An aged Larry and Viv are standing in an ornate bathroom, wearing formal dress and getting ready to go out. He turns to her and says
“You look like a cat licking shit off a thistle today Viv”.
She smiles back at him and replies “Oh Larry, I feel as flash as a rat with a gold tooth”.
Then she looks him up and down and says admiringly in that husky voice of hers “You're no show pony yourself, mister”.
They each take one last look at themselves in the mirror and leave the room. As he turns off the light and closes the door Larry sighs to himself “Ah well, it was a good crust while it lasted”.
They then emerge from the front door of a building to find a thronging, cheering crowd of hundreds, perhaps thousands waiting for them. Larry looks around in bewilderment.
“Looks like the bush wire has been putting in some hard yakka.” he mutters. “I was hoping to shoot through here like a Bondi tram, but I reckon I'm going to have to sink the slipper in to make any headway”.
They walk through the crowd, gradually making their way as they wave regally, shake hands and make polite conversation. Viv briefly hugs a child and says “Thanks for coming to see us off. G’day and G'bye, you little beaut”.
Someone from the crowd shouts “Good on you Larry mate, yer blood's worth bottling!”
As they inch their way through the mass of people they see the blue and yellow vertical stripes of a hot air balloon slowly rise up from the ground, billowing out. It has been filling up and is almost ready to take to the air. Larry junior and Viv junior appear from amongst the crowd. They have now grown up. Larry Junior says “I know you couldn't give a fat rat's clacker about leaving prezzies dad, but we had a whip round and got enough together for a bonzer balloon ride for you and mum”.
Larry shakes him by the hand and Viv and Viv junior embrace.
“Well, son” says Larry. “I think this is the first time I've ever been given a DCBM. I'm not sure I'll know what to do with myself. I hope I don't end up flogging the log all day long”.
Larry junior smiles. “Nah. You're as fit as a mallee bull, mate. No worries”.
He and Viv junior beckon their parents to get into the basket, the balloon now being kept on the ground by a number of men holding ropes. And then, amongst a great cheer from the crowd (which sounds suspiciously like the product of merely three voices) the ropes are abandoned and the balloon gently rises into the sky.
Larry and Viv hug as they look down upon the earth below and Viv says “You know Larry, when I first met you I thought you were a roo short in the top paddock and if it was raining palaces you'd get hit by a dunny door. But you know what? After all these years you've made me as happy as a dog in a hub cap factory. You could sprinkle me with bulldust”.
He kisses her tenderly and says. “I always thought you were Christmas on a stick Viv, and I still do.”
The balloon has now risen high into the sky, and he looks down and around at the expanse of land below them.
“It's not a bad way to go out, is it?” He smiles with a hint of pain in his eyes.
She looks into the distance and sighs “Oh Larry, I'm feeling so horny. Have me now, in front of all these people! I don't care!”
He looks deeply into her eyes, gently holds her hand and his voice chuckles. “Babe, you're hotter than a piss in a sauna”.
The telephone rang unanswered for a long time in the motel room until Humvat eventually gave in and picked it up half heartedly.
“Hello?” he sighed, expecting to be greeted by yet another blast of threats, abuse and insults. He had no idea how all these people were able to track him down to this cheap motel. Janet Mobey had ensured his swift departure from her own suite of hotel rooms.
“Humvat? Is that you?” asked a female voice.
“Yes.” he replied, puzzled as to who this caller might be. They were addressing him in Siminite as Humvat instead of Larry in English. “Who is this?”
“It’s me, it's Kipdip”.
“Kipdip!” he exclaimed in delighted amazement and with a smile in his eyes. “It’s wonderful to hear your voice once again. But how on earth did you manage to find me?”
“I’ve been trying for more than three weeks without making any progress. I thought I’d have one last attempt today. I asked an American telephone operator if they knew where you were and hey presto, I got through to you almost straight away”.
He quietly frowned to himself. Even the telephone operators had joined the league against him.
“Anyhow,” she continued. “You’re quite a hero back home now. Following your outburst on television there was a popular uprising against the government. The Great Guide and all the priests and politicians have gone, completely disappeared from view. The common people are now in control of the country. It was incredible; the speed was such it was almost as if the whole thing was engineered. Of course, now we are rid of the pack of vermin the hard work of cleaning up the country has to start. But that’s a task for tomorrow because today we celebrate. And you’ll be pleased to know you have been officially credited as providing the inspirational spark which lit the wildfire. Who would have thought it?”
