Borrowed Light (19 page)

We had an early dinner with Mum, and she dropped us down to the ferry. ‘I wish I could come with you,' she said in the car. She looked at us wistfully, and traced the line of Jeremy's cheek with her finger.

‘Why don't you?' cried Jeremy. He had it all worked out in a second. ‘We could go and pick up sad Beth and bring her to the Observatory. Wouldn't she like that?' Jeremy couldn't understand anyone not panting to get there. It was the safest place in the world, he said, because they had all those instruments pointed at the sky. They'd know before anyone else if a meteor was coming. And tonight they had lollies as well.

Mum shook her head. ‘Thanks, Jeremy, but I can't. Beth's not in a fit state to go anywhere. I said I'd go and make her dinner.'

Jeremy climbed out of the car. He didn't insist. He could spot a lost cause.

‘Don't be too late,' Mum called after us as we hurried along the wharf.

‘You too!' I called back.

It was a fine, clear night. We were in plenty of time for the seven o'clock ferry, so we wandered around the boat, investigating. Jeremy decided that we should sit at the back, because he liked to watch the white water tumbling out behind.

‘Oh no,' I protested, ‘that's where all the fumes are.'

‘We can just hold our breath. It's good practice if we have to swim underwater.'

We settled ourselves on the seat outside. When the engine started, the sea foamed and frothed before us, leaving a path of white lace like the train of a wedding gown. It was quite spectacular. In fact the whole evening—the glinting harbour and the black silk sky—looked like an expensive backdrop for a show. Stars glittered and the city lights dripped gold and silver into the sea. I realised I hadn't been out on the harbour for a while. You don't see these things lying on your bed. You just get a lot of lint in your pyjama pockets.

The Observatory is perched on top of a hill overlooking the bay. We had a long walk up from Circular Quay, and I was out of breath before we even reached the hill. Jeremy wasn't. He skipped ahead, singing something or other.

At the Observatory there was a long queue. Wriggling children asked their parents the time, as the queue snaked along the iron fence and down toward the bay.

The gates were due to open at 8 p.m. We stood outside under a huge old fig tree. Its roots rose from the ground like a maze of low retaining walls. I love fig trees. They are as solid and ancient-looking as elephants, their trunks looping into folds of grey skin. When I was a kid, we used to climb them. You could flip your legs over those old branches and
watch the world upside down. Whenever I see that slogan, ‘Hug a tree', I always think of a fig: the mother of all trees. ‘Gome back here, Jeremy, this is a good climbing specimen,' I called.

‘No way.' Jeremy was already in the queue, staring viciously at the head of a boy in front of him. ‘If you move from here, a
scumbuggit
pushes in.' The head in front didn't turn around, but a woman glared at us. I went back to looking at the tree. I laid my cheek against its smooth skin.

When the gates opened, the crowd streamed in. Children chased each other around the telescopes. I wondered if kids could ever stand still long enough to have a good look at planet Jupiter. I couldn't see Jeremy.

There were five large telescopes planted at different points in the garden. Most were trained upon Jupiter. At the eastern side of the lawn I spotted the tent with the cake. Next to that was the telescope with the longest queue. My heart sank.

I peered along the queue, searching for Jeremy.

Have you ever considered how much time you've wasted in your life in a queue? At the bank, the shop, at school, even at home—that is, if you have a large family. You notice queues a lot if you're a borrower, because you're always letting people in. It's practically impossible to say no. Even if you've been waiting an hour, you smile politely when someone whirls in front and gets served before you. Once, when I was standing in a fairy floss queue, a boy in front of me let nine people in—he said they were all his cousins. When the last cousin had been served, the fairy floss man put up a ‘Closed' sign. ‘Sorry, love,' he said to me, ‘we've just run out.'

I spied Jeremy hopping from one leg to the other as he waited. He was third from the front. He continually surprises me. Maybe he can still be a star, despite his background. I hurried toward him, making apologetic faces
at the people standing in line. As I drew near, I could hear his clear, piping voice above the rumble of the crowd.

‘Why is the moon as thin as a mouse's whisker?' he said, pointing away from the telescope at the western sky.

There was a titter along the queue.

