Chapter 8

I led Laura to the creek and we rode downstream.

“That was interesting. I had expected chaos and squalor.”

“Oh. You can find native settlements like that. But they’re on the periphery of cities. Or in central run-down areas.”

“Slums.”

“I try not to say that. I think there’s a corruption that we carry around. It’s to do with our ways – whatever they are – are the best. Or the only. Or the right. So the schools tell the kids things and cut them loose. My friend Jacky got turned away from Amos’ stories. I was fascinated by them. He went to a trade school. Now he’s working on trucks. But he’s black. So he won’t be a manager. He’ll be skilled but underpaid and treated badly.”

“You’re bitter.”

“Yes. We started even. But we learned in elementary school that we weren’t. I was ahead. I’m no smarter than Jacky. I was trained better.”

They rode on a bit. Then I said: “It’s interesting. We all followed Cook and the First Fleet and pillaged Australia. We learned nothing from those already here. In fact, we corrupted or killed most of them. We shot them, introduced them to diseases, brought animals like cattle and sheep and camels that were alien, to say nothing of predators like dogs, cats, rabbits, strange fish and most recently toads.”

“Fish?”

“The redfin perch was introduced in the 1860s. They are voracious predators of other fish and invertebrates, they destroy recreational fisheries in enclosed waters by building up large numbers of stunted fish and eliminating other species. Some sport fishermen love them; no one else does. The cane toads were introduced from Hawaii in June 1935 by the Bureau of Sugar Experiment Stations, in an attempt to control the native grey-backed beetle and French’s beetle. Disastrous.” I paused. “You know. Some English idiot brought some foxes in the mid-1800s so that he could hunt ‘em. and in about 100 years they spread to most of the continent. The marsupials and the flightless birds have no protection from dogs or cats or foxes.”

“You make it so nasty.”

“It was. It still is. Remember Tennyson’s ‘Nature, red in tooth and claw’ in In Memoriam is a decade prior to Darwin’s Origin.”

“I’ve never read all of In Memoriam.”

“Not much of a loss. Remember, I may never read all of Orlando.”

“Well, you should try. Are we near a – uh – secluded place?”

“Yes. But I’d not engage in any activity. There are snakes, insects and spiders in the brush. We wouldn’t have much fun.”

“Oh. I saw myself as Angelica, but I’d not seen you as possessing Ruggiero’s comic aspects.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“It’s complicated. Angelica is captured and chained to a rock as a sacrifice to the orca – much like Andromeda in Greek and in Ovid – she’s rescued by Ruggiero, riding the hippogriff – like Perseus riding Pegasus. Of course, she’s nude and Ruggiero is aroused. So he lands his steed on a promontory and dismounts. While he’s busily taking off his armor, Angelica runs away. I’ve always seen it as one of Ariosto’s most comic scenes.”

“Yes, I can see that. Rape must have been tough when you were inside a tin can.”

“Well, originally rape was just carrying off. Like the rape of the Sabine women. But sex was the intent. Oh, there’s a business about a ring of invisibility to explain how Angelica gets away, but I see Ruggiero with his metalware half-on.”

“Yes. That is funny. I’ve another idea. Let’s ride this way.” I led Laura onto a path that led west and a bit north.

“Where are we heading?”

“‘There lies your way, due west.’ is what Olivia says.”

“Oh! I know that! ‘Then westward-ho!’ – but I can’t call you ladyship.”

“Twelfth Night is one of my favorites. It’s all about twinning and pairing and identity.”

“Yes. Orsino and Viola. Orsino and Olivia. Olivia and Viola. Olivia and Sebastian. Viola and Sebastian. Sebastian and Antonio. Orsino and Antonio. Sir Toby and Sir Andrew. Sir Toby and Maria.”

“And Malvolio deluded by Maria and Toby while deluding himself about Olivia!” They both laughed. “And here we are!”

“Where?”

“That used to be a shepherd’s hut. But no one’s lived there for years. Let’s see if it’s fit for carnal use.”

It was.

Mid-afternoon they returned to the house, now talking of Winter’s Tale.

“Do you like the scene between Polixenes and Perdita?”

“Of course.

Sir, the year growing ancient,
Not yet on summer’s death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the fairest
flowers o’ the season
Are our carnations and streak’d gillyvors.

“I never knew what gillyvors were.”

“I was taught they were ‘stock’.”

“Yet ‘the art itself is nature’. And we’re back!”

Dad was back, too. Laura and I cleaned up a bit and then sat with mum and dad, had some tea and brownie and spoke about our ride and dad told us about the condition of the fences and the stock. Dad asked Laura about her dissertation, but drew a total blank on the authors she was working on.

“You’ve got to realize that every culture has a literary history,” she said. “The Dreamtime stories are exactly the things that gave rise to the Homeric poems or the Icelandic ones. And I’m sure the historic Julius Caesar and Cleopatra were little like Shakespeare’s.”

“Too true,” dad said. “You know, there are only two whitefellas that have made their way into the Dreamtime.”

“Really?” I said. “Two?”

“Captain Cook and Ned Kelly. Rose mentions them.”

“I don’t know him,” Laura remarked.

“Her, don’t be sexist!” I rebuked her. “Deborah Bird Rose. She’s an American ethnologist who came here and has published things, largely about aboriginal life in the Northern Territory.”

“There are others, too. Like Katie Parker. Your copy of her Tales is still upstairs.”