Humvat sat still and said nothing. He was suddenly overwhelmed and a single tear slowly rolled down his left cheek and onto his quivering lips. He tried to express the intensity of his joy at hearing the beauty of her voice, yet he struggled to carry her bewildering words into his mind as the weight of the world shifted across his shoulders.
She eventually filled the silent gap. “How are you?”
“I’ve had some, um, interesting adventures.” he murmured vaguely, wiping his face with his hand. “I still don’t understand how it ever happened, but the television series we made is very popular over here in America. It’s all been a bit frantic and exhausting but I’ve managed to save some money. Me and Parvark have decided to find somewhere quiet on the coast for a few days to recover our spirits. He has just gone out to hire a car”.
“Good,” she continued, seeming oblivious to his news. “I just wanted to let you know it’s safe for you to return home now, if you want to”.
“But don’t you see? I can’t come back.” he sniffed. “I’m on the verge of becoming a Hollywood star. Soon I’ll have a fortune greater than that of the Great Guide himself. I’ll be able to send money to you, so you can come and join me”.
“Instead of sending for me, you could always return to me Humvat. I need you, the nation needs you. We all need you back here at home. There’s still a strong mood that politicians of any hue are not to be trusted. The fact you were the only person who publicly came out and denounced the government and religious zealots when nobody else thought to has really raised your reputation. People are calling you a true revolutionary”.
“But I also said the Guide was a Semonite”.
“And everyone is most grateful to you”.
“No, no, you don’t understand.” he fretted. “He’s not, well he might be, I don’t know”.
“The Guide has gone.” she placated him. “Please come back home Humvat. You can make a public apology for your misdemeanour, if that helps you”.
He steadied his thoughts, quickly ran a debate through his mind and came to a conclusion, though in truth he hadn’t needed to argue with himself too much. He knew what his response was going to be.
“If you need me then I’m coming back to South Jefesta, Kipdip.” he said. “One of the many things I’ve discovered on my travels is that the pursuit of happiness through money is a pursuit which never makes anyone happy. Real wealth and real happiness comes about through achieving simple pursuits, like love and contentment”.
“Then I’ll be happily waiting for you, Humvat.” she replied.
There was a pause before her voice softened to an uncharacteristic whisper. “I love you”.
“I love you too.” he whispered back. “I’ll see you soon”.
A sudden click followed by a pie
rcing whining tone announced the line had disconnected. So it was decided then. Despite everything and despite himself, he was going to return home and lead a revolution.
As he replaced the receiver Parvark entered the room carrying sunglasses, a false beard and a hat. He handed them to Humvat saying. “You should put these on. I thought it would be better for you to travel in disguise. Everything is arranged”.
Humvat applied the props, looked at himself in the mirror and nodded. “Hmm”. He mused. “I hardly recognise myself”.
He quickly scoured the room and gathered his meagre belongings together. As he went to leave the motel for the final time, he turned to Parvark.
“Guess what?” he smiled through his beard. “I've just discovered that not only am I a superstar after all, but somebody out there loves me as well”.
Parvark felt the sweep of an instant anger rush through him, a contempt that despite all of his idiocy Humvat should still be acting out this manic grandeur. But it was tempered by pity, so he said nothing. It was obvious all the stress and strain had finally overpowered his poor friend. They picked up their belongings in silence. He allowed Humvat to pass out of the room, then followed him and closed the door.
Heather Surning sat in an aeroplane as the people around her jostled with seat belts and overhead lockers. She was reviewing the speech she was to give the next day in Washington, and once again read to herself the notes she had carefully assembled and transcribed.
"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Senate, Mr Speaker, thank you for giving me this opportunity to address you. I’ve been writing pieces about what I call the American NeoEmpire in my newspaper column, and I’d like you to consider another word in the lexicon of empire. This word is legacy”.
“The British Empire ruled a quarter of the world's land and a quarter of its people for almost two centuries. As time went on, its leaders contemplated the mortality of their empire. They realized some day America would outshine them, and accordingly felt impelled to influence events. So they spent long years establishing relationships and dancing a diplomatic courtship with American administrations. And the purpose of this love match was that when the lights finally went out on the British Empire, custodianship of the democracy they fought long and hard to establish throughout the world would be entrusted to a safe pair of hands, namely America”.
