New Guinea Moon (7 page)

‘Really?' Julie feels an unexpected glow of pride in the stranger who is her father. ‘Andy? Can I ask you something?'

‘Sure thing, Juliet. But let me remind you that I'm a married man.'

She ignores this, embarrassed. She says, ‘Why aren't there any local people here? Any nationals?'

Andy's grin fades. He shifts his body uneasily on the grass. ‘Well, I guess we just don't make friends with many of the nationals. There's not much chance to, you know
. . .
mingle.'

‘But you must meet some local people.'

Andy laughs. ‘Well, yeah. There's our meri, there are the
kago bois
at work. But they'd hardly fit in here, would they?' He waves his hand vaguely at the gathering around them.

Ryan says patiently, ‘You don't understand, Julie. It's all separate. They stick to their people, and we stick to ours. It's just more comfortable that way.'

‘But you must have local friends,' Julie says ‘You grew up here. Didn't you go to school with local kids?'

‘Not really. The schools are in two streams, the A stream for the expats, and the T stream for the nationals. They get taught in Pidgin, and the expat kids get taught in English. Makes sense when you think about it.'

‘But —' Julie stops. Andy and Ryan are looking at her indulgently, as if she is a bit dim for even asking the question. And it does make sense to teach the locals in their own language. And you couldn't teach Australian kids in Pidgin. So maybe it is the only way —

Teddie, who has been staring at the sky and not apparently listening to any of this, suddenly returns to earth. ‘Are we doing anything tomorrow? How about a picnic by the river? You're not going to church or anything, are you, Julie?'

‘God, no!' she says, and everyone laughs, though she didn't mean to be funny.

‘Better make it early,' says Andy. ‘Before the rain comes.'

The next day Julie is squashed in with Teddie in the back of Andy's little green Datsun, bumping along a bush road after the Crabtrees' blue Holden. It doesn't take long to leave all signs of the town behind; after only a few minutes, it's as if they've plunged into the ancient past, a world of villages and garden plots and uncleared jungle.

Andy pulls up by the banks of a shallow, clear-flowing stream. The Crabtrees and Roxy the dog spill from the other car, and soon Barbara is spreading rugs over the sandy bank and unpacking eskies of beer and sandwiches. Tony and Julie have brought nothing. ‘Don't worry about it,' he'd shrugged. ‘Barb always handles the catering.'

Julie knows her mother would be horrified if she could see that her daughter had turned up to a picnic empty-handed. But Caroline is a long way away.

The river is as clear as liquid glass. The stones at the bottom are honey-coloured, amber, with silken threads of sunlight flickering over them through the water. Birds call in the trees, but their songs are unfamiliar. There is one with a long whistle, followed by a questioning trill, and another with a cascade of notes like a waterfall. The trees are so thickly crowded, it's impossible to imagine walking between them. The road is close by, but there is almost no traffic. They might have been the last humans on the planet, or explorers on an undiscovered continent. The only sounds are the songs of the birds, and their own voices.

Nadine says, ‘Let's walk along the river.'

She and Ryan kick off their shoes and leave them on the rocks. Julie tugs off her sandals and wades into the ankle-deep water, so icy it makes her gasp. Her toes waver whitely underwater, like carved marble.

Nadine steps from rock to rock, as sure-footed as a cat. Julie splashes clumsily behind her; Ryan brings up the rear, stumping through the water with his hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. Without speaking, the three of them in a silent line, they make their way upstream, around bends, across gurgling rapids, through a knee-deep pool of beer-coloured water, lined with soft mud, until they've left the adults far behind. There is not one piece of litter, not one soft drink can or scrap of plastic. The sun pours out its gentle warmth onto their skin. The birds sing, the breeze murmurs in the trees.

On the way back, Ryan, behind Nadine's oblivious back, stretches out his hand toward Julie's. She has a split second to decide: is this something she wants?

Oh, well, she thinks, it can't hurt. And I can always get out of it later.

She reaches out her hand and catches hold of his, and without looking at each other, they splash along side by side, their hands clasped.

When they come in sight of the others, sitting on the bank, and Roxy snuffling on the rocks, Ryan lets her hand fall. And for the rest of the afternoon, they both pretend that nothing has happened.

Midway through the picnic lunch, Julie notices that Nadine is struggling to stifle a fit of giggles. She feels a prickle of anxiety. Had Nadine noticed her and Ryan holding hands? She says, ‘What's the joke?'

‘You —' Nadine can hardly speak. ‘You and Tony!'

‘What?'

Tony and Julie exchange a nervous look.

‘The way you eat your sandwiches!' crows Nadine. ‘Nibble, nibble, nibble all along the crust, and then you throw the crusts away! You both do it exactly the same! It's so funny!'

Tony gazes down, bewildered, at the crust at his hand. Julie, scarlet-faced, tries to scrunch up her discarded crusts in the sandwich paper. Then they catch each other's eye, and Tony gives his shy smile.

‘Never did like crusts,' says Tony.

‘Me either,' admits Julie.

Nadine shouts, ‘You even have the same smile! Look, look at them! They've both got the same dimple!'

‘Shut up, Nads,' says Ryan. ‘Can't you see you're embarrassing them?'

‘It's okay,' says Julie. ‘I don't mind.'

Tony looks away. His cheeks are flushed with pink, but Julie thinks he's pleased.

‘You're coming over tomorrow, right?' says Nadine anxiously, before Julie and Tony go home that night.