The guide standing at the telescope answered him. He had his back to me, but I could hear him smiling. ‘That's a crescent moon you're looking at tonight. The moon travels around the earth, and at the moment we can see only a small part of the sunlit side.' His voice had a deep viscous tone, sweet and giving with the smile underneath, like toffee before it has set.

The guide turned toward Jeremy, checking to see if he understood. I saw his profile. He had a long straight nose and decisive chin, rather like those Renaissance men I'd seen in Grandma's Italian stamps. His hair fell forward as he spoke to Jeremy. I suddenly wanted to push the hair back and feel the warmth of his skin. He looked younger than his voice.

I gave Jeremy's jumper a little tug. ‘Hi,' I whispered. I felt a bit breathless.

‘Hi!' said Jeremy. ‘It's my turn next. You can be after me.'

I glanced at the guide. He was discussing Jupiter with the woman at the telescope.

‘Look for the four moons,' I reminded Jeremy as the woman thanked the guide and wandered off. Jeremy squeezed my hand. He gave a wriggle of excitement as he stepped up to the telescope.

The guide told him about covering one eye and looking through the eyepiece. ‘That's okay,' Jeremy assured him, ‘I do this all the time. We've got a telescope in our back yard.'

‘And an alien in the front,' someone chuckled.

Jeremy lined his eye up with the telescope. ‘There they are, I can see them!' he yelled. ‘Callisto, I can see
you
up
there! Oh this is great, they are bigger and clearer than at home. Wait till you see them, Cal, they're so beautiful!'

Jeremy's excitement was infectious. People began to stir restlessly. Children squirmed like worms in a jar. Jeremy stayed glued to the telescope, doing a loud running commentary on the celestial scene like a football commentator on the radio. The guide was staring at me.

‘Come on, Jeremy, it's time for someone else to have a turn,' I hissed at him. I was blushing hotly. I didn't dare look back at the guide.

‘No!' said Jeremy.

‘Yes!' said I.

I was sweating. When you blush, do you ever grow so hot that you sweat? There's nowhere to hide. Your face beams out like a torch, with these little pearls of moisture strung along your lip. You might as well announce, ‘I'm dying of embarrassment!' I was sweating like a madwoman. I could feel great wet patches spreading under my arms.
Don't let
him make a scene now, not in front of all these people
, I prayed. All these people he pushed
ahead
of. Don't let him be a brat in front of that nice guide,
please.

The guide bent down and whispered in Jeremy's ear. I heard ‘cake' and ‘chocolate' and ‘good boys'. Jeremy relinquished the telescope, giving it a reluctant little pat.

He sidled around to stand next to the guide. He kept his eyes fixed on him as if he were the new messiah, about to do a miracle. I saw him take the guide's hand.

‘Jeremy, come here now, the man has to talk to the other people in the line,' I called.

The guide looked at me and smiled. You should have seen that smile. My stomach lurched. It was as if we shared a secret. My heart started hammering, and the sweating began all over again. You could have just pushed me lightly, with the feathery tips of your fingers, and I'd have fallen face-forward into his orbit. My legs felt wobbly.

‘Hello Callisto, come for the cake, have you?'

I swung round and saw a friendly, familiar face. ‘Oh hi, Mr West!'

He was standing there, beaming all over his craggy old face. God, it was nice to see him. I couldn't think of anything to say. I was too surprised and I was wondering if he could see the sweat. We stood right under a lamp, sharing a pool of light like a dry patch under an umbrella. He was looking at my top lip, so I bet he noticed.

‘And young Jeremy!' called Mr West, spotting him still clasped like a limpet to the guide. ‘How are you?' He strode over and somehow drew us all together. We moved out of the pool of light, which was a good thing, into the soft webbed shadow of evening. ‘I see you've met my son, Richard,' he said, clapping the guide on the shoulder.

Jeremy nodded enthusiastically. He didn't look at all astounded. He was used to the world bringing him magical connections. At five, I suppose every day brings a surprise.

‘Richard, have you met Callisto?'

‘No,' said Richard, ‘but I'd like to.' He put out his hand for me to shake. It was warm and smooth, except for a bandaid on the little finger. I wanted to hang onto it. It was very hard to let go. I felt like Jeremy with the telescope.

