Chapter 2
‘If you’re going through hell, keep going.’ Winston Churchill
‘Just keep looking up at the stars,’ mouthed Nan.
Cars parked all along the street have the shapes of bodies in them; shops have broken windows and the contents trashed, doors have been pushed open years ago to welcome the weather: the heat, the cold, and the rain.
Shoving open the iron gates with a grating shriek, a hanging horseshoe swings like a metronome. We dart into solid darkness, following Nan. I’m not scared; I like cemeteries. They’re places crowded with stories of people, just like us, who once lived. The only thing is that those stories have been mostly lost.
Looking about, it came into my mind that the old ghosts of these people might rise up in rebellion against what has become of the world that they worked and died for. I shivered.
I was born eight months after Dad died, so I never knew him; though, I feel that I do because of Nan’s stories. Nan says stories are important. They connect us to where we came from.
‘You shouldn’t expect those people of the past to be perfect or to be like you or me. Nan says. ‘They stood in another world.’ To me, that world of the past feels like a lost home, lost to time, peopled by ghosts.
Tom has said, ‘People think, believe, and are motivated by different things at different periods of history.’ He also added that history is full of selected stories, because some people didn’t have written languages or were not allowed to talk. Which stories are suppressed seems to depend on who is in charge.’
Tom says that stories and anecdotes are not reliable. He says that science is systematic, reproducible, testable, predictive, and has explanatory power. I tell him that maybe true, but some variables not taken into consideration can be learned through stories. And we may get a richer and fuller picture of reality.
‘I can’t agree,’ Tom responds. ‘Anecdotal evidence or self-reported claims can lead you in the wrong direction. You can cherry-pick according to your bias and talk yourself into wrong generalisations.’
This all sounded so inhuman to me; I didn’t want to believe it. ‘Besides, I say, ‘Your precious evolution is just a theory.’
‘Gravity is just a theory too,’ Tom replies, ‘but you wouldn’t want to walk out of the window of a second-floor building. The thing is, science works.’
When Dad died, he was battling the Sovereigns, in a group called the Demos, who wanted to keep the order of political, legal, and economic rules. Nan said the group wasn’t perfect, but Dad said that apathy was more dangerous than tyranny and anarchy. So he had to fight. But he died, and here lie his remains. According to Tom, ’ Civilisation takes many years to build but can be destroyed in no time.’
Weaving through the field of graves, white headstones fluorescent, we stop in front of a stone decorated with clasped hands. The stone is old, from 1799, but I can’t read the name.
‘Your dad is here, with Polly. She’s our first European ancestor, who arrived as a convict on the Lady Juliana, part of the Second Fleet, in 1789.’
‘You dug the grave yourself, between these stones, didn’t you, Nan?’ whispered Tom.
‘I did. It was the only thing I could think to do at the time. I didn’t want to do it, but time wouldn’t wait.’
‘I was only one, so I don’t remember Dad,’ Tom said. ‘But I remember Mum a bit, because I was three then.’
I could see Nan’s mouth tighten in the moonlight, Mum was probably stolen because she was a fertile woman who could produce children. We think that she died, but really, we are not sure.
According to Nan, Mum was taken during the night, on our journey back to Springwood from Parramatta. We were camping out in the basement of a tall building in Penrith when Nan woke to find Mum gone.
Nan believes one of the Theocratic Sovereigns took her, because the symbol of an eye was scratched onto the floor where Mum had been sleeping. The eye being an ancient symbol of God’s ‘all-seeing eye.’
Years later, when Nan was telling us about Mum’s disappearance, Tom wondered how many gods people had invented, killed, and died for.
I wasn’t taken, though, as my missing hand is sometimes my protection; it frightens people. But, I wondered occasionally, though I didn’t tell Tom, that maybe some other greater presence protected me…..
We suddenly became aware of advancing figures behind us, and we whirled around to see two malevolent-faced women and a boy about my age.
The women were dressed in long ballgowns, tiaras and loads of jewellery and makeup. The boy, clad in a tail suit, high-waisted trousers, and strangling, spotted bow tie, looked like he would rather be anywhere else but here.
The women held long gleaming swords, and I could feel fear boiling within me. Nobody moved.
Then, the silence of the night was broken when one of the women, who had a slash of red lipstick on her horse like lips, stepped forward, dropping her sword, advancing towards Nan.
‘Don’t. Stop!’ yelled Tom, throwing himself in front of Nan. I felt paralysed: I could not move.
‘No,’ said the woman in the blue silk dress, her eyes locked on Nan, ‘It’s me, Janeus……your old friend you haven’t seen in yonks.’
Recognition sparked in Nan’s eyes, and Janeus hugged her. Nan wasn’t the hugging type, so she just patted Janeus’ shoulder and said, ‘You scared me witless, Janeus. What are you doing with those ridiculous swords?’
Janeus moved away and looked back at the other woman but didn’t answer Nan’s pointed question. The other woman seemed to glide forward on wheels and stood too close to Nan and Tom. Bunyip growled a warning.
‘We’re just having a bit of fun,’ she said dismissively. ‘It’s boring, and we don’t see many new people anymore.’
‘Hera doesn’t feel alive unless she’s taking risks,’ said Janeus, casting a sideways glance at Hera, who was busy grinding her teeth. I didn’t think that Janeus and Hera were really friends, but I wasn’t sure.
‘Come back with us and we can talk,’ Janeus whispered into the darkness. ‘We are camped out in the old shopping centre.’
‘We need a minute,’ Nan replied, nodding toward the graves…. .My son.’
Hera nodded. ‘We’ll wait over near the gates,’ and the two women were reclaimed by the shadows, leaving the boy unmoving.
