The End Has Come

What will we be to a world where resources are grown scarce and whole countries are no longer habitable? Where an entire continent of twenty-three million (give or take the few million who will perish in the impact) are suddenly displaced and looking for new homes? Not to mention all those from any of the other countries that will be destroyed by the repercussions. Japan’s population is close to one hundred and thirty million, for God’s sake.

How can we expect compassion and generosity when everyone else will be scraping for survival?

* * *

Block twelve is remarkable. The three fabrics are all distinctly older than the other textiles used to construct the quilt. The oldest fabric is a white linen, dated to the early 20^th century, showing signs of severe yellowing from age. It is decorated with pin-tucks and hand embroidery characteristic of christening gowns from that period. The cotton floral print has been dated to the 1970s. The third fabric is a synthetic knit with a nautical motif that suggests it came from an item of boy’s clothing from the 1960s or early 1970s.

* * *

The phone rings as Gav and I are finishing lunch. We’re drinking one of the few bottles of wine we have stashed in the cupboard. No point keeping it now.

It’s Mum.

“Hi sweetie,” she says, all super-charged sunshine like she gets when she wants to rope me into something.

Mum, I mouth at Gav and roll my eyes.

“I thought we’d better talk about what we’re going to do.”

For a moment, I don’t understand.

“What are we going to do when?” I ask.

“Where we’re going to go, when we’ll leave,” she says. The undertone of anxiety in her voice suddenly registers.

“Oh.” I glance at Gav. He’s looking at me with a frown on his face. “Well, Gav and I are thinking about leaving tomorrow. Beat the weekend rush. Maybe make it as far as Adelaide by Friday.”

Silence.

“You’re going on your own?”

Shit.

“No, Mum,” I lie.

It’s too late. There’s a breathy gasp.

“You were going to go . . .” Her voice cracks. “Did you even think of helping me get your Dad out of here? What about your brother?”

“Calm down, Mum,” I tell her. “Of course I was going to call.” Lie. “I’ve just been so flat out.” Truth. “Can you give me a few minutes? I’m in the middle of something.” Lie. “I’ll call you back. Calm down. I love you.”

Truth.

I hang up. For a moment, the guilt is intolerable, and then it is obliterated by an unexpected burst of fury. How could she think that I could think about anything other than how to keep my children safe and alive? Look after yourself! I want to cry at her.

My resentment burns up as quickly as it engulfed me. I stare at the phone in my hand.

How could I forget about my own mother? How could I be angry at her wanting to come with us? Be with her grandkids?

This terrifies me more than anything. Is that where I’m headed? Where we’re all headed? Are we going to lose the ability to look out for anyone but ourselves? What does my response to my own mother say about what we can expect from our friends? From our compatriots on the other side of the country? From the rest of the world?

Gav reaches across the kitchen counter for my hand.

“Go over. Sort them out,” he says. There’s a tremor in his voice I haven’t heard before. “Family’s got to stick together.”

He meets my gaze steadily, even though his eyes are swimming. His folks are in Brisbane, twelve hundred kilometers north. He may never see them again.

* * *