Baby

by Annaleese Jochems

  The foot is enormous, dark purple and blue, edged with green now. Anahera makes Cynthia hold the suit still, with the leg open, while she hoists the foot up and positions it in front of the hole. Gordon turns away to face the window, as he should. Cynthia stands with her legs wide apart for balance, and steadies herself, then nods for Anahera to shove it in. It doesn’t go in, it might not have been lined up quite right, and Anahera howls and falls back against the table. ‘I do not say it,’ Gordon says, still facing away, ‘but you should not be swimming.’

  ‘Pah!’ Anahera growls, and pulls herself up using the table. Cynthia’s ready to get the hole positioned perfectly this time, but Anahera wrenches it from her hands. She shudders and breathes, and the suit stretches in stages as her foot moves through it, like a snake that’s swallowed a rat. It’s on, and she stands up suddenly, leaning hard on Cynthia’s shoulder, then sits again to put her other foot through. Cynthia supports Anahera’s balance while she gets it over her bum, then Anahera leans over with both hands on the kitchen bench so Cynthia can do the zip up at the back.

  She doesn’t say thank you. When it’s on she limps to the deck and slips into the water with her bad foot first. Cynthia stands with Gordon to watch her go. She doesn’t kick, so she’s slow, and her damaged foot seems to drag her left side back, so she’s crooked, but she’s still got her powerful arms, and her determination. She absolutely remains an inspiration to Cynthia.

  ‘I have been hit by a sudden love for that woman,’ Gordon says. They watch several more waves fall in heaps over her body, and then she’s out of sight.

  29.

  It’s quiet with just Cynthia and Gordon, even though Anahera wasn’t talking very much. The weights have stilled, and Gordon’s replaced the slat in the ceiling. Behind the window, in the distance, a flock of birds dive-bomb for little fish. They’re the ones usually pattering about and shitting on their roof. Cynthia feels a new allegiance with Gordon; they both love a difficult woman. They wash the dishes together, as they were told to, and she asks him, ‘What do you have in your bag?’

  ‘Maybe a lot of shoes. I am a lot of men, sorry—man.’ He laughs.

  Cynthia’s all hollowed out with her new knowledge of his love. She can see it’s true. But he’ll have to leave, he’s too large—he’s going to be hurt. She only wishes she could talk to him first, really talk, about everything.

  Anahera returns, changes clothes, tells them she needs more time alone, and leaves again in the dinghy. The Island Boat Tour is postponed till the afternoon. ‘Think up an itinerary,’ she tells Cynthia before paddling off.

  So, Cynthia watches a bit of Bachelor Pad. On season three there are three women whose heads and hearts boil with special love for Michael, a lovable goof from previous seasons. It’s only a matter of time, and Cynthia observes carefully, looking for early signs of the downfall to come. Gordon boils the kettle so she can drink tea while watching. She sips, thinking—reality TV is society; it’s about limited resources.

  He grins charmingly and interrupts her programme, saying, ‘You and I both know a thing in common?’

  ‘What?’ She pauses it. His arms are golden and she can tell from his face he’s got no idea how bad his English is.

  ‘Do you think it’s about Anahera?’ he asks her. It’s the first time he’s said her name. He pronounces it correctly.

  ‘Well I do now!’ Cynthia bursts out laughing. He looks at her, and she forces herself to be quiet.

  ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘I can’t say it, I’m very sorry.’ He peers down at his knees.

  Cynthia’s giggling escapes her.

  He laughs too. ‘I am just funny,’ he says. ‘How would you know? You wouldn’t want to know.’

  Cynthia knows exactly. She laughs a bit more, and drinks her tea.

  He retrieves some string from his bag and starts piercing holes in their used cans with a knife. Cynthia watches this during the boring bits of her show. Anahera will be annoyed about the knife. On Bachelor Pad, Erica’s trying to convince Blake that they should spend the night together in the fantasy suite.

  Gordon cuts his string into sections, and ties them to the cans. Then takes them around the side of the boat, clanging. Cynthia pauses her show and cranes her neck to see what he’s doing. He sits them all upright, carefully, against the window at the front of the boat, then ties each to the washing-line. Two tip and roll away, and she’s not sure if he notices. She could go and help him, but relaxes her neck and watches his feet.

  When he returns, Cynthia’s not sure why but she says, ‘She and I made love, once.’