‘When everyone is free, then everyone is a threat,’ muttered Tom.
The boy in the bow tie looked up sharply and nodded toward Tom. There was some understanding between them. It is a strange magic when a similarity of mind is discovered.
Nan replied, ‘Tommy, luv, Janeus used to be a school friend of mine; we must trust her and hope that human nature is not all bad. in its natural state, as you call it.’
We stood silently in the murky darkness, each alone with our thoughts; the night around us and its sounds faded away. I thought about how life could have been if I had known Mum and Dad, but I couldn’t imagine it, really. Nan, Tom, and now Bunyip are the only family I’ve ever known.
As we headed towards the gates to meet Janeus, Hera and the boy, Nan spoke softly.
‘I know that I don’t have to remind you to keep mum and don’t tell this lot too much or even where we live…..You never know……I was planning to camp in the old Female Factory, as it’s solid stone and less likely to be in a bad state. But I’m knackered, to be honest, and I can’t think straight at the present..so. …’
‘That’s alright, Nan,’ I replied. ‘You’ve said yourself that there’s danger everywhere, especially since we are without any foundations to guide us. But sometimes, it is better to accept the danger along with the adventure than wait for the danger to find us, hiding safely in our foxhole.’ Though this speech came out of my mouth, I didn’t really believe this.
Nan nodded, her face in darkness. I knew that her mind was still back there with Dad.
A mist was creeping in as we came to the wrought iron gates, but we could see the ghostlike outline of three figures waiting for us.
Without speaking, we all walked through the gate and out into the street, when a blur of metal charged towards us. Janeus screamed, ‘Run!’. And we stampeded forward, shot with adrenalin, Bunyip tearing ahead.
Throwing ourselves into the gaping door of a building, we didn’t stop running but stormed up a flight of disintegrating stairs. From the upper floor, we could see through the shattered building in dawn’s early light a car, with long spikes welded on its sides, revving its engine. Then, a flash from the lit fuse from a bottle rushing towards us.
Time seemed to slow, and my thoughts moved like syrup. Someone grabbed my arm and we were running again, down the stairs, threading our way out the back of the building into a dark, dank alley, tall buildings looming and blocking the growing light sky, with clouds like smoke from a burning building. A loud boom in the distance.
We keep running, mindlessly, following Janeus, who is surprisingly nimble in her long silk dress.
She darts down a stairway, and then we are going up what I think is a fire escape. A door opens, and we are in a discombobulating hallway of white floors and glass ceilings. Through another door, and we stand in a furniture store, with beds and lounge chairs of many patterns and colours, glowing in the light pouring through skylights.
To the right, I can see clothing, with mannequins posing in dresses of years ago. A white ornate dressing table sat to my left, covered with bottles of strange synthetic perfumes and a bamboo pot plant. I notice a strange painting of a leathery desiccated horse on a yellow background.
Seeing me look at the painting, Janeus murmurs, ’It’s not Phar Lap.’
A huge tent has been pitched near a defunct escalator, and we all duck inside. It is furnished with jewell like rugs and long velvet lounge chairs.
‘Welcome to our home,’ announces Hera, arms opened theatrically, blood dripping.
‘Oh, you’re hurt!’ Nan cried. ‘It must be from the spikes on that car.’
‘It’s just a scratch. Doesn’t even hurt,’ Hera sniffed dismissively, as Janeus appeared with a bottle of disinfectant (probably out-of-date) and a bandage.
‘That was really scary,’ I said softly, turning to Tom.
‘That was terrorism,’ Tom replied earnestly. ‘There used to be security intelligence organisations that conducted surveillance and could stop many attacks before they happened. But lots of people began to say that prejudice motivated these organisations and there was more chance of being killed by a falling ladder, ignoring the vast number of terror plots that had been stopped.’
‘But the surveillance of people, which was under the skin and in the mind, was also used to coerce and control people and exploit them for profit too,’ said the boy with a pointy nose and bow tie. ‘My name’s Valour; pleased to meet you.’
Tom and Valour shook hands, looking like people from long ago, enacting rituals of civility. ‘Thought crime became real,’ Tom added.
Hera lunged between them, pushing Valour and Tom apart, and sneeringly said, ‘We’ll have none of those right-wing rituals here. We are anti-establishment and counter-culture. We wear these clothes ironically, to mock this fashion and all it represents. Remember that…. if you want to stay.’
‘Sorry, Hera, that we don’t measure up to your ideological standards,’ Valour said flatly. His facial expression was bland, but I could see a sardonic twinkle in his eye.
‘Just remember, kid, we tear down statues; we don’t build them.’ Hera sneered, her eyes falling upon Valour like an axe.
Valour murmured, ‘damnatio memoriae.’
‘In Eastern Europe they used to build statues, then tear them down every few years, and build other ones, only to repeat the process a few years later, usually with violence.’ Tom stated. Then added, ‘Wouldn’t it be better to have discussions about the statues, because beliefs and morality evolve over time? Or, maybe we should just build statues of dogs….don’t you agree Bunyip?’ He knelt down and looked Bunyip in the eye, and Bunyip gave him an agreeable lick.
‘Humans would still find something to object to,’ Nan said acidly, like she’d sucked on a green mango.
‘Darwin said that, “A moral being is one who is capable of reflecting on his past actions and their motives – of approving of some and disapproving of others.”’ I think that applies to our past and its people too.’ I was waiting for Tom to get a Darwin quote in there, but to my amazement, this speech came from Valour.
