Trash - Chapters Nineteen and Twenty

Chapter Nineteen

"I feel the earth move under my feet, I feel the sky tumbling down, tumbling down, I feel my heart start to trembling, whenever you're around."

Ang listened to the old song. Her homework was nearly finished and she didn't expect Jason to arrive for another hour.

What does it feel like when the earth moves?

"Angelica!"

"Yes Mum!"

"Come and help me get the twins to bed."

Ang dragged herself from her desk and into the bathroom. The boys were in the middle of pouring the water out of the bath and onto the bathmat.

"Can you manage in there?" Ang's mother called from her bedroom.

"Yes." She turned to Jeremy and Carlisle. "Would you like to watch that video in your room tonight?" she whispered. The twins were suddenly all attention. They had discussed tonight with Ang. With the wisdom of eight year's experience, they nodded and began to quietly get out of the bath.

In five minutes the boys were in their pyjamas and the bathroom was clean.

When Mr and Mrs Shank left their children, the young boys were quietly lying in their beds and their daughter was bent over books that were arranged on her desk. Ang did the last bit of homework, then sat amongst her books. Her mother always forgot something.

The car pulled back into the driveway.

"You still working dear? Don't get too carried away. See you later."

Ang listened to her father running through a list of items that he considered might possibly also have been forgotten. The car door closed and her parents drove away again. Idly listening to the sound of the car as it became faint and merged with the general sounds of traffic, Ang wondered if her parents "did it" any more.

The thought of Jason coming to visit sent a thrill through her. She loved being able to spend time alone with him. Only . . . well, she always felt as though there should be more to it. The earth hadn't even trembled.

Ang trembled. The sight of Jason walking along the path outside pushed aside any doubts. There was no question in her heart. Jason was all that mattered.

The twins were asleep. The house was lit only by the eerie beams cast through windows by the light on the porch. In her room, Ang lit a candle.

"Is that enough light?"

"Yes, I think I can see it properly now."

The young lovers bent over a book, studying it's pages by candlelight.

"It's all very well having a bloody diagram," growled Jason, "when I can't really see what I'm doing."

Ang looked at the diagram, then giggled. She threw herself back on the bed and offered Jason a view for comparison.

"Oh!" he said. "I think I see what they're talking about."

A silhouette appeared in the lounge-room window, closely followed by another. The figures approached the door and one of them began to fumble with the lock. As they tip-toed through the door they whispered to one another. Walking with unaccustomed stealth, Mr and Mrs Shank were a parody of midnight intruders.

Mr Shank stubbed his toe and swore. His wife hissed ferociously at him, "Shhh!" The twins slept soundly.

Ang woke with a start. She could hear her parents. Quickly realizing the predicament she was in, she grabbed Jason by the shoulder. He woke and gazed at Ang in surprise. She motioned for silence and bent to his ear, whispering.

"My parents are home. You've got to hide!"

It was too late.

"Are you asleep, dear? How did things . . ."

Mrs Shank stared in amazement at the blushing youth who was sitting naked in her daughter's bed. She screamed.

It was not a long scream, or particularly loud, but it was enough to bring her husband to the door. Mr Shank stared in amazement at the startled young man in his daughter's bed. He was stunned into immobility.

A decisive look finally passed over his face. The blank expression was replaced by rage. He grabbed at some clothes that looked like they were Jason's and flung them at the boy.

"Put them on!" he ordered.

Jason began to dress. His hands shook, and he found it difficult to persuade his clothes to cover his body. He looked to Ang for some clue about what he should do. Ang was huddled in her doona, her face a mask of anguish. She looked at Jason hopelessly. Ang's father spoke again.

"Now get out, boy. And I'd better not catch you any-where near my daughter again. D'you understand me?"

Mr Shank stepped towards Jason, who was now standing awkwardly in the centre of the room. Jason turned to Ang.

"Do you want me to stay?" Ang shook her head despairingly. "Will you be all right?" The young couple gazed briefly into one another's eyes. Ang smiled weakly and nodded.

"All right! That's enough! Now get yourself out of here."

The boy walked reluctantly out of the room, keeping a safe distance from Ang's father. Jason was taller than Mr Shank, but he realized that he would be unlikely to match the inflamed parent's experience or anger. He hoped that by leaving quickly he would encourage the Shanks to be lenient towards their daughter.

Jason knew what it was like to be the focus for a father's anger. The beatings he had suffered at the hands of his unpredictable father had made him tough, but vulnerable. Jason would do whatever he could to protect the person who had made him feel wanted and worthwhile. The best thing to do at that moment seemed to be to leave.

While the youth walked away from the house, Ang and her parents stared at one another. Mrs Shank broke the silence.

"Angelica! How could you?"

