The Bit In Between

by Claire Varley

  When the introductions were complete, Alison was ushered through the house and into the backyard, where a fire was already burning in the small kitchen house. The kitchen house was made from sago leaves, dried and then woven together to make a compact hut. Inside was the motu. Alison had eaten delicious food cooked in a motu oven since arriving in the Solomons, but had never actually seen one in action. The women had already started preparing it, laying firewood across the bottom of a shallow hole and then lighting the fire. Special motu river stones had been added atop the fire, and as the wood burnt away, the stones grew hotter and hotter.

  The women were sitting on a woven mat on the ground behind great piles of food. Kathy and Hanna were washing and peeling kumara while Jennifer and Betty gutted fish. Aunty Patti stood to one side surveying the work and shouting instructions every so often. Dorothy was sitting cross-legged before a big pot full of chicken and was cutting it into bits with a large bush knife.

  ‘What do we do?’ Alison asked eagerly.

  ‘Our job is to wrap everything in banana leaves,’ Sera explained, sitting on the mat and pulling a pile of leaves towards her. They started wrapping the kumara in the leaves. Aunty Patti took a huge pair of wooden tongs and started removing red-hot stones from the motu. Once she had removed half, she began placing the banana leaf parcels atop the remaining stones.

  As they worked, Dorothy chatted away happily to the other women in a language Alison couldn’t understand. Alison looked at Sera questioningly.

  ‘She is speaking Maringe, our local Isabel language. She grew up in Malaita, which is where her tattoos are from, but learnt Maringe from her husband, who was from Isabel.’

  Dorothy looked up and shouted something to Sera.

  ‘He’s dead now, her husband,’ Sera added, and Dorothy smiled at Alison and nodded.

  When they had finished wrapping and packing everything into the motu, Alison helped the women use the tongs to place the hot stones on top of the wrapped food so that it was completely covered. Next they put more leaves on top, then added some more hot stones before covering it all with hessian sacks.

  ‘Now we leave everything to cook,’ Aunty Patti said.

  The motu would cook overnight and would make an early lunch the next day. Aunty Patti was a motu expert, Sera had told Alison earlier, and knew how to ‘measure’ the fire and select the right wood so that it wouldn’t dry out the food.

  ‘Tea!’ Dorothy announced happily. Aunty Patti looked at the twins, who sighed and went inside to prepare the tea. Dorothy said something and laughed.

  ‘She said those two are city girls and couldn’t motu to save their lives,’ Sera told Alison.

  Dorothy was sitting with her legs stretched out in front of her. She pulled a small pipe from her pocket and lit it with shaky hands.

  ‘I learnt all this stuff growing up,’ Sera said. ‘All our cultural stuff. How to motu, how to make gardens, how to climb for coconuts. Everyone who grows up in the provinces learns these things. But some of the young kids in Honiara, they don’t get the chance.’

  ‘I worry that they’re losing their culture,’ Aunty Patti added. ‘All this food from outside – packets of noodles and fish in tins – it’s delicious, but if people don’t make our kastom food how will our kids learn?’ she said, passing around a packet of chocolate biscuits.

  Jennifer rolled her eyes. ‘Who has time to motu all the time, Aunty? No one.’

  ‘Don’t blame me when you have the diabetes,’ Aunty Patti said. She turned to Alison. ‘What are your kastom foods in Australia, Alison?’

  Alison tried hard to think of what she had eaten growing up. ‘Lamb,’ she offered unconvincingly. ‘And beef. Lots of meat.’

  Sera translated for Dorothy who grinned a toothless smile and said something as she patted her stomach. Sera giggled. ‘Dorothy says that must be why you’re so fat, all that beef.’

  Alison blushed. Dorothy sucked on her pipe and said something else.

  ‘She said it’s good fat. Good enough to have a good husband.’

  ‘Tell her I haven’t eaten meat for a long time, since I was little, and I don’t have a husband,’ Alison said.

  Sera translated and then Dorothy said something that made her burst out laughing.