Tom went on, ‘From the late 1400s, the Age of Discovery reshaped the world with seafaring explorations of the then unknown world, motivated by spreading religion, the pursuit of knowledge, rewards and resources, and an innate belief in the superiority of civilisation. These voyages also brought viruses, which killed untold numbers of peoples. Many, many years later, the sins of the fathers were repaid. But was it moral and ethical to punish someone for the revisionist crimes of their 10 X grandfather?’
‘Civilisation corrupts,’ Janeus stated.
Valour haughtily replied, ‘Those people who were jealous or hated themselves started to criticise those who discovered and invented everything to make themselves feel better.’
There was a general intake of breath.
I stamped my foot, ‘Most ordinary people had nothing to do with any of that stuff.’
Hera growled, ‘Parading the corpses —that’s what justice looks like.’
‘People used to say, “give peace a chance,”’ I replied.
‘It’s just amazing that people can read the same history and come to very different conclusions,’ Nan voiced, shuddering slightly. ‘Of course, many people before the fall were not interested in our history, as they had no past in it,’ she sniffed.
‘Your climate change is a hoax too. A Stalinist narrative,’ Hera added, seeming to enjoy herself. ‘If you don’t agree with me, then you probably haven't been listening properly.’
Valour scornfully added, ‘Horseshoe theory in action.’
Hera, looking pleased, pointed to the side of the tent. ‘Horseshoes are very lucky!’
‘I think, Hera, that climate change was found to be supported by scientific research, and you would have to agree that this aligns with reality. What was in doubt was the politics of it and what should be done in response and the possible repercussions of these choices.’ Tom, tiredly, turned away.
Hera smiled like a demented cat. ‘Yeah, well, they told people that Y2K would cause global computers to crash and planes to fall out of the sky. Yeah, nothing happened, and where is the hole in the ozone layer, eh? The worldwide famine and ice age predicted in the 1970s? Never happened. The nations that would go underwater by the year 2000? Climate change will wipe out all of humanity. I could go on.’
‘Just think about that last one a bit, Hera. Maybe the dates are just a bit off.’
Hera continued her loco smiling, looking like she could eat a crocodile.
‘Maybe or maybe not,’ she purred.
I wondered how so many people seem so sure of themselves and their view of the world. I wondered if we all lived in a slightly different simulated reality.
Let’s go over to the book section,’ Valour said to Tom. ‘They’ve got some psychology and science over there…… Have you read…..?’
I didn’t hear the rest of the question, as Tom and Valour were eagerly on their way to nerd out over their science books. Though, I did notice that Valour had this weird way of almost walking on his toes.
I lay down on the nearest plush lounge and pulled one of the rugs over my head. I was feeling overwhelmed and wishing we had stayed home with the shadows in our cave. Then, I became aware of Hera’s shrill voice.
‘They are both preachy little twerps, aren’t they……. Not really surprising since they share a father.’
I did not move; I felt somehow that this wasn’t a surprise as I listened to the loudness of silence.
————————————-
Janeus cleared her throat, ‘Come for a walk and I’ll tell you all about it. Bunyip, you too.’ They were moving outside the tent. I lay awake for what seemed like hours.
I must have dozed off, because I woke up to Tom’s voice. ‘So in your opinion there is no human nature, but maybe a human condition?’
‘Well of course we are shaped by genes and environment interacting in complex ways. And our customs and habits seem natural to us because we see everyone else around us doing the same thing. But the fact that various groups differ so much from each other, and we tend to take on the values and beliefs of the culture we are born into…..’
I threw the rug off my face. I would go crazy if I had to listen to Tom and Valour going on, expounding their scholarly exegesis for the next few hours. I noticed that Nan and Janeus were sitting drinking tea.
‘What was that spiked car all about?’ I said, trying to divert conversations and change subjects.
Janeus looked over at me and smiled. ‘That’s a 1972 Holden Monaro. The rampager in that car simply wants to showboat their power, freedom, and brutality.’
‘But if they’d killed us, who would hold them to account?’ I asked.
Hera slunk into the tent and answered, ‘I’ve just served that freak a bit of frontier justice.’ Then, she handed Janeus a tiny and beautiful old clock. ‘I found this in a toff’s house, for you.’ Janeus looked pleased.
‘What did you do,’ I almost shrieked. I was feeling stressed and was becoming increasingly desperate to get home to Springwood. I’ve got a very low threshold for stressful stuff, if you want to know the truth.
Hera just tapped her nose on the side and continued moving about the tent, touching things and sliding her long silver fingernail down Valour’s face.
A rough-looking man with a body like an abandoned building came through the tent flap, yelling, ‘Yoo hoo. I’m looking for Hera.’ The man was covered in faded old tattoos: arms, face, and any part of him I could see. Various earrings hung from his hairy ears, and his dirty grey hair was in ratty, long frail plaits and hung over his eyes, which looked like they were behind bars.
‘There’s a rumble on. Some bloke’s been annihilated, and his gang’s blaming Boffin. Come out for the fun and have a squiz.’
‘Nah, I’ll give it a miss,’ Hera replied, without looking at the man.
‘Come on,’ he whined, ‘I’ve heard that Ardent will be there, trying to be the hero. You know how much you fancy him.’
‘No, I’ve taken a liking to Souky now; she’s more my type,’ Hera said lifelessly.
‘Not Boffin!’ Valour cried. ‘He’s harmless. He can’t talk and wouldn’t hurt anyone. Come on, Tom, I’ve made these stink bombs out of some birds’ eggs; let’s throw some and break the whole thing up.’
Nan yelled, ‘No, Tom. Don’t,’ but Valour and Tom had already streaked out of the tent and were away.
Hera’s lip curled, ‘At least the trash just put itself out.’ Then, ‘Let’s go and stop those two clowns getting themselves hurt…or worse,’ and she left with the man.