“Today our American NeoEmpire reaches out and touches the lives of billions of people across the world. We possess the richest economy, the mightiest military machine and the widest personal freedoms ever known to mankind. It is the strongest empire in recorded history but like the British one, it won’t last forever”.
“What happens afterwards, when some nation which is currently developing follows in our footsteps? Put simply, what will be the legacy of our NeoEmpire? Because at present I don’t see one. Where we once responded to challenges set by the future with the vision of the Marshall Plan, we currently lack any sense of direction in our foreign policy and relationships with the developing world”.
“We keep deluding ourselves we are merely an economic empire when we are plainly much more than this. We delude ourselves we have no interest in foreign conquests when we plainly do. And as a result we administer our empire beneath a cloak of subterfuge. We covertly install rulers whom we deem to be friendly to ourselves in countries where we perceive a threat, not caring whether the new regime is beneficial or not to the country itself. In other cases we send in our troops to install friendly regimes and pull the troops out again as soon as we can, without giving a thought to establishing lasting stability”.
“Our foreign policy in the Middle East is driven by agenda while we neglect to consider what might be required to bring about peace. We allow Africans to slaughter each other indiscriminately because they are neither a source of fear, greed nor opportunity. And shuffling around in the background, always shuffling around in the background, are the corporate mongrels sniffing the air for an opportunity to make a profit out of either life or death. Is it any wonder then why the poorer, weaker regions of the world hate us? They are not blind, so they see. They are not stupid, so they understand”.
“It is of grave concern to me that we do not portray any sense of legacy. We make no provision for our children or our children’s children and instead simply chase today’s easy dollar fluttering along the sidewalk. There is no grand plan for the future, nothing to leave behind”.
“Yet all is not yet lost. The British got many things wrong and were certainly not without impunity, but one lesson we can learn from them is my next word from the lexicon of empire, and this word is investment“.
“They invested in three main ways. Firstly they invested in democracy wherever they could. As a result, it may surprise you to learn the United States is not the largest democracy in the world. This accolade is afforded to India, a country with a population of more than one billion people”.
“The second investment the British made was in organizing infrastructures and expanding the expectations of the people in those countries which came under their influence. In the nineteenth century the greatest invention man had yet created was the locomotive train. Wherever they went the British laid down tracks and countries benefited. These ancient railways are still being used around the world in such far-flung places as the Sudan, Sri Lanka and Hong Kong”.
“Lastly they invested in a common cause. This was a notional loyalty towards the head of state in Britain and as a result the empire achieved a sense of community, of fraternity amongst its subjects rather than disharmony, strife or disenfranchisement. So much so that when Britain was in danger of collapse during the two world wars of the twentieth century, volunteers from all corners of the empire freely poured in to help defend what they regarded as their mother country”.
“When this empire was subsequently and, in most cases freely dismantled, there was little or no ill feeling felt towards the past rulers. Most of the dominions and colonies elected to form the Commonwealth, which is akin to a true family of nations”.
“The challenge for us now is to start building a legacy for our NeoEmpire. We can do this by taking on the responsibility of empire and changing our foreign policy, by investing both our ethos and wealth in poorer countries of the world where life is a daily trial. For too long the fate of these people has been in the hands of a cartel of anonymous but powerful corporate leaders who have undue influence over the ears, mouth and mind of the serving president”.
“They act on the basis of greedy self-interest and cause any number of deeds to be performed across the globe in the name of the American people when the vast majority of the public have absolutely no idea of what is being done in their name. We must wrest the process of policy making away from the grasp of corporate greed and give it back to people who care”.
“I am not advocating for us to attempt to create images of America throughout the globe. What I am asking for is that we invest a true belief in the power of democracy amongst the poor in the developing world, and give them a means to free themselves by investing within their infrastructure. I’m reminded of the adage which says that if you give a man a fish you feed him for a day. If you teach a man to fish then you feed him for a lifetime”.
“We should also remember there is much in the world we can learn from. I recall one of my students telling me he found a beautiful truth in studying Australian English. The beauty he saw was that although it is a modern language, words such as kangaroo, billabong and coolabah, which are all used to describe the Australian landscape are Aboriginal, not English. What is essentially a stone-age language is still being used today. The moral is that the old can co-exist with the new. Thank you very much for your diligent attention”.
