New Guinea Moon (13 page)

They chat brokenly about his children for a few minutes, but Julie is hardly listening. Joseph is a father, a grown man, and yet every day of his working life, he is called
boi
by men young enough to be his sons. Shame spreads warmly through her. She resolves at that moment never again to call an adult national a
boi
. He is a person; not just part of the exotic scenery.

By now it's afternoon, and the planes are coming back, dropping gently from the sky onto the runway and nosing their way back to the terminal, like tired horses snuffling back to their stable.

The morning's flurry is repeated in reverse — the planes unloaded, the passengers disgorged, the cargo stacked for collection. The pilots lounge at the front counter, or prop their feet on the kitchen table. More paperwork piles up in the tray on Julie's desk. The day has raced by.

‘How did she go?' asks Tony.

‘Not bad,' says Allan. ‘Not bad at all.'

That night Ryan rings to complain about how boring his day has been. ‘Thank God I can come round to your place tomorrow.'

‘Well — your dad wants me to work again. I said I would.'

‘Jeez, how much are you getting paid for this?'

Julie is embarrassed to admit that she hasn't even asked about money. She's not entirely sure that she'll be paid at all. ‘Plenty!' she says, resolving to ask Allan first thing tomorrow.

‘So you should be. It's ruining the whole holiday.'

‘I think it's kind of fun.' And it is; it's like playing offices when she was little, except that the typewriter and the telephone, with its sophisticated three separate lines, the cashbox and the filing cabinets, the notice-board with its flight roster, are all real. She feels deft and cool, rolling the paper into the typewriter and making the keys clatter with a din that fills the room.

By the next day, she has already become part of the tribe. ‘Morning, Julie.' ‘G'day, Julie.' ‘Jeez, you're bloody keen, up at this hour. Don't let the old man work you too hard.'

Julie and Allan work well together. ‘Makes a nice change, bit of peace and quiet, none of that bloody racket Teddie Spargo blasts through the place,' he growls.

It hasn't even occurred to Julie to switch the radio on.

‘Bloody hell,' he says later. ‘Can't remember the last time I saw the top of that desk. I'd forgotten what colour it was.'

‘I just thought I'd tidy up a bit —'

As she types, she imagines herself living here, working every day, getting up with the sunrise. She could leave school; she is old enough. She could live with Tony all year round
. . .
There is no reason why she couldn't do it. She could stay here forever. Teddie will have a baby soon, everyone says so. Allan will need someone in the office. Her fingers fly across the keys, her mind busy with daydreams.

In reality, if she ended up working as a mere secretary she knows her mother would have fifty kinds of fit. All those Women's Lib, you-can-do-anything lectures wasted
. . .

And if Julie did stay here, she would miss her mum. It was funny, they were getting on much better now that they were hundreds of miles apart. Caroline's letters from Sydney were funny and affectionate, sprinkled with more hugs and kisses than she ever gives Julie in real life. And it is much harder to have arguments in cramped airletters than face to face. Her mother had actually rung her a couple of nights ago, a quick, cheerful phone call, and before Caroline hung up, she'd actually said,
I love you . . .

If Julie stayed in New Guinea, she would miss Rachel, too, and her other friends. Maybe Rachel would come and visit in the holidays. Julie could show her everything
. . .

That afternoon, Allan calls her aside and gives her an envelope with twenty dollars inside. It's the first money she has ever earned in a real workplace. She clutches it against her chest.

Allan eyes her reflectively. ‘Shame you're not a couple of years older, Miss McGinty. I'd offer you the job.'

Her first reaction is a rush of pleasure: perhaps her dream really could come true. But what she actually says, before she can stop herself, is, ‘Barbara might not like that.'

Allan scowls. ‘Barb's not the bloody boss here!'

‘Yes, Mr Crabtree,' says Julie meekly.

He softens. ‘Don't you worry about Barb. Nadine told me the whole story about Koki. You did the right thing.'

