Island of Dreams

by Parv, Valerie

  The tour over, Lisa was urged to sit beside Harry, adopting his crosslegged pose on palm-frond mats. This was the moment she had dreaded, when she would have to eat a traditional meal of who-knewwhat.

  Harry saw her swallow apprehensively and squeezed her hand. Lisa hastily withdrew when she heard Rose’s tongue-clucking noise of approval.

  She needn’t have worried. The islanders had inherited a mix of Aboriginal and Polynesian cultures, so there were no witchetty grubs or raw goanna on the menu. Lisa had no trouble coping with fish baked on hot coals and eaten with the fingers from palm-leaf plates. Succulent mangoes, coconut meat dug from the husk with seashell knives and date-like fruit called wongai completed the meal. Rose smiled as she handed Lisa the dried wongai fruit.

  ‘You like wongai?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s a cross between a plum and a date, only more subtle,’ Lisa mused aloud. ‘Yes, I like it.’

  ‘Good, good.’ Rose seemed pleased with herself.

  Oh, no, don’t let it be a fertility thing, Lisa prayed, catching on at last. Harry saw the quick flaring of anxiety in her expression. ‘Relax; local legend says that if you eat the fruit of the wongai tree you are destined to return to the island,’ he explained. ‘The seeds are used in jewellery and are highly prized for wood-carving.’

  Relief almost obscured the real significance of the fruit. How could she return where she wasn’t wanted?

  The meal ended with a local treat called pisang rimpi which turned out to be preserved strips of banana dried in the sun. Fresh spring water washed the meal down.

  The doctor had been quiet during the meal, content to let his wife do most of the talking. Now he stood up. ‘Would you like to visit the cave of our ancestors, Lisa?’

  The sun was already low in the sky but excitement stirred in her. ‘I’d love to, although won’t it be too late to see the paintings properly?’

  Alf smiled indulgently. ‘Not these paintings. They’re intended to be seen at sunset. Aren’t they, Harry?’

  Harry seemed suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Lisa isn’t completely recovered from her accident. Maybe she would rather go there some other time.’

  ‘I’m perfectly all right,’ she said defiantly. Who was he to make her decisions for her, even if Alf’s people believed he had the right? I’d love to see them,’ she said, shooting him an acid look. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Harry will show you,’ Alf said, sitting down again. ‘The place is known as the cave of lovers.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘I TRIED to warn you,’ Harry said as he led the way out of the village.

  Prickles of apprehension travelled down her spine. ‘Warn me about what?’

  He glanced back, his face impassive. ‘The cave of lovers is the local equivalent of the honeymoon suite.’

  Suspicion took root in her brain. ‘What are we expected to do there?’

  ‘What do you normally do in a honeymoon suite?’

  ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Alf’s been angling to get us up here ever since he set eyes on you. If you’d let me do the talking I could have convinced him you weren’t well enough to visit the cave, but you had to contradict me.’

  ‘I was only going along with local custom, as you asked me to do,’ she defended herself.

  He grabbed an overhead branch and swung himself around to face her. ‘No, you weren’t. You only insisted on going because I said you didn’t want to.’

  Now they were both stuck with the consequences. It was obvious that Harry hated the idea, but she had put him in an impossible position. He couldn’t refuse without offending Alf’s people. She scuffed the toe of her sandal in the leaf litter beneath the tree. ‘I didn’t realise what was going on. I’m sorry if I made things difficult for you.’

  ‘Not for me, for us,’ he contradicted. ‘A honeymoon takes two, remember?’

  As if she could possibly forget it when his closeness threatened to overwhelm her. The rugged lines of his face were deepened by the dappled shade. With one hand gripping the branch overhead he looked primitive and dangerous. And she was following him to a pagan place of betrothal.

  ‘Maybe we could go back to the house by another way,’ she whispered, her voice strained by the tension gripping her throat.

  ‘Alf would know about it before we got a dozen yards from the village.’ He released the branch with a snap which ricocheted along her taut nerves. ‘Is that how you show respect for their customs?’

