We’re swamped by paperwork today.
Some lawyer who works for Aqua Link
keeps meddling with our report.
At midday we send it back again
with extra stats and documents.
—Really, says Waverley, what that woman needs–
She’s cut short when my skinfone zings
and finishes her sentence in sign language.
9
—Hey, mate, says Jack. It’s me.
—Got it, I say. Unless that’s your clone
on my skinfone screen. Isn’t technology
a wonderful thing?
Jack’s laugh is a gently-wounded lilt,
like the imprint on a bandage where
the cut presses in.
—Look, sorry, I say, you’ve just caught me
in the middle of things…
—Okay, he says. I’ll be really quick.
Are you free after work?
—Whenever that is. Gotta dive for some stats when the tides are in. Until then I’m stuck
here with the lesbian.
But Waverley’s scribbling with her O2 pen
in the air above my head. I squint to read
her messy scrawl: Bloody idiot, she writes.
You go for it!
10
I turn my back on her crazy red frizz.
My colleague is waltzing, this time
with a squid, drawing hearts in the air
with her magic pen.
—That’s okay, says Jack. Another time.
—You could come, I say. Waverley’s busy.
I could do with a hand. The gear is heavy.
—But I can’t dive.
—Not yet, I say.
—It’s winter, he says.
—No shit? I say.
11
The sky’s a mess of clouds, ragged
and oyster-hued. It’s almost spring.
Gulls mate furiously on the beach.
I meet Jack with the gear, give him
an air tab, a pair of skins. He wrestles
as if with an octopus.
—Everything’s easier if you do it slowly:
the diver’s first commandment, I say.
He does not bristle, simply laughs.
A familiar heat flares up in me.
I shove it down just as rapidly.
I check his weights and buoyancy.
—Just like flying a plane, I say. Perfectly
safe if you know what you’re doing.
—Okay, says Jack. Except I don’t.
I mould the mask around his face.
Pass him the fins.
—Big feet, I say.
—Watch it. He slings a hand around
my neck for balance. Concentrate girl,
I think, we’re diving here. But my breath
flickers.
12
Fish dart about the sunlit zone.
Small white caps bully. The sea
bed drops away. We’re weightless,
lunar light. A chill veneer of water
creeps between our flesh and skins.
—Now we will get quiet, I say.
—The second commandment? Jack enquires.
I nod and let things settle; the waves,
my heart. Gaze out to where the roller
coaster tracks snake around and plunge
into the bay, part of an old amusement
park long reclaimed by sea.
—Ready? I say, and dip my thumb
in the signal to descend.
Together we go down.
13
The ocean’s meniscus flickers
through my mask, a silver skin
dividing air from sea. Sensation
of homecoming tinged with fear.
I push it away as we descend.
We free fall to the sandy bed,
our ears packed tight with sea,
which we release with careful
exhalations.
14
On the sea’s silt bed I press
my thumb to forefinger
so that they form a ring.
—Okay? I sign.
—Okay, signs Jack.
I point two fingers to my eyes
and one towards my chest.
—Watch me, I sign
and demonstrate the way
my body finds its level
as with each new breath I rise
and how, on sinking back,
my breath departs in silver chains
towards the wind-lit surface.
15
We swim towards the glittering pier
where sun and water intersect.
Our bodies dip and bend.
The current’s stronger underneath.
It’s dark, a bit closed in. The pylons
of the original pier squat petrified
and wreathed by barnacles and weed.
Their shadows create a melancholy
through which fish flit, immune.
Below us a herd of cowfish drift
and a single leafy sea dragon,
cloned of course. But even so.
I point it out. Oh, look!
Press hands to heart as if to say,
My favourite! Jack nods lopsidedly.
16
—Okay? I sign.
Jack puts one hand out, palm
down, and tilts it side to side.
—So-so, he signs and stumbles over
breath despite the fact he has heaps left.
I check the stats on the hydro screen
kept stashed beneath the pier.
