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 letter?”
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
