Let everything happen to you
Beauty and terror
Just keep going
No feeling is final. Rainer Maria Rilke
Feeling confused and excluded from their private jokes, I wandered away and saw an opening like a great mouth, with a flight of stairs going underground. Helen came up behind me and lit an oil lamp, and wordlessly we began to descend the staircase, the air cooling, and an earthy, strange smell entered my nose.
In the dim light I could see large tables of what looked like mushrooms growing. At Springwood, we had picked mushrooms and made a delicious soup, but here, there were so many, crowding together. I looked down and noticed a tiny ladybird on the wrist of my missing hand.
‘Nan knew all about the different mushrooms,’ I said. ‘She also said that they can kill you if you don’t have the right knowledge. There was a famous case…….’
‘Mushrooms contain all nine essential amino acids and have become an important source of food for our fledgeling population,’ Helen replied, turning around and ascending the stairs.
We continued walking, Dion and Helen talking and laughing in their baffling way about things I didn’t understand. We came to a quaint stone building, lit up with rays from the sun, where various people congregated outside with books under their arms, chatting and drinking from cups.
We entered a room with timber shelves of books lining the walls, with sections displaying signs such as: Autobiography - Story of one's own life, Thriller - Page-turner, Dystopian - Post-apocalyptic, Classic - Timeless masterpiece, Textbook - Educational Purposes, which was where we found Tom and Valour.
‘Hi-ho,’ said Valour cheerily. Then he continued telling Tom how when he was very young, he used to wake up at 12 midnight every night and that he thought it must be a sign, omen, or warning until he read about clock genes and circadian rhythm.
Tom looked at me searchingly. I could tell that he was feeling guilty for abandoning me, though I wasn’t mad at him at all. I understood that he and Valour were kindred spirits, as well as brothers, and I did not begrudge their delight in finding each other. My relationship with Tom was different, with a longer shared history. That was good enough for me. I knew that most people are never who you think they are, but maybe Tom was. Of course, I was not dumb. I knew that most people’s mental life was only half-seen.
I poked my nose into a small attached room, and there stood a young girl holding a polished violin, with a white silk bow on her head and an unlatched mouth.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.
‘I can’t believe some people!’ She shook herself and stepped towards me and pointed a long finger at a rotund man eating some free canapés.
‘That guzzler said that classical music is pointless. He said it’s fake and cooked up. He said that the wind is the original, natural music of the world.’ Her eyes bugged out. ‘I mean, do such people understand the subtle variations in tempo and expression, the nuances communicated by slight differences in volume, timing of notes, and technique….I mean, honestly…’
I couldn’t really help, as I hadn’t heard that much music at all really, other than Nan singing some songs from her youth and Tom sometimes played the comb. Though, thinking about Parramatta, the ‘music’ I heard in that alley expressed the feeling of that place just right. But I just gaped at her and shook my head as she packed up her violin in disgust and headed for the door.
I picked up a book called Rebecca, with a spooky picture of a grand house on the front, and began reading even before I had settled into the shabby, velvet-winged chair.
I was plunged into another world, and the present and its people slipped away. I found myself identifying strongly with the woman in the story who seemed imprisoned and at the mercy of others by simply being a young woman in a time when it was dangerous to be without friends, family, or fortune.
Screaming cries from outside shot me out of that world of the book. I looked about. Valour was looking worriedly out the window, and Tom was not to be seen. I threw down the book and raced out into the street.
‘What is moral and what is immoral is commanded by the Divine!’ Yelled a man wearing white robes striding about.
And there was Tom asking the man pleasantly, ‘So without Divine commands, nothing would be right or wrong?’
Ardent was stepping down the steaming street, looking worried.
‘Come now, Arty, Panda says that there are patients in the clinic awaiting your attention,’ he called.
‘I register my opposition to your oligarchy,’ Arty bellowed.
‘Struth!’ muttered Dion. ‘These people always go on about their freedom of religion, but what about my freedom from their religion?’
‘Freedom “to”—is the essence of liberty. But freedom “from” —makes a civil society,’ Ardent sighed. ‘How are we to deal with all these different world views and desires, with little overlap? These situations just seem to repeat… Though I understand that Arty has a sincere conviction and wishes to follow his conscience. We must also remember that he is one of the survivors from the Old Times, and he is a doctor who knows things that we do not, and, indeed, has seen things of which we know nothing.’
A woman standing nearby said in a misty way, ‘What if truth is found within: in emotion, in intuition, in dreams, poetry, and revelations. Maybe we are led to truth through mystery, contradictions, paradox, and subjectivity. What is sublime humbles and uplifts us, and not everything that is important can be measured.’
