Return Ticket by Jon Doust

Author:Jon Doust
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fremantle Press
Published: 2020-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

There was another place we often gathered called the Volunteer Playroom. It was an unused hut on the edge of the settlement and I was on my way there when Avi saw me near the toilet block and yelled out that Neeva was on the dining room phone asking for me. She had never called before. I ran.

She spoke quickly on the phone, saying she didn’t have much time, that she had a report to file.

Are you okay? I asked.

Jack, she said, you have to know. I’m pregnant.

Silence. I felt a rush of joy and wanted to burst with it but held it back because her voice was empty of it, flat, emotionless.

Neeva, that’s wonderful. When are you here? When are you due? How long have you known?

Jack, stop. I have to go. A few weeks. Six, seven. Please don’t call back. I’m at work.

She hung up. I left the phone on my ear, waiting, wanting to call back, to be sure she said what I thought she said, that she was pregnant and that only I could be the father, not Avram. Something in her voice. I had said wonderful. She did not respond.

You finished with that telephone, Muir?

One of the American volunteers behind me. I hung up and turned to find my friend Caesar, reminding me that I had forgotten to bring him scraps from the kitchen. Caesar was a handsome mongrel with a bitter hatred of Thunder, an Alsatian owned by the economic secretary. If he turned up at my hut with a bloody face, I knew he’d been in Thunder’s domain. The two ran the dog community and clashed over bitches and territory. On his own, Caesar was good company and looked at me as though he understood my mutterings. Outside the hut he was alert and suspicious.

I dug a few chicken bones out of the kitchen scraps bin, then let my legs find their own way to the Playroom where Chad and one of the South Americans had made what they called a nice cup of tea. As Chad handed me a cup, he promised an unusually high-high and said I might even get to a place I had never been before, or one that had not previously existed. He did not say what was in the mix. It did not taste nice. Some of the drinkers guessed it contained a mix of hash and fresh marijuana leaves picked from the plants at the side of the peach orchard well hidden among the tall grass. The seeds had been smuggled in by Harry, the Californian hippie. He said they were Colombian and all the other dedicated dope smokers made a noise in recognition.

Aarrrrr, they said. Colombian is where it’s at. No dope finer.

I drank my tea fast. James had been there, then he wasn’t. Arnold came late and when he came he was not alone. His side was with him. I drank again. Arnold looked at me with a hatred I knew and expected. I thought I would be fine.

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