Heat and Light by Ellen van Neerven

There was a fellow who, I won’t go into details, he got himself engaged with one of them, and hurt himself quite badly. It was unnatural and not possible.
    I’m just letting you know as a Cultural Liaison Officer, mediator between them and us, to keep an eye out for those sort of things going on. You’re a little naive; I know such things might seem strange and unlikely to you, but it can happen. It could have deadly effects.’
    I don’t think Milligan knows, in our culture, deadly means really good. I decided not to tell him that.
    I’ve been taking notes in the field. About the tides, the winds and how many strokes it takes me to get to each isle on the belt.
    I’m getting better. My hands no longer blister. When Larapinta is in the boat the time goes faster. I can get swept into a conversation about the geography and don’t notice my arms clenching back and forth until I’m at the bank.
    My hair’s getting long. I’m thinking of getting it cut next time I’m on the mainland. Sometimes I forget a band or a tie when I’m out on the boat, and it cuts into my face like a whip.
    I’ve been going for longer walks lately. I tell myself it’s to stretch out my legs after all those hours on the boat, but really it’s because of the feeling of being cramped up on the island. I know it too well. It takes nineteen minutes to walk the whole island.
    It’s about time I go see my mother, eat cold macaroni in the kitchen I grew up in. She always brushes back my unkempt fringe, and she’ll dig out a batch of old photos, a birthday card I made my father. Why does she do it? I don’t cry anymore. I can talk about my father without crying.
    Mum still thinks that pasta is my favourite thing ever. To be fair, I probably don’t know her as well as I think I do either, not anymore. She has a whole other life in the weeks, sometimes months I don’t see her.
    After Dad died, Mum and I were inseparable for a while. She even got a job at my school. The thing is, I was always closer to Dad, and that didn’t change, even after he was dead. My mother no doubt couldn’t understand it, it probably frustrated her a little bit, as when he was alive, Dad wasn’t around. He was always in the studio he shared with his brothers, or with family, or travelling for or with his art.
    We stand on the second isle and I pass out the formula, like I do every morning. I watch Larapinta kissing a seedling’s head, brushing the pillow-like fronds of hair out of his eyes. I like the seedlings, babies, really they are a bundle of brown, often held by the others.
    Larapinta doesn’t wait for the quiet moments to ask her usual odd questions. ‘What is it like to menstruate?’
    I shrug and no longer hesitate, used to her quirkiness. ‘Ah. I guess it’s not too bad. I don’t mind it. It’s part of being a woman. Damn expensive, though. All that tax. Thought President Sparkle would have done something about it.’
    ‘Are you menstruating now?’ Larapinta asks.
    ‘I am due to.’
    ‘Does it affect your sexual activity?’
    ‘No, not really.’
    ‘Good,’ she says, and she winks.
    She’s letting me know she wants to try something out. We were talking about how the bay is known for its abundance of seafood. Everywhere, a fisherman’s dream. She talks low to me, tells me I should invite her to spend the afternoon and we’ll cook a fresh catch, eat together.
    She doesn’t eat, but she’d like to try for me, even just pretend. I look at her mouth, red and ripe as a baby animal’s.
    ‘Neither of us know how to fish, though,’ I say, even though I shouldn’t humour her.
    ‘We’ll get a bottle of nice wine.’
    ‘Are you talking about seduction?’ A thought comes to my head. I’m being seduced by a plant. ‘It’s foolish, Larapinta.’
    She looks back down at her e-reader.
    I continue. ‘I can’t, professionally. Personally as well. We need to stick in our own corners.’
    I’m glad she can’t judge me. I’m afraid she can see