Personally, I was sick of all this political and religious stuff. Everything seemed to be a culture war and battle of ideas. Nan said that in her day, there were class wars and history wars and social groups challenging societal cohesion. Would it ever end? I also noticed that people seemed to have a religion-shaped hole which they filled with a variety of beliefs about what created and governed the universe.
‘I suppose that we cannot dictate what people believe or how they live as long as they don’t hurt themselves or others. Living your truth is important,’ Dion added thoughtfully.
‘In the never-ending search for truth, how many blind alleys must we travel?’ Helen asked. For me, intellectual independence is a necessity, and censorship suppresses and distorts the search for the truth. We should reinstate Speakers Corner, which once existed at the eastern end of The Domain near the Art Gallery.’
She then added, ‘The problem is that, ”the best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.”’ Then more hotly, “the right to discuss ideas, scrutinise authority, and pursue truth is a necessity!’”
Some insignificant, shrinking person with caterpillar eyebrows muttered, ‘Humans are inclined to error and overconfidence, and the silenced opinion might be the correct one.’
Another person with a face like granite and a fluff of hair over each ear, declared, ‘It is as certain that many opinions, now general, will be rejected by future ages as it is that many, once general, are rejected by the present.’
‘Where is my safe space away from bias, criticism, and aggressions?’ A small voice rustled. That was a good point. The Springwood cave was my safe place, and I often felt I needed somewhere to lurk and recover.
‘I like this idea of Speakers’ Corner!’ Dion said enthusiastically. ‘Sometimes when people are talking, I feel that I am not permitted to say what I really think, and that only silence is allowed.’
Ardent looked sad. ‘I hope that you don’t feel like that with me, brother? I hope you all realise that we value your thoughts and ideas and would never force you to express things that you do not believe. If you can’t exchange ideas, then your thoughts just ossify and stagnate.’
‘In Ancient Athens, they had something called Parrhêsia, where open and honest speech was allowed, as long as it showed a connection to the truth,’ expressed Helen. ‘Speaking truth to power is dangerous, and you can lose your friends, your liberty, and your life, so this idea of Speakers’ Corner would need protections.’
‘Ancient Athens contained much to admire, but it was also a slave society,’ snarled a bystander with a nose like a water spigot. ‘Don’t forget that!’
‘That’s only if you judge a place and people only by their sins. You must consider the context of how these things come about and the norms of the times. By that standard, Ancient Athens was remarkable in the ideas produced,’ said another with a mane of hair like a lion.
‘More things to think about,’ Ardent said, tiredly. He then continued, ‘This Speakers’ Corner can’t be a place to uncage cruelties and hatreds and where critics are treated as oppressors and tyrants.’
They continued droning on as I wandered off looking for Candy and Bunyip. I thought that they would probably be at the park, so I moseyed over in that direction.
I went down a side street and stopped in amazement, seeing a shop window displaying many computers, phones, and other electrical equipment. It was all useless now, of course, but it made me think about life before, and I tried to imagine being able to search for anything on a computer and get answers. Nah, it seemed too fantastic.
I saw a black cat flow around the corner, then tiptoe up a set of stone steps and enter the green oasis of the park. And there sat Candy and Bunyip, looking at a jolting scene in doggy amazement.
Spread out on a striped, picnic rug were three people engaged in what Nan called ‘lewd and lascivious behaviour.’ I’d seen pictures in old magazines when I was younger, and I’d thought they were gross and disgusting. Now that I was older, I felt a strange fizzing interest. That is, until I saw a crocodile of small children from the corner of my eye coming this way through some flowery shrubs.
‘Move, go ... .sally forth,’ I yelled stupidly. But the x-rated trio ignored me. So, I swung around and tried to block the stairway to stop the children and the potential primal scene. I mean, how do you make sense of these things when you are young? Tom and Nan read me all this stuff and showed me diagrams, but still, if there is a God, what a supreme jokester, coming up with this charade! Nan said that there was always that one kid when she was young who wanted to strip off and parade in their birthday suit, but this was on a different level.
However, before the kids had even put a foot on the stairs, Ardent pushed in front and hurriedly said that ‘the park was closed due to behaviour that did not comply with community standards.’ The adult accompanying the children pushed her way through and confronted Ardent.
‘Why should the perpetrators of these acts continually stop us from enjoying the park? Why are we punished and not them? They know that their conduct is offensive to public decency. It’s so frustrating!’
Ardent turned slightly and called, ‘Thanks again, Vivo.’
I turned around and saw a uniformed person making smoke signals, using a wet blanket over a fire.
‘We have many conical earth mounds for smoke signalling, located at different places,’ Ardent said to me quickly. ‘Ask Helen about it; she’ll tell you all about how Ancient Australians used a similar means of communication and how Polybius, a Greek historian, came up with alphabetical smoke signals around 150 BCE.’