‘Hera’s alright at heart,’ Janeus said, looking towards me. ‘She lived out in the bush for years alone, solitary as an octopus, and free as a fish. She had to depend on herself. She was pretty feral when I met her, but desperate for her own child….. And it doesn’t worry me when she acts like a bit of a pork chop’
‘She seems so bitter,’ Nan said.
‘Well, yes, she is consumed with what she sees as the injustices of the past, and she is bent on revenge against almost everybody ... .but still….. I tell her we look backwards to understand and forwards in order to grow.’ Janeus continued, ‘Even if your past is dirty, the future in front of you is clean.’
Nan said. ‘What you consistently do is who you are, so you can change your future by changing your actions. But people and situations are complex, and it can be difficult to simply stop feelings of sadness, anger, resentment, shame, guilt, and remorse. We often carry these feelings with us, even though they generally guarantee our future suffering.’
Nan continued, ‘some people who have had terrible things done to them go on to help others and do good, while others cause harm to themselves and others. Is it a choice? I don’t know.’
Nan and Janeus continued to chat about various subjects, and of course, the past. Always the past. Later, I heard Tom and Valour return talking excitedly about making more stink bombs. I could hear rain begin to fall, tap dancing on the roof, then harder like thousands of dropping hammers.
I drifted away to sleep, lulled by the mumbling voices, and dreamt of a tall, thin, round building, built of stone, with many windows. I was flying towards it, then gliding in and out of the open windows. A soft mist lingered on the air, and many babbling voices spoke musically in the background, but in no identifiable language. It is odd that in dreams, when the frontal lobe loses its presidential role, we can be taken to strange places and we are so different from our usual selves.
I awoke, cold and wet. A terrible roaring noise still echoed in my ears. I was finding it hard to breathe. What had happened?
I became aware of darkness, that heaviness lay upon me, that the tent fabric covered my face, and Bunyip was whining, Tom was shouting. I was very wet.
Light appeared along with Valour’s petrified face. He and Tom had lifted up the metal roof that had collapsed inward from the heavy rain. I was stunned and couldn’t think clearly.
‘Where’s Nan,’ I wailed.
‘Help us look’, Tom said gravely.
We began trying to move the sheet metal roof, searching for Nan and Janeus; Bunyip hovered, mournful, tail down.
‘They’re here. Oh, no!, under the concrete post,’ Tom cried, desperately trying to move the shattered roof and tent aside.
We worked, straining our muscles, lifting and clearing the wreckage, calling to Nan and Janeus, as the rain poured relentlessly through the gaping mouth of the roof.
They were together, crushed under the load-bearing concrete column, and we knew that it was too late.
We tried desperately to move the solid, weighty column. Neither it nor Nan nor Janeus moved. Finally, Tom was able to gain access to Nan’s wrist to check her pulse. He shook his head. There was nothing to say, because words were too puny and meagre for our dreadful feelings; as the rain continued pounding like a truncheon, soaking us.
More of the roof started to cave in, and a grinding sound of the whole structure beginning to move told us we would have to leg it out of there.
‘Go!’ yelled Tom, and we hurled ourselves away from the growing disaster. I ran back towards the white hallway and the fire stairs, running mindlessly, aware only that Bunyip was with me.
For hours I searched for Tom and Valour, my heart under my feet; I was in despair. I ran and ran until I came to what looked like a destroyed town square. Seeing a giant terracotta pot, empty, and on its side, I climbed in, and that microcosm became my home. Nan was close to me: we came from the same people, but I was also part of the world and connected to all other people. And, this was my comfort. I fell into oblivion, hoping that sleep would close the eye of anguish.
The sun was high; It was hot when I awoke, and steam lifted off the cement.
I was thirsty, tired, and grief stricken.
I began to walk and found myself back at the cemetery and just stood there, hoping the way forward would come to me.
I hardly registered the tall, thin person advancing towards me, clad in a long tunic with a hood.
‘You look so sad.’
I stared at the old man, with a thin face and kind eyes.
‘My Nan and her friend have died. I have lost my brother…brothers…’ I spluttered.
‘You honour them by caring so much,’ the man answered calmly. ‘But perhaps, we can find your brothers.’
‘How…., ‘ I asked, weeping now.
‘We’ll ask God, who has been my constant companion and hope, my dear.’
I was infused with a sense of comfort, as the man bid me to kneel down. He began to chant, a soothing, rhythmic, repetitive pattern of sounds that lulled, and comforted me.
He lifted the drying soil around where my father was buried, and began to drop it from the funnel of his closed hand, mesmerising me.
‘Time flows like a river; it carries us away and onward, and we will find out, in the end what really matters, after travelling under the throne of Lady Necessity. Justice and injustice affect the soul as disease and health affect the body. The kingdom of God is within you, along with fate and freedom.’
A feeling of tranquility, and consolation flowed through me and I felt connected with all things. But then…….
Drumming feet. Panting. Bunyip prancing about, ecstatic at seeing Tom and Valour again.
The tall man bowed slightly and lifted his hand. It was time to go.
Tom and I were so pleased to find each other, but we did not hug as others might do. It was not our way.
How do we know what is true? I asked Tom, as Valour hung back, thinking about Janeus, his grandmother, and Nan, the grandmother he did not get time to know.
‘We can use the tool of science to find out what is objectively real and true, but some people believe in what is subjectively true, even if it differs from measurable reality. Personally, though, as soon as there is a claim to secret, inaccessible knowledge, I am sceptical.’
