Heat and Light (6 page)

I walk into the meeting room and Larapinta is there, sitting at the table.

Larapinta is less green than the others. She has wild frond-like hair across her face, bleached pale pink in parts, perhaps from the sun. She has a face that’s like me and you. With space for two small eyes and a hint of a mouth. Am I blind not to notice much difference? Of course there is the body of them, shaped like a post, covered in prickles except for the hands. Both the females and the males are identical. She has no breasts. I understand they are ungendered; see, their gender is not predetermined and is only communicated.

‘I’m sorry about how they’ve been treating you,’ I say immediately. ‘I want to tell you I’m here to mediate. I will listen to your needs and try to make it work. That’s my job.’

‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘Water?’

I realise I am still holding the styrofoam cup, which is empty.

She tops up my cup with her hand. She holds three of her fingers together and a small flow of clear water squeezes out and into the cup.

‘You’re a native Australian?’ she asks.

I’m taken aback by her observation. I’m not yet used to her forthright nature. ‘Yes.’

‘Where is your ancestral home?’

‘The islands here, actually,’ I say.

She nods unemotionally. ‘Which island?’

I frown. ‘Ki Island, I think. I’ve never been there. My father died, see.’

‘I see,’ she says. ‘How did he die? He must have been extraordinarily young. Human men live to eighty-two.’

‘He killed himself.’

Larapinta blinks to register. ‘Doesn’t this upset you?’

‘My dad? Of course …’

‘The mining. The islandising. Australia2.’ She’s blunt.

‘Oh, I don’t know. Like I said, I’ve never been there. How can you have an attachment to a place you’ve never been?’

She walks off to the far side of the room and takes something in her hands.

I talk to her back. ‘I thought you weren’t political.’

‘There isn’t anything that isn’t political.’ It’s an expression that sounds human, but everything in her voice indicates she is not.

I look closer at what she is doing. It is an e-reader she is holding.

‘I have been reading,’ she says. ‘I come here to charge it up and use the wi-fi to download more material.’

I nod, and take a sip from the cup.

Wednesday is a public holiday. On Tuesday night, after a day getting a grip, I catch the ferry back to the mainland in a dark so stiff my hands are part of it. It is cold, too, with the wind.

While I’m on the ferry I look occasionally to the left and wonder where in the darkness Ki Island is. My father and his brothers were raised by my grandmother on Ki. I wonder if the island is anything like Russell, or the smaller, overgrown, brown isles I’ve passed. Remembering the stories my father told me about growing up is like walking on glass stairs in my mind.

I transfer to the bus that says ‘Kurilpa’, and it stops me into the city. When I walk in, Julie is already at the bar. She has let her hair out natural, and she looks different, like I haven’t seen her for a while, or I’ve just really seen her from far away, and I’ve realised we are strangers to each other still.

‘Kaden!’ she says. ‘Were you okay getting into town? I sometimes forget it gets dark so quickly up here. I miss daylight saving.’

I chuckle a little. ‘I’m fine. It’s a piece of cake compared to what driving a box over water is going to be like!’

She widens her eyes, nods, ‘How were your first two days on the job?’

I tell her a quick story about Milligan and how he seems uncomfortable around the plantpeople that come into the centre. ‘But how is Uncle Ron?’ I ask.

‘Dad’s … good. He’s been sick, again, though.’

I nod. ‘I would like to visit him on Ki.’

‘Can’t,’ Julie says. ‘Evacuated, remember?’

Already. I didn’t think they were moving so fast. I put my hand to my forehead. ‘Where is Uncle now?’

Julie shrugs. ‘Around, really. Sometimes in the home in Gympie. With me. At the hospital.’

I nod.

‘You’ll see him soon, I hope. This is not one of his best weeks, but I’ll tell him you’re going to stop by. He’d love that.’

We talk about Julie’s work and then, when we’ve exhausted the topic, I take a big sip from my glass and ask, ‘Do you remember much about me and my dad when I was little?’

Julie thinks about it for a moment. ‘When you were really young, five or something, I used to babysit you all the time. I was studying and staying on campus, and my uni was just around the corner from where you used to live. And the family was always getting together, back then, your dad and my dad were so very close, even with the age distance.’

