Max ran along the deck and pointed at another lifebuoy.
‘Life girl?’ he said.
Anton laughed.
‘Good joke,’ he said.
‘Good joke,’ yelled Max.
‘There are also life jackets,’ said Anton. ‘You put them on if the ship is sinking. Let’s go look.’
He said this loudly in case Max’s mother was somewhere nearby. He wanted her to know that he was doing his job properly. Teaching Max about life jackets.
The two boys began to walk along the deck towards the back of the ship. Anton wondered where the life jackets might be stowed. It must be somewhere easy to find. In a cupboard. Or maybe in the lifeboats, which lined the lower deck. They walked further but he could find no sign of the elusive jackets.
He began to panic. Where were they? Where were the damned things?
Every time they passed a strolling group of passengers he checked to see if Max’s mother was among them. But it was hard to tell – there were so many women dressed in black.
Anton continued to search for the ship’s life jackets. He wanted to be able to report that he had taught Max how to use one. But he couldn’t find them anywhere.
Suddenly the weather changed and a cool wind began to sweep the decks. Max clearly didn’t like it. The labels on his jumper flapped and whipped around. Anton worried that one might get blown away and be lost in the ocean.
‘We’ll go to the back of the boat,’ said Anton.
The back section of the lower deck was out of the wind and had a solid rail. A few people were leaning over it and staring down at the white froth stirred up by the propeller. The wind became stronger. Soon the two boys were alone, standing in the protection of the deck above. ‘Let’s sit down,’ said Anton.
They perched on a long bench with a hinged lid, which ran along under the curtained windows of the deck cabins. They stared silently at the white trail that marked out the ship’s journey through the heaving ocean. Anton was still worried about finding the life jackets. Quite clearly Max would not be able to even do up the buckles if the need arose.
Max held up the red puppet, which he had kept shoved up his jumper.
He put it on his hand and pretended that it was reading every word he saw written on the various signs on the ship. He rushed around from sign to sign. Each time he made the puppet say the same words, ‘Max is very clever. Max is very clever.’
Anton sighed as the wind shifted direction and began to bite with frosty gusts.
He said, ‘Don’t tell your mum I couldn’t find the life jackets.’
There was another gust of wind from the north. Max held up his little puppet. He moved the mouth. ‘Cold,’ he squeaked. ‘Cold, cold, cold.’
His fingers and wrist were inside the red puppet. Its dress began to flap and then balloon out. The wind snatched at the puppet. In a flash, it was gone. Sucked over the back of the boat. Max gave a scream and ran to the railing.
‘No, no, no,’ yelled Anton.
They both stared down. The puppet was caught on a steel hook about an arm’s length from the top of the rail. Max leaned over the rail and swiped desperately at the puppet.
Anton grabbed Max’s trouser belt and pulled with all his might. Max fell backwards and skidded across the steel deck. He sat up and shook his head, confused.
Anton acted without thinking. He had to retrieve the puppet before Max tried again. Everything would be lost. Even if he didn’t fall overboard, the kid would be inconsolable if he lost the puppet. Anton groaned. He had already let Max and his mother down. In less than an hour. The officer in the orphanage had been right. Life wasn’t fair.
He leaned over and swiped at the puppet uselessly, just as Max had done. It was only slightly out of reach. The ocean beneath churned as the propeller thrashed and hummed. He stretched just a fraction more.
And then the world turned black.
Eight
It was a dream. It was a nightmare. He was in a dark, dark space. His mouth filled with salty water. It was bitterly cold. This couldn’t be a dream – the agony was too real. And there was no waking moment of relief that follows a nightmare. The cold, wet truth that surrounded him told him where he was. He tried not to gasp for air but already his lungs were bursting. He thrashed wildly with his hands and kicked with his feet.
Suddenly his head burst through the surface. He coughed and spluttered and tried to blink away the stinging salt in his eyes.