‘But, Tom, I felt such comfort, such closeness with Nan……’
Seeing that I was struggling, Tom took in a deep breath. ‘There was a scientist who proposed non-overlapping magisteria, the idea that science and religion are separate and independent domains. Does that help?’
I nodded, but I still thought it was cruel that we humans seem to swagger about and agonise so much about life, often trying to shape the world and how others think, and then suddenly we live no more.
I also wondered how to deal with conflicting claims. Would I have to compartmentalise my thoughts? Engage in cognitive dissonance? Could I accept the wild divergence between my hopes and reality? I didn’t know. Tom said that if you don’t align your beliefs with reality, sooner or later you face reality in its consequences.
I wanted to leave this place, where we had lost so much, and return home to our cave, but Tom wanted to visit the place where he had once lived with our parents, so we argued about it for a while……well, as much as you can argue with Tom, who is always reasonable.
Finally, Valour intervened, looking straight at me, but in an unfocused way. ‘Look, I’m not sure if you know I am your half brother?’ I nodded. ‘I’d like to see where our father once lived’.
I glanced at Tom, who shrugged. ‘We worked it out, it wasn’t difficult’.
‘But, but…..,’ I didn’t know what to say.
‘Look, I don’t know what happened. Some things we will never know, and you have to accept that. I only know what is, and that can’t be changed,’ Valour added.
‘Nan always said that we used to live on level 15 of the highest tower block in Parramatta, and that’s the tallest,’ Tom said, pointing, showing no angst or discomfort about finding out about another brother with a different mother!’
We began walking towards the soaring building that must have had 100 floors. Its cement was stained and decomposing; there was something anti-human about it. Not just the idea of stacking humans as though on shelves, but the second-rate shoddiness.
‘Such buildings are representative of the universal modernity of the times in which they were built. And it’s very functional,’ Tom pronounced, seeing me eyeing the building.
‘I don’t like it.’
‘That is your personal taste, and different people can have completely different reactions for different reasons,’ Valour said, joining us.
We continued walking, trying to stick to the shade as the heat was oppressive. Tom said that although there are so few humans now, there are still tonnes of carbon dioxide in our atmosphere.
In the old days, many things were tried to remove the carbon, but too much energy was required. Then, many trees were planted to capture and store carbon, but there were more and more bushfires and more carbon-released.
Bunyip began barking frantically. I leant down to pat his head and became aware of unintelligible words being spoken behind us. I whirled around, at the same time as Tom and Valour, to see a person standing talking to us in an unknown language. Others stood menacingly behind.
‘Hello,’ I said hesitantly. Nan taught me to always start with a pleasant ‘hello.’ She said that since the world fell apart, people had lost their social skills, so it was better to lead the way with politeness. She said sometimes you would be talking to someone and they would start cutting their toenails or picking their nose. Stuff like that. Though, it was also the case that most people had spent years with only flattering AI friends, with little interest in flawed humans.
These people wore no shoes or clothes, but they had piercings in various grim places that hurt my eyes. These are the Primordial People Cult, I realised. Tom whispered that they spoke the reconstructed Proto-Human Language, from around 100,000 BCE.
This bloke thinks that modesty is invisibility, I thought.
One man stepped out, with hair like a dunny brush. ’I have been assigned to speak your foul sham language. ZZ here, refuses,’ he said, with a flick of a hand, which had been surgically split in two. ‘ZZ will speak only in their own language until the end of days.’
‘Fair enough,’ replied Valour, ‘but you need a lingua franca if you speak a language that not many people understand.’
The man looked puzzled and then mad as a cut snake. Some people get angry if they don’t know something, and they can be dangerous.
Cheekily, Valour giggled and said, ‘Luckily those red eyes suit you.’
Tom’s been belted up a few times over the years and called a ‘know-it-all.’ Tom doesn’t get mad. He just says that he has to be himself, even if others don’t like it, ‘everyone else is taken.’ I’m sure he read that somewhere. Now I had to deal with Valour, who was even more prone to honesty bombs.
The man started chucking a wobbly, swearing and jerking about, but I won’t repeat those words here or describe the scene, as it would scar your ears and eyes. But seeing me giving him the fishy eye, he started raging, saying, ‘Living in the raw is natural, It’s how you were born. I am free and do not accept your fake imposed moral superiority.’ Then, more ranting and cursing.
‘I generally dismiss people who resort to insult, rather than debate,’ Valour said in a pompous manner, turning his back on the man. Then added, ’Most people just swear to be popular or because they don’t know many words.’
I was thinking, we are in for it now! Valour’s view about swearing was half true, but I knew that it was fun to yell some cuss words into the wind when I was upset or angry. Though, I’d never said such things around Nan, as she got shocked, annoyed, or angry by such talk. She said the violence of these words felt like someone was kicking or hitting her. Tom claimed that some people thought swearing was part of their free expression.
‘You are dehumanising us!. We are natural, sovereign citizens, with special rights and privileges,’ the man said, trying to control himself against his will. He then grabbed the backpack that Valour was carrying. Strangely, Valour didn’t look too worried.
The man opened the backpack, and seeing that it was full of books and a large water bottle, dashed it to the ground and started stomping on and kicking it violently until he became aware of an advancing presence behind him and swung around.
‘Hi Ardent, how are things?’ the man said cringingly through his shark-like mouth. Then, in outrage, as Ardent’s soft brown eyes fell on the smashed water bottle and destroyed books, ‘Look what they made me do!’ He cried.
‘What are you doing Nabilac?’ Let these kids go and do their thing.’
‘We do what we want! You are trying to erase us,’ shrieked Nabilac. ’This is systemic and structural prejudice. It’s cultural imperialism. We resist your gentrification and oppression dynamics. We assert our freedom of identity and narrative justice. You don’t respect our language!’ he continued.