  ‘Gosh,’ Gordon says. One of his cans falls down from the line and clanks off the edge of the boat. ‘For scaring birds, see. Yeah,’ he says.

  Cynthia changes the subject, to make it easier for him. ‘I’ve thought of nothing for the itinerary,’ she says, then waits for his reply. One of her friends got pregnant, and Cynthia went along to see it upside down in her belly, curled like a little moon. She touched her friend’s stomach, and felt it hot with unfurling. Now, her boat’s warm with Gordon. She watches, still waiting.

  ‘Ah. Mmm,’ he says. It’s the beginning of his hatching, his clambering out. He says, ‘Hmm,’ and another of his cans falls and rolls into the water. He goes to tighten them.

  Anahera comes back and says the tour can start whenever, it doesn’t matter that they’ve got no itinerary. They’ll just drive around a bit. She and Gordon fiddle with the motor out the back while Cynthia finishes her episode.

  They have no petrol.

  ‘That’s okay,’ Gordon says. ‘I am very, very tired. Instead of having a good time today, could some of that money I paid be to sleep in the proper bed?’ He gestures at the table, where Cynthia’s sitting. Anahera’s looking at him carefully.

  ‘How long have you been up north?’ she says.

  ‘Less than a week in this area,’ he tells her.

  She says nothing, then shrugs—he’s paid. When he’s made the bed and settled in it they make tea and politely leave to drink it on the deck. They sit, and Cynthia waits for Anahera to say something about the boy, but his snoring starts, sudden and loud.

  ‘Can I trust you, with the—’ Anahera finally says.

  ‘Yes.’ Cynthia interrupts her.

  ‘But later, when we’re separate?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Anahera looks away, off to sea. Her hair’s pulled back, tight and smooth, and she touches her lips. Cynthia pulls her own ponytail, and waits for her to turn back. She doesn’t, she pulls her good leg up to hug it near her waist, and sips the last of her tea. Cynthia finishes hers, and runs a finger around and around the rim of her cup. Eventually Anahera gets up, and goes inside. Cynthia follows her.

  They look down at Gordon’s body, splayed out with his mouth open. Cynthia’s about to ask what Anahera meant before, when she snickers and says quietly, ‘Would you eat him with me?’

  ‘Yeah!’ Cynthia giggles. She might, but Anahera’s only joking.

  ‘I know how to tie them up—pigs,’ Anahera says. ‘I used to hunt with my dad.’

  ‘He’d have to taste better than he looks,’ Cynthia says, although from some angles she’s thought him quite handsome. The cans on the washing-line tinkle. Cynthia listens attentively, and believes she can hear his naïvety in their strange, sad music. Anahera nudges him with her foot. He doesn’t wake. Cynthia can see it in the rise and fall of his chest—loneliness. She’s seen it in continuous flashes since he arrived; in the way he rubs his own hair and head with his hand, and cradles his hands held together between his legs. He wants to be touched.

  30.

  The sea is a continual yes. They flush their shit into it and it closes its arms around them perfectly. It’s like the boy’s falling, their disaster, was a question it didn’t hear. Cynthia marvels at the ease of the water. Their mess disappears into its holding, and maintains its same motions. A fly lands on Gordon’s body, his arm. His sleeping mouth opens. He’s been touched li
ke a button.

  31.

  They tire, and wake him. He goes to the cabin so they can sleep, and Cynthia pats his head before he ducks through the door. In bed they hold each other, and Cynthia knows the answer to Anahera’s question, from before, about if they’re apart—they won’t be, can’t be, not after what’s happened. ‘I know what you believe,’ she tells Anahera. ‘You believe in independence and strength. Well, I believe in those things too, and I believe in them through love.’

  Anahera says, ‘Is that contradictory?’

  ‘Might be,’ Cynthia says. ‘That doesn’t worry me.’ In a few days, Cynthia thinks, when they’re lying like this she’ll touch Anahera’s thigh, and that will be the beginning. Not even a question; an announcement. But it has to wait till Anahera’s completely herself again.

  The next day nothing seems to happen. Anahera swims twice and Cynthia watches some things online that she’s already seen. There’s a good bit on Bachelor Pad, where they have a pie-eating contest and Tamley spews pie back into her pie and keeps eating it. Gordon borrows Cynthia’s nail-clippers and uses them sitting under the washing-line.