  Desperation lent power to her voice. ‘Respecting their customs is one thing, but participating in them is quite another.’

  His eyes turned luminous in the late-afternoon sunlight. ‘You were the one who volunteered for this.’

  Knowing he was right shattered her remaining resolve. It was worse admitting that she’d done it to prove to the villagers that she didn’t belong to him in their sense of the word. If she hadn’t been so pig-headed none of this would have happened. ‘I did, didn’t I?’ she said so softly that it was barely audible. ‘So what are we going to do now?’

  ‘What we’re expected to do. Visit the cave of lovers.’

  Conflict surged through her. What they were doing was madness, given the way she felt about him. He didn’t want to share the cave with her, yet she’d left him no choice. If she went along at least he would retain the respect of the local people. Whatever it cost her, she owed him no less. ‘I’ll go,’ she agreed.

  He offered her his hand to negotiate the steep path which wound between pinnacles of eroded rock. At last they reached a curtain of tree roots which concealed the opening to the cave. Pulling aside the roots, Harry motioned for her to enter.

  ‘It’s amazing.’ The admission was torn from her by the sheer size and spectacle of the place. The cave was no more than twenty feet deep from front to back, but the roof disappeared in shadow overhead. The entrance was strewn with ceremonial shells and small bones, and every inch of the walls was etched with designs, some so faint that they must be thousands of years old.

  The most noticeable feature of the cave was a platform at the deepest point. About twelve feet square, it was made from bamboo poles with dried branches laid across it. At first she thought it was some kind of altar; then heat raced through her as she realised what it was. ‘A bed?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Averting her eyes from it was difficult since it was the only furnishing in the cave. She concentrated on the drawings covering the walls.

  On closer inspection they weren’t a good choice either. ‘I didn’t know the Aborigines went in for erotic art,’ she gasped, realising what the many stick figures portrayed.

  ‘This is puri-puri, wish-fulfilment art,’ he explained. ‘It’s drawn to achieve a purpose, such as bringing a particular woman to your bed.’

  Her throat dried and waves of heat travelled along her limbs but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the drawings. Some were no more than crude stick figures, hastily drawn before the artist could be discovered at work. Others were in the X-ray style and were nothing if not detailed. She eyed the designs with awe. ‘They’re so…so…’

  ‘Explicit?’ His voice so close to her ear made her jump. His approach had been cushioned by the thick carpet of sand across the floor of the cave. ‘They spell out tribal marriage customs and laws.’ His finger traced the lines of a grossly distorted figure. ‘These ones broke the laws and suffered for it. They’re called Quinkans and they’re supposed to live in the crevices in the caves.’

  Her eyes roved around the cave as if seeking the spirit people. ‘Some of the paintings must have been here for centuries, yet they look freshly drawn,’ she said on a shiver.

  ‘Alf and his sons are responsible for touching them up regularly. He’s the custodian of this cave.’

  ‘I’m surprised I’m allowed to look at them,’ she said with a shaky laugh which showed what a dubious privilege she thought it was. ‘Didn’t you say there are laws about what men and women may see?’

  ‘There
are, but Alf believes you have a legitimate reason for being here. Our presence serves the purpose of the cave, so the spirits aren’t offended.’

  Her own feelings for Harry certainly qualified, but she wasn’t at all sure about his for her. More than ever she wished she had held her tongue in camp. Her legs felt weak suddenly, and she sat down on the edge of the platform. It felt surprisingly soft and yielding. For the first time she noticed blankets piled at the foot of it and a kerosene lamp on top. At least they would have light for the vigil ahead.

  When she pointed the items out to Harry his mouth thinned. ‘I should have realised what Alf was up to all along.’

  She touched his arm. ‘It’s all right. I don’t mind, honestly.’

  His mouth curved into a wry smile. ‘Maybe Alf is more perceptive than I realised.’

