Teranesia by Greg Egan Read Free Book Online Page A

cross-strokes,but he thought back over the conversation he’d heard between his parents in the butterfly hut. It was true that his mother
     had suggested sending him to her cousin in Toronto … but that had only served to put his father off the whole idea, a response
     that might not have come as a great surprise to her. So maybe he’d judged her too harshly. Maybe she’d actually been fighting
     to keep him here.
    He said, ‘If I was away I’d be worried about everyone. This way I know you’re all safe.’
    ‘That’s true.’
    Prabir glanced over his shoulder; his mother was smiling, pleased with his answer, but she still looked uncharacteristically
     fragile. It made him very uneasy to think that she might need reassurance from him. Ever since she’d gone soppy over Madhusree
     he’d longed for some kind of power over her, some means of extracting revenge. But this was too much. If an illchosen word
     could truly hurt her, it was like being handed the power to shut off the sun.
    The sign on the wall resembled one of Prabir’s attempts to write with his foot, but the word was recognisable. He said, ‘Well
     done, Maddy. You wrote “Ilmuwan”.’
    ‘Mwan,’ Madhusree declared confidently.
    ‘Ilmuwan.’
    ‘Ilwan.’
    ‘No,
Il-mu-wan.’
    Madhusree screwed her face up, ready to cry.
    Prabir said, ‘Don’t worry about it. We’ll be back in Calcutta soon, and no one speaks Indonesian there. It’s a language you’ll
     never use again.’
    Prabir woke in the middle of the night, his stomach churning. He staggered half awake to the lavatory hut. He’d suffered bouts
     of diarrhoea ever since they’d started eating home-grown yams, but it had never woken him before.
    He sat in the dark, with the door open slightly. There was afaint electrical hum from the treatment tank beside him. It took him no time to empty his bowels, but then he still ached,
     almost as badly. He was breathing strangely, much faster than usual, but if he tried to slow down that made the pain worse.
    He washed his hands, then walked out into the middle of the kampung. The view through the gaps in the trees was like deep
     space. In Calcutta the stars had seemed tame, almost artificial – drab enough to pass for a half-hearted attempt to supplement
     the street lighting. Here there was no mistaking them for anything human.
    Back in his hammock the pain refused to fade. He didn’t need to vomit, or shit more, but his stomach was knotted with tension,
     as if he was about to be found out for some crime. But his conscience was no more troubled than usual. He hadn’t teased Madhusree
     badly, or upset his mother that much. And he’d made up for it to both of them, hadn’t he?
    When they’d first arrived on the island, and the unfamiliar sounds had woken him nightly, Prabir had cried out until his father
     came and rocked him back to sleep. This had gone on for weeks, though for the last few nights he’d been doing it out of habit,
     not fear. His father had never shouted at him, never complained. In the end, just the knowledge that his father would come
     if he needed him was enough; Prabir didn’t have to keep testing him in order to feel safe.
    But he was too old to cry out for Baba now. He’d have to find another way to calm himself.
    Prabir slid off his hammock and walked over to the screen door. The butterfly hut was directly opposite, grey and indistinct
     in the shadows. He knew the door to the hut would be bolted, to make sure no animals got in, but it wouldn’t be locked. Nothing
     ever was.
    Cool sweat was gathering behind his knees. He moistened his fingers and sniffed them; he was so used to the smell of the mosquito
     repellent that he could barely detect it any more. Buthe doubted that anyone in the family found it so pungent that a few drops could incriminate him.
    He opened the screen door just enough to slip through, then headed across the kampung, bare feet silent on the well-trodden
     ground. He was determined to