  ‘She said that must be why you don’t have a husband, because he’d starve to death.’ Sera’s voice dropped. ‘I won’t mention Oliver because Dorothy’s a bit strict when it comes to that kind of thing.’

  Alison nodded. She tended not to tell people that she and Oliver weren’t married.

  Jennifer gave her a mischievous grin that made her look even more like Sera. ‘Dorothy doesn’t believe in dating either,’ she said. ‘They’re pretty strict about that kind of thing where she’s from.’

  Dorothy looked at them suspiciously. Sera smiled and offered her the packet of biscuits. The old woman narrowed her eyes and took one. Still glaring at them, she leant forward.

  ‘Don’t think I don’t know,’ she said, pointing at them with the biscuit.

  Alison froze but Jennifer and Sera burst out laughing.

  ‘Don’t worry, she doesn’t know what we’re talking about. She learnt that in a movie,’ Sera giggled. ‘Watch this. Dorothy, what should Solomon Islands do to fix corruption?’ Sera asked.

  ‘Call the A-Team!’ Dorothy beamed and everyone laughed. Dorothy giggled and said something Alison couldn’t understand.

  ‘She said her English is so good she should be a tour guide,’ Sera said and took Dorothy’s hand. When they had all stopped laughing, Dorothy wiped a tear from her eye. Then she turned to Alison and said something else in Maringe.

  ‘She said seriously, you need to find a husband because you’re getting old,’ Sera translated.

  Dorothy smiled to herself and drew on her pipe.

  When Dorothy was very small, her mother sat her down and held her hand as they inked the tattoos into her cheeks using sharpened bone to pierce the skin and pigment for the colour. Then, when she was still a little girl, too young to remember how old, there was suddenly war all around them and they fled to the hills to escape the bombs and the blood that stained the sand. And that’s where they hid until hiding wasn’t possible, and somehow – she couldn’t remember how – her parents had been killed and she’d found herself sheltering near an Allied base. That was when she met her first white person. Lucille was a nurse, an Australian, who had a kind smile and promised Dorothy she would take her back to Sydney with her so she could learn English and go to school. But then Lucille was re-stationed and Dorothy found family to look after her and by the time the war had finished Dorothy had forgotten all the English Lucille had taught her, though she never forgot the Australian woman’s promise, no matter how hard she tried to put it out of her mind. Lucille searched for Dorothy as best she could from her home on the other side of the ocean, but by the time her letter finally arrived, it was too late. Dorothy was already married and pregnant, so she let this dream go for another lifetime.

  It was late by the time Alison was ready to go home, so Sera offered to drive her in Aunty Patti’s jeep. As they drove through the quiet streets of Honiara, Sera kept stealing glances at Alison then turning quickly back to the road. Finally Alison could take it no more.

  ‘What?’

  Sera adjusted her grip on the steering wheel. ‘Can I tell you a secret?’

  ‘You’ll have to kill me afterwards,’ Alison replied.

  Sera’s face fell. ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind. Joke . . . go on.’

  ‘You know this baby?’

  ‘I remember it vaguely.’

  ‘Well, now there’s two.’

  Alison glanced over at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Two babies.’

  ‘Twins?’

  Sera nodded.

  ‘And this is exciting, right?’

  Sera
looked at the road ahead.

  ‘Right?’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘But what?’

  Sera breathed in. ‘It’s going to hurt twice as much, isn’t it?’

  Alison shrugged. ‘Maybe. Or maybe the first one will, you know, clear the path for the next one.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Sure. You won’t even notice it. You’ll be like “oh, look, a baby”, and then the other one will just shoot out after it.’

  Sera giggled. ‘Have you ever seen someone give birth before?’

  Alison made a face. ‘No, I have not.’

  ‘Will you still be there with me?’

  ‘For twice as long.’

  They pulled up outside the little blue house.

  ‘Also something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I spoke to my husband, and he has found us a space in one of the government buildings, so when women come to us for help they will know where to find us. It came up unexpectedly, but it’s ours.’