Ang sat in sullen silence. Mr Shank looked at his daughter. He was confused by the situation. The first wave of rage had passed and all he could think was, "She's just a baby!" Looking at Ang he decided the most important thing was to make sure that this sort of thing didn't happen again.

"Well Angelica, it seems your mother and I can no longer trust you. Since that is the case, we will have to protect you from yourself." He paused, but Ang didn't respond. "You're grounded indefinitely. You will not be left unchaperoned until you are old enough to have more sense. And you're not to see that boy again. I'll call the school on Monday and have you changed out of his class."

"No," said Ang. Her voice was quiet, but the strength and determination it expressed surprised all three who faced each other in the small bedroom. "I won't stop seeing Jason. You can't make me."

"We can make you and we will, young lady!" His daughter's defiance rekindled Mr Shank's anger. "I'm not going to spend my life wondering who I'm going to find in my daughter's bed when I come home. I won't have you prostituting yourself in my house!"

"I love him," Ang replied fiercely.

"Love? Hah! That's a good joke. I suppose he told you he loved you, too, before . . ." His face contorted. "To think a daughter of mine could have such loose morals."

"You hypocrite! What about that woman you were carrying on with last year. You nearly broke Mum's heart. At least I'm not married!"

"No. And now no-one will want you, you little slut."

The antagonism between father and daughter, usually so carefully controlled, was brought into the open by the situation. Ang's mother watched, her emotions in turmoil.

"Don't speak to her like that!"

Mr Shank looked at his wife in astonishment.

"If she deserves it, I will! What do you think I should say? Maybe I should pat her on the head and tell her what a good job she's doing, keeping that hoodlum here so that he's not out terrorizing the community? Perhaps we should see if there are any other thugs that need to be entertained. She's not good for anything else now, is she? Perhaps you can help her. My family was right about you. I should never have married you. For all I know she isn't even my child."

He stalked out of the room.

Ang and her mother looked at each other for a time before Mrs Shank spoke. "I'll talk to him."

Her mother left the room, closing the door. Ang sat in her bed, and at last allowed the tears to flow. For the first time in her memory, her mother had taken her side. But instead of a warm glow, Ang felt a pain in her heart. "It's too late," she told the collection of stuffed toys that hung over her bed.

She wished, now, that Jason had stayed. She felt separated from him. Could her parents really stop her from seeing him? Ang buried her face in her knees and wept.

The familiar sound of her parents fighting halted Ang's sobbing. Shouting at each other in whispers, they made it difficult for Ang to understand what they were saying. Her father's voice became louder and louder, though, until she heard him say, "I should throw all of you out onto the street. I was prepared to go easy on the girl, but I won't have her seeing that thug again."

Ang couldn't understand what her mother said.

"Oh, so we're on about love again, are we?"

Again her mother said something she could not hear.

"Maybe I'd be better at showing my feelings to this family if they didn't have their mother's bad blood. I would never have married you if you hadn't got pregnant, you know." Her father's voice now trailed away, and Ang was unable to follow the conversation for a time.

Ang was surprised when her father flung her door open. Her mother hovered behind him anxiously.

"So, young lady. You love this boy, do you?"

"Yes," Ang replied defiantly.

"And you don't believe you've done anything wrong?"

"No."

"Would you do it again if you had the chance?"

Ang hesitated for a moment, then answered, "Yes."

Mr Shank looked at his wife, an evil gloating on his face.

"Then it would seem that you don't belong here, do you? Pack your bags and get out. Let lover-boy take care of you."

He walked from the doorway. Ang stared questioningly at her mother. Mrs Shank dropped her head in shame and left her daughter sitting alone in her room.

Ang stood under the street-lamp, her belongings hanging from her shoulders and hands. She looked to her left and then to her right, as if hoping to find some direction. Jason had been so secretive about where he lived. She couldn't go to him because she didn't know where to go.

She took a deep breath and started walking up the footpath, a small and vulnerable figure in the dark and lonely night.

******************

Chapter Twenty

Annie was having trouble controlling the giggle that threatened to escape. Looking around the classroom she could see that many of the students were not bothering to hide their feelings. Survival, the strongest need of all, brought out the instinct of the pack to stick together. While students sniggered, teachers fought back-to-back.

"Listen to Mr Bond!" Annie snarled. It was them or her!

"The school belongs to all of us," said the voice on the public address system. It was a gentle voice which had been roused to unaccustomed annoyance. The speaker seemed perplexed, and Annie could not shake the feeling that no hardened juvenile delinquent who had been involved in an act of brazen vandalism was going to give in to this gentle man.

"During recess a fire extinguisher was discharged in the corridor outside the Art rooms. Some-one must know who did this. Fortunately the water did little permanent damage, but we will now have to call the fire-brigade to recharge the extinguisher. We will just have to hope we are lucky and that the extinguisher is not needed before it can be fixed. The thoughtlessness of the person, or people, who could endanger their fellow students in this way is unacceptable."

