eyes open. Jumble is asleep on my chest. I can hear him snoring. I think Felix must be asleep too because he’s not crying any more, or saying anything.

  I’m so sleepy I can’t remember what I was going to do.

  Oxygen.

  If I have some oxygen I can think better.

  I fumble in the darkness and find the bag and grope inside it, but the oxygen cylinder isn’t there. Just some other things in little crackly packets.

  Lollies?

  I fumble around some more and find the torch and switch it on and stare at the things. They’re not lollies, they’re syringes.

  Why would Felix bring syringes? Why would he want to give injections down here? Injections are to make you better or to knock you out. That doesn’t help in the middle of a fire.

  I don’t understand, but I do remember what I have to do.

  Ring for help.

  I wriggle my hand into my pocket and pull out my phone.

  So hot in here.

  So sleepy.

  I feel like I’ve already had a knock-out injection.

  Why am I holding my phone?

  I can’t remember.

  I press the keys.

  Dead.

  Now I have to wake up.

  A voice is telling me to. And a cool breeze wants me to as well. It’s making the wetness on my face feel cold. My skin doesn’t feel sleepy any more.

  ‘Babushka,’ says the voice. ‘Babushka.’

  I open my eyes.

  Jumble is licking my face.

  Behind him, leaning over me, looking very concerned, is Felix.

  I’m hot. I sit up and take a jumper off. Felix helps me.

  ‘I’ve been asleep,’ I say.

  ‘You have,’ says Felix, looking relieved. ‘Are you burnt anywhere?’

  I shake my head. I can feel a couple of sore places from where the books fell on me, but that seems like ages ago.

  ‘That’s a relief,’ says Felix. ‘We’re all OK then.’

  It’s so nice to see them both. But I’m feeling confused. I don’t know where I am. When I went to sleep, I was in a hole in the backyard near the house and we had a pile of quilts and towels and blankets over us.

  I’m still in the hole, but I can’t see the quilts and towels and blankets.

  I can’t see the house either.

  Felix helps me stand up. My legs are shaky.

  ‘Take it easy for a moment,’ he says. ‘We were in here for quite a while. My legs were a bit wobbly as well when I came to.’

  I look around. I see the quilts and towels and blankets in a pile next to the hole. What’s left of them. They’re mostly black and ragged. But at least they’re there.

  The house isn’t.

  It’s gone.

  All that’s left, scattered on the ground, are bricks and chunks of burnt wood and twisted sheets of roof metal and lots of little sooty things I don’t recognise but I think they used to be parts of bigger things.

  That’s bad enough and I know I should spend some time getting used to it but I don’t, I look around further into the distance.

  Oh.

  My legs give way and Felix catches me.

  It’s not just the house that isn’t there.

  Nothing is.

  The front yard isn’t and the front fence isn’t and the mailbox isn’t and the forest isn’t. All I can see in the smoky haze are a few black tree trunks and most of them aren’t even standing up.

  Which I wouldn’t be either if Felix wasn’t holding me.

  It’s like something out of an awful dream. And not just because the smoke has turned the sunlight a strange colour.

  I take a few deep breaths of smoky air. It hurts my throat. But that’s OK, I’m used to that by now.

  It’s everything being gone I’m not used to.

  I can see Jumble feels the same. He wants to jump down from Felix’s arms and sniff around, but Felix won’t let him and I realise why. There’s ash everywhere under our feet and some patches of it are still hot. Me and Felix have got shoes on, but Jumble hasn’t.

  I know, I’ll get the scissors and the stapler and one of Felix’s leather placemats and make Jumble some little –

  No, I won’t.

  The scissors and the stapler and the placemats are probably gone too. I can’t see the fridge anywhere, and if a firestorm can make a fridge disappear, I’m pretty sure scissors and staplers and placemats wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Or violins.

  Or photos.

  Or bedrooms.

  Or lockets.

  I take Jumble from Felix and hide his face in my T-shirt so he won’t get too upset when he sees his bowl is gone.

  And when he sees how upset I’m getting.

  ‘Your house,’ I whisper to Felix. ‘Your lovely house.’

  Felix puts his arms round me and Jumble.

  ‘I know,’ he says quietly.

  I can see how upset he is.

  I wish I could help him feel better.

  ‘At least we’re all OK,’ I say to him. ‘Thanks to you.’

  ‘And Jumble’s hole,’ says Felix.

  I think Jumble reckons it’s thanks to me, from the adoring way he’s gazing at me and putting his tongue up my nose.

  But I know the real-life story.

  Now we’re sitting on the remains of the quilts and towels and blankets on what used to be our front steps.

  Waiting.