  Alison grinned like a Cheshire cat. ‘That’s exactly what we need. Our own office.’

  Sera grinned back.

  ‘Do you want to come in and say hi to Oliver? Tell him all the news?’ Alison asked as she jumped down from her seat.

  ‘No, I need to get home to pee,’ Sera replied, gritting her teeth comically. ‘Two times as much pee now.’

  ‘Fair enough! See you tomorrow for that delicious motu.’ Alison waved.

  Inside Oliver was tapping away at his laptop. He looked up as she entered.

  ‘Hey there. How was the motu-ing?’

  ‘Good,’ Alison replied as she made a beeline for the fridge. ‘Any leftovers?’

  ‘Leftovers? Didn’t you eat a whole lot of motu food?’

  ‘We’re leaving it in there overnight and I’m going back tomorrow for lunch. You’re invited if you want.’ She stuffed a piece of bread into her mouth. ‘How’s the writing? Anything award-worthy?’

  ‘You know it always is.’

  ‘Will you thank me in your acceptance speeches?’

  ‘You and you alone.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Alison kicked off her sandals then threw herself down on the couch and stretched out. ‘Hey, guess what?’ She paused.

  Oliver looked over. ‘What? You actually want me to guess?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well then, let me think . . .’ Oliver scratched his head. ‘Hmmmm . . .’

  ‘Okay, enough, that’s annoying. Soooooo . . .’ Alison said, making a drumming noise on her thighs. ‘Sera is pregnant with twins!’ She looked excitedly at Oliver. ‘And Peter found us somewhere to work from.’

  Oliver made a peculiar sound, as if he was choking, his eyes wide with astonishment.

  Alison frowned. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I think I did this.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I don’t know how to explain it, but I did this. The twins. And the office. I made them happen.’

  Alison looked at him blankly.

  ‘Mary. I made her pregnant with twins.’

  Alison gave him a strange look. ‘I’m assuming you mean Mary from your book? Because if you don’t . . .’

  ‘Yes, Mary from my book. I gave her twins. And now Sera has twins. I made this happen. And the office. I wrote this and it happened.’

  ‘Well, it’s been a very productive week for you then,’ Alison grinned.

  Oliver gave her a hard look. ‘I mean it. Listen to me. I made the twins happen. And the office. I did it. I wrote it because I wanted it to happen and it did.’

  Alison watched him for a moment and then burst into laughter.

  ‘What do you want me to believe? That you’re some kind of conductor directing our lives? Oliver, this is the real world. It doesn’t work like that. Yeah, it’s a crazy coincidence, but come on.’

  ‘I’m serious, Alison. The mugging, the twins, the office – I wrote all these things before they happened.’ He left out the part about Jasmine’s separation, but he hadn’t forgotten it.

  ‘So you’re a psychic! Great! I’m sure you could do a ripper trade among the gullible housewives here.’

  ‘Alison, look, I realise how mental this sounds –’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it does sound mental. Oliver, this is the real world.’

  ‘Well, how do you explain it then?’

  Alison sighed loudly.

  ‘How?’ he repeated.

  ‘I can’t. And I don’t need to. It’s a coincidence, Ollie. A crazy coincidence.’

  Oliver didn’t reply.

  Oliver had lain awake late into the night, his head buzzing. Twins. He had written it and it had happened. In a way he’d kind of created life. He gave himself a small mental pat on the back, secretly chuffed by his apparent literary virility. Of course it wasn’t true. How could it be? And yet it had happened. Multiple times. For a tiny moment Oliver felt himself buzzing with the power of something he didn’t quite understand but which thrilled and chilled him simultaneously. But then the real world came flooding back and he knew it couldn’t be true. Could it? Things were spinning and he wished they wouldn’t, and more than anything he wished he could prove this was happening. What he needed was evidence, something that couldn’t be put down to chance or coincidence. He needed proof.