She nodded her assent as she finished reading the words. Then she placed the notes in her bag and calmly looked up and down the aisle, scanning for indications of an impending take-off.
She had conducted much soul searching to resolve her irrational fear of flying, but t
o her frustration she found her psychological prowess was of little help. It was the difference between looking down dispassionately at somebody who is stuck in a maze, gently guiding them out, and being the person who is stuck in the maze, pounding the wall, trying to blindly find their own way out. In short, she found it’s far easier to heal somebody else than it is to heal yourself. Yet she remained either too stubborn, too vain or both to seek the path to her own answers from another psychoanalyst.
Then late one evening, the surprisingly simple solution revealed itself to her when she was under the influence of some particularly strong marijuana from the farm. The voice inside her told her that it was actually the sense of determination within her that had driven her to this fear. For in reality she was suffering from a fear of dying, not flying. And the fear was that she would depart this life without leaving something behind to announce that she had once stood tall and walked proud upon the earth.
So after all the tears, panic attacks and memory loss, it turned out she was merely fretting about leaving her own legacy behind. Having belatedly recognised this she set about constructing one, and this speech before the joint senate committee was it.
The plane engines screamed and it jerked forward without warning. As it lumbered along the runway she tensed slightly, but was nonetheless more relaxed than she had ever previously been at the moment of take-off. After all, she consoled herself once again, everybody has to die someday and she herself would have to face her own appointment with death eventually. If her day of destiny was to turn out to be today then so be it, there was nothing she could do about it. Despite this newly discovered state of calm, she remained bolted to an aisle seat. She still wasn’t ready to sit next to a window.
She also felt remarkably easy about continuing her climb back up the ladder of success while remaining based at Santa Domingo rather than New York or Washington. She still hadn’t felt that touch on her shoulder, telling her it was time to depart. In fact, nowadays she wasn’t convinced she ever would. She loved relaxing on that beach which was empty of the detritus of other people and their lives. She wasn’t exactly in love with life, but she felt – what was the word? – yeah, content. That would do.
Meanwhile, back on Santa Domingo beach the strength sapping heat of the sun was softened by the warm breeze blowing in from the sea. As it passed through the leaves of surrounding trees it made wind instruments of them, and they played a flat whooshing tune. Kenny and Neil were kneeling on the sand, assembling a large, sturdy looking wind surfboard. It proudly sported a large white mainsail, which was flapping away and anxious to be let off the leash. Kenny was putting food and water into a large plastic box which was strapped onto the board. Meanwhile Neil was attempting to secure a rudder to the rear.
Brian ambled up. “Yo, you blokes.” he greeted them.
“S’up mate?” replied Kenny, without looking up.
Brian shuffled lamely and put his hands in his pockets. “I just got off the phone to my parents. I decided to take up the offer from UC Berkeley to major in English. It turns out they’re all big Larry fans over there, so I guess I owe you blokes a tinny or two for that. My mom said it may not be Ivy League, but at least it’s got a solid reputation”.
He paused as he knelt down and ran his fingers over the new surfboard, before continuing. “And you know what? My old man came on the phone and said he was proud of me. He’s never done anything like that before. It totally weirded me out. I'm not sure whether I like it or not”.
Kenny shrugged. “My dad still doesn’t say anything nice to me. In fact he’s threatened me with transfer to a military school. I think he called it a last chance salon”.
“Me neither.” agreed Neil. “I think my parents have finally given up on me now. They've even stopped sending me an allowance”.
Brian sat on the cooler sand beneath the shade of a palm tree, leaned back against the trunk and started to roll a joint. “Where are you dudes gonna be gigging now summer’s nearly over?” he asked.
“I’ve decided to stick around at the station for a while.” said Neil. “Ray’s a pretty cool dude to work with, and he’s teaching me heaps of shit which might come in useful if I ever want to try for a career in the TV business. They’re even paying me wages which, totally weirdly, come to exactly the same amount as my parents used to send me, so you know, it's a living”.
Kenny meanwhile silently carried on filling the box on the surfboard, and was now carefully folding up a spare sail.
“What about you Kenny?” asked Brian as he carefully sprinkled the marijuana across the cigarette paper. “Why did you call us down here this arvo, mate?”