  I wish we could go into town. I want to make sure everybody else is OK. The firefighters and Josh and the other kids in my class. And I need to see if the phone box is working. My mobile isn’t, and I want to call Mum and Dad.

&n
bsp; Jumble wants to go as well. He’s got friends in the district he’s worried about too. Dogs, and the people in the butchers, and wombats.

  But Felix won’t let us.

  ‘It’s still too dangerous,’ he keeps saying. ‘The ground’s too hot. Burning trees are still falling. We have to wait.’

  I stare at what used to be the forest. The trees used to be taller than the house. Now they’re mostly lying on the ground, black and split and smoking. It’s like a disaster movie, except without the film stars.

  We’re the only living things here.

  ‘If we went into town,’ I say, ‘we could be careful and watch out for falling trees.’

  Felix shakes his head.

  ‘Huge smouldering fires could be hidden under the ash,’ he says. ‘If you trod in one it would burn your legs off.’

  Sometimes I wonder how Zelda managed to do so many brave things with Felix being so cautious and careful.

  ‘We could watch out carefully for the hidden smouldering fires,’ I say.

  OK, Felix knows about legs, but I know a bit about fires. I did almost start one.

  ‘Be patient, babushka,’ says Felix.

  It’s hard being patient. I’m starving and really thirsty. Our water bottle is empty. Our water tank has gone.

  Jumble is thirsty too. I can tell by the way he’s panting and not dribbling like he usually does. And Felix is licking his lips a lot and his tummy is making very hungry noises.

  ‘Can’t I even look for food?’ I say.

  Felix shakes his head again.

  ‘We have to wait for things to cool down,’ he says. ‘Anyway, babushka, there isn’t any food left here.’

  He’s probably right. Most of the food in the house wouldn’t have survived the heat. But the popcorn might.

  A gust of breeze blows hot stinging ash into my face.

  ‘Ow,’ I say.

  I don’t say anything else.

  I don’t cry. I try to be as brave and determined as I can.

  OK, I do cry a bit.

  Jumble licks my face and Felix puts his arm round me.

  ‘I know how you feel,’ he says. ‘I want to make everything OK too.’

  He’s right. That is what I want to do.

  And I can’t.

  I give Felix a hug to show him I’m sorry for being grouchy with him.

  ‘When I was a kid,’ says Felix, ‘I lived in a cellar for a while with some other kids. We got miserable and hungry sometimes, and that’s when we made a story tent.’

  ‘A story tent?’ I say. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘We mostly did it with coats,’ says Felix. ‘But blankets work just as well.’

  He grabs a couple of blankets and puts them over us so they make a tent. It’s hot inside, but cosy. I can tell Jumble likes it. And it’s good not having to look at the disaster movie.

  ‘OK,’ says Felix. ‘Now we tell each other stories.’

  We take it in turns.

  We’re both very careful not to have food or missing parents in our stories, because stories are meant to make you feel better, not worse.

  Felix tells me an amazing one about what happened to him after the war. He and Gabriek worked together for years, mending houses that had been blown up in battles. Each evening Gabriek drank wine to help him stop thinking about his wife Genia, who the Nazis had killed. Each evening Felix went to the library and read medical books because he wanted to be a doctor. But he couldn’t get into university in Poland. So Gabriek brought him to Australia, where there were more opportunities.

  ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘What a kind man.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Felix quietly.

  ‘What happened to him?’ I say.

  ‘He lived in Melbourne,’ says Felix. ‘Until he got old and died.’

  Thinking about Gabriek gives me an idea for a real-life story.

  I tell it to Felix. It’s about a man who feels bad because he couldn’t give enough good protection in the war to someone he loved. But then, later on, he’s able to give good protection to somebody else, and he feels better.

  When I finish the story, I realise Felix hasn’t made a sound for ages.

  I look at him to check he’s listening.

  He is.

  Now I can see the vehicle more clearly through the smoke haze.

  A ute, driving along Lofty Road.

  I jump up and wave.

  ‘Over here,’ I yell at the ute. ‘We want to be evacuated.’

  ‘Stay on the steps, babushka,’ says Felix.

  I yell and wave at the ute some more. Felix gets to his feet and does the same.

  When the ute reaches where our front gate used to be, it turns off the road and heads towards us.

  ‘Yes,’ I shout excitedly. ‘We’re going to be rescued.’

  But as the ute gets closer, I’m not so sure.

  I can’t see anything on it that says Police or CFA or State Emergency Service. And it hasn’t got any tyres on its wheels. It’s bumping over what used to be our driveway on its metal rims.

  Which I guess is more than our car could do. Our car’s wheels have melted.