No stingrays here, no stray genes
but the Crown of Thorns show
a marked increase, damn it.
Jack’s struggling a bit so I call
it quits. We return to the shallows,
surface, peel off masks and emerge
blinking like creatures dwelt in caves
long years at last come up for light.
—Incredible, Jack says. Like floating
in space, except for the pier. I kind of
freaked.
—Sorry, I say. I’m used to it. Not true,
I think. A strong wave slaps us sideways
then and Jack goes under, gulping sea.
—Commandment three, I say. Do not stop
breathing.
17
We clamber up the shore
like amphibians but clumsier
and peel off all our gear.
My skinsuit strap falls loose.
Jack leans across to straighten it,
brushing my hair out from beneath.
But then he topples over again
in skins and flippers, the whole
shebang. Face down in sand.
—North, bloody help!
But God it feels good just to laugh
now that we’re back on land.
Still laughing hard, I offer him
my hand.
18
We rinse our gear in water
from the beach’s rusty tap
and suddenly I’m freezing.
Salt spray whips in jewelled veils.
The coastline recedes like it never
existed. The sky is grey. The wind
eats into bones and skin.
—Want to come play at my place? says Jack.
—If you promise to pla
y nicely.
—Promise, he says.
19
Jack swings his Ute Flute south
away from town onto the road
that winds like a coil of rope
up the rutted slope of Potter’s Hill.
The Flute stumbles over troughs
and corrugations. Already I feel
a world away from my briny flat
that hugs the street and looks out
over ocean. Time wheels back.
The road dissolves in sand and scrub.
Jack turns into the pine-flanked drive
and stops. It’s quiet as a church
save the wind that buffets crowns
of hills, the engine’s fading hiss.
20
The place looks different in daylight.
Less derelict. The block overgrown
in a casual way. Bees tangle in clumps
of lavender beside the ivy-covered shed.
Wild daisies compete with banksias
and wattle in the unkempt beds.
As I step across the shed’s threshold
a sense of home descends on me.
I didn’t feel this, first time I came.
Inside, Jack’s small, unfinished boat
rests on blocks in pools of evening
sunlight.
21
Jack names the boat parts, points
to each. I repeat the words.
—Keel, sternpost, mainsail, rib.
They feel rough and woody like
the taste of trees. I lean my head
against the boat’s curved flank
and breathe it in: scent of sawdust
and old growth forests, parakeets
darting in foliage. I open my eyes,
the air busy with motes in planks
of sun. Jack lifts a finger to his lips
and, moistening it, runs it along
the boat’s wood grain, making
once invisible whorls rise
to the surface.
22
I like Jack’s makeshift shower.
The water pumps down strong
and salty on my back and neck,
dispersing sea chill. I step out
into steam, my bones all warm
and aching from the dive. I dry
myself with a stiff red towel,
get dressed. The shed smells
of toast. I’m starving, suddenly.
23
Jack cuts the bread in slabs and cooks
it in a contraption from last century.
He spreads the jam on thick.
A pale sun splashes his forearms,
where the hair’s backlit.
A cat sleeps on a threadbare couch
beside a crate on top of which a bible
sits. I like a man who reads hard copy.
I flick, some bits are underlined in red. Jack heats Milo in a microwave.
I haven’t seen one of those for years.
The thing goes ding!
—Here, he says. Get this into you.
24
—Move over, Mike, says Jack
and the cat jumps up, arching
indignantly. I’m laughing again.
—Mike? I say.
—What’s wrong with that? I know
of several cats called Mike, says Jack.
—I had a budgie once, I say, called
Gordon. We took him to the vet
for surgery. A hernia, they said.
I’m loose and laughing now,
we both are, at tiny Gordon
out to it on the operating table.
I take my mug of Milo and drink up,
feeling the chocolate slide down sweet.
And kissing Jack is like another land
I have been to once and now the taste
of milk and bread brings back to me.
