A Bird on My Shoulder by Lucy Palmer

in the still night.
    ‘The doctor says I’ve got cancer.’

11
    On the edge of love lies the precipice of fear.
    That night I dreamt of a lake surrounded by arching trees, their towering shapes perfectly shadowed on the still surface. Out of the empty sky, a large brutal stone suddenly fell, scattering droplets of startled water as it plunged down to the muddy deep.
    A moment later, everything was apparently serene. But that disturbance, although fleeting, was too great to ignore. When I woke the following morning I felt a dull pain, like a large weight, pressing on my heart.
    •••
    Cancer had never touched my world. The word felt bitter on my tongue, insidious. I tried ringing Julian before breakfast, still half wondering if his words were something I had imagined.But as the phone rang out I gradually remembered, with dull clarity, the conversation we’d had the night before.
    I’m sorry to tell you this, darling . . .
    As soon as I got to the office, I received a message saying that Singirok had been sacked but was still demanding that the prime minister resign. It was going to be another day of drama.
    Against the backdrop of the greatest political crisis to engulf Papua New Guinea and the most critical story of my career, Julian returned to Port Moresby.
    We had managed to have another brief conversation before he left Sydney, but I was totally consumed by work and found myself quite confused by the contradictory accounts he was giving me.
    ‘I don’t think the diagnosis is all that bad,’ he said quite cheerfully as we hurtled home from the airport.
    Large crowds were milling around the streets and the city was tense. Most people were not there to cause trouble – they were passionately concerned about the future of their country and wanted to be engaged in the decisions of their leaders. But some soldiers had begun to disobey orders and there had been a very ugly standoff outside the army’s weapons storage building. Extra police units were being drafted in.
    ‘They’re not talking about immediate treatment, just regular tests,’ Julian said. He slammed on the brakes as one of the city’s many wild and mangy dogs sauntered across the road, obliviousto traffic. ‘It seems there are a few options. Lots of people live a long time with this situation.’
    I glanced at him. Situation? The word cancer seemed to have vanished from his vocabulary.
    He gave a tight smile. ‘I don’t think there’s much to worry about yet.’
    We had no time to talk that day. In between caring for George, who was still occasionally breastfeeding, I was frantically gathering updates on the crisis.
    •••
    Several journalists from Australia had flown up to cover the story, including Ray Martin from Channel Nine. The next morning Ray rang me to say he was on his way to the army barracks to interview Colonel Singirok and suggested I follow him in my car. As we drew up outside the gates, I watched as his vehicle slowly inched forward through the crowds. Suddenly, the atmosphere turned to excitement.
    ‘Eray! Eray!’ People began to converge on Ray Martin’s car, smiling and waving. Another group surrounded my car and one man started banging on the roof. Feeling very anxious, I lowered the window slightly.
    ‘ Yu go we? Where are you going?’ Several faces jostled for space in the small gap.
    ‘I’m with Ray,’ I said hastily.
    ‘Okay, okay,’ the man replied with a huge grin. ‘You with Eray, you can go!’
    Still shouting, ‘Eray! Eray!’, the crowd parted like the Red Sea and I sailed through the gates like royalty.
    •••
    That night, after I’d finished work, Julian and I went out onto the veranda to a relatively cool, dry night. Although my mind was swimming with the events of the day, I was still keen to get a full and uninterrupted account of his meeting with doctors at St Vincent’s Hospital in Sydney.
    ‘Just tell me what they said again.’
    He sipped his beer. ‘They said I’ve got something