New Guinea Moon (10 page)

‘Well,' says Ryan at last. ‘I guess I can kind of see Mum's point. We'll look pretty weak if we go running after her. It's soft.'

‘But it's my fault!' wails Nadine.

‘You can't just let her go!' says Julie. ‘Whatever happened to Koki being your second mother?'

Ryan shrugs, embarrassed. ‘That was a long time ago. Maybe Mum's right. They don't really need her any more. Nads and I aren't even here most of the time. If we were living down south, we wouldn't dream of having a — a maid or whatever.'

Julie stares at him, appalled. Then she lifts the telephone off the bench and begins to flick through the slim directory.

Nadine is wide-eyed. ‘Who are you ringing?'

‘Your dad. Curry.'

Julie finds the number for Highland Air Charters and dials it, her heart thumping. As the phone at the other end begins to ring, she stares at Ryan. He won't meet her eye. ‘Jeez, Julie,' he mutters. ‘It's not
my
fault.'

After an eternity, there is a click on the line. A breathless voice says, ‘Hello? Whoops — this is HAC
. . .
'

‘Hi, Teddie, it's me, Julie.'

‘Are you after Tony? I think he's out on a flight,' says Teddie vaguely; even Julie knows by now that Tony would be out on a flight at this time of day.

‘Actually, I was wondering if I could speak to Allan?'

‘Really? What —?'

Ryan snatches the receiver from Julie's hand. ‘Teddie, this is Ryan. I need to talk to Dad. It's important.'

Julie clasps her hands.
Thank you!
she mouths soundlessly, and Ryan pulls a face that says,
you're not giving me any choice.

Julie crosses her fingers while Ryan tells Allan the story, and Nadine wrings her hands. Her frightened eyes dart to the door, as if she expects Barbara to charge in at any moment. Julie can hear Allan Crabtree's voice all the way from the airport — a furious roar, only slightly muffled by the telephone line.

‘Yep,' says Ryan. ‘Okay. Uh-huh.'

At last he hangs up the receiver and lets out a long breath that puffs the lank hair off his forehead. ‘Bloody hell.'

‘What did Dad say?' whispers Nadine.

Ryan shrugs. ‘Go and get her back. And if she won't come back, give her a month's pay and a good reference.'

‘Good,' says Julie. ‘Good. That's fair.'

Ryan heads for the back door. ‘I'll get my bike. You okay to stay here, Jules?'

‘Of course.' She puts her arm around Nadine's shoulder. ‘What about that game of Monopoly?'

She speaks with bravado, but as she and Nadine shake the dice and move their tokens round the board, they are both on high alert, silently praying that Barbara will stay safely shut in her bedroom until Ryan gets back.

But when she emerges, an hour later, Ryan still hasn't returned.

‘Where's Ryan?' Barbara asks at once.

Nadine swings wide, scared eyes onto Julie's face.

‘He's gone to find Koki,' says Julie.

‘Why?' Barbara's voice is icy.

‘Allan asked him to.'

‘And how did Allan find out about it?'

Julie swallows. ‘I — Ryan — we told him.'

There is a silence. ‘I'm not quite sure why you found it necessary to get involved,' says Barbara pleasantly. ‘It's not really any of your business, is it?'

‘Well, I
did
borrow —' Julie falters. ‘I suppose not.'

‘I know you made a mess of hiring your own meri. But there's no need to interfere with our household arrangements, is there?'

Julie stares at the Monopoly board. Then she scrapes back her chair.

‘Maybe I should go.'

‘Maybe you should,' says Barbara.

‘But we're in the middle —' Nadine falls silent.

Julie mutters, ‘Get Ryan to ring me.' Nadine nods. Julie collects her shoulder bag and walks across the living room toward the front door. The trek across the acres of parquetry, with Barbara's eyes boring into her back, is the longest walk of her life.

About an hour later, Ryan rings her at Tony's place. He mumbles into the phone, ‘Can't talk long. Mum's in the next room.'

‘Did you get Koki back?'

‘Yeah, I told her it was all a big mistake and we wanted her to come back. She was pretty upset, but she finally agreed.'

‘Oh,
good
.'