“Well,” said Kenny, proudly. “I’ve decided now I can surf properly, it’s about time for a change of direction for me. There's totally no way I'm going back to school, so it’s time to find a new life. Last week I finally got around to finding out whereabouts Australia is in an atlas, and guess what? It turns out there’s nothing but a big wide open ocean between here and there, so I’m gonna sail across on this baby to start a new life in Australia”.
He patted the new surf board. “I’ve got enough food and drink in this box to keep me going for six weeks, spare parts in case I need them and some cash to see me through when I get there. I’ve even rigged up this sling I’ve tied to the mast so I can sleep standing up. And I invited you dudes down here so you can wave me off”.
Brian smiled laconically as he finished making the joint. “Don’t forget to send us a postcard when you get there, mate”.
Kenny looked back up at him and shrugged his shoulders. “It may be that the wind blows me back ashore five miles down the coast, but the way I figure it there’s probably a new life for me there as well”.
Parvark drove the hire car along the quiet old coast road and Humvat sat in the passenger seat with his ridiculous disguise nestling in his lap. He alternated between admiring the scenery of the land on the right and turning across to gaze at the sea, a couple of miles away in the distance.
An unmarked left hand turning loomed up.
“Turn down there.” he commanded.
“But it’s only a beaten up old track. It doesn’t go anywhere.” protested Parvark.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure it does.” replied Humvat. “I think I’d like to go down and visit the sea”.
Parvark turned down the bumpy track and a few minutes later they were driving in small circuits around Santa Domingo town centre.
“I don’t understand it.” sighed Humvat, mystified. “I could have sworn I saw a beach down here from back up the road”.
Marcia Givens was walking along the sidewalk towards Marvin Hopkins Progressive College when a car sidled up to her and the passenger window wound down.
“For excuse me.” said a brown haired young man. “Can you tell where beach is?”
Being from out of town, Marcia didn’t carry the same bag of suspicions as the locals when it came to revealing their secret treasure. If somebody had made the effort to get this far, that was a good enough character reference for her.
“Sure.” she replied, and pointing her finger back towards town she explained “You need to go down there and you’ll see a path opposite that’s just wide enough to drive down. Follow this for a mile or so and you’ll get to a small parking lot. In the corner is a gate to the beach”.
“Many of thanks.” smiled the young man.
Heather now looked at his face, did a double take and asked quizzically “Excuse me, but you seem familiar to me. Have we met?”
The young man waved her away with a smile as he wound the window back up. “No, no. We never meet before. Only meet now”.
As Parvark steered the car around to face the opposite direction he muttered “That was a close call. You’d better put the disguise back on. We don’t want anyone recognising you and attacking you”.
It was later and Neil and Brian had retired to the shade beneath a palm tree where they sat chatting and sharing a joi
nt. Kenny was out in the late afternoon sunlight bent over his wind surfboard. He had finished packing and was locking up the box lid. At the same instant the three of them became aware of a foreign presence approaching. They looked across at the source of the long shadows which bobbed along the beach towards them. It was two men, both a bit older than themselves. One was unremarkable, but the other one wore a beard, sunglasses and a hat.
The two strangers approached them and the three boys stood up. The five of them warily eyed each other up for a few tense seconds. Then the two older ones broke the silence by speaking to each other, babbling away in a strange foreign language.
“My friend say what is this?” asked the nondescript one, nodding towards the wind surfboard. “Is it boat?”
“Nah, It’s a surfboard mate.” replied Kenny.
“What is for?” asked the strange bearded one with the sunglasses and hat.
“It’s for riding the waves, mate”.
“Ride waves to where?”
“He’s riding the waves all the way to Australia.” said Brian.
“It’s the lucky country.” added Neil.
“Hmm.” replied the strangely dressed stranger, eying the board. “Australia no so lucky for me”.
He bent down, inspected the surfboard, rubbed the delicate looking rudder and muttered something in that foreign tongue to his friend. They both chuckled.
“What did he say?” asked Kenny.
“ He said good luck to you in your journey to lucky country.” smiled the nondescript one. “He think you going to need it”.
After a short while the two strangers smiled at the three boys, vaguely waved their hands at them and carried on walking down the beach. “Good luck in your journey.” said the strange one over his shoulder.
