The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,88

hands plunged in my pockets. I’m so desperate for things to go well with her, and now I can’t think of anything to say.

Some of the spark seems to have gone from her as she comes across the room to join me. She throws herself down on one of the couches, legs carelessly apart, head tipped back. It’s not an invitation, but seeing the taut skin of her throat makes me swallow. I have no idea how to shift the mood of the afternoon where I want it to go.

She sits up and looks at me directly, a hint of aggression in her eyes. ‘What do you think about women in Antarctica?’ she asks.

This is not quite the conversation I had in mind. Perhaps this is my interview with Emma, now that I’ve passed the test with Fredricksen. To delay answering, I pick up my tea and take a sip.

‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Which camp are you in? Do you think women balance the Antarctic community? Or do you think they cause trouble?’

I set my cup down carefully.

‘You’re against it, aren’t you?’ Emma says.

‘No, I’m not against it.’ I choose my words cautiously. Emma’s face tells me it’d be easy to offend. ‘But I do think people should be careful about how they behave down there.’

‘You’re referring to some of the flirting that goes on,’ Emma says.

‘Flirting, yes,’ I say. But I’m really thinking of women dancing provocatively at parties. Women drinking too much and leaning up against men without thinking how it affects them. Such a lack of awareness. Women playing more than one man at a time. Not all women, but enough to destabilise things. Enough to breed resentment. Feelings like that are magnified in a small community.

‘Women should be allowed to have a good time down there without being crucified for it,’ Emma is saying. ‘What’s wrong with a bit of flirting? Men flirt too. There’s nothing abnormal about it—just go to a bar or a club in Hobart sometime.’

‘Antarctica isn’t Hobart,’ I point out.

Emma runs a hand through her hair, considering. ‘It’s tricky, isn’t it? Women want to go to Antarctica. They want to share the so-called last frontier, and it is more normal to have them down there. But there’s all this resistance in the male ranks. If you flirt or get involved with someone, then you’re causing trouble, and if you try to fit in by acting like one of the boys, that’s wrong too and some of the guys look down on you. It’s this us and them thing. And there’s the tradies versus the boffins too. I’m not sure how to resolve it.’ She looks at me thoughtfully. ‘I suppose it’s partly to do with this melding of two separate worlds. I mean, how many women do you have to deal with in your workplace?’

‘None. They drop cars off for me to service and then pick them up again. The front desk deals with it.’

‘That’s just it. Tradies aren’t used to working with women, whereas most of the women that go south are scientists who come from a mixed workplace. At university they’re used to being respected for what they know. But down in Antarctica it’s all reversed. The tradies rule because they run the station. No wonder it’s difficult.’

In my mind, I hear Bazza carping on about how high and mighty some of the young female scientists are, and how they expect you to drop everything to cater to their work demands. But Bazza’s not as old-fashioned as you might think. He says it’s not about whether women should be there or not, but how they behave while they’re down there. And how the men behave too. He says it’s about people working out how to get on together, and about leaving some of their entrenched attitudes at home, or at least being able to keep a lid on it when things rile them.

‘I try to avoid it all by staying out in the field,’ Emma says.

I think of the man in her lab today and I wonder if she’s as innocent and detached as she makes out. I want to believe her, but I know how it is down there.

Emma picks up her tea. ‘I think all the problems boil down to a few bitter old men who don’t want to share Antarctica with women,’ she says. ‘They want to keep it as a boys’ club like it was in the past. They don’t want to accept change. I’m sure