‘Sorry, no. You’ve been warped by your beliefs. You actually have the individual ability not to accost these kids and wreck their stuff,’ Ardent said tiredly, pulling the collar of his shirt to allow in some air in the terrible heat. ‘You know,’ he continued, ‘these ideas you talk about, like, “structural prejudice,” come from the ideas and institutions that you helped to destroy. Where do you think the language of freedom comes from? You spat on our freedom.’
Then, really getting hot under the collar, Ardent said, ‘You know we had a free and successful civilisation, and people like you just tore it apart. All the crimes were laid at our feet by people living comfortably within democratic liberal values. I don’t think you would like to live in an authoritarian, closed society. They don’t air their dirty laundry. Critics simply disappear. Is that what you want?’
Nabilac looked as confused as a sleeping koala thrown out of a tree. But said weakly, ‘This is the language of oppression.’ Then straightening up, ‘Your liberal democracy, which is a contradiction by the way, was controlled by overseas institutions; it couldn’t do what the people wanted. It was a dictator who put the criminals in jail, who made the country safe.’
Ardent shook his head. ‘You may be judged to be one of those criminals in such a system, you know. Look, ideological capture and enchantment are like refusing to look towards the sun. Being satisfied at being captured by the shadows. It is the idea that your beliefs are pure and any missteps are easily dismissed. Though your opponents always carry the stain of past blunders.’
What Ardent was talking about, I did not know. But I did know that you don’t get anywhere being reasonable with unreasonable people. Tom had to mumble that ‘Democracy could also be thought of as a mob, and that is why there were controls in the old days, like voting for representatives who were knowledgeable about the complex issues.’
Lurching forward, from out of nowhere, came Hera. ‘There is overt discrimination in this hellhole. You don’t even try to speak their language. Do you?’ Should he be force to speak the conqueror's language? Then, looking about, ‘That boy belongs to me,’ she declared, pointing at Valour.
Ardent looked confused. ‘Conqueror?’
Valour retreated behind Bunyip, who, tired of the whole thing, was curled up taking a nap on a patch of brown grass.
‘Absolutely no way am I going with her,’ Valour stated, in the high-pitched voice of someone wearing very tight underpants. ‘I’m staying with my brother and sister.’
Ardent looked thoughtful, then turned to Hera, ‘Come back later. I want to hang out with these kids for a while.’
Begrudgingly, Hera backed off. But, seeing that she was sticking around, Ardent added, ‘wait at…….at The Old House.’ Hera suddenly looked excited, nodded, and zoomed away, as if on wheels.
‘There’s a group of us trying to get some sort of governance going, but it is hard trying to establish a social contract with many of the people around here,’ Ardent sighed. ‘The problem is that I want kids of my own…when I can find the right person….and if we can. And I want a better world than this for them.’
‘You need a strong central authority, a Leviathan,’ said Valour, his buck teeth hanging over his lip.
‘No, an agreement between the people and the state about rights and responsibilities,’ Tom replied enthusiastically.
‘Like I should have the right not to see people in their birthday suit, and it’s their responsibility to put clothes on.’ Valour added, cockily.
‘Some people don’t seem to care about the rights others have to be liberated from their egotistical full-frontals.’ Ardent sighed. ‘Let me know if you’ve got any ideas about how to herd cats,’ he added. ‘Anyway, what are you doing, and what’s the deal with Hera?’
Luckily the undraped ones had slunk off, and we told Ardent a compacted version of what had happened.
‘Alrighty, I’ll get a few people together and see if it’s possible to remove your poor grannies from the old shopping centre. Though, I can’t promise anything.’
‘I’m really going to miss Nan,’ Tom said sadly.
Valour added, ‘It’s like something irreplaceable has left the world,’ which expressed what I felt too.
‘And, your Nan was my Nan too,’ Valour added.
Later, I got to thinking how I could join or create a community-based group to provide aid, help, and support to others in Springwood. Like Ardent was talking about. I could still do a lot with one hand.
Tom said that I was a utopian living in a dystopia. He also said that idealised visions of society are dangerous, as the pursuit of perfection is unattainable, leading to cults, wars, and the eradication of problem people and ideas. Tom favours evolution over revolution to create and change the world. He acknowledges, though, that in times of high population, conflict, and extreme inequality, it becomes hard to find solutions to problems. The main thing is that it is important to avoid the whole idea of ‘goodies’ and ‘baddies’ in your world view. Black and white thinking means that you only see the world in two colours.
Ardent said that he would come with us to the tower block where Tom used to live with our parents. Apparently, when I was born, we were living with Mum in the office of the underground train station, hiding from the war and battles being fought by the government against the Sovereigns.
I glanced over at Ardent. For sure he was handsome with even features, tall and well-built, but I think he was unaware of this fact. His appeal, I think, was the way he looked at a person, like he really saw them and like he was really interested in who they were and what they had to say. There was a wariness about him, though, which seemed to melt away when he was with friends. Even Nabilac wanted to be on Ardent’s good side. I’d seen really good-looking people before, who I soon found were so stuck-up and bigheaded that the inside transformed the outside into ugliness.
When we reached the street of the building, it was apparent that a bomb or something had been dropped here. There was a huge crater in the road and everything else was destroyed, surrounded by debris and shambles.
Nan said that back in the time of all against all, bombs and things had been going off almost every day. She said that in more recent years there had been a lessening or exhaustion with this type of destructive technology. The suicide bombers who preferred annihilation to surrender were extinct. Rebellions had become almost pro forma, just for show, with no real gusto or heart. This gave us all hope.