  Her heart almost stopped as he regarded her with a warmth which kindled answering fires along her veins. She could feel her pulse-points throbbing and her heart set up a hectic tattoo in time with them. This must be how a bride feels on her wedding-night, she thought in astonishment. The cave was getting to her. She was reacting as if they were really here to consummate their relationship. She put a hand to her whirling head. ‘Oh, dear.’

  He dropped to his knees beside her. ‘What is it? Headache? Blurred vision?’

  Hysterical laughter thrummed through her. He thought her reaction was caused by the cut on her head. What would he say if she told him she had been picturing their wedding-night? She let her hand slide to her lap. ‘This place takes some getting used to, that’s all.’

  ‘If you feel ill we don’t have to stay. Even Alf would understand that.’

  It was tempting to clutch at the offered straw. Maybe Harry would prefer her to accept it as a face-saving way out, but the lie froze on her lips. Did she want an excuse to spend the night with him? Was she hoping to inflame him with passion until he changed his mind about her? If so it was a stupid, childish thought and she pushed it away. ‘I’m all right,’ she insisted.

  He unwrapped a parcel he’d taken from among the blankets. ‘Maybe you’ll feel better if you eat something.’

  She was instantly wary. ‘Eat what?’

  ‘They’ve left us some dried fruit and nuts.’ He showed her the parcel. Among the pieces of banana and pawpaw were several dried fruit from the wongai tree. ‘I think I detect Rose’s hand in this,’ he said wryly.

  She accepted a piece. ‘Maybe she’s trying to tell us something.’

  Some of the tension dissolved as they exchanged smiles of understanding. In her own way Rose wanted to ensure that Lisa returned to the island. They ate in companionable silence, then Harry lit the lamp and fetched plastic cups of spring water from a pool near the cave mouth. He handed one to her. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘What a wonderful place this is for visitors. I know they can’t come into the cave proper, but there are plenty of other things to interest a small group.’

  His heavy sigh punctuated the silence. ‘The venture should be a great success.’

  The edge in his voice surprised her. ‘I thought you liked the idea.’

  ‘I do, but this place is designed for more romantic thoughts than your next business venture.’

  Her stomach knotted as the tension returned. ‘I understood that romantic thoughts are off-limits where you’re concerned.’

  ‘I said permanent involvements are off limits.’

  ‘But not flings, casual liaisons, one-night stands?’ Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.

  ‘I admit that celibacy doesn’t hold a lot of appeal,’ he said, his voice falling to a husky baritone. ‘But I’m sure I’ll manage to last the night, so there’s no need to sound so panic-stricken.’

  Some of the fight ebbed out of her, but whether with relief or disappointment she wasn’t sure. She wanted Harry to make love to her more than she had ever wanted anything, but she was also oldfashioned enough to want it to mean something to both of them. It promised to be a long night.

  As soon as darkness closed in the rain forest came alive with squeaks, chirrups and the flap-flap of wings. ‘Fruit bats; they won’t hurt you,’ Harry assured her when she instinctively drew closer to him on the platform. The lamp isolated them in a pool of flickering light. All else was darkness. Even the silvery moonlight seemed to keep a respectful distance from the cave.

  She didn’t object when his arm slid around her shoulders, recognising it as a gesture of comfort. But flames leapt through her at his touch. The eddies of cool air whirling around them seemed charged with the spirits of those who had used the cave to seal their bonds of love.

  How wise these people were! The darkness was like velvet and the isolation so complete that they might have been the only two people on earth. Adam and Eve.

  She wondered what Harry would say if she linked her arms around his neck and brought his magnificent head down to her breast. Excitement stirred inside her and she moved a little away to still the frantic beating of her heart. The need to be loved beat at her as a pulse-pounding tattoo flaring along every nerve pathway to her brain.

  She tried to tell herself she was lonely. Apart from one heart-stopping affair at university, which had petered out as soon as the man had found out about her parents, her experience of love was limited. The cold war had made all things Russian immediately suspect, including her. The world had changed since then but she hadn’t dated seriously, except for Simon, and he seemed to find her background fascinating.

  Her one-sided love-affair with Harry at nineteen didn’t count precisely because it was one-sided. But it was still the most shockingly powerful taste of human emotion she had encountered.

