Fauna

by Donna Mazza

  ‘She’s a bit of a brute.’ Isak laughs, excusing the offensive connotations he makes with the word. He makes them anyway, renders me silent.

  Across the water, they have paddled into the distance and seem determined to make landfall on the peninsula so I turn back towards our driveway, calling Asta to follow.

  On the back patio, she drops the prawn into a tub of water but it doesn’t move. She flicks her finger at it, mimicking the movement of its tail. It floats on its side, its exoskeleton broken, pale grey flesh popping from the cracks.

  ‘Gone. It’s gone, Asta.’

  She swirls the water with her hand, producing a current, and the prawn spins in the eddy of it. Stills again as the water rests. ‘Gone.’ But she doesn’t repeat the word, just sits on the patio, staring into the tub.

  After two years of ever-declining video chat, finally we are getting the promised visit from Dimitra. I didn’t expect to be excited to see her, but I am. Despite assertions that she would come to see us, there have been ongoing delays for mysterious reasons. She has never shared her own situation and I am not sure where she lives— sometimes there is a time delay of two hours and sometimes it seems to be evening where she is, despite the fact I have just sent the kids to catch the bus. She has been the only person I can regularly speak to about Asta, even though I am always careful what I say.

  I spend several days sorting and tidying, laying out evidence of healthy diet and wholesome family time. Take down the spiderwebs, take the thick layers of curled school notes and merit awards from the fridge. The generosity of LifeBLOOD® has declined further in the past year and we have been left to provide for Asta unaided, told simply that they have already given us a generous boost to our finances by providing a house and a new car. I have since learned to make efficient clothing alterations to suit Asta’s proportions and developed an easy pattern for the bucket hat and a more wide-brimmed version. Left alone, I sometimes forget our obligations. My reporting regime becoming less frequent, now monthly and less detailed unless something unusual happens, like the tooth. Sometimes I even lose sight of who she is, however briefly.

  In the mid-morning I hear the crackle of wheels on the gravel driveway and pull my hair quickly from its day-old bun. Asta is up in the fig tree that shades the chicken coop, on a platform Isak bolted into the branches. At home she abandons the sunglasses and hat. I call her to come down but at the sight of the car, she retreats higher into the tree.

  Dimitra is not alone, but has brought Dr Jeff with her and a young man, dressed in very clean moleskins and untouched workboots. She pulls out a large case on wheels and Jeff carries a file, the three of them looking around like tourists. I know I am a bit of a mess with grotty bare feet so I slip on some shoes lying by the back door. Black cockatoos thrum in the trees, calling back and forth to each other and dropping mangled gumnuts, which crash onto the roof of the shed. The rooster crows and I finally wave to them, directing them to come to the patio. I have cleaned up the table and chairs, disposed of the floating prawn and moved the sticky barbecue into the shed. There is a fresh pot of mint on the table and I have set it with glasses and a tray of freshly cut fruit. Dimitra smiles and extends her hand, with its glossy talons. I shake it firmly, try to exude certainty.

  ‘You look well, Stacey.’

  The longer I stay here, the more I devolve into a version of myself that resembles my childhood—the sun has roasted me and even my good clothes are a little tatty.

  ‘Thanks.’ I can see their eyes darting about so I pre-empt them, ‘Asta was feeding the chickens and she’s still in the pen. She likes to play up in the tree.’

  Jeff smiles and shakes my hand warmly. ‘Good to see you looking so relaxed. This is my assistant, Lucas.’ He looks fresh, newly minted from a room somewhere that he has studied in since early childhood.

  ‘Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you and Asta.’

  Queasy inside. He has a Scandinavian accent.

  I direct them to take a seat while I go and get Asta but Lucas comes with me, striding out in his new boots into the yard.

  ‘You’d better be careful in the pen, there’s lots of poo.’

  He smiles like he has no clue amid the sharp scent of chickens. The small rooster stands high and crows with such force he seems to stand on the end of his toes. Asta is not on the platform.

  ‘Where are you, sweetie?’ I call softly.

  ‘Maybe she’s not in here?’ he suggests. Looking around at our place, as if he knows what’s where.

