Two days after the interment, Penelope and Aristo stood up during breakfast, thanked everyone for their sympathy and understanding, and begged them to now put it all behind them and carry on as if nothing had happened.
‘Please make jokes. Laugh. Have fun and dance and play, otherwise we are constantly reminded of what has happened and that is the road to madness. We can never forget Perses, and we are wiser because of what happened, but done is done. We must move on.’
Nods of agreement, tinged with embarrassment.
‘In the great scheme of human folly our tragedy is but one of billions,’ Aristo said softly. ‘In the two and a half centuries since Australia was colonised our governments have committed almost total genocide against the oldest living culture on the planet, and sent innocent young men into every foreign war they could get into—constantly fighting, bombing, murdering, maiming, burning and destroying the lives of innocent people who have the misfortune to live in a country that our country wants to pillage. Millions and millions of parents have grieved like us for their murdered sons and daughters, and millions and millions of sons and daughters have mourned the loss of their innocent parents. Humans are vile, war-mongering predators, ready to follow the loudest megalomaniac into battle, and die for the benefit of the wealthy few who tell them it is their patriotic duty. Penelope, Alfred and I are merely another statistic in the endless horror that humans call progress. What we’re progressing towards is extermination, which is why, like many of you; I've prepared a way to leave this life when living becomes a punishment. But until that time let’s enjoy ourselves as if every minute is our last.’
And they did—sort of. But when innocence is lost, pleasure has a brittle edge. Aware now that their lives had no purpose or value to anyone but themselves and immediate friends, they threw themselves into every activity as if by so doing they might regain the innocent pleasure so recently lost.
Only five men now went regularly to work in the city, bringing home news and information that assisted them in what limited planning was possible for those who chose not to join the worshippers of invisible gods and mammon. That left a hundred and ten females and eighty-seven males to be kept busy. Fifty eight were young people between the ages of thirteen and eighteen…thirty-three of whom were females in the grip of puberty, hot for sex, spending most of their time working out how to trap the twenty-five young men who, although also sexually active, were usually more interested in bonding with other youths, honing skills and increasing their physical fitness.
As condoms and IUDs were unavailable, the boys were offered a vasectomy, because early withdrawal was not a certain way to prevent pregnancy, and abortions would be traumatic for the girls who, suffused with pregnancy hormones might reverse their rational decision and want to keep the child. Penelope assured the boys there would be no diminution in pleasure, but warned she would do it in such a way that it could never be undone. As not a single person in Oasis wanted to bring a child into this overcrowded, polluted, cruel world, every young man availed themselves of the operation—even the three who were pretty sure they’d always prefer other males.
Frustration, bitchiness and misery were rife among the girls, cooped up with their mothers at night, breathing oestrogen-laden air, all menstruating at the same time; jealous of boys whose fathers took them out to study the stars, swim in moonlight, trap foxes, and listen to older men speak about a past that was already seeming like fantasy.
The girls offloaded some of their discontent through the writing of an apparently endless series of exotic ‘gothic’ dramas in which innocent young virgins were led astray by older men, raped and rescued by a handsome younger hero to whom she gave herself with total abandon. There was no shortage of willing actors and actresses of all ages to take these roles, which proved a convenient way for Fidel and Hylas to experience sex with a female. Both Arnold and Hercules were pleased to learn it was only the sight of their grinning faces in the audience that had made arousal possible. Neither brother thought it necessary to repeat the act—they knew when they were well off.
It wasn’t long before the audience tired of watching their daughters copulate on stage, usually with several men, so a deputation asked Mort to select more intellectually stimulating plays, while encouraging the girls to take boys to the ‘club house’ at night, or find a pleasant glade in the forest during the day. The girls were willing, but the youths, who'd never been indoctrinated with the notion that sex was a dirty activity to be performed in the dark in private, found the act more real, more exciting and accompanied by more earth-shattering orgasms when one or two of their mates were also doing it—or watching.