  The windscreen of the ute is so cracked I can’t see who’s inside.

  It pulls up and the door creaks open.

  There’s only one person in there.

  I stare. And suddenly I don’t feel excited. Just surprised. And disappointed.

  It’s Tonya.

  She slumps forward on the steering wheel and stares at us. Her face has got ash on it. And two trickle marks where tears have been running down her cheeks.

  ‘Josh is dying,’ she says.

  Felix hurries over to her. I do too.

  ‘Who’s Josh?’ Felix asks Tonya.

  ‘My brother,’ she says. ‘He can’t breathe.’

  For a sec I wonder why she’s come all this way on really bad suspension to tell us instead of staying with Josh. Then I see she’s pointing to the back of the ute.

  Lying on a partly burnt mattress is Josh. He looks like he’s unconscious. He’s got ash all over him and he’s wheezing worse than ever.

  Felix hurries to the back of the ute and Tonya gets out and follows him.

  ‘Does he have any burns?’ says Felix, peering at Josh.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ says Tonya. ‘A roof tile hit him in the chest when our house exploded. We were in the dam.’

  Felix gently touches Josh on the neck and chest.

  Even under all the ash on him, I can see that Josh’s face is a strange colour. Sort of a bit blue.

  ‘Has he always had breathing problems?’ says Felix.

  Tonya nods.

  ‘Asthma,’ she says.

  Felix looks even more worried than before.

  ‘Wait here,’ he says.

  He goes over to what used to be our steps and grabs his medical bag. I wish he’d asked me to get it. Then I wouldn’t have to be standing here with Tonya, both staring at the ground as if we’ve never seen a few hundred square kilometres of ash before.

  Felix comes back and leans over the side of the ute. He carefully loosens Josh’s shirt and listens to Josh’s chest with a stethoscope. Then, still listening, he gently taps Josh’s chest several times with his fingertips.

  I can tell from Felix’s face he doesn’t like what he’s hearing. He puts his stethoscope away and turns to Tonya.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asks.

  ‘Tonya,’ she says, looking scared.

  I don’t blame her. When a doctor treating a relative asks your name, it can mean bad news.

  ‘You were right to come here, Tonya,’ says Felix. ‘The smoke has made your brother’s asthma very bad. And his injury from the roof tile has made things worse. Fluid is building up in his chest cavity. He needs an operation as soon as possible.’

  I stare at Josh, wondering what I can do to help. I wish he was conscious so I could tell him that one of Australia’s best surgeons is going to help him.

  Except if he asked I’d have to tell h
im I don’t know how. There’s nothing left here to do an operation with. We haven’t even got scissors or a stapler.

  Tonya is looking at Felix, taking in what he said. She’s not screaming or panicking or fainting.

  Although I don’t like her, I’m impressed. If somebody told me a member of my family needed an operation as soon as possible and I didn’t have any tyres, I don’t know what I’d do.

  ‘Tonya,’ says Felix. ‘Do you know if the hospital is open?’

  Tonya shakes her head.

  ‘I came straight here from our place,’ she says.

  Felix turns to me.

  ‘Check your phone again, babushka,’ he says.

  I check it. Still no signal.

  I shake my head too.

  Felix puts his medical bag onto the passenger seat of the ute.

  ‘The hospital’s a brick building,’ he says. ‘It might be still open. There’s only one way to find out.’

  Now. I want Josh to take another breath now.

  I brace myself in the back of the ute as we drive round a big fallen tree. I give Josh’s hand an encouraging squeeze. Tonya does the same with his other hand.

  Josh takes a breath, but it’s a very wobbly and wheezy one.

  It’s probably not helping that he’s bouncing up and down so much. His mattress has got springs, which is good and bad. Felix is driving carefully, but the road is covered with burnt bits of trees and it’d be bumpy even if we had tyres.

  I glance into the front of the ute. I bet this isn’t easy for Felix’s legs either. Oh well, at least he’s got Jumble with him. If his legs get too painful, Jumble will lick them.

  We bump over another branch and Josh jolts up and down again, but he still doesn’t wake up. Poor kid. A person would have to be pretty sick to stay unconscious through all this.

  ‘It’s OK, Josh,’ says Tonya, stroking his head. ‘We’ll be at the hospital soon.’

  I decide not to say that it’ll probably be a while. We’re not at the bottom of Lofty Road yet and with these wheels we won’t be able to speed up even on the highway.

  I give Josh’s hand another encouraging squeeze.

  No point worrying him, even though he is unconscious.

  I’m watching his breathing closely like Felix asked me to. I’m also trying not to look at Tonya. It’s very stressful being here with someone who’s only just given up her hobby of bullying me.