Chapter 16

The next day I worked at home and finished my essay. Rachel went to the library – she wanted to do some research on ravens, she said. Rachel got home in the mid- afternoon.

"I couldn't find Audie!"

"I would have guessed that."

"But they just met!"

"She was smitten: a published poet, sorrowful, solitary."

"Did you read him?"

"No. I just don't know him well enough. And I barely touched him, so there was no real contact. We just shook hands."

"I don't trust him!"

"Rachel, Audie's a big girl."

"Can't you read her?"

"I guess I could. We certainly have had real contact."

"Well?"

"Later, when you're not complicating things by being over-wrought."

"Am I?"

"Yes, dear. Three months ago you hadn't met the twins, nor Gordy. We hadn't thought about Angus nor Martha for over ten years. Now you're really concerned about everything. Want a cup of tea?"

"No. Something cold."

"I'll look." I went into the kitchen. "Apple or tomato juice?"

"Apple please."

I poured some for myself as well. Just as I sat down, Rachel's mobile went. From her tone, I could tell it wasn't Audie. I wandered into the study and was staring at my screen-saver, when I saw Rachel's reflection.

"It's Winnie. She's having a reception on Sunday afternoon and wants to know whether we can come."

"Sure. But ask about dress." Rachel nodded and wandered away. She did an enormous amount of walking in a small flat.

"Coat but no tie, she says. 1500 on Sunday. Officially, it's 1430, but she said we should be 'fashionably late.' Artists and museum patrons. She said you can tell them apart by the haircuts ... some of the patrons will be sporting bush shirts." I laughed.

"Another bunch of phonies. We could sell them those two." I waved at the wall. We'd brought the Fred Williams and the Max Dupain that had been on the station in Mitchell back east with us. Dad kept the Nolan at home. [see "Gordy's Problem"]

"Not if you value your life! A gouache and a photo. They're our only real works of art."

"I was kidding. And Australian art is a topic far from Audie and Angus."

"Right. What should I wear?"

"Are you masquerading as a junior assistant curator? Short cocktail dress, low heels. If you had one, I'd say a kimono and clogs."

"You racist pig!"

"Yes, ma'am. But if you want to make an impression, that's how. We'll be fine. I'll buy a silk tee shirt to go with my suit. A bright colour." I thought for a moment. "They're in Addison's Restaurant in Shellharbour."

"Where's that?"

"On the coast near Wollongong. She's not stressful."

"Well, that's good. I was worried."

"I wasn't. I think I would have sensed peril. Anyway, why don't you trust him?"

"I'm not certain. Maybe the ginger hair. Like Loki. Did you know that the ancient Egyptians believed that any person, or creature for that matter, with ginger coloring was associated with the gods? Then again ... the rest of them thought that ginger coloring was an omen of doom. In the Middle Ages they'd all think he was a witch ... he could have ended up burnt at the stake."

"You're babbling. Maybe you should stop reading about myths and superstitions. Anyway, what was all the reading about ravens?"

"Oh. Right. Let me get my notes. By the way, do we have a copy of Barnaby Rudge?"

"Dickens' novel? No, I don't think so. I've never read it."

"It's about the Gordon Riots, whatever they were. There's a raven in it."

"Oh, I know about the riots. Anti-Catholicism in 1780."

"Whatever. Anyway, the book I looked at said that Poe had reviewed Barnaby Rudge and got the idea of his 'The Raven' from it. But I was reading about ravens because of Odin's pair: Thought and Memory. There's a Haida tale about the raven creating the world and one from the Queen Charlotte Islands about the raven bringing the sun to the world."