‘I’m waiting,’ said the woman, with hair like steam and whose face was written with her past of delights and sorrow. ‘I don’t have time for your nerdish verbal diarrhoea. A society has to have laws that we all follow.’
Then angrily she yelled at the blanket party, ‘Your freedom ends where mine begins. This settlement is not just about you and your self-interest. What about fairness and collective well-being: the well-being of these precious children!’
A dusty, dried-up fossilised voice nearby gasped, ‘Ah, the imaginary ‘Philosophy of Clothes.’ Then moving away, ‘The Animal that therefore I Am.’
‘I don’t want to see your flyblown coit,’ yelled some backseat driver. ‘It’s not art. Put it away!’
‘I know that these public acts do not conform with our values and principles….’ Ardent spluttered.
But the woman was on a roll, yelling louder. ‘Don’t you get it ‘ya mugs? Freedom is a shared responsibility; it’s not an entitlement of the individual to trample others’ rights.’
’We are trying to govern using the power of persuasion and develop a relationship of trust and confidence,’ Ardent said despondently.
‘Laws have to apply to everyone equally. If someone breaks the law, they receive punishment. I don’t care who you are; laws should apply equally to all people; they should be impersonal. I’m sick of this!’
The woman departed with the children, and I turned to see Ardent looking sick and green about the gills.
‘It’s a test, this,’ he said weakly.
'Why?’ I asked.
‘Because laws should be supreme. Not individuals…. That show pony is the son of a bloke with a multilevel underground bunker in Elizabeth Street. He has generators and other equipment that he allows Panda’s lot to use, but it’s all a bit quid pro quo. You know, you get something in exchange for something else. You would think that these people would feel that they had a stake in society and wouldn’t want to see desperate people around them….’
‘Tom would say, “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others,” whenever we talked about situations like this.’
‘Tom would be right. But it’s even more complicated than that. That young gentleman has an inherited disease and a limited lifespan, so we tend to give him some leniency…. Also, I know that punishment often outweighs the benefits, just cutting people off from others and stunting their growth.’
We walked back to Centrepoint Tower in miserable silence until Ardent suddenly said, ‘Sick people in the clinic are dependent for their lives on machines powered by the rich bloke’s generators. If we refuse to compromise ourselves, they will die. What choice would you make?’
Before I could answer, I spied Theodore hiding in a corner, crying, his face blotchy and streaked with tears and dirt.
My head roared and my heart jumped out of my chest as I ran to him.
‘What has happened?’
‘I did not understand; I failed her.’ He then began crying inconsolably again.
Valour hovered over him, rambling on about false memory syndrome.
Angrily, I sent him away.
I put my hand (yes, that one) on his arm and waited for the weeping tempest to burn out. Then he began to tell me.
‘I was given a letter today. It was from Gabrielle.’ He steadied himself and continued.
‘She apologised for her “difficult behaviour” and said that she knew that she was “hard to get on with.” But she was damaged and dealing with shame, and she never could find the words to tell me what had been done to her. She said that it was easier to express her agony in anger and rebellion than to admit to it. And, it was easier to run away and throw herself into “danger and certain death” than to face the truth.’
I read the letter quickly, uncharitably noting the terrible spelling. But then, I berated myself, as not many people had such diligent teachers as I had had in Nan and Tom.
‘It sounds to me that it is not Gabrielle who should be ashamed.’
‘Yes, you are right, but are we really rational creatures? You should only feel shame in response to guilt. But we all know that people internalise strong emotions after trauma. I’ve done it, and I’m sure that you have too. Gabrielle’s trauma seems to be of a greater magnitude. She does not tell me what she has endured, though…. And I don’t know when anything could have happened to her, as we lived in the women’s commune…. I have completely trusted the people that we have lived with. Was I blind? And wrong?’
‘I didn’t say anything, but I knew that females were just as capable of cruelty and aggression as males, but generally they used other methods, mostly to get the target to be socially undesirable, to get power, or popularity. I said instead, ‘Sometimes trauma makes people go silent or act out. Let’s go up and have a drink or something to eat.’
He nodded, and we began walking up the stairs, where we found Ardent waiting for us. I quickly explained the situation to him, and he looked even more downcast as he patted Theodore on the shoulder sadly.
Once upstairs, Theodore lay down and fell into a sleep of exhaustion. I, too, felt a weary torpor overcome me, and I was soon out to it, in a dreamless sleep.
The following morning it was windy, and rain was lashing the windows. There was a feeling of being out of this world, dislocated and floating aimlessly in space, with the angry elements battering us.