To compound the problem, when alone with a boy many girls became coy and teasing, demanding of attention, wanting to be kissed and petted, sometimes pretending they didn’t really want sex, in the misguided belief that it would make their tunnel of love a more attractive prize. Perhaps in the bizarre duplicitous world of their mothers’ youth it might have worked, but not with sexually liberated young men who wanted straightforward honesty in sex, as with everything else.
‘Either you want it or you don’t,’ they would snap when the girl played hard to get. ‘I can’t be bothered with these stupid games.’
But most girls didn’t understand, being evolutionarily wired to flirt and tease to make a man prove he really wanted her, because then he would stay around when the baby was born. But there was never going to be a baby. Women had been telling the world for decades they didn’t need men, but their bodies hadn't caught up with that fact—if it was a fact. One of Bart’s surveys indicated that most married men preferred masturbating to the fuss of intercourse, and most youths gained the most fun and pleasure from group jerk-offs, seeing who could spray the furthest or come the fastest. As one thoughtful young man said, ‘Life is far too precarious and complicated to get bogged down in emotional sexual baggage. If you want a fuck, it’s quicker, easier and just as much fun to shove your cock into your friend’s hole as go through the fuss of getting it into a girl’s.’
At one of the evening discussions before sleeping, one of the boys asked the fathers what they thought about females and sex.
‘The reason I'm asking,’ he said carefully, ‘is that the girl I've been screwing doesn't seem to like it much; she prefers talking. She asked me to tell her about myself so she could know what made me tick, or something like that. So I told her personal things, but discovered the next day that she’d told all the other girls and their mothers. It was totally embarrassing. I felt a complete fuckwit when Lobelia’s mother came up and said I was strange because I didn't like killing snails and spiders.’
Every married man laughed. ‘Why do you think we haven't bothered to fix up the houses, or clean them away and rebuild? We’re enjoying our privacy. Anything we say in this room remains for our ears only; at home it was broadcast to the world wide web of women.’
‘He’s right. Men don’t like being the source of gossip and amusement. Our wives are always on to us about rebuilding again, but I tell her that for the last twenty years more books have been written by women than men, spreading the idea that women are heroes who can do everything men can do and more. They save the planet, drive fighter jets, know all about computers, fly to other planets, rule galaxies, use kung-fu better than the experts. Men, on the other hand, are portrayed as useless sidekicks making stuff-ups the women have to correct. All my life I've been told by females that men are only good for making babies—but we’re also useless at that! So I tell her that as females are superior to men, she should get it organised and do it. I'm happy as I am.’ He gave a contented laugh. ‘It’s weeks since she’s spoken to me.’
There was universal agreement, and consensus on the warning that if a man gets involved with a female he should be prepared to be manipulated, lied to and made to feel inadequate—it being the feminine modus operandi and the cause of wars—both domestic and international.
Everyone made the effort to leave Oasis at least once a month, to confirm their ideas, attitudes and decisions. Several times a week small groups went shopping for supplies. Most small businesses had failed, leaving only two large super stores, now owned and operated by the Christian Kingdom Corporation and subsidiaries. Food was once again in plentiful supply, thanks to a good season on the Tablelands, but the thousands employed in tourism and service industries, which a few years previously was the economic saviour of the country, were now either begging, or working for a pittance in kitchens, street cleaning, serving the burgeoning body of bureaucrats, or maintaining the churches and collapsing infrastructure.
Protectors were everywhere. Menacing. Masked. Instilling fear into even the most innocent heart. Road traffic was composed mainly of service vans and trucks. The relatively few cars were either driven by the chauffeurs of entrepreneurs who had understood how to win favour with the government, or large black limousines and vans bearing the Christian Kingdom Logo— the letters CK twining around a gold cross. Public transport was the norm. Women, in dresses, not trousers, with their hair covered and preferably wearing gloves and stockings could now work and appear in public alone, but few did for fear of protectors and gangs of thieves and robbers living in the decaying ruins of the old town—unemployed, but doing very nicely.
