Is there a doctor on the plane?'
The voice was urgent, but I was almost too far gone to notice it. For me this flight into London was the last stage of a nightmare journey from Australia. Delays, missed connections, and now fog and the international debris of a mad Christmas rush.
'Is there a doctor on the plane? Please, it's urgent.' The voice on the intercom was punctuated by a woman's stifled cry. I knew at once it was childbirth. I had noticed a young couple at the last airport. He was at the desk begging for standby tickets. Sometimes he turned back to smile at a girl lying on a bench, covered in a voluminous dress and blankets. They shouldn't have been on the plane but I'd seen them finding their seats just up the aisle from me. The plane was late, the baby was early.
'Typical,' I muttered. 'I bet he didn't tell the airline she was that pregnant. They should have stayed home. Medical services there are some of the best in the world.'
'But unavailable for them, in fact,' said the American lady next to me. 'And as for their home, it was recently blown up. I talked with them. They've sold family jewels to get to friends in London.'
I could see ahead of me that they had rigged up curtains as a makeshift delivery room. Everything in me wanted to help. Something else kept me pinned to my seat.
Then came that American voice again. 'But aren't you some kind of doctor? I noticed the label on your bag. All sorts of letters after the name.'
That woman had been a nuisance ever since we got on the plane.
'I'm not a practising doctor. It's years since I delivered a child. I'm in research. There must be someone else.'
'There's no-one else.' She gave me a push.
'You're a doctor?' said one of the stewardesses. 'Sort of.'
'Thank God. We're trained in this kind of thing. But this is different. We're out of our depth.'
'Show me your drug cabinet,' I snorted, 'and for God's sake give me space.'
There comes a moment when you think of nothing except the battle in hand. It's your skill and training pitted against death. Nothing matters, not the cramped space, the inadequate instruments, the lurch of the plane, the cry of the patient, the tension around you. Past and future are irrelevant. Everything is focussed on the Now.
Things come to your aid. The courage and fight of the mother, the aid of your team, call it faith if you like. (I left my religion behind long ago, but even I muttered some childhood prayer.) At last came the sound of a baby's cry, and the whole plane sprang to life. Cheers, congratulations; the slightly pompous voice of the captain: 'I'm happy to announce a new arrival on this plane. It's a fine handsome boy. There'll be free drinks all round.'
I only wanted one thing, to get away from it all, to be alone. I rushed to the washroom and was sick as a dog. There I stayed for what seemed hours until the plane had settled down again and I could creep out unnoticed.
Then it happened. Suddenly someone lowered the curtain that had been put up to shelter the birth. The rugs fell away and... The scene was so familiar: the mother with the child in her arms, the father standing behind. A few cameras flashed, but then a kind of awed silence followed.
In a husky, choked voice the father said, 'My name is Joe. We just want to thank you all, the captain, the crew, everyone...' And then he spotted me. 'But there's the man who's really responsible. It could never have happened without him.'
'Come on up,' said the American lady. 'I've got to get a shot of you all. No-one's going to believe this in Esperance, Idaho.' People stared and clapped as I was pushed up the aisle.
Something snapped inside me. I knocked the camera out of the lady's hand. 'I don't give a damn about Idaho,' I shouted. 'I've done my duty. Isn't that enough?'
Joe was looking straight at me. 'You've suffered too, haven't you? I recognize the look.'
Then it all came out in a flood. 'I lived near you once ' I said. 'We started a clinic. We irrigated the land, dynamited the rocks. I married and we had a child. Armed men came over the border. My wife went out to try and help the wounded. My little son ran out after her. Then a bomb exploded. I never saw mother and child again. Eventually I emigrated to Australia, got as far away as possible. I took up research, tried to forget, until...'
'Until,' said Joe, 'people like us bring it all back again.'
'I... I suppose I've never lost the thirst for revenge... Just now I saw my chance. All I had to do was sit quiet while another mother, another son paid for the lives of my own.'
A long, long silence. Then I felt an arm around my shoulder. It was Joe. The baby gave a contented sigh. Several people came forward and stood gazing at the scene. A teenager in jeans struck up a familiar carol.
A steward began drawing back the shields over the cabin windows. We were in bright sunlight. 'Happy Christmas,' he said.