I scrunched my hand up in my pocket. It was slippery with sweat. Oh God, why was I made this way? Just a few days ago, I'd thought my skin was dead.

Jeremy was tugging at Mr West. ‘Let's go see the moon now,' he said. ‘I bet it'll look like a giant banana with these monster telescopes. And the queue's only short. Please!'

Mr West laughed. ‘All right, Jeremy.' He turned to me. ‘You coming Callisto?'

Before I could answer, Richard said, ‘Callisto can stay here with me and Jupiter. She'll help with the crowd.' He raised his eyebrows at me. ‘Is that okay? These special nights with the lollies and all get really busy. I could do with
some help. We can dispense scientific information left, right and centre!'

Mr West shook his head at his son, and let himself be pulled away.

‘I don't know enough to be a guide,' I murmured.

Richard looked at me. His eyes were jade green in the shadows. ‘You've got a telescope in your back yard, and a grandmother who's a well-known astronomer. You're named after a Galilean moon, for God's sake! Although you'd rather be called something more ordinary, like Anne.'

‘How do you know all that?'

‘Ah,' he tapped his nose slyly, ‘I haf my vays and means.'

‘Your
father
told you about me!' I almost shouted with amazement. I'm no longer a little kid—I have my peripheral vision, and I don't expect the world to surprise me any more. It was flabbergasting to believe that Mr West had bothered to tell his son about this rude, ungrateful girl he knew at Meadow High.

‘Dad used to tell great stories about you,' Richard said in a teasing voice. ‘And about Jeremy. He always wondered what happened to your hair that afternoon, when you came back from the toilets with one side shorter than the other. I did, too. It was like losing the last chapter in a book.'

‘He noticed?'

Richard laughed. ‘It would be hard not to, the way Dad described it. You were as pale as a ghost, too. And your hands were shaking.' Richard frowned, and he leant forward. ‘There were great gaps, after that. No more chapters. Dad missed you, you know. So did I!'

We looked at each other in the dark. I felt the cool trunk of a young fig tree under my hand. It was something solid to hang on to. People were working their way through the Jupiter line. Out of the comer of my eye I could see the woman who had glared at me at the gate. It was her turn at
the telescope. She was looking our way and she cleared her throat impatiently.

‘It's so strange seeing you here,' Richard went on. ‘I mean, I've only ever pictured you at school—you know, in your uniform, in the daytime.' He looked down at the brick paving.

The woman at the telescope coughed loudly. Richard sighed. ‘I'd better go and do my job. Coming?'

We walked over to the telescope. Richard's hand brushed against my arm.

‘Are you really busy here then?' I asked.

‘Yeah, I guess so, but most of my time is taken up with uni now—it's hard to find time to do anything else.'

‘Is this your first year? Are you doing a science degree?'

‘Yes times two.' Richard grinned. ‘I'm doing some psychology units and literature too. I figured I should branch out a little—“get humanised”, as my mother says.'

‘It must be great having your father to help with science.'

‘What are all those oval spots and bands around Jupiter?' The woman with the hard face stamped her foot as she spoke. Maybe she was just squashing a cockroach (I'd seen a few on the paving), but the gesture echoed the tone of her voice. ‘How big is Jupiter? What is its distance from the sun?'

You'd never catch this woman letting anyone into a queue.

Richard raised his eyebrows at me.

‘We think the oval features are circular currents, or cyclones, trapped by the opposing winds of the cloud bands,' I said. ‘The largest of these currents is the Great Red Spot, which is three times the size of earth. It's actually this Spot that tells us how fast Jupiter rotates.'

I glanced at Richard. He smiled at me as if I were a star pupil. I felt my cheeks glowing. He didn't think I was a
crazy lady. He probably kept old copies of
New Scientist
in a special folder. Just like me.

‘Well, how fast does it rotate?' the imperious voice demanded.

‘At the equator, the planet's surface whirls at a speed of about 43 000 kilometres an hour. The outward thrust due to the whirling is so great that the gases form a bulge. But they don't fly away. Jupiter's gravity is so powerful that it keeps them from escaping.'