by Sabina Green
This woman definitely didn’t spend the six months in her allocated shelter! I thought. And then: A baby?
“You can’t make this stuff up,” Billy commented, as stunned as I was.
I sat down on an empty chair and waited for the woman and her little girl to finish eating. Sanne acknowledged us by nodding but she was probably too hungry to put the spoon away and choose conversation over food.
“Could I get a little more, please?” she asked and there was so much fear in her voice, it broke my heart.
What on earth has she been through that made her so scared? I’d had very little to complain about–definitely not the underground shelter which now seemed more than comfortable.
Nadia was ready to comply but Nelson stopped her. “If you can keep all of this down for half an hour, you can definitely have more. But it’d be better to go slow at first, especially if you’ve…” He searched for words, “not had, um, enough food recently.”
It was obvious from the way he was speaking that the woman had only arrived at the camp a moment before Billy and I returned from the river. If she’d been eating soup since then she probably hadn’t had much time to talk about anything.
“Sanne,” I spoke to her softly. I don’t know why, but I felt like she should be treated like a scared hurt animal. Carefully and from afar. She must have experienced a lot of the things we did, but her last six months were still a mystery. “Welcome to our community. Everything is new for us too, we’re still getting settled and getting to know each other. I hope you don’t feel out of place because you belong here just as much as we do.”
“Thank you,” she answered, her voice shaky. She wrapped her arm around her older daughter and pulled her closer.
“Let’s find you a place to sleep, get some rest. I’ll understand if you’d prefer to speak to us after that.”
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed several frowning faces, the others were clearly just as curious and didn’t want to wait for Sanne’s story any longer, but they didn’t say anything.
“That’s alright,” she said, tired, and the girl yawned as if to contradict her. “My name is Sanne. This is Marijke,” she gestured to her daughter, about four years old, and then to the baby: “And Anouk.”
“Three women, dear me,” Billy said warm-heartedly. “How old is Anouk?”
“Four and a half months.”
María cleared her throat. “That must have been terrifying… giving birth all on your own, nobody to help.”
“It was painful, sure, but terrifying?” Sanne disagreed. “I’m a midwife, well, I used to be, before all of this, and I’ve been to so many births I’d lost count. I knew what to do. It was quick, no complications.”
Despite her own words, she shuddered a little. Poor thing, I thought, she was trying to put on a brave face, not let on how scary it must’ve been. She was unconsciously combing her long hair with her fingers, like a wide-tooth comb. “We were just hiding on a farm, in the attic, when I went into labour.”
She then stopped talking and shot a significant look towards Marijke. Her gesture was saying I don’t want to say any more in front of her.
“Where are you from?” Akio wondered. “I mean, originally.”
“Holland.”
The baby in her scarf started fidgeting, then the little mouth in a tiny scrunched up face opened into an oval and let out a quiet cry. Sanne took the baby out, undid her shirt and offered it her breast, never mind the spotlight she was in.
“How did you find us?” Billy asked. “Were you at the blue tree?”
“Yeah, I was. I read your sign. I’m afraid I couldn’t wait any longer.”
“How did you find us?”
“I was following the kind of hum only people can create,” she smiled again and added: “We could hear the children.”
“Each of us received instructions to hide away on a farm, orchard or vineyard, there were shelters waiting for us there with provisions for half a year. How come you’ve…” María paused and focused her eyes on the eagerly feeding baby.
“How come I decided I’d rather wander around in the wild?” Sanne finished her question. “It wasn’t voluntary, believe me. I got into Auckland on the last plane still allowed to land in New Zealand. I was lucky they even let me on board because I was already seven months pregnant. Right after that they declared a world-wide state of emergency and nobody was allowed to travel or even go out. Marijke and I were stuck in a hotel and stayed there until the staff… I mean, until there was food. Then we…”
Her eyes blurred with tears. She was silent for a moment and I could only guess why she wasn’t sharing any more.
“Marijke?” I spoke to her daughter. “Did you know that there are lots of children here that would love to play with you? Would you like to go outside with them? Or maybe do a bit of colouring, or read a story?”
The girl’s eyes lit up but she didn’t move an inch away from her Mum.
“Shall I get Ruby and some crayons?” María offered.
I nodded. “That would be great, thanks.”
Soon after, Ruby was cheerfully bouncing around the cafeteria, acting as if Marijke and her have been best friends since forever. She was hurling various details at her, each unconnected to the other, but Marijke was clearly fascinated. We set up some papers and crayons for them a few tables away and after Marijke’s Mum reassured her with a smile, she started to draw with the passion of a child who hasn’t had a chance to be a child in a long time.
Sanne put the baby on her shoulder, rearranged her breasts under her clothes and kept talking. “When there was nobody left to make us food in the hotel, we took over the kitchen ourselves and stayed there until there was no more food left. Then we went on our way… I know that Rotorua isn’t really that far from Auckland but it takes a while if you’re on foot, especially with a child and a huge belly. Plus, we weren’t the only ones scavenging in the area, looking for food. We came across other people, just as hungry and desperate as we were, but they were also ill…”
Her chin shook. Whatever had happened to her along the way, whatever kind of violence she’d witnessed or experienced, I was determined not to ask her about it, not force her to remember, to relive it.
“The farm we were supposed to wait out the epidemic on was much further south than I was able to walk to before the birth.”
She told us the address, it was the southernmost edge of all of our shelters. What unbelievably bad luck. If I had had any idea about Sanne and her troubles, I would have offered to help and then looked after her, even if that meant less food for us. Maybe then I wouldn’t have had to think about Connie and the forest so much.