‘Don’t worry,’ Panda called, ‘The tower can resist wind speeds of 172 kmph with a maximum sway of 1 metre.’ But I doubted that there were any engineers or equipment to maintain this building, and I felt that familiar pang of wanting to get back to Springwood and our cave.
Over the next few weeks I started working at the newspaper and going for long walks with Theodore, who was making plans to break out of our compound and search for Gabrielle. This was taking time, as Panda and Ardent were trying to negotiate safe passage for him with some of the Sovereigns.
One day, we came back from visiting the park to see a traveller sitting and eating at the table with the others. Khonsu was his name, and he had word of Gabrielle. He had seen her with the hoons, from a distance. More than that, he could not say.
Theodore became more hopeful, and more impatient to set his plans in motion.
Then, one morning, Bunyip came tearing back from the park, without Candy. The two dogs were now self-sufficient in their travels, and we thought little of their comings and goings. But, this time, only Bunyip came back, and he began jumping up and trying to push us towards the door.
‘Maybe Candy is hurt or lost,’ I ventured.
So, we followed Bunyip toward the park, at a fast clip.
When we got there, we could see a small crowd coiling about near the barbed-wire fence. Pushing through, I heard a growling, and we soon came upon Candy standing threateningly, guarding a body like a broken doll.
There was a small cry from Theodore, who had immediately realised from the golden hair that this was Gabrielle.
She moaned. She was alive.
Someone came then, carrying a stretcher, and most carefully, with Theodore alongside, bore Gabrielle away to Arty’s hospital clinic.
We sat in the white waiting room on hard chairs for many hours, as the sun gave out and night tumbled in. Towards dawn, a symphony of birds began. Their vocal gymnastics were uplifting and I could imagine the various birds out there showing off their repertoires and hoping to attract the perfect mate.
During the night, Theodore told me that as Gabrielle grew up, she had sometimes seemed to put out a hand, tentatively looking for communion with another. But uncertain where to find understanding and sympathy, she had retreated again into her hard shell.
I drifted away into sleep, dreaming of butterflies and fields of wild flowers. I awoke. Shattered.
Tom and Valour, Ardent, Panda, Cantilever, Helen, and Dion were there, all looking emptied of blood. Cold and forlorn.
Theodore shrieked like a wounded animal when Dr Arty informed him that nothing could be done to save his sister. And I watched as though in slow motion as he ripped the sleeve from his shirt. It was a strange thing to do, an almost antique action from the days of keening vocal laments, borne of regret. Of mourning.
‘I want her name engraved on my arm near my heart, Here. I have no words.’ Theodore screamed. ‘When I die and they bury me in the ground, her name will be with me and live forever.’
‘Like the mummified 5,300-year-old Ötzi the Iceman, who had 61 tattoos,’ said Valour. The whole room winced. He then added, ‘Did you know that tattoos can trigger autoimmune disorders?’
‘I think that Theodore has a more abstract meaning in mind for the tattoo, to symbolise all the words and emotions and regret that he cannot express,’ Tom said quickly.
That day and night seemed endless, and all was a blur for weeks after this, as we all coddled and supported Theodore in his heartsick anguish and desolation. I walked the streets with him many a day and night. He had trouble falling asleep and would lie in bed unmoving for many hours.
He started saying that her death could not be true. Then, he raged against himself and his God. His if-onlys. His feelings of worthlessness and guilt, and finally, one day, I became aware that he had unstopped the clock and his life began to flow once more.
I mentioned this to Helen, who merely remarked, ‘….Time flows past …. like a hundred yachts.’ Then said, ‘Most people move past those injuries that mark our soul, that make us who we are, like deceit, abandonment, pain and loss. After a time we begin to look away from sadness, towards the mountains and the sky, and perhaps that is how it should be.’
Meanwhile, the others had been involved in their meetings, plans, arguments, and discussions. But one morning when I saw Ardent and Panda strolling across the park hand in hand, with Bunyip and Candy cavorting nearby, my suspicions of a romance were confirmed. I had also spied them having a few candlelight dinners together.
Panda always wore these floaty romantic pastel dresses. But it was very hard to be romantic around Tom and Valour, who were spending a lot of time talking about the possibility of human extinction. I would observe Ardent and Panda gazing at each other, and then Tom would say something like, ‘Early human species almost became extinct before leaving Africa, about 930,000–813,000 years ago, when there were only an estimated 1,280 people on the entire planet.’
I mean, what a mood killer! Especially when Valour would add that ‘Charles II, the last Hapsburg king of Spain, had many mental and physical abnormalities due to generations of inbreeding.’
We were a very small group of people left here, and fertility was low: we all wondered if humans would survive very long.
© Copyright 2025 Democritus Jones