  The next morning the sun struggled to rise, curtained by grey uninspiring storm clouds. Oliver lay on his side staring out the window, opening and closing alternate eyes, watching two similar but fractured worlds dance before him. If he looked through his left eye, he saw the world as he knew it. Through his right he saw a world almost perfectly identical, but with the slightest degree of difference. He wondered which world he should choose that day. Or, a tiny voice whispered, which he should create. He heard a strangled snuffling noise as Alison rolled over beside him. Her eyes fluttered open and she snuggled into his chest.

  ‘What’s the time?’ she mumbled.

  ‘Early.’

  ‘Good.’ She snuggled closer.

  Oliver smiled. He enjoyed this time spent alone together in bed, the words and the silences that created a small, private nation of two. Together they built a garrison of stories and memories that would shelter them from the outside world until work or hunger or the tropical heat forced them out of bed.

  He thought about the day ahead, about the unbelievable things he would try to make happen.

  Alison poked him in the chest. ‘What are you thinking about? You’re frowning.’

  Oliver blinked. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Actually nothing? Because normally when guys say “nothing” they mean “nothing I want to tell you about.”’

  ‘Nothing I want to tell you about.’ Oliver smiled and kissed her forehead.

  She leant back and closed her eyes. During his sleepless hours, Oliver’s thoughts had moved from the twins, to the mugging, to Jasmine’s separation. They had lingered for a moment until Oliver glanced across the pillow at Alison’s face lit up by the moon, and he realised for the first time that he didn’t need Jasmine anymore. He didn’t want her anymore. He had done the impossible. He had moved on.

  He watched Alison now as she opened her eyes.

  ‘You look tired,’ she said, touching the skin beneath his eyes with her fingers.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he confessed. ‘I was thinking about the book and, you know, the coincidences.’

  Alison pulled away from him. ‘You’re not still thinking about that, are you? You know it isn’t real.’

  She sighed heavily, a sign she was readying to argue. ‘You know what your problem is?’

  ‘Small hands.’

  ‘You – what?’ She paused, thrown.

  ‘Small hands. Makes it hard to play the piano.’

  Aliso
n gave him a confused look.

  ‘I’m disarming you,’ Oliver explained. ‘See how I’m distracting you from your argument?’

  ‘You’re what . . ?’ she trailed off and then gave a small smile that quickly spread across her face. She let out a short burst of laughter and then buried her face in the pillow.

  ‘You’re such a dork,’ she complained, her voice muffled.

  He smiled, but his heart had started beating loudly and dangerously in his ears and he felt a wave of light-headed nausea pass through him, and in that moment Oliver knew – he knew – that one day, maybe not today, but one day, she would leave him.

  They weren’t due at Sera’s aunt’s for another hour, so while Alison showered, Oliver got up to write. He looked at where he’d left off the day before. Mary had just announced that she was carrying twins. Twins. Oliver chewed a finger and considered this. He knew it was ridiculous, but at the same time it was also happening. That was the ­undeniable thing: it was actually happening. A part of him was rolling its eyes and teasing him for suggesting that he was in some way controlling the events unfolding around him, but there was also a much louder part that had drawn a diagram showing all the crucial plot points and could do nothing but point at the constant coincidences. What if? this part of him kept saying. I know it’s nuts but what if? He wanted to shush this part of himself but really, it had a point. What if?

  Oliver had always been sensible. He didn’t believe in ghosts. He wasn’t superstitious. He didn’t have any magic words or special socks or regular rituals. But he wasn’t stupid, either, and he knew that closed-mindedness was always more of a detriment than a value. He stared into space for a moment, lost in a world of possibility and inevitability and irrationality. He needed something, something to make them both believe – himself and Alison – that this was actually happening. What would prove it beyond any doubt?

  Alison bustled in and he angled the screen away from her.

  ‘Ollie, come on! We’re late.’

  He had a sudden idea and began typing furiously into the laptop. It wasn’t great, but it would have to do. He’d fix it up later.

  ‘Ollie!’

  He saved the document and pressed print. A single page fluttered out of the printer. Folding it hastily, he shoved it in his pocket.