  She has gone, likely out under the trees somewhere, so we walk out to the edge of the tuart stand and I call to her.

  ‘Can she get out?’

  ‘She’s not in a paddock or a cage. Of course she can get out, she just doesn’t normally run off because she knows not to go out without one of us.’

  ‘Maybe you should call louder?’

  ‘She heard me. I think she’s just a bit nervous to come out because you’re here.’

  I spot her then, in the black heart of a large tree. She hunkers back when she knows she is caught. ‘Could you please go back to the house? She might be frightened of you. She doesn’t meet many strangers.’ Even when the grocery truck comes, or Nanny Ray drops Milly off for a visit, she tucks herself away.

  Once he is out of sight, Asta comes out of hiding. Because I see her every day, her difference has become usual and I no longer see her the way others might. I shift my view for a moment, wonder how it might be for them to see her afresh now that she is growing up—her broad features, luminous fair skin and thick rusty hair are certainly unusual but from a distance there is no reason to suspect. It is the closer view, when you see her eyes—especially when she is scared and the pupils widen. They are less human than I would like to think and I imagine when her adult teeth grow in, her mouth will barely contain them.

  She looks at me now with dense pupils and I crouch down, hold her tight to my chest and explain that it is only Dimitra come to see us with two of her friends.

  ‘-at?’ She pats her head.

  ‘No, sweetie, it’s okay with them. They are like family.’ Such lies I tell her so she feels safe.

  Under the patio, Dimitra has poured them all a glass of water and they sit at the table navigating screens in silence. At the sight of them, Asta holds tight to my leg and buries her face in my dress. Her grip like steel. For a moment they all stare then Dimitra stands and bends over to Asta’s height.

  ‘Hello Asta, you have grown so big since I last saw you. I hear you have some lovely chickens.’

  Asta burrows closer so I move down to her and pick her up, despite the strain in my back. I move awkwardly to a chair and she sits on my lap, her heavy head facing my chest. Hot breath on my skin. Short and fast.

  ‘I’m sorry but Asta isn’t used to strangers visiting and she’s a bit nervous.’ I could say the same of myself.

  ‘We have time, Stacey, we can wait. It’s important we let her warm to us in her own time.’

  I offer them some fruit to try and relax things a bit.

  ‘I don’t know if you realise it, Stacey,’ says Jeff, ‘but LifeBLOOD® as we knew it is about to be dissolved. There was a stock market crash last year and we had to sell off our assets to avoid going into receivership. Most of our clinics have been sold and we are now making arrangements for our clients.’ He waits for a response but I don’t know what to say so I take a grape from the tray. ‘I’d like to review our agreement with you so we have some plan in place for Asta.’

  I never read the agreement past the first half-page. Isak gave me his abridged version of what it included— education at home, shelter and care for her until she grows up and leaves home. I never really thought about what those things involved. But now I feel ice settling across my skin. What future could I see for that embryo when they implanted it? Embryos come and go and I had lost one before. A child, though, a robust and beautiful child is grafted into me like an organ, not an ephemeral embryo.

&nb
sp; Jeff places his hand across a printed document on the table. ‘LifeBLOOD®’s client list has gone to another company, Ärva Pharmaceuticals, based in Sweden and they have also taken some of LifeBLOOD®’s staff across, including me, to maintain some continuity for their Australian portfolio.’ He waits for my response.

  ‘Can you explain what this means for us, Jeff?’

  ‘Dimitra won’t be with us any longer. Lucas will be assisting me to support you but we are working with a lot less staff so the services you have had will be reduced further. We will require only an annual report from you unless you have any particular concerns or an emergency.’

  ‘What about her schooling program?’ I have been imagining our lives in the next few years, incorporating some lessons into the rhythm of our days at home.

  ‘I’m sorry but that will be up to you. It’s not a priority outcome for the program anymore but the home education packages that had been developed for LifeBLOOD® are available for purchase.’

  Money does not flow freely in our house, despite the windfall of this property. Isak is repaying the loan to his mother for our house deposit. I shake my head to decline his offer.

  ‘I do encourage you, though, to work on some fundamental literacy and numeracy. How’s her language development?’

