Chapter 8

“Did you ever think about how much Australia resembles the American West?”

“Are you kidding?” Rachel responded.

It was Saturday. Patrick had narrated his meeting with Madam Minister, and Rachel had finished her gallery review for the Herald. Patrick had picked up another of his boyhood favourites, Riders of the Purple Sage.

“Listen, the is the first chapter of Riders: ‘She wanted the sleepy quiet pastoral days to last always. Trouble between the Mormons and the Gentiles of the community would make her unhappy. She was Mormon-born, and she was a friend to poor and unfortunate Gentiles. She wished only to go on doing good and being happy.’ That’s Jane in southwestern Utah in 1871. Now listen to my altered version: ‘She wanted the sleepy quiet pastoral days to last always. Trouble between the English and the Aborigines of the community would make her unhappy. She was English-born, and she was a friend to poor and unfortunate Aborigines. She wished only to go on doing good and being happy.’”

“You’re right. It’s amazing! What would it be like if you looked at the Boers in South Africa?”

“I don’t know. But we could look at some Rider Haggard. We’ve about a dozen.”

But King Solomon’s Mines or one of the other Quatermain stories, or She wouldn’t do much good.”

“Well, here’s Swallow, that’s Boer novel.” Patrick paged through the beginning. “Here, you can see the animus. Just like the Mormons and the Christians.”

“What shall we do with this boy whom Suzanne has brought to us, wife?” asked Jan of me that day while both the children lay asleep.

“Do with him, husband!” I answered; “we shall keep him; he is the Lord’s gift.”

“He is English, and I hate the English,” said Jan, looking down.

“English or Dutch, husband, he is of noble blood, and the Lord’s gift, and to turn him away would be to turn away our luck.”

“But how if his people come to seek him?”

“When they come we will talk of it, but I do not think that they will come; I think that the sea has swallowed them all.” [Chapter III]

“So there’s always conflict. Not just where there are different colours, like the Aborigines and the Europeans here, but even when they’re of the same origin, like the Dutch and the English.”

“Precisely. The ‘other’ is always ‘different’ – so, an enemy. And that’s what was missed here from 1788 on.”

“Well, I’m fighting the same fight.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Medium vs. Medium. Three-dimensional sculpture vs. Flat photos and etchings and drawings and paintings. Photos vs. Paintings. ‘A painter is an artist, but a photographer is merely a technician.’ I’ve heard that!”

“Right. And wops and nigs and japs and who knows what else. Polacks and yids. Chinks and russkis.”

“And Olwen talks of gays and straights. By the way, did you hear from her again?”

“No. She was meeting dad at the Museum, just when I was on my way to see the Minister. She must have flown back to Armidale by now. I’ll call him later.”

“Invite him over for dinner ... tonight or tomorrow. I’ll make dinner, but we’ll have to execute a dedicated foray to the stores.”

“I like that. I’ll call him now.”

“Hello, I’m calling from the chambers of Hollister and Hollister.”

“Good morning. I just got back home an hour ago.”

“From?...”

“Taking Olwen to the airport. She appears to have had a most successful trip.”

“Yes. We got the same impression. Anyway, we were hoping we could invite Aged P. to dinner tonight or tomorrow.”

“Great Expectations. I’m not yet senile. It would have to be tomorrow. I’m dining with your Sandra and an archaeology colleague of hers tonight.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“I’m hoping it won’t be too dreary, but he wants a favour from the Museum and Winnie suggested to Sandra that she could leverage her acquaintanceship where departmental politics is concerned.”

“Why don’t you come by tomorrow afternoon? We’ll have an early-ish meal.”

“Can I bring anything?”

“No. Let us play host.”

“OK. And I’ll tell you about my date with Olwen.”

“Wonderful. See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. He’s dining with Sandra Wynne and some bloke from her department today.”

“Well, we need to shop anyway. And we need to decide upon a menu for tomorrow.”

“OK. But I’ve got a question. I went from Hauser to C.S. Lewis...”

“Narnia?”

“No. The Discarded Image. It’s an intro to mediaeval and renaissance literature. There’s a pdf online.”

“Oh.”

“I thought the literature might lend an insight into the visual art.”

“And?...”

“And I came upon this list [reading from her screen]: ‘Reginald Scot mentions fairies (and nymphs) among bugbears used to frighten children: ‘Our mothers’ maids have so terrified us with bull-beggars, spirits, witches, urchins, elves, hags, fairies, satyrs, pans, faunes, sylens, tritons, centaurs, dwarfs, giants, nymphes, Incubus, Robin good fellow, the spoom, the man in the oke, the fire-drake, the puckle, Tom Thombe, Tom tumbler boneles, and such other bugs.’ [she held up a hand] I assume that ‘sylens’ is a misprint or a misunderstanding for sirens and the puckle is Shakespeare’s Puck. But what is the spoom?”

“Well, first who’s Reginald Scot?”

“Sixteenth century author of The Discoverie of Witchcraft, published in 1584 to counter the belief in witches.”

“Hmm. Well, then he precedes ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream’, so Puck is OK. Spoom? Did you look it up?”

“Oh, yes. It’s not in Merriam-Webster, Wikipedia says it’s a kind of sorbet, and Google refers me to the Lewis I was reading.”

“What about the OED?”

“No luck. Not even the supplements.”

“Give up. I’ve no notion what it might be. Wait! Didn’t it come just before ‘man... ‘?”

“‘Man in the oke’.”

“Well, maybe this is just a bad printer’s slip for ‘man in the moon’.”

“Possible. But wouldn’t Lewis have noted something?”

“No. He was just listing Scot’s sillinesses. And Scot is just enumerating everything ... it’s like Dulcamera in Donizetti, merely listing diseases for comic effect.”

“Very well. But I’m not happy. And, by the way, is that ‘man in the oke’ the ancestor of Tolkien’s ents?”