“Thanks. G’day mate.” replied Kenny.
The strange one suddenly swivelled back around, briefly gazed at Kenny with a puzzled look on his face, then shook his head to himself and continued.
The three of them looked at the two men slowly disappearing into the distance.
“You know something mates?” asked Brian. “I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something weird about that bearded bloke kitted out with the hat and sunnies”.
“Totally, dude.” nodded Neil. “And there was something funny about that geek language they were speaking”.
“Yeah, like totally.” added Kenny, still gazing after them.
As they walked along, carrying their shoes and strolling along the edge of the sea with their feet splashing through the wet sand and water, Humvat turned towards Parvark and said. “Something really odd happened back there. That boy’s voice sounded just like one of the characters in that bastard Larry television show”.
Parvark smiled and snorted. “Half the kids in this country probably sound just like the characters in that bastard Larry television show”.
Humvat inhaled a lungful of salty fresh beach air, looked out to sea and said “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. You know what? I think we should spend some of our relaxation time at this place. What do you reckon?”
Back down the beach, the three boys carefully picked the surfboard up and carried it down to the water’s edge. Kenny stood up on it and the other two waded in and steadied it while he harnessed himself into the sling. Then they pushed him out and whistled and cheered as the wind filled the sail with brimming life, and he skimmed over the waves and out towards the open ocean. He triumphantly waved back at them and the board dashed out to sea. Pretty soon the sail of Kenny’s windsurfer was just a small white dot set amongst the immense deep blue emptiness of the Pacific Ocean. In this light it looked like a lonely comet slowly wandering through the silent universe.
Nobody was aware of it, but at that very moment, somewhere up in the heavens, the butterflies of fate which had soared upwards and joined together to form this train of events, now separated and gently floated back down to earth. Their work was done and their season was over.
In Windsor, England, it was a bleak midweek night and the moon beams briefly shone down through a break in the dark, rain laden clouds and rested upon the front door at 32, Shelbourne Road. The still shadow of the tall castle wall fell solemnly across the street full of terraced Victorian houses. A steady stream of elderly women filed quietly into the house and assembled noisily in the living room, comparing notes.
“My true love, Jack, passed away during the war.” said one with an American accent. “I never did have the heart or the will to return home, let alone marry again”.
Her conversational partner sniffed in sympathy. “My son David passed away after a car crash on the Marlow By-Pass over three years ago. But there are still days when I hear somebody or something outside the house, and I half expect to see him come through the door”.
The first woman smiled benignly. “I know.” she replied, gently patting the other woman's arm. “I do too”.
Then her sympathetic smile turned into a friendly one, and she offered a handshake. “I know it's not very English to introduce yourself, but I'm Mollie Rush”.
“Joan Phillips.” replied the second woman, meeting and loosely gripping her hand with her own.
One of the other women who wore a garish outfit of black taffeta and white lace made a mental count of the number of guests assembled and, content that the full complement had arrived, clapped her hands together to gain everyone's attention.
“Good evening ladies.” she raised her voice. “My name is Madame Clara and I am a spiritual medium. I'd like to take this moment to welcome you all to our weekly meeting, where we shall hopefully be making contact with some of our dearly beloved. Those who may have departed this life but are not yet forgotten. Before we commence proceedings we shall be serving refreshments and then we will move on into the dining room in order to conduct the session. So, in the meantime, please tuck in!”
Once they had partaken of the proffered cups of tea and plates of cucumber sandwiches, everyone shuffled into the dining room and sat on chairs set around a vast oval shaped table. In the middle of the table was a circle of cards, each bearing a letter of the alphabet and in the middle of the circle was a small water crystal glass, which was turned upside down. Two more cards, one marked “Yes” and one marked “No” lay either side of the glass
“Now then ladies.” trilled Madame Clara. “I'd like you all to please form a circle of energy by holding hands, and fill your minds with an image of the person you would most like to contact in the next world. Then focus your image onto the glass in the middle of the table, for that glass is our gateway to the spirit world. In order to help our concentration we'll dim the lights a little and, if we're fortunate, those souls of the spirit world will talk to us through the glass and the cards. I'm now going to call upon my spiritual guide, who is a Cherokee Indian brave named Red Eagle. Let’s see if he can summon up any other spirits who might be waiting to communicate with someone in this room“.