The financial system continued to function as before, although physical notes and coins never appeared. Debit card theft and torture to extract P.I.N. numbers was increasing. Financial stability for the few people who had reasonable savings, was the major reason for the lack of middle-class revolt.
The return to Oasis always felt like a return to sanity, triggering an almost euphoric reaction that increased the enthusiasm with which everyone joined in social activities. As a tribute to Perses, all the youths stopped wearing clothes, as did the fittest married men. Afternoon Tea Dances run by Robert would have raised a few eyebrows in the city, with superbly dressed and coiffed females being swirled around the floor by naked men, performing intricate manoeuvres and complex ensembles, choreographed by Robert and other enthusiastic dancers who also performed on stage at concerts.
Wrestling with Bart and Robert was very popular among the youths, who found that five minutes of straining every muscle and sinew against another body eliminated frustration and repressed anger. Energy was regained while stretching out on the grass and feeling their body relax, reform, recover and prepare itself for the next bout. It was tough and no holds were barred. Biting, scratching, punching and kicking were forbidden, because the aim was to strengthen muscles, not damage them. For the same reason, the head and testicles were off limits. Girls soon lost interest in wrestling with boys after discovering they refused to limit their strength or adjust their holds to accommodate sexual differences. After nearly having a breast torn off and fingers shoved into her fanny while being heaved into the air and then dumped onto her back, the last participant withdrew to nurse her pride and wounds, muttering it wasn’t fair. If she’d been allowed to kick, scratch, bite and poke his eyes out, she’d have won.
Even when wrestling with each other the girls seemed unable to understand that it wasn’t a fight, or a competition, it was an exercise in strength and technique. Thus they couldn’t accept being beaten, and afterwards appeared to hate their opponents. Boys, on the other hand, after each bout would lie side by side, best of friends.
Fidel’s art classes were always packed, models for life classes were easy to find, landscapes were popular and several fine murals were emerging on wrecked houses.
Bridge had become the most popular card game thanks to Bart’s endeavours, and the tables were always full at the bi-weekly duplicate tournaments.
Arnold’s fitness sessions had everyone’s heart rates improving, and his ideas for theatrical tricks and staging added to the already remarkable back-stage equipment, increasing the entertainment quotient of the burgeoning number of plays and other performances. His spare time was always spent with Zadig in the forest, often pulling older people around in the cart.
Hylas was everywhere. Acting, dancing, working in the kitchens and ornamental gardens. But his greatest contribution was working with the kids who now needed a tutor, especially one who listened, let them work things out for themselves, never hurried or made them feel inadequate, and with whom they could safely share their deepest fears and insecurities. He was always available as a companion to those who liked simply talking, dreaming and thinking.
Perses had told Alfred everything about Oasis, so he was unsurprised by the savages, the architecture, the openness. What he was not prepared for was the friendliness, the acceptance, and sleeping in a room full of men who were calm, spoke in low rumbles, took an interest in others but left them alone. He was amused by married men who preferred being with other men than their wives, and amazed that they also sometimes slept with and enjoyed sexual activity with their friends. He was amused when someone would reluctantly excuse themselves from a game of darts or similar because ‘Monica is threatening to murder me if I don’t fuck her.’
The relationship between Alfred and Aristo grew from friendship to lovers in a matter of days, encouraged by Penelope who was worried Aristo would come to her for support. She was able to cope with her own sorrow, but not his as well. She approached them in the dining room and in front of everyone thanked Alfred for being Aristo’s friend and said she hoped their relationship was sexual, because it would be an insult to Perses if it wasn’t.’
Aristo had grinned, kissed his wife with more affection than he could remember, and took her advice.
‘It’s funny, Alfred remarked one evening in the afterglow of love, I was eleven years older than Perses, and you're eleven years older than me. He was very like you.