Julie gazes modestly at the desk, hoping he'll say more, but at that moment his eye is caught by a movement outside, in the waiting area. He shoots out of the office like a pea from a blowpipe.

‘What the hell are you doing here?'

There is a breathless, mumbled reply; a mumble that Julie recognises. She hurries out behind the counter and sees Ryan, dusty and bedraggled, pushing the damp hair off his flushed and sweaty face.

‘Just rode out to say hi,' he mutters. Julie can see his bike, dropped on the gravel outside. He shoots her an agonised glance from beneath his fringe.

‘You didn't ride ten kays out from town for the pleasure of saying hi to me!' barks Allan. ‘Your girlfriend's busy! We've got four flights due to land in the next half hour, and Julie's got better things to do than waste time canoodling with you!'

‘Jeez, give me a break!' says Ryan.

‘I haven't got time to deal with you now. You can make yourself useful, or you can piss off.'

Ryan eyes him warily. ‘What do you mean, make myself useful?'

‘Joseph'll find you a job. You could sweep out the shed. The wall out front could do with a coat of paint. That bathroom's a disgrace, someone needs to clean that bloody toilet.'

‘I'm not doing that!' Ryan's face is pink, with indignation now, rather than exertion. ‘That's a boi's job!'

‘It's bloody work, that's what you're afraid of!' roars Allan, his own face purple. ‘Jesus Christ, who would have thought I'd raise a son who's scared of a bit of hard work? I started off in the cane fields at Bundaberg! Now that was bloody hard work! You wouldn't know hard work if it jumped up and bit you on the arse!'

‘A plane's coming in, Curry,' says Julie.

Through the big window, a blue-and-white plane sways slightly as it lowers itself toward the ground, the sun glinting off its windshield.

‘Right!' yells Allan. He swings on his heel and stalks off through the doorway to the cargo shed. ‘Joseph!'

Julie turns to Ryan, thinking he might be grateful to be rescued, but he's already pushed through the glass doors and picked up his fallen bike from the gravel. As Julie watches, he swings his leg over the saddle and pedals away.

12

‘Curry's got a new client, he's shouting us all drinks at the Highlander,' says Tony over the phone, his voice a shade too loud. In the background, Julie can hear the clink of glasses and the muted roar of the bar. ‘You'll be right, won't you? Why don't you pop over to the Crabtrees' before it gets dark? Barb'll run you home later.'

‘Mm.' Julie curls the phone cord round her finger.

‘You and Barb are mates again, aren't you?'

‘Sort of. Yeah, I might do that. See you.'

‘I shouldn't be too late,' he says. ‘Gotta work tomorrow.'

After she hangs up, Julie decides that an evening to herself is just what she needs. She eats the spaghetti she'd prepared before Tony rang, and two helpings of ice cream. She'd quite like to speak to her mother, but Julie feels shy about ringing up someone she's never met, Caroline's Sydney friend; and it's only a few days since Caroline last rang, anyway.

Julie slots a cassette into the tape player and turns up the volume while she indulges in a long, hot bath. She could write some letters — she owes one to her mother, and she hasn't written to her friend Rachel for a fortnight. But Rachel and Caroline seem very far away, and letters are more fun to receive than they are to write
. . .
Without consciously deciding to do it, Julie finds the telephone under her ear, and her finger dialling the number for Keriga. Perhaps enough time has passed for Simon to forget the humiliation of their last conversation. She decides, if Patrick or Dulcie answers, she'll pretend it's a wrong number.

But it's Simon.

‘Hi
. . .
It's Julie. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?'

‘No, it's okay. I was just reading to Dad.'

‘Reading out loud?'

‘His eyes get tired these days. He loves Graham Greene.'

Julie hasn't read any Graham Greene. She makes a noncommittal noise.

Simon says, ‘Don't get me wrong, I'd prefer a spy novel. There's a new John le Carre out; it's meant to be really good, but I haven't read it yet
. . .
Graham Greene's a bit sad for me.'