She closed her eyes and began to chant “Oh mighty spirits of the heavens, we beseech thee to heed our plea. Oh Red Eagle, my noble guide, will you reveal yourself to me?”
She repeated the chant several times, each one growing louder and deeper. And then suddenly the glass shot across the table towards the card marked “Yes”. There was an echo of “Oohs” and “Ahhs” and gasps around the table. Madame Clara opened her eyes and glowed with a satisfied smile. “He has heard and answered us”.
Then she allowed a moment’s silence and continued to chant. “Red Eagle, noble guide, do you have anyone with you who might wish to contact us?”
The glass sprang back into life and once again returned to the card marked “Yes”. There was more oohing and ahhing and gasps and a couple of shrieks. Madame Clara moaned. “Speak to me, Red Eagle. Who is this spirit who wishes to converse with us?”
Everyone in the room looked expectantly at the glass but it failed to stir. After a few lengthening seconds, the lull caused Madame Clara
to become mildly agitated.
“Who is this spirit who wishes to converse with us?” she repeated, almost demanding a response. The glass shot across the table towards the card bearing the letter T, then towards the E and then the L, before careering into the middle of the table and then back towards the L again, where it stopped for a short while.
“Tell.” muttered one of the women sitting at the table. “Is it William Tell I wonder?”
Then the glass sprang into a life of its own and moved around the table at such a speed everyone found it difficult to follow the thread of the message. It finally came to rest and the same woman pronounced “I think it said 'Tell Wirliv I was wrong', but I'm not entirely certain”.
“Yes,” agreed another. “That was the message alright”.
There was a low buzz of questioning and discussion around the table. While this was going on Madame Clara shot a glance at Mollie Rush and hissed “What the hell is going on?”
Mollie Rush hissed back “I don't know. It was supposed to be a message from David to Joan, but I didn’t get enough time to set it up properly! You served the food too fast!”
Madame Clara composed herself, turned towards her audience and cleared her throat. “Does anyone here know somebody called Wirliv?” She asked hopefully.
The room was a sea of shaking heads and the glass remained defiantly on the letter G.
Back at Marvin Hopkins College, Marcia Givens relaxed in the late afternoon sun. She sat on a shaded swing seat by the porch of her house and gently rocked herself back and forth by using the balls and heels of her feet. She puffed away on a joint and pondered. All the boys had departed for the summer holidays, and this filled the place with the unnatural tranquillity of an abandoned ship. It was a running machine, but an empty machine. The next academic year would be starting soon enough though, and doubtlessly bring with it further trials and tribulations, success and reward, chaos and desperation. Well, it would if it was anything like the one which had just finished. Whichever way you looked at it, it had been a heck of a roller coaster ride. Perhaps she’d been overly hasty in accepting those three young, but rich miscreants in the first place. Even her school, the one which never gave up hope on anyone was partially defeated.
She thought about Heather Surning and decided she hoped Heather would see fit to remain at the school. She’d been a great help during demanding times, and in this modern world where nobody seemed to give a shit about anything or anyone any more, it was a refreshing change to come across somebody who cared about others, rather than simply chasing the all important and consuming selfishness of the vacuous me-me-me mantra. Anyhow, two of those three boys and their excessively ambitious parents were out of her hands now and waiting to become somebody else’s challenge. As for the third boy, one happy and grateful set of wealthy parents out of three represented a partial success, and the school now possessed sufficient funds to stay in business for another year or two. She stubbed out the joint, yawned and lazily stretched out her arms. Then she nestled in the swing seat, rested her head on a pillow and closed her eyes. Life wasn’t that great, but it wasn’t that bad either.
THE END
Chapter Fifteen
The 100% Unofficial Strine Phrasebook
Herein contained is the official unofficial bootleg version of the first edition of our Strine phrasebook. This is the one that was produced before the oppressive fascist authorities of the institutional regime forced ethnic cleansing upon it.
Kenny Savage, Neil Petit and Brian Lovett rule, OK!
A
Abbo/Aborigine. The original natives of Australia.
Adelaide. Capital city of the state of South Australia.
A good root and a fart would kill you. You're not very strong.
Amber Nectar. Beer.
Ankle biter. Small child.
Arvo. Afternoon.
Arse/Arsehole. Rectum, backside, ass if you must know.
Awning over the toy shop. A beer gut.