He hadn’t even been aware of falling. Just an agonising splat as he hit the water.
Anton tried to focus. Rolling waves rose around him like mountains, blocking off any chance of a distant view. He could see nothing but a world of water. An empty ocean surrounded him. He was just a head bobbing on the swell, which was about to relinquish him to the deep.
He couldn’t see the ship. Desperate thoughts fought each other for attention. The ocean floor must be far beneath his feet. Nibbling crabs, sunken ships and their crews, sea snakes. An unbearable vision of his mother’s body washing up onto the shore flitted through his head. Would he soon be joining her? Wasn’t that the best thing? Just let go, just die. No, no, no. He wanted to live. And she would have wanted him to live.
He struggled and thrashed as the sea pulled him down for the second time. His movements were random, uncoordinated, futile, driven by panic. But once again his head broke the surface. He desperately sucked in the precious air. What did they say about drowning? The third time you went down was the last time you went down.
It seemed so senseless for his life to end like this. He was going to drown because he couldn’t swim. Because he had never been taught the few simple movements that were needed to keep a body afloat.
His mind screamed for clarity. Was there any hope?
Think, think, think. Everything became an unintelligible buzz of blended nonsense. What had happened? Who knew that he had fallen overboard?
He was only minutes away from death. Terror drove his thoughts. But then slower images began to take his attention.
He tried to clear his mind. All around he could see nothing but the blurry rise and fall of the sea and the wild clouds above. The ship, the ship. Where was the ship?
He sank again. Salty, cold, unforgiving water pulled him down, sucking his life, seeking to fill his bursting lungs.
And then. And then. Something brushed his arm. Rope. He was grasping a rope. He tried to pull himself up but the other end did not seem to be anchored in any way. Hand over hand he tried to climb to the surface but he was doing nothing but drag the rope down. Suddenly he felt it resist his pull.
Slowly he began to rise. His lungs were screaming for oxygen. He gave one last frantic heave on the rope and emerged into fresh air, gasping and spluttering.
The water chopped and splashed around his head. His cold, numb hands clung to the rope, which was attached to … a lifebuoy.
Now his brain was really fuzzy. It didn’t seem as if this could be true. Think, think, think. He had to get inside the thing before he sank again. Using his last reserves of strength he ducked down and emerged like a doll popping up through the hole of a doughnut. He draped both arms over the top of the supporting ring.
For an instant he felt relieved – but then all he could think of were his legs, dangling down like two tempting baits.
His right hand was throbbing. He examined his fingers. A trickle of blood was running down his thumb and onto his wrist. Sharks, sharks, sharks. Surely the water was too cold for sharks. But what if he was wrong? Sharks could smell blood from miles away, couldn’t they?
A sound suddenly knocked the thought from his mind. At first he thought it must be a gull squawking. But when he heard it again, it sounded familiar. Like a word.
It was. Someone had seen his raised arm. There was another person in the water.
‘Anton.’
He heard it again. ‘Anton, Anton.’ Someone was calling his name.
There was no mistake. He could see a figure swimming furiously
towards him. He caught a glimpse of an orange life jacket and a bald head.
‘Hang in there, Anton, I’m coming. I’m coming.’
Now the world really did start to slip away. Anton tried to untangle the hopes and fears that were fighting for his attention.
Voices in his head. And then a real voice.
‘Fight it, man. Don’t let go. Don’t fall asleep. You can do this.’
It was Max. But it couldn’t be. Now he knew that he was drowning. The last weird delusions of the doomed. He started to sink through the middle of the lifebuoy. The imaginary Max grabbed the trailing rope and wound it underneath Anton’s arms. Then he deftly tied it to the edges of the lifebuoy.
‘Stay awake,’ yelled Max. ‘Fight for your life.’
Suddenly a huge wall appeared. Bigger than any building Anton had ever seen.
He closed his eyes and slipped into another world.