I then saw a dingo slink by, with a look in its eyes that reminded me of Nabilac. I couldn’t help thinking that the soul of this place had been lost. Could it be reborn?
We edged around the cavity filled with filthy water and rank smells, where the road used to be, and came to the towering building. We all looked straight up. A head was hanging from the first floor and asked, ‘What’s the go?’
Ardent explained our purpose, and the elderly lady wearing a battered straw hat with a yellow flower said that she remembered Mum and Dad, and you when you were a wee bub,’ pointing at Tom.
‘We thought we’d have a look where we used to live,’ Tom said.
‘Can’t be done,’ was the woman’s abrupt response. ‘The lift doesn’t work, and the stairs collapsed years ago. Built on the cheap, this place; stinking hot in the summer and cold as a mother-in-law’s kiss in the winter.’
‘Yeah, I’m not PC, so lucky it’s not 2020, or I’d be cancelled.’ She laughed hilariously, and I thought her head would fall off. ‘The toffs who marched and screamed for social housing made sure that these cheap tower blocks of poor people never polluted their leafy suburbs and schools.’
I thought to myself that I would have been cancelled back then too, by saying something that seemed right, true and obvious to me but was deemed to be wrongthink.
‘A few people were very rich in the days before,’ Tom said. ‘But most were becoming unable to afford the life that their parents had become accustomed to; toilet paper became a luxury item, basic rations were expensive, and many sat in their homes, cold or hot in the dark. The government had to provide this accommodation but because there was less mining and fossil fuels due to actions to combat anthropogenic climate change, there was also less and less money available. It was Catch 22; a perfect storm. And unlike Plato’s Academy, people could not question one another without fear of recrimination.’
‘He could talk the bark off a tree.’ The woman said, rolling her eyes. ‘You can come on up if you promise not to give me another earbashing or act as silly as a wheel,’ pointing at Valour.
We climbed up into the flat by mounting various bits of stacked old pieces of furniture, some carved of heavy timber. We knocked on the door, and it swung open. As we adjusted our eyes to the gloom, we saw a room packed with cats of various shapes and colours, all perched and slothing about on chairs and multilevel cat bed/scratching posts.
‘As you can see, I’m a purr-fessional cat lady,’ and she again roared with laughter (no pun intended). ‘If they’re not sleeping, they think starvation is imminent.’
I found a small bit of unoccupied lounge and balanced uncomfortably on the end. Then, without thinking, I stroked the grey cat next to me, and was rewarded with a vicious swipe.
‘Nope, nope, nope. What a catastrophe! That bit is to be admired, never touched, sunshine. My name’s Marvis, by the way. I was named after a moth-balled ancestor.’ She laughed like an erupting drainpipe again, her shoulders shaking.
I can offer you a cup of tea, as I’ve just dragged a barrel of the wet stuff from the river. But you’ll have to wait while I get some wood going on the BBQ to boil it. You’d keel over otherwise.’
‘Thank-you Marvis,’ Tom replied. ‘But all we would like is to hear anything you can tell us about Mum and Dad.’
Marvis thought for a minute, ‘When you an older cat lady, people seem to think you are dumber than a box of feathers …. But I do remember that ‘ya dad wanted to call you Tom to reclaim the name. He didn’t want a passive son; he wanted his offspring to question everything. How did ‘ya go?……So, your mum was a bit of a looker and was one of those influencers.’
Seeing our nonplussed faces, Marvis waved a hand, ‘Don’t worry, I haven’t got the energy to explain. Your dad wasn’t too hard on the old eyes, either. But your dad was also a clever clogs. Walking about flapping his tonsils about globalism, liberalism ’n stuff. Never knew a man for bailing someone up and rabbiting on about such a load of guff. Though, I got to admit I’m a leftie myself. It’s a strange thing that the conservatives go on about community, but it was the lefties who gave us the welfare state and made us committed to each other. I remember when I lost my job and couldn’t get a new one, and the conservatives said they were reducing my benefits to reward the workers. Cracked, really cracked.’ Her eyes snapped and she looked about the room.
‘It’s funny how one side of politics was all for individual rights and diversity but was collective about the economy and welfare state. The other side were collective about social issues and culture but were individualistic about healthcare and personal responsibility. Reading about it always fries my brain,’ Tom sighed.
I think that you are just simplifying the political spectrum.’ Ardent added.
‘My nan always said that one side liked socialism for the rich and the other side liked it for the poor, ‘ commented Valour.
‘A lot of people romanticise the past, though,’ Tom added. ‘The whole idea of the “good old days,” when everything was simple before the rapid technological and cultural changes.’
‘Some values are timeless,’ Ardent cut in. ‘Family, respect, faith, honesty, community, these are important principles for many people and transcend fashion and ideology. We can still value these things and embrace progress and change, if they are to our benefit.’
Tom added, ‘I "fly by those nets.” I’m sick of the battle of identities.’
“Science, democracy, a free press, public health, human rights, came out of the European Enlightenment, when traditional institutions, ideas, and ways of thinking, were challenged,’ spouted Valour. ‘Civilisation has been built by free inquiry, doubt and curiosity.’
We were quiet and thoughtful for a while, considering the views of Ardent and Valour. Then I asked, ’What about Mum?
‘I didn’t see ‘ya Mum, much, pet. I think she was also a cam girl or some such thing. Everything was for sale!. Said it was empowering. Wouldn’t let some gamy bloke touch me for love or money; personally, my body is my temple. But….it wasn’t very safe after things fell apart.’ Marvis looked at Tom and me.
‘It’s just work like any other, Hera reckons,’ Valour yawned.