‘So the spy stories are happy, are they?'

Simon laughs. ‘Fair point.'

Julie doesn't want to tell him that she hasn't even heard of John le Carre.

‘So,' says Simon after a moment. ‘How's your boyfriend?' Julie's heart leaps into her throat. ‘Do you mean Ryan?'

‘What, is there another one?'

‘No! But
. . .
Ryan's not really my boyfriend.'

‘Not really?'

‘Well, he's not,' says Julie. There is a pause, then she admits, ‘But
he
might think he is.'

‘That's unfortunate,' says Simon.

For Ryan? Or for him? Julie says, ‘It is a bit awkward.'

‘So, are you planning to break the bad news?'

‘I thought he might just
. . .
get the hint. Eventually.'

‘You should put the poor guy out of his misery.'

‘I'm only here for a few more weeks. Then I'm going back to Melbourne and he'll be in Brisbane.'

‘But what about when you come back?'

A pause. ‘I hadn't thought of that.'

‘You might get lucky, his family might
go finis
. Then you'll never need to see him again.'

‘I mean, I hadn't thought that I might come back.'

The wild daydream about leaving school and working at HAC is one thing. The idea of coming back, year after year, the way the Crabtree kids do, is something else: a solid possibility, something real. Now that she's facing it head on, the thought of leaving New Guinea and never coming back blows a desolate chill through Julie. She isn't sure that she can talk about it. She clears her throat. ‘Your dad never even tried to leave, did he?'

‘No, never. Even when his parents died, he didn't go back for the funerals. He didn't get on with his family. I've never met any of them. Dad says he made his own family here.' Simon's voice is sombre. ‘He says the only thing he's ever missed is the sea.'

Julie tucks her feet beneath her. ‘You're so lucky, knowing exactly what you're going to do, working at Keriga.'

‘I've been wondering if I ought to have a crack at politics, one day.' There is a pause. ‘I've never told anyone that before.'

‘Wow,' says Julie. ‘That would be amazing.'

‘Well, I don't know. I don't know if I'm cut out for all that arguing. Maybe what this country needs most is good businessmen, maybe I should just concentrate on that.'

‘There's plenty of time. I mean, if you were going to become prime minister, it wouldn't be for years and years
. . .
'

‘That's true. What about you, anyway? What are your plans?'

‘I don't really know what I'm going to do,' says Julie. For a moment she considers confiding her running-away-from-school plan, but what if he scoffs at her, or tells her it's impossible?

‘There's plenty to do,' says Simon. ‘Up here. A whole new nation, starting out. We can make it anything we want. If you wanted to come back — there's medicine, teaching, journalism —'

‘I worked in the office at HAC. I quite liked that.'

‘You could be a public servant. When I'm in parliament, you can come and work for me!'

‘Hey, why couldn't I get elected?' says Julie.
‘I'll
be in parliament, and you can come and work for
me
.'

‘You'll need to become a citizen first.'

‘Okay, I will
. . .
Maybe I could learn to fly! I'll come up here and be a pilot like Tony.' Excitement rises in her. She doesn't have to just sit in the office; she can fly the planes! There are loads of things she could do! For the first time, rather than looming like a black hole, the future sparks with possibility. Maybe not actually flying, though; she's still a little too nervous for that.

They've been talking for almost two hours when the power goes out and cuts off the phone. Blinking in the sudden darkness, Julie hangs up. Tony hasn't come home. So much for
shouldn't be too late
. Suddenly she feels cross and abandoned. She quite likes the way Tony treats her as an adult, but that doesn't mean he can leave her here alone while he stays out all night. She gropes her way around in the darkness, trying to remember which switches were flicked on, and turning them off, and feels proud of herself for thinking to switch on the porch light for Tony, in case the power is restored before he arrives home. It's not worth digging out the candles. She brushes her teeth in the dark, and goes to bed.