Nine
When he awoke Anton took a while to open his eyes. He was trying to make sense of it. Was he in this world or the next? Was he dreaming or dead?
He could sense that he was on a boat because of the gentle rise and fall of the floor as the vessel dug into the waves. And he knew that he was in a bed or a bunk because he was covered in blankets and had a pillow.
He was not alone either, because there was the gentle sound of breathing coming from above his head.
Finally, he opened his eyes and looked around. He immediately recognised the cabin. He could hear the water running in the bathroom and guessed that it must be Max’s mother taking a morning shower.
Had it all been a dream? Falling into the sea? Yes, yes, yes. What a relief. He had another chance to look after Max properly. He was not going to be taken to the captain as a stowaway. He was still going to the land of plenty.
But then his joy vanished like water down a plughole.
A throbbing in his right hand confirmed that he was awake and in the real world. He examined his fingers and found a small white bandage tied around his thumb.
He remembered how he had held up his hand so that the sharks wouldn’t smell the blood in the water. The horror of it all began to return. He looked around in panic. There was a wet jumper on the small table and he could clearly see the two war medals that had been awarded posthumously to Max’s father. Most of the ribbons and labels on it had been ruined by the water. There was no sign of the red puppet but the green one was right there in the bed, still staring at him with reproachful eyes.
Now he knew the terrible truth. It had not been a nightmare. He would not be staying in this warm and comfortable cabin for much longer. He really had let Max rush to the railing. And he himself had fallen into the ocean trying to recover the puppet.
This was the end of his journey to the New Land. Max’s mother would never forgive him for letting her son run to the rail, let alone causing him to jump over the edge after him.
But something was wrong with all this. It was definitely dreamlike. Who had thrown in the lifebuoy? And had that really been Max coming to the rescue, saving his life?
A face appeared from the bunk above.
‘Are you okay, Anton?’
It was Max, smiling down at him.
‘I thought you were on your way to feeding the fishes at one stage there,’ he said. ‘But a very unlikely person came to the rescue.’
Anton stared at him in amazement.
‘You?’ he said.
‘Sorry,’ said Max. ‘Forgive the boasting but my ego has taken a bit of a beating recently.’ He climbed down from the top bunk and sat next to Anton.
At that moment, Max’s mother emerged. She was dressed in a bright green cardigan and matching shirt.
She stood there silently, staring at the boys.
‘We have to talk,’ she said softly.
Anton found his voice.
‘Who threw the lifebuoy to me?’ he yelled. ‘Was it really Max?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘Who jumped in and saved me then? Was that Max?’
‘No,’ she answered.
‘Who then?’
‘Christopher,’ she said. ‘Christopher threw in the lifebuoy. And Christopher jumped in and saved you.’
Anton tried to make sense of her words. He stared at her in confusion.
‘Christopher?’ he yelled. ‘He’s dead.’
Anton looked at Max. Then he stared at the photograph on the table of the two identical brothers and his mind began to swirl.
She answered quickly. ‘My other son died in the fire. But he wasn’t who I thought he was.’ Her voice was close to breaking. She turned her attention to the boy on the top bunk.
‘What happened in the burning house?’ she croaked. ‘What happened the night Max died?’
The boy climbed down and stood in the centre of the cabin. They both had their eyes locked onto him. Anton was still in a daze. The boy standing in front of him looked exactly like Max. But he was Christopher. It was Max who had died in the fire.
Christopher spoke frantically, blurring the words in his rush.
‘It was my fault. I took both the puppets. I was sick of them. I wanted to sleep. Max kept running down to my room and waking me up with them. So I took them away from him and finally got some sleep. He must have knocked his candle over. I couldn’t even get up the stairs to unlock his door. The whole place was on fire and I couldn’t breathe. The flames spread like crazy. The smoke was terrible. The fireman dragged me out just before the whole house collapsed. I passed out and that’s all I remember. When I woke up I was in hospital and they told me that my brother was dead.’
