Chapter 17

"Are we scheduled for Foundation Day?" Weena asked.

Foundation Day commemorates the day that the first European settlers arrived in Western Australia to found the Swan River Colony on 1 June 1829. Foundation Day is held on the first Monday in June.

"Not that I know of."

"It's on the fifth. Could we have a barbie? Maybe Chaz and Michiko and Rachel and Evans and Willy and dad and Mary?"

"That's 10. Do we have enough chairs?"

"We can cope. Pat will be seven weeks. He deserves a party." She hugged the bundle she was holding.

"OK. Will you phone 'round?"

"Sure." She looked down. "I love how he reacts to your voice."

"He reacts to my voice?"

"There he goes again. Now he's looking at me 'cause he knows my voice, too. Don't you, sweetie?"

Patrick didn't answer, I'm happy to say.

"The book says that around two months we can expect him to smile, laugh and make noises, lift his head and chest up while lying on his stomach, turn toward sounds, and to follow us around with his eyes. He certainly smiles and gurgles and he turns toward sounds. Sometimes just the water running. And he follows some things with his eyes." Patrick waved his arms and legs.

"He won't be really communicative for another year."

"Well, you hold him. By the way, I'm done with those Carmel Birds. Think of something else for me. Staying home with an infant is boring. I'm going to try to get Willy."

I just sat, holding Patrick. He'd quieted again. I wondered as to what to suggest to Weena for reading. Another contemporary Australian woman? I could try her on Janet Turner Hospital. Or Christina Stead. But maybe she'd read something older. There were lots of female authors in the late nineteenth and earlier twentieth centuries. I was trying to recall all the stuff I'd read a decade ago.

"Willy thinks a great idea. She wants to know whether we can visit tomorrow." After 10 days in the northwest, Willy had been sent to Fremantle for a week or so. When she was released from hospital for months of therapy to build up her mangled muscle, Evans had rented a bungalow by the beach near Waterman and leased a car. But Willy was still insecure and only drove locally — to therapy, to market and such. And she got stir-crazy.

"I can't go, I need to be in my office."

"Not you, silly. She wants me to visit with Pat. Did you change him?"

"Into what? No, you said to hold him."

"Men!" She took Patrick and went to change him. I took the chance to go into the study. There were three shelves of Australian lit, plus the Upfields in with the mysteries. Two more Birds; about half a dozen Hospitals; another half dozen Steads; and a Pandora set. Would she like New Zealand, too? There was Katherine Mansfield. And I'd stopped buying most of that stuff when I was writing my dissertation. There must be a tons of new stuff. Over 18 months and we'd never discussed literature!

"I fed him, changed him and put him down. We've most likely got three hours. Then he might sleep for four."

"We're lucky. I can function on four plus four. We've got lots of books, but I realised I don't really know what you like."

"I used to read a lot. Mostly English and American stuff. Scott and Austen. Hawthorne and Twain. D. H. Lawrence. Dickens. Kipling. For some reason, I really hated the ladies when I was in school. The Brontes, for instance. I liked Arnold Bennett and Henry James, but was bored to tears by Virginia Woolf. And though I tried Scott Fitzgerald, I just didn't understand him." She looked at me. "Am I a cultural moron?"