Baranay - Turn Left at Venus

TURN LEFT
AT VENUS

INEZ BARANAY

MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA

www.transitlounge.com.au

Copyright 2019 Inez Baranay

First published 2019

Transit Lounge Publishing

This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Inquiries should be made to the publisher.

Every effort has been made to contact the copyright owners of material referenced in this novel. Where these efforts have been unsuccessful the copyright owners should contact the publisher in the first instance.

Cover image: Mark Owen/Trevillion Images

Cover and book design: Peter Lo

Author image: Melissa Hobbs

Printed in Australia by McPhersons Printing Group

A cataloguing-entry is available from the

National Library of Australia: trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN: 978-1-925760-40-8

Having reached an age at which it seems more dignified to cultivate illusions than foolish aspirations, I have resigned myself to the destiny of writing after my own fashion.

Antonio Tabucchi, The Woman of Porto Pim

A hopeless xenophile all my life. In fact what draws me is so damn xeno its not really here.
Alice Sheldon (James Tiptree, Jr.) in Julie Phillips,

James Tiptree, Jr.: The Double Life of Alice B. Sheldon

T hey were two little girls on a very big boat. They peeked out from behind big legs, big laps, looked at each other amid all the baggy trouser knees and coat-tails, the scarred stockings and restitched hemlines, and left all the big people to approach each other. The boat was full of people, all the fathers mothers aunts uncles grannies taking all the children to, to where they were going, they had to start thinking of where they were going, they were saying not to think about where they came from, they had no past, their lives beginning there, and the two little girls who recognised each other at once did not look away, found each other, never parted that whole lifetime voyage.

They would get to where they were going but for a while in the present no other world needed to be imagined, any other world refused to be.

They went about together, recognised by everyone as those two little girls who were such good friends since meeting on this boat; their friendship was smiled upon by all. Because they were together they were safe and strong. They would always create together an irresistible force.

We know everything about each other, Leyla told Ada one day on the deck of the big ship, the world a thousand shades of grey, metallic greys, mineral greys, the huge skies and huge heaving ocean, everything was grey except them. If you saw opals in grey shades youd see them in these waves. If precious stones came in grey youd see them here. The whitish grey of smoke, the white distant spume curling upon the ocean waves turning silvergrey in the long twilight.

A huge wave that rose above them.

AM I DREAMING?

Am I dreaming? The usual way of checking is not possible. Ada cannot tell how long its been since she last moved or spoke. Sometimes when you wake up you might not quite immediately understand where you are, maybe an effect of a dream or the moment in the sleep cycle that the alarm or a sense of alarm might have shattered, thrusting you undefended into the reality of your own current bedroom in your own current neighbourhood.

And into the returning knowledge of whatever had just happened, current obsessions sliding into your minds spotlight, its centre stage.

Its not like that. Those times, it comes to you quite swiftly or quite soon: youre awake, the sense of dislocation is fading like those dreams that have evaded you, or you evaded them. Its not like that because this has gone on for longer, Ada can tell somehow, if not tell how long its been. She cannot find in herself any intention of moving or speaking.

Ah-dah not Ay-dah, that voice is saying, in the tones of freshly acquired knowledge it is a source of pride to possess. Knowledge and pride and an assertion of connection to Ada.

Whaever, returns the trala-ing tones of a woman who is not interested in being corrected. If she does not stand corrected she has won. The important things are what she knows.

The two of them at the side of Adas bed. Ada is the exhibit. The woman whos been here a while is showing the new one the dimensions of the new assignment. Take care of this, this collapsed this ancient relic of a human. Shes not the hardest not the easiest Youre a good girl, arent you, dear? she addresses Ada now, as if Ada were a moron or an infant, or anyone under her care. She has barely spoken to Ada for all the time she has been alone in the room with her, her location in the room signalled by the breathing, occasional snoring, the fragrance of spearmint and lime losing to the womans natural odour of loam, humus, decomposing peels.

Ada might like to be the hardest ever case, if only she could achieve that without moving or speaking. They breathe towards Ada as they contemplate her, unable to entertain any thought of her status as harbinger of their own future. They believe they will remain strong and firm forever. The tendency for this belief seems to be built into the human.

Ada has been surrounded by people whirling about calling for assistance, delegating and appointing. They took her to the right room, good. There have been arrangements made; they swiftly decided what to do with her. They know she wrote no hospital. Someone said, Apparently these are her wishes. And quite recently. Ada understands that these two people in here are taking turns to look after her for as long as she does not speak or move.

They wrote Turn Left At Venus, says that voice Ada might be interested in listening to more. Even if she were vehemently uninterested in listening to more, shes going to be hearing it anyway, unless she speaks or moves, which shes not going to.

Thats an old one, Ive heard of it, said the other as if hearing of it were all a work of art required. Wasnt that a movie?

Its going to be remade. With MahLila.

I saw about that, for that silly scandal aired here too lately. They change things too much. Nothing wrong with the old movie. She is old enough to have been a kid when it was new.

First it was a book. Their book, says the husky voice with that pride in the knowledge.

The book is always better. Seems to like things to remain untroubled by reconsideration.

Always? A mild but laden challenge from this other person who, Ada intuits, is not a stranger to adaptation.

First-one-here caregiver shrugs it off. I dont really have time to read. Im the kind of person more interested in whats going on. Returning to the subject or object, she says, Shes stable, but youll have to keep an eye on it.

The husky voice says, Ill be fine, Miss Corinna, Ill call in if I need to. The formality, calling the other Miss Corinna, a performance of deference tinged with sarcasm. Combining sincerity and mockery is second nature to this one.

If theres no change by tomorrow well have to move her.

Why?

That Why left out any deference, so Corinna doesnt have to answer that. She asks, So does J stand for anything?

No, its Jay Ay Why, its my name: Jay.

So howd you get into the agencys good books? Good books, she says, while Ada knows only of good books. To be in someones good books so theyre still using this expression.