‘Then Dad died.’

‘Yeah, and I guess it pulled the family apart. We all tried to help you and your mum. I’m not sure about some of it because the next year I moved to Sydney. And Dad and Uncle Theo were always so heavily involved politically. I think they really threw themselves in it after your dad died.’

I tell Julie, ‘I felt really alone growing up, like I didn’t know my family.’

‘I’m sorry, Kaden.’ Julie sighs. ‘Do you remember when you came down to visit me that weekend? You were sixteen and you had just come out to your mum and she didn’t take it too well so you came and saw me in Sydney. I snuck you in to the burlesque show and you got sick after sharing one bottle with me.’

I smile with a mixture of humiliation and recognition. ‘You remember that?’

‘Of course I do! It was a good weekend, in the end. And I was glad you came to me, even though your mother didn’t like me too much for it at the time.’

I nod. ‘It was Pancakes on the Rocks.’

‘Hey?’

‘It was all the chocolate pancakes that made me sick. I didn’t even touch the wine.’

‘Sure.’ She winks at me. ‘So, how is your love life, now?’

I groan.

‘You should come to one of my speed dating nights.’

‘You run speed dating as well?’

‘Yes, at the Valley.’

‘That would be interesting.’

‘It is. Kaden, a lot of couples send me wedding invitations.’

Julie and I have both had a little too much to drink when we walk the two kilometres back to her apartment. She’s already made me a nest for the night, in the corner next to the computer, a thick pile of sheets and a European pillow. I can tell this is where her Christmas tree stood, as there is a pine needle wedged in the floorboards. Julie mumbles something comforting before she turns off the light and I hold onto my toes and sleep.

On Thursday I follow Milligan into the sun, and we walk down to where the company’s wharf is. It’s on the other side of the island from the commercial jetty. My boat, or the boat I’ll be using, hangs by itself at the end of the row; it’s the one with the dent in the side. The outside is the same colour as a coconut. It is old and rusty, and when Milligan helps me on and in it, my legs wobble a bit too much, enough for him to look at me and ask if I’m okay. The sea is nauseatingly close, a blue too bright, the smell of salt and fish guts. I sit up, cross my legs. I watch Milligan’s every move, as I know he’s only going to show me once. I watch him put on sunscreen.

‘Here, have some,’ he says.

‘No, I’m not bothered.’

‘You should. Here— ’

‘I don’t burn,’ I say, looking down at my arms.

He looks at me, and I shrug and take the tube off him and lather my skin a little.

Milligan has drawn me a ‘map’ on the back of a burger wrapper. He’s already said that the company gets burgers delivered every Friday lunch and I have to put my order in with Sophie.

His sketch shows Russell Island as a large curve, an open mouth that takes up half the page. Off it are the three small jagged islands. He has numbered them,
1
,
2
,
3
. The number
4
is marked on Russell Island, but further down than where we are.

‘So, simple, yes? After you’ve established a rapport this will be your routine. First thing you go out to 1. You give them their formula. You communicate with them on their daily needs. Then you move on to 2, 3 and 4. Same thing. Then in the middle of the day you have your rest, have your lunch, catch up with any things that need doing. This won’t be much at the start, but trust me, you’ll learn to use this time wisely. Then, in the afternoon, you pick up the formulas, from 1, 2, 3 and 4, take them back to base and to the lab for refilling.’

‘Got it,’ I say.

‘I’m giving you free rein on this, which means you don’t have to report back to me every day, only where there are negotiations that need to be run past me. But it is five weeks. That’s how long you’ve got to get all of them out of the way, preferably onto Russell. So that’s what you’ve got to be telling yourself, all the time. Five weeks.’

As I watch Milligan steer the boat I realise, for the first time, this is not going to be easy physically. Milligan was swearing and sweating securing the boat every time we reached an isle, and he doesn’t seem unfit to me. The trip was repetitive, and numbing, and the sun made it harder to endure. I’d already finished my water by the time we reached the second point. Out on the water, I didn’t really get a chance to meet any of them. As we passed each group, Milligan would yell out a greeting, and introduce me. He seems very uncomfortable with the plantpeople. I can’t get over how much they look like us when they’re talking to each other. Especially the younger ones.