  She sneaked a sideways glance at him. The planes of his face seemed carved from granite, his eyes deep pools of mystery. The tension he radiated made her fairly certain he was regretting their situation. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, touching his hand.

  Her touch galvanised him. Pin-points of light radiated from his pupils as he stared at her. ‘You’re sorry? For God’s sake, why?’

  ‘For getting you into this.’

  ‘It’s too late to change things now.’ His voice was gravel-harsh. ‘I could make it back in the dark but you’d probably break your charming little neck.’

  Her sharply indrawn breath made him relent. ‘Cheer up, Lisa, it’s only for one night.’

  It was the kind of tone he’d used when she was a teenager, to convince her that what she felt for him would pass. The hurt he’d inflicted still reverberated inside her. She hadn’t known about Kim then, of course. Would it have made a difference? ‘I suppose we should try and get some sleep,’ she suggested diffidently.

  ‘I’ll stay awake for a while longer; otherwise I’ll be wide awake at two in the morning.’

  She sighed, reminded that he wasn’t keen to share the bed with her on any basis, even the most platonic. ‘You’re right. I’m the same if I go to sleep too early.’

  He settled his back more comfortably against the curved sandstone wall, chuckling sardonically. ‘Then we’ll sit up and talk.’

  Her laughter meshed with his. ‘It isn’t exactly what Alf Nawi had in mind, is it?’

  ‘Hardly.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘I shouldn’t have accused you of not respecting his customs. Not many women would put up with these conditions with such good grace.’

  ‘It’s not so bad,’ she said, meaning it. She had never been so totally alone with a man before. Every nerve-ending felt sensitised. Where it would lead she wasn’t sure, but she knew she didn’t want it to end yet. Another thought occurred to her. ‘Fitting in with Alf’s people isn’t so hard. I had lots of practice at fitting in while I was growing up.’

  ‘Moving around so much with your parents?’

  She shifted restlessly as painful memories surfaced. They seemed more poignant here somehow. ‘We moved house about every two years before we finally settled in Cairns. Mama couldn’t accept that they were really free.’ She
gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘As a bonus I pick up accents quickly. No matter where I go, I can manage to sound like everybody else in no time.’

  ‘You had much more of a Russian accent as a teenager,’ he observed. ‘Where did it go?’

  ‘I only had it around Mama and Papa. Part of my verbal chameleon act.’

  In response to the bitterness which threaded her voice his hand slid over hers. ‘Yet you never learned to speak Russian.’

  The contact stilled some of her agitation. ‘Papa didn’t want me to. He spoke it with Mama, whose English was never good, but they wanted me to be completely Australian.’ Outwardly they had succeeded, but inwardly part of her reacted like a frightened refugee, panicking at the sound of a knock late at night.

  He sensed her inner turmoil. ‘Our parents always want a better life for us than they had themselves. My father was the same. He was a foreign correspondent and hardly ever at home. After my mother died he put me into a boarding-school, thinking I’d have a more stable background. I was eight years old.’

  Her heart went out to the lonely little boy he must have been, even as she saw his point. Like her parents, his father had done the best he could. ‘Yet you became a journalist yourself,’ she commented.

  His grin flashed whitely in the darkness as if she had touched a nerve. ‘Not without putting up a fight. I tried the law first, but I met so much injustice in the legal field that I was driven to speak out. My betters suggested that lawyers should be impartial. I wasn’t, so I got out.’

  ‘Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you’d had an ordinary childhood?’ she asked, voicing her own deepest concerns.

  He gave a throaty chuckle. ‘You could never have been ordinary.’

  Just as he could not have kept silent on issues which troubled him, she realised. She shifted uneasily. ‘You make it sound as if we have some kind of destiny.’

  ‘Alf would say we do. For myself I think we’re given the raw materials to mould our own destiny.’

  His mention of Alf reminded her of the reason they were here. ‘I suppose Alf would be disappointed if he could hear us waxing philosophical.’