  Sometime after lunch she’s on the toilet, just relaxing. It’s the boat’s most private area. The water’s shifting, and the seat’s unsteady under her bum. She touches the doorknob, it’s really cute—less than half the size of a normal doorknob. She doesn’t have to flush, she’s only peed and not much came out. She adjusts and imagines Gordon where she’s sitting, with his knees to the side so he can fit in the bathroom with the door shut, and a huge dick hanging down, nearly into the water. She wonders if he has to hold it out, or rest it on top of his legs so it doesn’t get wet.

  32.

  Anahera sleeps and Cynthia closes her eyes and doesn’t move them. She only listens. It must be eleven o’clock. Gordon moves loudly from his bed in the cabin and the little door squeaks as he opens it. Cynthia thinks again about her boat, warm and soft like a belly, or yes—a womb. She can be kind to him. She doesn’t need to worry; those warm organs are engines of expulsion; he won’t be with them for long, and so there’s no need to be cruel.

  When she wakes again, Anahera’s gone and he’s fishing. She asks if he wants porridge, and he says he’s had some, there are leftovers on the stove if she wants them. The pot’s still warm. Cynthia eats outside, and stands beside him. Together they watch the water ripple where his line slits into the sea. He’s earnest, looking down quietly. It’s sad, but he won’t catch anything. One thing she remembers her father saying is that no fisherman catches anything in New Zealand anymore. He owned a boat for a while. Gordon mustn’t know what’s happened.

  The weights are silent, but the cans tinkle. Anahera comes out in her swimwear and Cynthia wonders passively if she’s annoyed by the noise. ‘You and Cynthia get petrol today,’ she tells him. ‘While I’m on my swim, and we’ll take you on your tour this afternoon.’

  ‘Ah,’ Gordon says. ‘About that—but I would like more sleeping. In the proper bed.’

  Cynthia waits.

  ‘Well,’ Anahera tells him, ‘then that’s $500, on top of what you’ve paid for the tour.’

  He shifts on his feet, looking at them like a sulky boy. ‘Well. I would perhaps not want to go on the tour.’ Then he turns and looks at Anahera, suddenly glaring.

  ‘Our contract is that you would like to go on the tour,’ Anahera says.

  ‘There’s a hefty fee to change the contract,’ Cynthia pipes up. Neither of them looks away from the other, or moves to acknowledge her speaking.

  Anahera’s mouth sets and her eyes harden. ‘Tell us about your girlfriend, then?’

  He hardly opens his mouth for the word, but it’s loud. ‘Blond.’

  ‘Tell us more,’ Anahera says.

  ‘Blonder than her.’ He gestures at Cynthia’s head.

  Anahera doesn’t look away from him. Cynthia touches her roots.

  Then, he changes. ‘Oh. I am so sorry. I have been grumpy. I am hurt, hurtful. I am so sorry, tired.’

  Anahera’s tone doesn’t change, but she says, ‘We’re not trying to pick on you. But we made an agreement, and Cynthia’s been very excited—making plans. We’d love to show you our country.’

  ‘You are such a good woman,’ Gordon says. ‘Your forgiveness is an unctuous balm.’

  Anahera pats Cynthia’s shoulder. ‘What do you say we let him sleep, eh? And we’ll get the petrol. I can skip my swim.’

  Cynthia nods, and Anahera gets the fuel can.

  ‘There’s no way his girlfriend was blonder than you,’ Anahera tells Cynthia in the dinghy, then laughs. It isn’t funny. It’s exhausting for Cynthia, sleeping in the bed when she knows he wants it. Anahera keeps paddling, and says, ‘He’ll be gone soon. I think.’

  Cynthia moves her hand forward, to touch some part of Anahera’s body, but Anahera doesn’t pause paddling, so she retracts it. Are they both thinking about the boy? Is Cynthia only thinking about him herself to wonder if Anahera’s thinking about him?

  ‘I’ll just get all his money first,’ Anahera says.

  Cynthia desperately wants to tell her of his announced love. It’s unfair that Anahera never has to acknowledge these things. Instead she asks, ‘How much do you think he has?’

  Anahera doesn’t pause. ‘Twelve thousand, or something.’