After I’ve recovered from the day, in the cool of the late afternoon, I walk to the beach. Even though Russell is covered in sand, there is only one real beach, a few paces from the jetty. It seems to be a ‘thing’ at this time of day, the residents, my neighbours, go to Jim’s store and buy something greasy, then go sit on the lumpy beach and watch the waves. A lot of them also go into the water, bodysurf or just satisfy their ankles. They play in the sand, and a few throw a cricket ball back and forth to each other. They behave like children, in a place where there are few, if any children.

Otherwise I don’t see much of the neighbours. There is a guy with a pick-up truck that sometimes drives past and asks if I need a lift, but that’s it.

I sit for a while up on the rock and eat a Portuguese custard tart out of the soft paper serviette I wrapped it in from Jim’s shop. It tastes so fresh. Soon I grow tired of watching the water. It is too like the hours I spent out on it today. I’m not ready to go home, though. Home is getting lonely and I know I’ll spend the remaining hours before I go to sleep in insignificant ways, cleaning or doing crossword puzzles on the bed. I slip off my boots and stand, stamping my feet into the sand and seeing the prints I make. I’m facing away from the water, with the feel of the last sunlight on my lower back. Then I walk away from the people towards a path that goes around the corner. The sand feels good on my feet. This path is curious and around the bend it opens onto another small beach, which at present holds no people. There is a short, disused jetty in the water. I walk towards it, this small beach, and realise I can see the mainland from here, a great black blur. The sand is more shelly and rocky, and there are blue blobs dotted along the water’s edge. I don’t think I should go near them.

The jetty is rotting and falling apart before my eyes. I am drawn closer to it. The wood catches the sun’s glint and sparkles. I walk into the water and stand beneath it, touching the wood at head height.

When I walk back onto the sand I stop for a moment. My foot is burning. I turn it over and see a red circle on the sole. I hold it, try to walk on it. I manage for a while before it’s too painful. I hobble back into the sea and feel the water rush against my foot. The water is nice and cool, but it doesn’t bring any relief. I quickly get out. I sit on the sand and wince and try to think about what to do. The red on the sole of my foot has spread. I wonder how long I will sit here until it gets better.

I see a plantperson come around the corner, in the far line of my vision. My heart bubbles a bit with hope. My thoughts bump up against each other. I don’t know whether I should put up a red flag or just sit here and hope they come to me. Maybe I don’t need their help, anyway. Maybe they can’t help me.

I think the pain is getting worse. I look again at my foot, and try not to be alarmed when I see red lines stretching across the skin, almost to the top of my foot.

Then I realise the plantperson is Larapinta. It is Larapinta and the way I am sitting, there’s no way she wouldn’t figure it out.

‘Blue bottle?’ she says, getting near.

I nod. ‘I put some water on it.’

‘Seawater?’

I nod.

‘That made it worse?’ She comes by me. She’s an awkward tangle of roots and limbs and when she walks she creaks like an old stair railing. ‘You need fresh water. Which foot is it?’

I hesitate before showing her. If she was a human, Julie or somebody, she would tell me I’m an idiot. Make me feel like a total newbie who shouldn’t be walking around the island unsupervised. What kind of Aboriginal person are you? Can’t survive taking your shoes off.

But she’s not human, so I feel better. My breathing slows. She does her trick again. I haven’t yet been able to believe it. She extracts the saltwater out of my skin with her middle fingertip and then releases a flow of freshwater; just the first drop makes it better. The saltiness is out.

I get up and hobble around and she gets me to sit on the old piece of wood, the jetty, without having my feet in the water.

‘Thank you so much,’ I say.

‘You’re welcome,’ she says.

‘Lucky you were here.’

‘This is where I stay most nights.’ She motions to where she’s come from. We sit in silence. It’s getting dark.

‘You think you can walk now?’

I nod and she helps me up.

‘Larapinta?’

She looks up.

I don’t want to be rude but I say, ‘What would you say you are? And where do you come from?’

She looks at me. ‘Can you answer that about yourself?’

‘I guess not.’

‘For us it is the same.’

‘Have you always been here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you ever been stung?’

‘It’s probable.’