‘Listen, I'd better go. Hey, this is a bit awkward, but you're not exactly top of the hit parade with Mum at the moment —'

‘Yeah, I know.'

‘So I'll come over to your place tomorrow?'

A slight pause. ‘Okay.'

‘Don't you want me to?'

‘No, no. I mean, yes, of course I do,' she says hastily. ‘I'm really glad you fixed things with Koki.'

‘See you tomorrow then.'

Julie hangs up, swings her feet onto the threadbare couch, and squeezes her hands between her knees. All day here, with Ryan, with no Nadine or Barbara or Tony or Koki to chaperone. Just the two of them, in an empty house. An empty house with beds and a couch and a shag-pile rug
. . .

Of course she doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to. Caroline has drummed that into her. But why doesn't she want to? Ryan is a nice boy. Nice enough. He won't try to force her. They'll just kiss.

A whole day of kissing. That will be — nice.

Julie swings herself off the couch and goes to search the kitchen for dinner ingredients. It might be a while before they're invited round to the Crabtrees' house again.

9

Julie is taking a bag of rubbish down to the incinerator when she sees Robyn in the next-door garden.

‘Hey there, honey!' calls Robyn. ‘You got time for that coffee now?'

Julie hesitates. Ryan is supposed to be coming over this morning. ‘Okay,' she says. ‘Why not.'

Inside Robyn and Graham's house, Julie stares curiously around the living room. It's crowded with family photographs, knick-knacks and embroidered mats. ‘That's my hobby.' Robyn picks one up to show her the stitching. ‘I order the yarns and patterns from back home, from a catalogue.'

Julie picks up a stuffed baby crocodile and tests its tiny teeth on her finger. ‘Ow!' Hastily she sets it down. The crocodile stares up balefully with its small glass eyes.

Robyn produces a plate of biscuits and two mugs of coffee. ‘Have you been keeping yourself busy, honey? I know there's not much for young people to do with themselves here.'

‘Mm.' Julie sips. ‘I guess
. . .
'

Robyn blinks through her wire-rimmed glasses. ‘Say, how would you like to come out to the village with me today? I'm helping out at the clinic, you could give us a hand if you'd like.'

‘Thanks,' says Julie. ‘I'd like to see a village. But — you should know, I'm not really a Christian. I'm kind of an atheist, actually.'

‘Why, that's okay, honey. I guess it's not contagious.' Robyn pushes a handful of pamphlets across the table. Julie flicks through them quickly, embarrassed.
Are You Saved? The Word: Our Lighthouse. What Does Heaven Look Like?

‘You can keep those, honey. We've got plenty.'

‘Um
. . .
thanks.' Julie shoves them under her elbow. She says, ‘Don't you feel weird —' She's not sure how to express it. ‘Don't you feel weird, taking away their culture?'

‘Oh, sweetie, before the missionaries arrived, they were tearing themselves apart. Tribal fighting, cannibalism, wife-beating. Oh, no, I'm not sorry at all.'

‘But there must have been some good things. Their own religion, their myths?'

‘Oh, there have been plenty of anthropologists to record all that,' says Robyn complacently. ‘There are libraries full of books about it.'

‘But if they stop believing in it, if they believe in Jesus instead, then their own religion's just — dead.'

Robyn tilts her head like a bright-eyed bird. ‘The way I look at it, we're giving them something so much better than what they've lost. We're giving them the Way, the Truth and the Life. Seems like a good bargain to me, eternal life for a few stories.'

She smiles at Julie, suddenly steely, and Julie looks away. Robyn takes a biscuit and bites into it with small, even teeth. ‘Anyways, it could never last. The old ways started to fall apart the minute white men walked over these mountains. As soon as the Leahy brothers and the patrol officers and the rest arrived in these valleys — why, it was all over. Guns and planes and radios
. . .
the twentieth century meets the Stone Age! Imagine!' She shakes her head. ‘So much poverty,' she sighs. ‘So much work to do.' She pushes back her chair. ‘You ready, honey?'

‘Can I use your phone?'

Ryan is grumpy when she tells him she's going out with Robyn to visit a village. ‘What do you want to do that for? It'll be dirty and smelly and boring.'

Bugger you
, thinks Julie as she hangs up.
And I'm trying so hard to be nice to you . . .
Maybe she shouldn't be trying quite so hard.

