The Mystery of the Venus Island Fetish (22 page)

Champagne and canapés circulated once more, and the jazz recommenced.

Dryandra caught Archie's eye. He warily left Beatrice's side and approached her.

‘I see things are not going smoothly with your girl, Archie.'

‘Hmm. That's an understatement.'

‘Come to my house after work one afternoon, for a cup of tea. I'm pretty full bottle
on young girls and their ways. I might be able to help.'

Archie was stunned. He had assumed that Dryandra was part of Griffon's cabal. Now
he was not so sure.

Archie returned to Beatrice just as the ‘
Kimigayo
' sounded out. Griffon looked up
sharply, wondering who was being so highly honoured. The governor, perhaps? There
was a moment of suspense as the last strains of the notoriously brief anthem died
away. Still, nobody had appeared at the top of the gangway.

After what seemed an interminably long silence, the flabby and puffing form of Abraham
Trembley began to materialise
out of the darkness. He was pulling himself along,
using the boarding rails of the gangplank. The embarrassing silence in which he approached
the admiral was finally broken by the assembled naval officers, who led a round of
applause.

Trembley smiled and gave a bow so low that it astonished all who saw it. The admiral's
bow was even lower, causing Beatrice to catch her breath in fear that he might tumble
over. A subaltern handed the admiral a long, thin package, which he placed in Trembley's
outstretched hands. Inside was a samurai sword. The museum staff watched in amazement
as the curator gave a long speech in fluent Japanese.

Trembley hailed Griffon as the crowd headed below decks for supper. ‘Director, this
is a most splendid reception. Perhaps we should present the emperor with something
in return?'

‘Splendid idea, Trembley. Could you find out what might be acceptable?'

At 10.30 p.m. precisely, the dinner broke up. As promised, Archie walked Beatrice
through the streets and laneways of Woolloomooloo towards Circular Quay. The air
was still warm and scented, but there was the hint of danger, both in the loo and
in the museum. Archie felt more alive than he had since leaving the islands—all his
senses were heightened. As they negotiated a narrow lane, the touch of Beatrice's
breast on his arm shot through him like an electric shock.

In an instant he remembered the Venus Islands woman who had drawn him into the shadows
of the coconut palms at the conclusion of his last yam festival. She'd placed his
hand on her naked breast and moved it gently. Archie repressed the memory at once.

They walked on through the Domain and paused under a fig tree. Archie moved towards
Beatrice, wanting to kiss her, but she stepped back from his embrace.

‘We shall be friends, Archie. Friends and nothing more. Now, will you walk me to
the quay? I must catch the last ferry or my uncle will be mad with worry.'

Archie felt at sixes and sevens as he lay in bed that night. Perhaps it would be
as she said. They would be friends, nothing more. Perhaps she would marry Mordant.
But he wanted her to be his. ‘Rabies, waterhole, chewed leg!' Archie repeated under
his breath.

The next morning, Abraham Trembley puffed his way up to the director's office.

‘Director, the admiral has expressed a wish—an imperial one perhaps—to obtain a complete
set of the jellyfish species of Sydney Harbour, along with a detailed map of the
waterway showing the contours of its bottom and the locations of the jellyfish finds.'

‘Sounds like a job for you, Trembly. Shake a leg then!'

Miss Stritchley accompanied Trembley to the cartographic section of the library.
‘I hope we're never at war with them,' said the librarian as she hesitantly handed
over a large naval map of the harbour, prominently stamped ‘secret'.

‘Oh no. Never,' Stritchley replied. ‘They're far too civilised!'

Later that day Archie, too, visited the library, and was accosted, in excellent English,
by a young Japanese lieutenant. He'd heard that the anthropologist had recently returned
from the islands to Australia's north and was keen to learn all he could about the
region. After explaining the local religion, forms
of wealth and governance of the
Venusians, Archie went on to describe the islands themselves and their fringing reefs.
The sailor presented him with a beautifully wrapped package in thanks, and a half
bow.

Inside was a bottle covered in Japanese writing. Mystified, Archie took it to Dithers,
whom he found standing in the museum courtyard, contemplating the carcass of a pygmy
sperm whale which had been found washed up on Cronulla Beach. It was not entirely
fresh.

‘Sake, old fellow. Japanese wine,' proclaimed Dithers, after sniffing the contents.

‘Phew, tastes like preserving liquid!' said Archie, reliving the bad memory of finding
Sopwith, as he spat out the mouthful.

At that moment Henry Bumstocks appeared, dressed in a leather apron. In his hand
was a large flensing knife. He was unsteady on his feet. Archie saw that he was drunk
and flinched as Bumstocks wielded his blade.

‘Nothing to worry about,' said Dithers. ‘Henry's teetotal, mostly. But when he's
called upon to deflesh a whale I have to supply a bottle of Scotch. Says he simply
can't face the job without a stiffener. And I don't blame him. Whale oil carries
the taint of rotting flesh into every pore. The chap stinks for weeks afterwards.'

Bumstocks slashed into the abdominal cavity of the whale and a great gush of gas
and greenish liquid burst forth, causing the two curators to reel. Bumstocks soldiered
on, hauling out yards of intestines. Giles Mordant came around the corner trundling
a deep wheelbarrow. Archie stood by stonily while he shovelled up the stinking mass
and took a load away. The
pair worked with such efficiency that it struck Archie
that they must have dismembered countless bodies together, both great and small.