  ‘Simple, but improving.’ Asta plays with a button on my dress, relaxing a little as the conversation continues around her. Lucas leans in and pulls faces at her to get her attention but she shrinks further to me. I can see his studious gaze taking in her features and response. I don’t like his sharp eyes looking at her like an object. He looks greedy for her.

  ‘In some ways, Stacey, at least you will be free to do what you can with her. We won’t be able to micromanage this anymore.’ The clarity of his words relaxes me a little.

  ‘And in other ways?’ Free in some ways, imprisoned in others.

  ‘In other ways, well the Board of Ärva will want some return on their investment in our clients.’ He combs his fingers through his silver hair.

  ‘What does that mean? Will they sell our story to the media?’

  ‘We don’t know at the moment but we have left the embargo in place on images. Dimitra’s and my research has been published but it doesn’t identify any of you, or even where she was born.’

  They have written about us. ‘What if I don’t sign it?’

  ‘You have to sign it.’ He leans in closer, blue eyes peering into mine. Like a charmer.

  ‘How are you going to make me sign it?’

  ‘There’s a clause.’ He is matter-of-fact. ‘There isn’t much choice Stacey.’

  ‘Always the fine print with you people, isn’t it?’ My anger rises, I wish Isak was here. His cool head and sensible questions always help me feel more certain. If he knew Jeff was coming he would be here. ‘So the story is out there?’

  ‘Yes, but not your story per se. It’s in scientific terms. The media have reinterpreted it and dumbed it down for the public. They’ve used artist sketches of our descriptions. We felt it was detrimental to all of us if photos of Asta were leaked. They are protected by high security on our server. It’s the best in the business.’ He smiles, taps away at his phone. ‘There, I sent you one of my articles to read.’ He takes a strawberry from the fruit platter and leans towards me, coaxing Asta with the fruit. She peers out for a moment then grips tighter into my chest. Her breath shallow. He gives up and drops it on the table.

  ‘She’s shy, sorry.’ I stroke her hair to calm her. Dimitra makes eye contact with me for a moment—warning me, I think.

  ‘You need to read the documents, Stacey, and so does your husband. I will leave them here with you. You are welcome to get some legal advice if you wish but the LifeBLOOD® legal team have already been through it and I don’t see that there are any loopholes. It’s as straightforward as it has always been.’ He takes a sip of water and waits a moment for my response. ‘You know, there was always a future plan for Asta’s living arrangements when she reaches maturity. LifeBLOOD® wasn’t financially prepared for the success of this program though. This new company has some big financial backers and they will deliver something better than we could before.’

  Dimitra clears her throat and leans in to me. ‘Don’t stress about it, Stacey. Asta will be fine.’

  ‘She will be fine, but you should remember that you can’t keep her here forever,’ Jeff says. ‘That was never going to happen.’ A chill rises through me, my head and face prickle. ‘Your other children will leave home too, Stacey. It’s no different.’

  I can see Emmy with a backpack taking off to travel the globe, or Jake married to a nice girl and living in his own house but Asta is not destined for those futures. ‘It is different, Jeff.’

  ‘Only a little. Part of parenting is letting go.’

  ‘I think that’s a platitude.’

  ‘It’s a truth. I’ve been through it myself.’ He sits back, a forced smile stretching his face. ‘Look, just enjoy this time while you can. Like your other children, Asta has a path to follow and we can’t necessarily control that.’ He leans back, hands behind his head, utterly superior. Makes eye contact with Dimitra, who looks away from him

  ‘She’s only three, Stacey, so it’s a few years away,’ she says. ‘Don’t worry too much. Just enjoy your life here and give her the best upbringing that you can.’

  ‘Yes, you need to teach her what you think is important. Make sure she knows how to behave around people.’ He sits forward again and puts his hand on my knee. Familiar, his grave and magnetic stare. Eyebrows raised. ‘But, Stacey,’ he says gently, softly, ‘there will come a time, as you already know, when she will go on to do the work she was destined for. There are people waiting, sick kids, who will benefit from her genes.’

  I am frozen.

  He sighs and rubs my knee. ‘You need to let go a bit now. For your own sake.’

  Numb. Asta twists on my lap, her hot breath on my chest.