I remember to keep breathing.
25
Afterwards, Jack strokes my wrist,
encircles it with his long fingers. We
lie on the mattress, half-naked.
—That was great, he says. Really.
The cat called Mike is cleaning itself
on the window ledge. But I’m thinking
of Sunshine University, where I learnt
so well to fake it.
—North?
Jack tilts my chin. I push back tears.
Refuse to reveal what will hurt him.
Part 14: Teeth
Queensland, 2038
Science without religion is lame,
religion without science is blind.
Albert Einstein
1
University was a distant vision
I rarely bothered to recall
so when the message arrived
amidst porn mail and God Junk,
I mistook it for a splog and almost
trashed the thing. I gave the screen
a flick, the icon did a sideways kick
and Sunshine University’s crest
appeared: a gold ladder with little
wings, tapering into infinity.
—I’m in! I said. I’m in!
And let Mum navigate my room.
Amidst a sea of clothes and empty
Pipe Dream packs, she sat down
on my unmade bed and scanned
the screen, one hand placed
upon my neck, her fingers
tightening as she read.
2
Queensland was safer than Sydney,
at least. Sydney was L-Kida country,
swarming with special police and tense
with the threat of terrorist art since
the latest attack in June last year
when the entire harbour was stained
blood red. At night I pressed an ear
against the wall and caught the tenor
of my parents’ speech.
—Richard, said Mum, I just don’t think…
—Flora, if you say no she’ll sink…
But I would have gone anyway,
whatever they’d said.
3
March 16th and running late,
at last we reached Gate 98.
My mother paused to apply lipstick,
the way a cat pauses to lick itself
when nervous or upset. When Dad
hugged me, I felt his heart’s too-rapid
beat. My mother, in her pastel coat,
stood upright till the last minute
then pressed her lips against my cheek
and could not seem to release her grip.
—Flora, love, North needs to go, Dad said.
I turned to wave; my parents slight,
leaf-curled and grey-edged,
diminished already by distance.
4
VFPlanes flew direct. Nothing went
via Sydney. Too risky. A quick ascent,
a one-hour flight and down again.
The bay in Brisbane shimmered
like a piece of silk but underneath
the water, houses huddled, drowned
by rising sea levels. At the terminal
we disembarked.
Secure your genes with Medi Link!
unscrolled the ad above my head.
I waited with a motley mob
of students, tourists, office execs
while a businessman was carted off
>
for stashing Heaven in his socks.
5
The Sky Rail to the Sunshine Coast
slid to a clean-whistled halt and let
its passengers on or off. I slipped
into a seat and the track swung east
past a massive hill where PARADISE
loomed in tall gold font like the sign
in Hollywood. Ever since Queensland
built Disneyland, it’s been hellbent
on poaching the lot. At every stop
the train restocked with students
in spray-ons and Nikes, also clumps
of bouffant retirees bound for condos
in the east. A skinny, red-haired girl
sat next to me, absorbed in an ibook
on biotechnics. Her frizzy plaits made
me want to cry, suddenly, for Finny’s
plaits. The memory welled without
warning, as if a scalpel cut the skin
and probed before the sedative set in.
6
The Sky Rail threaded in and out
of scrapers and sky walks with fake
palm trees. At last the train curved
west into the Disney Compound.
Fireworks, hotels, floating gardens;
peacock-green and velveteen.
And everything seemed painted
on the cusp of night: a clot of swans
on an azure stream, the sunset squeezed
from an artist’s tube of rose pink, gold
and amber. It was late when the campus
loomed. The Sky Rail gave a perfunctory
sigh and stopped. We stepped outside
into winking lights and darkness.
7
I was assigned a student guide
with scruffy hair and something
odd about his teeth. I stared at them
and he caught me.
—I’m Leo, he said. And yes, my fangs
are small. My infant teeth refused to fall.
I felt the blood rush to my cheeks
in a blush the night concealed.
The Sunlit Zone Page 11