The village is perched along the spine of a ridge. ‘You'd think they'd build it closer to the creek, down in the valley,' says Julie.

‘It's easier to defend, up on the ridge,' says Robyn. ‘That's one of the things we preach against, the tribal warfare.' She shakes her head. ‘It maybe wasn't so bad when they fought with spears and bows and arrows, but now they have machetes, and sometimes guns
. . .
Although the
haus sik
is there now, if anyone is really badly hurt, the hospital. Did you hear about the hospital fire a couple of years back?'

Julie only half-listens as Robyn tells her the story of how some disgruntled nationals had set the hospital ablaze. Robyn doesn't seem to know exactly why they were disgruntled; it was just something that happened, inexplicable native behaviour.

Julie gazes at the grass huts, the neat gardens, the rich red soil. The huts are more substantial than she expected, real houses, cottages really, with woven walls and roofs of thick thatch. In the garden plots, women dig with sharpened sticks, while a troop of small children run shrieking and giggling along the paths. As Robyn steps out of the car, they mob her, yelling and laughing.

‘Julie, honey, this is Dr Gregory.'

The doctor is a small, nervous-looking man, with thinning hair and a pointed nose, who reminds Julie of a bandicoot. Soon he and Robyn are busy in the rough, open-sided fibro building they use as a clinic, dispensing medications and bandaging wounds, with a line of patients queuing outside. Although Robyn had suggested that Julie could help out, it soon becomes plain that she doesn't know enough to give any meaningful assistance, and she is too diffident to try. She doesn't want to accidentally kill anyone.

She wanders outside, aiming her camera at the scenery rather than the people. But before long the children rush up, eager to pose and even more eager to examine the camera. She shows one little boy how to press the shutter, and poses herself with a group of kids. She can't understand their excited chatter, and she's pretty sure they can't understand her either, but they manage with sign language and face-pulling. The children drag her down to the river and put on a show for her. She makes out the word
gumi
, repeated over and over, and at last she realises that it means the inner tubes of tyres that the children ride whooping, racing each other.

The boy she'd trusted with the camera takes charge of her, leading her importantly to see the sturdy pigs, tethered by one leg, or rooting in the fallow garden plots. She sees one woman suckling a piglet at her own breast. Nadine has told her that the villagers feed piglets like this, because pigs are so valuable.
One tit for the pikininis, one for the liklik pik
, Allan said, and Barbara said,
Don't be so crude
.

Julie turns away, feeling guilty for finding the sight repulsive, but half-wishing she dared to take a photo. No one at home will believe her when she tells them; she can just imagine her friends from school, Rachel and the others, shrieking in disgust.

She eats a banana straight off the tree, and then the little boy tugs at her arm and half pushes, half pulls her inside one of the huts.

Julie has to duck to enter the low doorway. Inside, it's dark, and dense with the smell of wood smoke and grease and bodies. For a second she feels her stomach rise, but she swallows hard and the nausea passes. She blinks, and makes out a woman sitting by the fire. She greets Julie, staring down at the ground, and mutters furiously to the little boy, who whines in protesting argument.

Gazing around at the fire pit, the woven mats, the baskets, the scraps of cloth and discarded tins, Julie feels a sudden hot wave of shame, stronger than the nausea had been. What is she doing here, with a camera round her neck, invading someone's home, uninvited? She is treating the village like a wildlife sanctuary; she has no right to be here.

She murmurs an incoherent apology and ducks outside again, into the relief of the cool sweet air. She almost feels like tearing the camera from her neck and hurling it into the bushes. She stumbles away from the huts, away from the river, heading blindly along the rough path up the slope. All she cares about is getting away from the villagers, away from Robyn and the doctor; she needs to find a cool, private place where she can hide her face.

She hurries up the hill, deeper into the bush, leaving the faint noise of the river and the murmur of voices behind her. The path divides and she chooses a track at random. The trees crowd around her, the cool green silence of the bush closing in. A bird call rings out from the treetops; the leaves whisper. She stops in sudden indecision, turns around, and hurries back the way she came, or at least the way she thinks she came. But the path is still going uphill, not down; she can't hear the river any more.