  ‘I don’t know if I can let go.’

  He nods, pats my knee again.

  ‘Don’t make it worse for yourself, Stacey. Practise letting go now. Leave her with Isak and go away somewhere. Visit your mother or something. You need to cut the umbilical cord. It will only hurt you and I never wanted that.’

  I know I won’t visit my mother.

  Dimitra taps her talons on the table in a single movement, startling Asta who turns to look at her. ‘Okay, I’d like to examine Asta and do some tests. Just routine bloods and so on. Shall we go inside for that?’

  I direct her to set up in the living room and take Asta’s hand. Several crows are picking at something in the garden bed and I realise they have found the remains of the prawn. They compete for the tiny carcase, savage and ragged in the midday sun. The two men sit on the patio and return to their screens.

  Asta sits quietly beside me on the couch, a little less shy than she was with the men. She fidgets with the stray parts of a toy android Jake has left on the couch as Dimitra sets up her equipment—an audiometer, a clip-together contraption built on a floor pad. I don’t know this woman at all, yet I will miss her. The thought of not having her as a touchstone, at the other end of the app—wherever that might be—makes me sad and even lonelier. Anxious at her absence, just as I have always been anxious in her presence.

  She breaks the silence with her remote tone, a reminder of how truly clinical her approach has been. ‘That’s a new generation stadiometer, linked straight up to my database so I can get millimetre perfect height and weight measurements for Asta.’ She presses a button and it plays a tune. Asta smiles. ‘You can stand on it if you’d like.’ I stand with her, her dirty feet like speckled fish on the black floor pad. Mine, inside my shoes, are no cleaner. Dimitra’s computer logs all the data and she taps at the keys.

  This is her last visit with us, so I ask: ‘What are you going to do with all this information you’ve got from Asta? You know, now that you’re not part of this anymore?’ I wave my hands to encompass Asta and I.<
br />
  She clears her throat, casts her eyes down a little. Off guard. ‘Can I take some hair samples please?’ She takes scissors and a sterile container from her bag. I nod and she cuts a small, thick curl. ‘Most of my work so far has been to deepen our knowledge of neo-natal and infant development in Neanderthals. I have a new position with another research institute and my study will continue.’

  I am nervous to ask where. She is so prim and careful in her choice of words.

  I wonder what she has observed and found in her research. ‘Can I read what you wrote about us?’

  She smiles, flattered perhaps. ‘Dr van Tink has sent you one of his studies, so yes, I suppose. You realise it is all carefully de-identified and full of scientific jargon. It’s probably quite unreadable to a lay person.’

  ‘Okay, but I will try.’ Thinking it through, I don’t think I do want to read what she has said about me, Asta and our family. She turns to the test tubes and prepares to take some blood.

  She sighs and pauses. ‘It has been a privilege to work with you and Asta.’ She is a little teary and she takes Asta’s hand, rubbing the vein in the crook of her arm. Asta allows her and I explain it will hurt a little, hold her other hand.

  ‘I’m going to miss you.’ I tell her, despite my uncertainty that this is entirely true.

  She draws blood, Asta turning her face into my chest again. ‘It has been a most wonderful journey and I hope it all goes well from here.’ She looks at my eyes, ‘Just you take care of her.’ Her words have weight. What is it she understands that I don’t? I go to ask but she shifts her focus to the tourniquet on Asta’s arm.

  ‘Everything okay?’ I ask her, loading extra meaning in my tone.

  She looks out at the patio and nods. ‘Just watch them, Stacey. I have concerns this might not be done as well as we could have done it.’ Her words drop through me like the melt from a glacier. She is too meticulous to throw such statements around on a whim. ‘Ask questions. Just make sure you protect yourselves. I’ll say no more.’ She draws her lips firm and completes the tests, setting up to do a hearing test on Asta. Quizzes me on her sensitivity to noise. I tell her Asta prefers quiet and gets anxious and withdrawn in noisy environments. Cuts her fingernails into a small jar. We discuss her digestive issues and the need to hold firmly to a Paleolithic-based diet. She reminds me that puberty will come early, without the markers you might expect from human children. I wince at the wording and the thought of puberty when Asta is only three.