Now his mother’s voice was filled with agony and confusion.
‘Why did you pretend to be Max? Why, why, why?’
Anton could tell that Christopher was struggling for the courage to say words he had never been able to utter. Then he spat them out like bullets.
‘Because he was your favourite. Because he needed looking after. And it was my fault. I got all the blood when you were pregnant with us. You couldn’t live without him. I knew that. When I opened my eyes in the hospital you thought I was him. You wanted it to be him. And you were so relieved it was him. I couldn’t bear to see you collapse. You needed him more than you needed me.’
She began to sob. ‘We both loved him,’ she said, trembling. ‘And I loved you both. I always loved you both. Why do you think I wanted to hide away here in the cabin? I needed space to grieve. For you. For you. I thought you were gone forever. And now we are both grieving for Max.’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Christopher. ‘It was still all my fault. I was supposed to look after him.’
‘No, no, no,’ she yelled. She suddenly threw her arms around him and squeezed and squeezed, not allowing him to say another word.
Anton said nothing. He was overwhelmed by the sad story unfolding in front of him. And he had his own grief and memories to deal with. The sight of Christopher’s mother giving her son the comfort he so desperately needed plunged him into a personal pool of sorrow.
His own mother was gone forever. Still and lifeless in the ground of an unlucky land.
He began to cry himself.
Now they were all crying.
Christopher’s mother stroked her son’s cheek. ‘I should never have let you look after him,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t your responsibility. It was mine.’ She put her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close.
‘Nothing was your fault. That thing about the blood. Who told you about that?’
‘Monochorionic twins. I looked it up last year in that medical dictionary you kept hidden on top of the kitchen cupboard.’
‘Of course you did,’ she replied. ‘Nothing ever escaped you. That’s your trouble. You know too much for your age.’
‘You even had the page marked,’ said Christopher.
Anton was staring at him in admiration.
A cloud of deep anguish passed across the woman’s face and her voice trembled as she spoke.
&
nbsp; ‘No child can feel responsible for what happened before they were born. I was tired of Max’s puppet-talk as much as you. And the fire wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could to save him. You were a marvellous brother to Max. And to pretend to be him after he died, just to help me cope, was an amazing thing to do. You are a hero.’
‘Twice,’ blurted out Anton excitedly. ‘You are a hero twice. You saved me.’
She put her arms around both boys and hugged them so tightly that they could hardly breathe.
Then she spoke to Anton. ‘I should never have given you the responsibility either. But when you came along I could see how much you liked each other. And Max would have had a real friend. I thought I could help you both.’
The room suddenly seemed warm. ‘Let’s go on deck,’ she said.
‘Good idea,’ said Anton. And then he shyly added, ‘Thanks, Pat.’
Ten
The sun was farewelling a golden sea as they made their way aft.
‘What’s going to happen to Anton now?’ said Christopher.
‘He’s coming to the New Land to live with us, of course,’ she said. ‘If he wants to.’
‘I want to,’ said Anton.
‘So do I,’ said Christopher. ‘I want it very much.’
‘We will never forget Max,’ she said. ‘And Anton will never forget his mother and father. But in the end the pain will grow less. In the New Land, there is peace and food and forests. And the chance for a new beginning.’ She put her arms around both boys. ‘We are a family. We will look after each other.’
‘Anton has already taught me a lot,’ said Christopher. ‘All about lifebuoys.’
‘And life girls,’ said Anton. He gave Christopher a friendly punch on the shoulder. Then he said, ‘You should be teaching me how to …’ His voice trailed off.
‘I can and I will,’ said Christopher.
His mother smiled. ‘Swim?’ she asked.
‘No,’ they both shouted at the same time.
She raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘I’m good at hiding it,’ said Anton. ‘You thought I was reading the menu on the wall in the dining room. But really I was staring around to see what everyone else was eating.’
A Different Boy Page 4