While the disembowelling of the cetacean was proceeding, Vere Griffon sat at his
desk, his head in his hands. The faint whiff of decay did not brighten his mood.
That morning he'd been summoned to the Department of the Arts—by Cedric Scrutton.
Griffon had a feeling in his waters that the meeting was going to be particularly
nasty.

Griffon was kept waiting a long time in the antechamber. When he was finally let
in, Scrutton fixed him with a gimlet eye. ‘Sit down, Director. I'm afraid I have
some bad news for you. Treasury has revisited the budget for the current financial
year, and finds that urgent cuts to expenditure are required. As a result, your museum
budget will be cut by twenty per cent.'

‘What!' gasped Griffon. ‘That's completely impossible. It's June already. The financial
year is almost gone, and we've spent the money.'

‘I'd love an excuse to sack you, Griffon,' said Scrutton, smiling. ‘In my opinion,
you and your institution are bloody parasites on the body of this state. If you run
one penny over budget, I'll make sure you leave New South Wales in disgrace.'

‘It is utterly impossible,' continued Griffon, ‘to make such a large cut in a few
weeks—without sacking staff or selling collections. And that I will not do.'

‘Cut, Griffon. Deeply and quickly. And don't wave your bloodied stumps at me! Get
rid of some of those useless curators of yours. They do nothing except spend, as
far as I can see. Now get out of my office and on with your job. I'll expect a full
budget acquittal in six weeks.'

Vere Griffon had never felt so diminished. Threatened and shouted at by a third-rate
colonial bureaucrat like that. What utterly absurd demands. What a dreadful place
this was! Yet he could not give up or back down now. He was getting his curators
into order, and soon the institution would re-establish its reputation on the world
stage. He would find a way to outwit Scrutton.

Chapter 18

Archie was still in love with Beatrice, and he longed for her company. But when
he was with her his pain only increased. The mere sight of her was enough to rouse his jealousy to fever pitch.
So he was often aloof in her presence. Peace of mind would only come, he realised,
when he could accept things on Beatrice's terms. But what should he do about Mordant?
He was sure the vile man was in cahoots with Griffon. He wondered whether he should
confront him, but could only see an encounter ending in a punch-up, and that would
give Griffon the excuse he needed to act against him. For the moment, avoidance was
the only option. And to make matters worse, Archie just could not bring himself to
select the skulls that Griffon had requested. That, he felt, would be soul-destroying.
Instead he would wait for a second summons.

Beatrice had now got over the shock caused by Archie's love token. Her affections
were as warm as ever. But something between them had changed. She wondered whether
she was the cause of Archie's strange behaviour. Or had his experiences in the islands
affected him? She wondered what might help her to understand him better.

‘Would you like me to read your fieldwork report?' she asked as they sat in the winter
sunshine in Hyde Park eating sandwiches.

‘Well, Beatrice, it
is
an anthropological study, and it contains some matters that
are not discussed in polite company.'

‘Oh, Archie, you can trust me. I know it's scientific. I'd only read it for grammatical
errors. I presume you'll want to publish it one day? Really, I wouldn't be shocked
by anything in a report.'

When they returned to the department, Archie handed Beatrice
a bulky manila envelope full of handwritten pages. Perhaps, he reflected, if she
read them she might understand why he had sent the foreskin. He was disappointed
that she had not even made the token effort of deregistering it.

That night Beatrice went to bed early. Archie's handwriting was not the neatest,
but as she turned the pages she became more used to it. Leafing through the chapter
headings, she came to one called ‘Love and Courtship'. She put aside the rest of
the manuscript, and started reading.

Among the Venus Islanders, foreplay and sexual intercourse are seen as entirely natural
and expected activities. Following puberty, both males and females indulge in sex
frequently, without embarrassment and with the utmost pleasure.

Beatrice gulped. What had Archie seen among the islands?

Virginity is usually lost at the first annual yam festival following the onset of
puberty. This occasion, which coincides with the yam harvest, is marked with much
feasting, dancing and social licence. On the first night of festivities, boys and
girls clean and oil their bodies with the greatest care, arranging their hair and
dress, which for girls consists only of a short grass skirt, and for boys a woven
belt. The boys rub charcoal into the coconut oil they use to anoint their skin, which
blackens their already dark complexion. The girls use ochre to give their bodies
a rich reddish sheen. They dance late into the night to the throb of the kundu drum.

The feast is held at the full moon. As its orb dips into the ocean the dance breaks
up. The young people form couples and make their way to the beachfront. There, among
the low bushes and beneath the coconut palms, they make love until dawn, at which
time they return to their families. Custom dictates that by day they ignore their
sexual partners; nonetheless many a furtive glance and shy smile are seen in the
village at this time. By night they are free to dally in each other's arms for as
long as the festival continues—a period of three weeks in all. It is a remarkable
sight to see the dreamy youths returning from the beach at dawn, the girls with black
smudges on breasts and groin, the boys ochred wherever they've been caressed.

Marriage is not connected in any way with the festivities, but follows the initiation
of the men, which is reported upon in detail in chapter seven. Suffice to say here
that a couple who have enjoyed each other's company through several successive yam
festivals are likely to become
man and wife. Marriage proposals are conducted through
delivery of the initiate's tattooed foreskin to his sweetheart. Her acceptance of
the proposal is signified by her rolling it into a ring, which she wears on her fourth
finger.