Kiri.

Kiri's people only breed in the years the rimu fruits, and the rimu fruits every two years, every three, sometimes every four. In the years between, absolutely nobody is born: the birth count is zero, literal zero, not rounded down to it. The biology underneath is well documented. In the breeding season, the male kakapo digs a bowl in the ground, inflates a thoracic sac, and produces a boom of between twenty and a hundred hertz for up to eight hours a night, audible for kilometres. In the years without fruit, nobody booms.

The year Kiri was thirty-eight, the rimu fruited like it hadn't since her childhood. Fourteen babies in five weeks, on an island where whole years go by without one. She lost four kilos and slept in snatches, in chairs. She talks about those five weeks as the best stretch of her life, and she says it without emphasis, the same way she'd report the weather. If you wear this t-shirt and someone asks who it is, the short answer is that: fourteen in five weeks, and four kilos lighter.