Chapter 3

“That went very well,” Tessa said as they walked towards home. “Far better than I’d expected.”

“Yes. No one seemed to think that we were psychotic schizophrenics.”

“No. But don’t be sarcastic. The elder took us seriously. And the students there seemed really interested.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Sorry. I really meant it. My navel is trying to mate with my spine.”

“I could make some eggs. There may be stuff for a sandwich or two. But there’s not a lot in the fridge.”

“Eggs and toast’ll do.”

*

The next day they marketed, then Tessa went off to her afternoon class. When she returned it was with a strange narrative.

“One of the women in my class asked me when you would be taking your other wives.”

“What?”

“She pointed out that while Waa accompanies Bunjil, Bunjil has twin wives who are black swans.” [The Noongar of South-West Australia call the black swan Kooldjak along the West and South-West coast, Gooldjak in the South East.]

“That’s right, the Rainbow is the son of one of them!”

“So, what are your plans? Am I to organize your harem?”

“I’m not trying to form a harem. In fact, I don’t know any sets of twins.”

“Perhaps they’ll come by on walkabout.”

“Are you getting weird?”

“Black swans are highly nomadic, that’s why in the Dreamtime Bunjil’s wives become stars in the sky.”

“We need to talk about this. I don’t think our totems or the Dreamtime stories are prescriptive.”

“Then, what meaning have they? Patrick is a carpet python, he is inspired by the Great Serpent. Others, in Queensland, in New South, in the Pilbara and elsewhere know this. I’ve heard the story of how he was named by a kangaroo. We have experienced his untying of knots. Would you deny this?”

“No. I cannot. And I cannot deny the regard in which Gordy is held.”

“Your grandfather is a wise man. Your grandmother and your father were named nungungi. Think of your experiences.”

“Mmmm. I’ll call my father later. Or tomorrow.”

It was “tomorrow.”

“Hey, it’s your favorite son.”

“And sole, as far as I know.”

“That. Anyway, I have a semi-serious question.”

“OK”

“We were at the meeting place here and the story of Bunjil was related. The next day a woman in one of Tessa’s classes asked whether I was in the market for twin wives.”

Patrick started to laugh.

“No. Really. Anyway, should I take the Dreamtime seriously?”

“Do you believe the rhino has wrinkly skin because of the Parsee?”

“What?”

“Do you think that elephants originally had stubby, boot-like noses?”

“Oh. Right. What Tessa calls ‘explain’ stories.”

“Precisely. Work the stories backwards. Think of the various birds and their colors. The fire/smoke/firestick narrative yields a range of colors for a variety of birds. The hawk in the sky is between two stars ... they are his wives. You can’t see their outlines ... they’re not part of any constellation ... so they’re invisible because they are black swans. Dreamtime tells of things; but it is never predictive. If you and Tessa want others in your bed, it’s your option, not a decision on the part of some ancestral totem.”

“Right. I’m sure I knew that. Of course, I wouldn’t mind a harem...”

“I wonder. Have you ever tried more than one at a time? It’s not what porn mags or films make it out to be. And remember that Homer writes that man tires of all things, even music and the perfect dance.”

“Where’s that?”

“Lotos eaters, I think.”

“Makes sense. I wonder how Shahriyar coped.”

“We don’t know how large his harem was, do we? We just know that he kept Scheherazade for at least a bit under three years.”

“How do you get that?”

“One tale per night. 1001 divided by 365 is 2.75. Plus the frame and all those extra stories, like Sinbad. It’s like teaching a horse to sing.”

“Right. Yet another way of staving off death. Now, my way of staving off death is to get off the phone and talk to my sole spouse.”

“Say hello to mom for me.”

When he got off Tessa asked: “What was that about a horse?”

“There’s a story in Herodotus and a similar one in Nasruddin and it’s retold by Jerry Pournelle.”

“And?”

“A thief was to be executed. He was asked about a last wish by the king. ‘You have a magnificent steed,’ he said. ‘I’d like to teach him to sing.’ The king said, ‘You have your year; but if you fail, your fate will be terrible.’ The other prisoners watched the thief and laughed. ‘You will not succeed,’ they told him. ‘No one can.’ To which the thief replied, ‘I have a year, and who knows what might happen in that time. The king might die. The horse might die. I might die. And perhaps the horse will learn to sing.’”

“Was that relevant?”

“We were talking about harems and that we didn’t know for how long Scheherazade lasted. 1001 tales is under three years. But, more importantly, dad pointed out that the Dreamtime stories aren’t predictive. My totem may be bunjil, but that doesn’t mean I need twin swans as mates, nor that one of them would give birth to a rainbow.”

“True. And I’m not black from soot.”

“You’re not black. You’re not even dark brown. And your hair doesn’t seem like feathers, either.”

Tessa laughed. “No, I guess not. But what about us?”

“About us?”

“The Australian wedge-tailed eagle mates for life. Once they have paired up wedge-tailed eagles find a large territory and defend it together. Will we?”