Don’t you think it’s weird they didn’t put four of us together in the shelters? Wouldn’t that save them a lot of trouble? And protect us from loneliness? I thought, but saved it for later.
“And after the birth…” she paused again. “Anouk was only a few weeks old when I hurt my leg. For a while I could barely walk. I was happy we ate at all, from time to time. We stayed put because there weren’t that many people left alive. Actually, it had been a few weeks since I’d seen another person who was able to walk, let alone harm us in any way. The farm pantry was totally empty but there were apples in the orchard and they even had a small vegetable garden. So we stayed there until I could sort myself out. I lost track of time a bit, and got to the tree too late. I’m sorry to bother you with this again, but… could I get that second bowl of soup?”
While Nadia brought it over and Sanne focused on eating, the rest of us were lost in thought.
Johanka spoke for the first time since entering the room. “Can pregnant women get the vaccine?”
“Some vaccines are safe during pregnancy,” Nelson answered, “some aren’t. It depends.”
“Sanne,” Billy opened a new subject, “do you happen to have a few keys and a let
ter?”
He took the words right out of my mouth. Sanne kept eating her soup but her other hand reached into her backpack and took out a dirty folded envelope. A stranger had labeled it František.
I stopped breathing and reached for the letter. By sheer force of will I managed not to start reading there and then and leave it for later, it was clear that Sanne and Marijke were on the edge of exhaustion. So we gave them an empty cottage with four beds. They lived right next to Billy and I so we got used to visiting Sanne, exchanging a few words and making sure everything was alright.
At first she was the happiest when I brought her something to eat as well, but in the end her hunger for explanations or just a conversation took over. Her personality reminded me strongly of Connie and I took her under my wing without thinking. Marijke and Ruby got on incredibly well and although I was a bit sad that she hadn’t made that close of a connection with Billy’s grandson Graham too, I was glad that she’d found a friend. Marijke seemed like she needed a good mate, and so did Sanne. She wasn’t picky and told me she was grateful for my friendship. I hadn’t yet explained how she reminded me of Connie but maybe she guessed it.
A few days later, Billy and I were lying on our beds after the evening rituals, each on the other side of the room on our lower bunk bed while the children were sleeping on the upper ones. His voice sounded in the silence: “Sanne made it to us. Now for the rest of them.”
Months went by and as it turned out, nobody else arrived at our camp. We probably just had to accept the idea that after Sanne and her two daughters, our group had reached its peak at three hundred and seventy eight. I had no doubt that the number would grow–we didn’t have gynaecologists and midwives here for nothing–, but it was clearly only going to grow from the inside. One day, when we recover from all the trauma and let new friendships change into something more.
I thought we were doing quite well. We didn’t have a lot of time to stay still, immersed in memories, because there was always something to be done in the camp. People continued in their professions but whenever doctors, builders or painters weren’t needed, they were called into the kitchen or the orchard or the farm to help. There was always work to be done there.
I could still sometimes see that one line from Billy’s letter. There is strength in unity. I stopped cursing The Collectivers, as my new best friend called them, and instead took this opportunity they’d given us.
I returned to lumberjacking, just like my letter advised me. I added it to the rest of my treasures, namely the recipe book and family photographs. It wasn’t from Connie as I’d hoped, but even so, it was very precious. It helped me to find the courage to start working with wood again. Apart from the encouraging words in the letter, it was also Sanne who gave me the inspiration. Or rather, Anouk. It didn’t seem appropriate that the fragile looking baby had to sleep on a narrow bed with her Mum or on the one next to her, without any barriers, so I made her a cradle.
This was of course only possible because of the equipment waiting for me in the locked room of Sanne’s intended shelter. Apart from lumberjacking tools, there were many fishing rods, hooks, spare fishing lines and nets. Whenever I didn’t have any fire wood to chop, furniture or latrines to make, or toys to carve, I went to the river or lake accompanied by various helpers.
We lived as close to nature as humanly possible. As a community we’d given up everything modern–what use would cars be here? Computers, mobile phones and machines without electricity and fuel?–and worked on everything the old-fashioned way–with our hands.
I knew that people are too different to always agree on everything and manage to live in peace. History has shown us that every war eventually ends, but then another one comes along, and another one after that. Would we finally learn? Could we find the meaning of life without bloodshed?
The Collective had given humanity exactly the right kind of virus to make us value health again and realise what truly matters. We’d stopped taking care of nature and so the virus had locked us away in basements to make us see its value once more. It was in the basements that we learnt how to work as individuals and then later, after re-emerging, as a community, because we respected each other more and were capable of concessions and compromise. We were reminded how indispensable some professions are, though many of them used to be looked down upon before. We understood that we couldn’t buy happiness and since we didn’t have money anymore, we learnt not to waste food because every meal had a lot of effort and hard work behind it. We’d thought we were ruling the world and that’s why we got a slap on the face from the virus, something so tiny, so invisible.
I wish Connie could have been here to see these humble beginnings of our community.
The world was at peace. For now.
About the Author
Sabina Green is the debut author of the apocalyptic novel Less Than Little Time which is the first instalment of the Between Worlds series. She is an environmentalist and this passion is woven into her novels. When not writing, she can be found haunting local bookstores, taking walks in parks, and chasing other people’s dogs for cuddles. She was born in Prague, Czechia and now lives in Perth, Western Australia with her son.
Connect with Sabina on:
Instagram - @sabinagreenwrites
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www.sabinagreen.com
Author’s Note
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