Just then, an attractive dog of the poodle variety pranced in from another room. Bunyip, who had been looking tired and bored, was suddenly at attention and ran up, full of zing, to the other dog. They immediately began to sniff each other’s backsides and do a back-and-forth salsa dance.
‘Candy is a cheeky so-and-so…I think we are in for a great romance. Be nice to have a few puppies about,’ she hooted, eyeing Bunyip’s equipment.
Ardent, who had a huge tortoiseshell cat sprawled on his lap and a sinister-looking black cat stretched over his shoulders, was muttering that some things should be unseen and not heard, then tried to change the subject. ‘So, Marvis, how are you getting on here?’
Marvis sighed deeply and suddenly looked old and tired. ‘I thought Nabilac and his lot were shockers, but there’s some new ones about who’ve moved from somewhere near the old city. I ran into them when I was getting the H20 the other day. They clocked my cardigan and hat and said I was “manifesting bourgeois intent”. And some sort of explosion goes off every night now.’
Ardent made a sympathetic noise, and Marvis continued. ‘They went on to say that my cultural violence legitimised their counterviolence, as I was obviously one of the enemy.’ She continued, ‘I tried to tell ‘em that the cardy was comfy and the hat keeps the vicious sun off…..Anyway, I was thinking it was curtains, but then, this codger comes along in this flowing, floor-length robe and accuses me of casting spells and witchcraft because Delon, my black cat, was with me. Believe me, The Lady's Not for Burning. It’s wall-to-wall madness around here still,’ she sniffed. ‘The world I came from and its values and truths are no longer considered to be true or to have value.’
‘Did you mean “turning”?’ Ardent said, puzzled. ‘We are trying to increase the toleration of dissenting views, even if they’re false,’ Ardent added, at a loss how to respond. ‘But yeah, there are plenty of annoying and dangerous finger-wagging scolds around.’
‘You shouldn’t tolerate the intolerant,’ said Tom. ‘Or, tolerate the destruction of your values by the redefinition of harm and truth. Though, also, you shouldn’t be lazy and claim “derangement” or add the “phobia” suffix to terminate people who have questions or legitimate concerns. But you have to be humble too, and realise that although we should base knowledge on evidence and reasoning, knowledge is always provisional and subject to revision.’
‘It is said that if you don’t tolerate the intolerant then you become intolerant,’ Ardent rolled his eyes.
‘Choices were made, people were passive, and one thing leads to another,’ Marvis said with a grave face.
‘People who claim they have The Truth about how we should live are the scariest people of all,’ Valour looked about. ‘I have free will and refuse to sign up unreflectively to the yoke of customs, taboos, and constraints.’
‘I’m not sure about the freeness of free will,’ mused Tom.
‘Look,’ Ardent added, ‘what I want to say is that we need consensus. If people keep moving apart and wanting something that is an anathema to their neighbours, we will never agree and continue in this chaos. We’ve got to find the middle ground, and then we can evolve by holding onto those things that are our foundations and which are tried and true. And, change things for the better based on agreement. The problem is that some people think that our whole past is dreadful. And people who were concerned by possible zebra extinction thought that it was a good thing if 80% of humanity died off.’’
‘Hot and cold, day and night, life and death —they are not opposing things; they are part of the same reality,’ Marvis offered, surprising us all. You don’t have to agree with me, but it would be quicker if you do,’ she laughed.
‘The idea of a “consensus” or “middle ground,” can be a fallacy, though,’ Tom offered. ‘For example, some people believe the Earth is flat and others follow the evidence that it’s a sphere. Agreeing that it’s a cylinder is the middle ground between the opposing views. But that’s not true.’
Ardent thumped his knee, shocking the cats. ’You are right, and we have to get people debating ideas and not targeting individuals. I am trying to take people along with me and win hearts and minds, but it is difficult. It would be easier to point a sword and tell them what to do, but they wouldn’t be convinced, only scared,’ he said, looking about. ‘Where’s Valour?’
Tom walked around the room and poked his head into other crumbling rooms. ‘Not here,’ he looked puzzled. Then, he walked out onto the small balcony, looked around, and up into the late afternoon sky.
There was Valour climbing down from a balcony a few floors above, holding what looked to be a book.
As Valour arrived back, smiling, he put a photo album into Tom’s hands.
Back in Marvis’ lounge room, surrounded by a jumble of cats, we gathered together and spent some time looking at photos of Mum, Dad, and a few of Tom. Turning the page, Tom and I were confronted by a much younger Nan with cartoon lips, a tiny car and wearing a colourful cotton dress. It was that look in Nan’s eyes that undid me. The inner, thinking person was there, on glossy paper, out of time. Would I ever see her again?
Trying to distract us, Marvis sniffed, ‘No way I was going to inject that poison into my lips in those days and try to attract some man-child. No way. I also got some of the biggest Reg Grundies you could find as an effective bloke repellent. She chortled merrily.
‘Reg Grundies are?’ Ardent asked, perplexed.
‘Undies, unmentionables —you wear ‘em don’t ‘ya?’
We had a cup of tea with Marvis and a kind of damper and then left, promising to come back and visit sometime.
Nan and Marvis would have got on. I’m sure of it. But I wondered, would I end up alone like Marvis? Would I be as brave? An elderly neighbour in Springwood who saw invisible dogs and was visited by the lady in white disappeared one day into the bush and was never seen again.
This made me think how Nan always said that you should keep a percentage of yourself for yourself, because people let you down; if you give them all and they dump you, then you have nothing left. I also keep a certain amount of doubt in my mind about most things, because most predictions never work out. But what if you go potty and you have no one to protect you from yourself and your failing brain?
© Copyright 2025 Democritus Jones