Julie doesn't look at Ryan but she can feel his eyes burning on her.

‘Yeah,' she says. ‘Okay, I will.' And Ryan's whole body relaxes.

The next morning, after Tony leaves for work, Julie is moving sluggishly around the unit, preparing to walk around to the Crabtrees' house, when she hears a knock on the door. She assumes it's Ryan, come to escort her, so she unlocks the door without checking.

But it's a woman standing on the doorstep, a national — a girl, really, not much older than Julie is. She is holding a bilum filled with lemons.

‘
Yu baim muli, misis?
'

She smiles at Julie, but her eyes are pleading, almost desperate. She offers up her bag of lemons, and Julie sees that her meri blouse is ragged, gaping open with a tear beneath the arm, and her baggy skirt is grimy and faded.

‘
Muli?
'

‘Yes!' says Julie. ‘Yes, I'll buy some. Wait a minute.'

She runs back to the bedroom and rummages in her shoulder bag for her purse. She can hear Barbara's admonishing voice in her head:
don't leave them on the step with the door open, they could run in and help themselves . . .
She pushes the voice away.

‘I'll have two — no, threepela,' she says, and holds up three fingers, just in case. The girl opens the bilum to let her choose, and Julie gives her a ten cent coin. She knows from the market that it's far too much for a few lemons. ‘Take it,' she says. ‘Please.'

The girl lowers her eyes and slips the coin inside her clothes. Maybe she can't believe her luck. She's hurrying away — probably afraid that Julie will change her mind — when Julie does call her back.

‘Wait a sec — do you want some of these?' She tears open the bundle of old clothes that Barbara gave her for the missionaries next door. She pulls out a dress, a T-shirt, a yellow blouse. ‘You want them? For you, look.'

The girl steps back, shaking her head uncertainly. But as Julie waves the clothes at her, insisting, ‘For you. You take them!' she creeps forward again, and at last she accepts the dress. Julie beams; then she has her inspiration.

‘You want a job? Work? Work here?'

Tony has no meri. Julie can help this girl, help her in a lasting way: she can give her a job. Then she won't need to tramp from door to door, flogging lemons. Julie can help her.

‘You be our meri? Cleanim house? Cookim food? Kaikai?' She is laughing at her own pitiful attempt at Pidgin, and the girl giggles too. ‘What's your name?' says Julie. ‘Name belong you?' She points at herself. ‘I'm Julie. Julie.' She points at the girl. ‘You?'

The girl whispers so softly that Julie has to lean forward to catch it. ‘Lina.'

‘Okay! Lina! Will you be our meri? Yes? Okay —' Julie realises she'd better let Tony know what's happening. ‘You come back tomorrow?'

The girl nods, and clutching her bag of lemons, she scurries off down the driveway. Julie gazes after her, not sure how well she'd managed to make herself understood. But she is well-pleased, and proud of herself, as she marches around to the Crabtrees' house.

‘Oh, dear.' Barbara passes a hand across her eyes. ‘You don't know anything about this girl! If you wanted a meri, you should have asked me to find someone reliable, one of Koki's
wontoks . . .
And Tony's always said he doesn't want a meri.'

‘Well, maybe he's changed his mind,' says Julie stubbornly. A familiar feeling of defiance hardens inside her. Barbara and Caroline might not have much else in common, but clearly they'd agree on one thing — whatever Julie does is wrong.

But later that night, when she confesses what she's done, it seems Barbara might have been right. Tony is dismayed.

‘Oh, no, I don't —' He stares at the wall. ‘I don't want a meri. You should have asked me first.'

‘I was only trying to help,' says Julie.

‘Yeah, I know
. . .
I had a meri when I first came up here, but it didn't work out. Never again.'

‘Okay. Sorry.'

‘Apart from anything else, I can't afford it,' says Tony apologetically. ‘I've got to save up for my old age, you know.'

‘Okay, okay,' says Julie. ‘I'll tell her to forget it. I'm sorry.'

‘Don't worry about it.' Tony rubs his bald spot, running his finger along the dent of his scar. ‘Look
. . .
I wish we could live like the Crabtrees. Big house, meri and a garden boi, all of that. But —'

‘I don't want to live like the Crabtrees. I was just trying to —'

‘Make my life easier?' Tony finishes the sentence for her. ‘Thanks, mate. I appreciate it. But I'm doing all right. Don't worry about me.'

Julie stares at him helplessly, unable to explain that she wasn't thinking of him at all; it was Lina she'd been trying to help. And now she is going to have to turn her away, because Tony feels too poor to employ her. And yet Tony has so much more than Lina
. . .

‘I'm sorry, love,' says Tony.

Julie manages to muster up a smile. ‘It's all right.'

Tony says, ‘You want a game of backgammon? I play a game with Gibbo now and then.'

‘I don't know how.'

Tony's face falls, but then Julie adds, ‘Maybe you could teach me?' And the shy, eager smile spreads across his face once more.

7

‘But we
always
have a Christmas party,' says Nadine, a few days after the picnic by the river.

‘Not this year,' says Barbara.

‘I just don't feel up to it this year. I've done it for seventeen years. Let someone else do the work for a change.'

‘Teddie and Andy are going to have a Christmas party,' says Ryan unexpectedly from the depths of the armchair where he's curled around his guitar.

‘Are they?' Barbara shoots him a look. ‘Well. Good. Good for them. I hope it's a great success.'