  The rest of their little trip is quiet with Anahera’s seriousness and Cynthia’s excitement. Twelve thousand dollars! At the fuel dock Cynthia spills a bit of petrol, but none gets on her, and Anahera doesn’t see from the dinghy.

  When they return Gordon’s dressed very formally, in black long trousers and a collared shirt. ‘I am very excited to view the beauty in person,’ he says, as if he’s been waiting since they left, and planning this sentence, rather than sleeping as he was supposed to.

  Anahera chuckles from her throat. ‘Where should we start, Cynthia?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Cynthia says. Then, ‘Oh, at the rock? That seems like a natural place.’

  ‘Great.’ Anahera unscrews a little cap on the motor and pours in some petrol. Gordon leans back, watching, with the legs of his nice pants well away. He says, ‘Okay, ladies! Alright, ladies!’ and salutes. It’s cute. He wriggles his knees in his trousers, which look freshly ironed. When Anahera’s set the motor up she climbs around the side of the boat for the anchor.

  ‘Sorry about this morning,’ he says to Cynthia. ‘My girlfriend wasn’t blonder. I was only lying.’

  She pats his knee. ‘It’s alright. We’ll do this trip and set you on your way.’ But she remembers: that isn’t what they’ll do. They want all his money; they’ll have to keep him longer. He nods, sadly—so unaware. Anahera returns and smiles benevolently at both of them, then she moves back, past Gordon, and holds a button down on the motor. It makes a sudden, big noise, and Anahera jumps away and bangs her bruised foot on the side of the boat. Cynthia jolts a little.

  ‘Oh,’ Gordon says. ‘Do you not know how to operate?’

  ‘Do you?’ Anahera asks him, kindly.

  ‘Oh no,’ he says.

  ‘Maybe pull the string?’ Cynthia asks.

  Anahera breathes in three times, says, ‘I know that,’ and pulls the string once, twice more, and they’re moving.

  ‘Wholly!’ Gordon says.

  ‘But I don’t know how to stop,’ Anahera tells them. Cynthia shrugs, there’s no need to worry yet. It’s all exciting, like a party. Anahera stumbles in a forward rush to grab the steering wheel, and Gordon and Cynthia make sparkling eye contact.

  He’s like a boy, she thinks—adorable. ‘To the rocks!’ she shouts.

  ‘I thought it was only one?’ he asks her.

  ‘We just start with one,’ she says, ‘and then there are more.’

  Gordon nods. His cans clang and fall as they drive, and Cynthia watches Anahera for a reaction but she doesn’t even seem to notice. The direction she’s picked should be good, they’re going away from town, and also from the island.

  ‘Already,’
Gordon says, looking at Anahera, ‘I see that the view is very much something, and extraordinary.’ Cynthia nods. It really is. Anahera’s hair is in a plait, and at the end under the ponytail it fluffs out in a tuft. The water’s a foamy mess where the motor spits it out behind them and they’re going fast towards a mass of huge, jutting rocks. It’s rapturous to be finally moving away from those other, bigger boats, and where they go will be entirely theirs. Anahera’s hands are confident at the wheel, and she and Cynthia stand together, blinking in the mist of the mussed-up water. ‘Inside we go to make sandwiches. Nutella.’ Gordon nudges her. It’s a good idea. Cynthia touches Anahera’s arm and follows him in to do that.

  When they’re halfway through sandwiching, and Gordon’s cheekily eaten one, Anahera calls them out, and she’s pointing to some rocks. ‘There? You see? We can’t get much closer, but we’re going to drive alongside them.’

  ‘All of my dreams!’ Gordon nods excitedly. They’re wet and shining, sharp like jewels. ‘It is a beautiful country,’ he says, and they both agree. Cynthia’s really proud. When the excitement of the rocks subsides, and Anahera turns them off in another direction, Cynthia and Gordon head back in to finish spreading. ‘Do you think we’ll see a dolphin?’ he asks. ‘They are one of my great loves.’

  After she’s spread Nutella on each slice, and Gordon’s slapped them all joyously together, they take them out to Anahera. She pulls the string on the motor again, and nothing happens. Gordon and Cynthia watch in silence. She looks the motor over on the side, then the top, then on the other side she finds a red button and pushes it.

  It stops. Then, ‘No offence to your good time,’ Gordon says, ‘but I am very sleepy. I might give you $200 to sleep in the bed?’