Lucian sat up in bed with a towel draped across his chest and felt Michael guide a razor down the length of his neck. It might have been morning. It might not. Lucian slept so much these days that his body clock had become disconnected with notions of night and day, morning and afternoon.
Oh god sorry. Michael reached for the corner of the towel.
What for?
I just cut your neck.
Didn’t feel a thing! No need to worry. This is all rather pleasant.
Michael pressed the edge of the towel to the tiny cut, and dipped the razor in the bowl of warm water sitting on the bedside table.
What’s this music you’re playing? asked Lucian. It’s quite beautiful.
DJ Sprinkles, Midtown 120 Blues.
One of yours or mine?
It’s the other new record I bought at the same time as Oval.
Lucian nodded. I remember now. It has a painting of a laughing face on the cover.
That’s right.
For a while there I thought its beat was a little too repetitive. But now I’m inside of it I can hear all sorts of ideas at work. It’s very romantic, isn’t it?
I thought it would appeal to you. It’s all about rhythm, right? Michael pressed a thumb under Lucian’s chin and started to shave the far side of the author’s neck.
Lucian noticed that Michael’s index finger was stained with ink. You’ve been working hard I see. How’s the book coming along? You must be close to finishing it by now. Or have I been taking up too much of your time?
It’s almost there, I think. A few more weeks and hopefully I should have a first draft.
Well done. Congratulations. I bet that’s a relief.
When I’m finished it will be.
Will you promise to do me a favour when you think it’s ready?
Of course. Anything.
I want you to send it to my agent in London. I’m sure you’ve come across her name and details amongst my papers. You’re to tell her I’m recommending you.
That’s very kind of you. But don’t you want to read it first?
Lucian shook his head ever so slightly. Not necessary. I saw the opening chapters. I’m confident it’s going to be an excellent piece of work.
Michael dried Lucian’s neck and soothed it with moisturising cream. Would you like to lie back down?
No thank you. I think I’ll keep looking out the window for a while and watch the weather change.
You think it’s going to cloud over?
This is Tasmania, my boy. The weather is always about to change.
Lucian watched Michael open the curtains as wide as possible, then carry away the bowl and razor. From down the hall he could hear the kettle being filled for tea, and assumed it would accompany a soft-boiled egg. Fifteen minutes later the meagre meal appeared on a tray. Lucian had no appetite, and couldn’t really taste anything anymore, but still accepted the morsels of egg Michael spooned into his mouth in the knowledge that it was necessary for him to stay strong for as long as possible.
You were adopted, weren’t you? he asked in the hope of delaying another serving being inserted between his lips.
Michael paused, surprised that he had identified a feature of himself he thought was kept well hidden.
How did you know?
It wasn’t so hard. I was as well.
But I thought you…
And so was the one before me. We all were. And we’re all from Tasmania as well.
Michael endeavoured to steer the conversation back towards reality. I think you’ll find I was born in Queensland. It says so on my birth certificate.
But where were you conceived? And who was your mother? Where did she grow up? Who was your father? None of us know for certain. But I can guarantee you that at least one of your parents was born somewhere on this island. It’s why we always return. Like salmon smelling their way upstream. It’s home for us and always will be. Every time we land back here we know it’s exactly where we’re supposed to live. Nowhere else in the world like it. The scent of the air. Sassafras and Needle Bush: sandstone and moss. It’s cold and wet, but it’s also crisp and clear. You can think down here. I don’t know how anyone north of Melbourne gets any thinking done. I wasted a lot of time trying to live somewhere else, but eventually we all return here. Just like you have. So now we need to start getting in supplies. You’ll have to stay hidden for a little while. I don’t remember how long exactly. That period is always a little bit patchy. It’s far from an exact science this whole process. You’d think that by the third time we’d know some things for certain, but it seems none of us has ever bothered to write anything down. I’d say food for at least four weeks should be enough. There’s money under the rug in the hall. I guess there’s no need to tell you where things are. You probably already know. And if not, you will soon enough.
I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.
Yes you do. Deep down inside you do. Remember the last time this happened? In 1992? Just after Foxtrot came out? It was in this very room. And before that in 1972? Not long after Lucian got back from Vietnam. The house might have been less furnished then, but I’m sure it was the same layout.
How do you expect me to remember something from 1972? I wasn’t even born then.
Born? You’re not born even now, my boy. Not really. But you soon will be. That’s why we’re here. That’s why we all come back to Tasmania. To this house and this mountain. To build a cocoon. Every twenty years. That’s what all this is for. Lucian moved his eyes around the room. To make a cocoon.
Michael tired of trying to make Lucian talk sense and decided to play along. You’re planning on changing into a butterfly?
Me? No, there’s little chance of that occurring. This body of mine is too weak and old to be transformed for a second time. The cocoon is not for me. The cocoon is for you.