Annie glared at 9B. It did no good. The class was laughing.

"I am horrified and ashamed that a student of this school could be involved in such an act of vandalism. Those responsible will be punished severely. The person or people responsible, or any-one who knows who is responsible, should report to me at my office immediately."

Why fight it? Annie allowed herself a brief smile as the P.A. system crackled into silence.

"All right. That's enough. If any of you know anything about it, go and see Mr Bond now."

Annie waited while the noise died away.

"So, let's get back to work."

The quality of the written pieces, which had been inspired by a theatre performance at the school, had been a pleasant surprise to Annie. Although often lacking the refinements of grammar, the freshness with which her students expressed what they had experienced was exciting. It had been a good day.

When the bell rang she collected the pieces of work that she had not yet discussed and put them aside to look at later. The class rushed out. Becoming writers was not as stimulating as lunch-time.

Busy organizing herself, Annie did not realize that one member of the class had remained.

"Excuse me, Miss Friend."

Jason was standing nervously in front of her desk. His recent friendship with Ang had made him almost a model student. But this was the first time he had attended school since Ang's disappearance.

"Please, Miss. Linda won't tell me what's happening. She isn't even worried. Does she know where Ang is?"

Annie looked at the troubled boy in front of her. He did not bother to put on his tough act. Despite his size he was little more than a scared child. The person who had put some love into his lonely life had gone, and he wanted her back.

"I'm sorry, Jason. We don't know where Ang is either," she said gently.

"Isn't there something we can do to find her?"

"The police are looking for her - she's been listed as a missing person. Her parents have put ads in the papers." Annie shrugged hopelessly. "I don't understand the way Linda is behaving. When Ang first disappeared she was very angry with you. She isn't any more, though. She doesn't know where Ang is, but she's just stopped worrying about her. It's not like Linda."

She tried to smile reassuringly.

"Perhaps she realizes that Ang can take care of herself. It's only been a couple of days."

Jason nodded quickly and scurried out the door. He grabbed his schoolbag from next to the steps and hurried off towards the school gate. Annie didn't call after him.

The staffroom was sparsely populated. The small cliques had hidden themselves away in the parts of the school that they haunted during lunch, or gone to the mall to pretend that the school didn't exist. Annie had brought her lunch in a brown paper bag, having run out of money until next pay.

The staffroom could be a bit dead at lunchtime. The company was good today, though.

"I nearly got knocked over in the rush. I wouldn't have believed so many kids could fit into such a small toilet. I saw a face I recognized and nabbed the kid before he could get away. `What's going on in here, Mark?' I asked. `Oh, nothing Miss. They're just flushing a kid,' he said. `Oh, is that all,' I replied. `Well I'd just better make sure things are all right.'"

"You went into the boys' toilet?"

"Yes, and it wasn't a pleasant experience. In fact, it may possibly be a worse place than the girls' toilet."

The people gathered round the table laughed, briefly discussing the relative merits of girls' and boys' toilets.

"All right. So, it turns out that the kid being flushed was actually his younger brother. I remembered that he'd written a piece about the relationship between the two of them. Apparently they spent a lot of time organizing gestures of kindness towards one another. Chilli on the toothbrush, that sort of thing.

"So I asked if he was trying to help his brother. `No,' he said, rather emphatically. `He deserved it: he slagged on a kid.'" Annie paused briefly. "How could I argue with him?"

The room was filled with the sound of appreciative laughter. Annie went to the sink and made herself a cup of tea. Teaching was thirsty work and telling yarns at lunch-time didn't help. When she returned to the table they were discussing a particular student who seemed to be rather universally disliked.

"I must admit," she said, "I don't think I've ever met a kid that nobody liked."

"You don't teach him, do you?"

"No. I've never met the kid. Is he that bad?"

"Yes. And the parents are really nice, too. I've spoken with them a few times. I kind of feel sorry for them."

"It'd be hard loving a kid like that."

"I don't think any-one could love a kid like that," interjected Graham. "They went all the way up to Sydney to get him, though, that time he ran away and got into trouble with the police. Didn't they?"

"Yes."

"Poor bastards." Graham paused for a moment. "Maybe they should run away from home."

"Be a bit of a change, wouldn't it?" said Annie.

"Yeah. Can you imagine it? Kid comes home, and there's a note on the kitchen table. `We can't stand it any more. We're running away from home.'"

"And we're not coming back!"

People were still laughing at the idea when Jim Bond walked into the staffroom and over to the sink. Annie turned towards the Deputy Principal and spoke to him.

"Heard your announcement, Jim. Any luck?"

"Of course. Kids are in my office - just waiting for the parents to come pick them up."

Jim stirred his coffee and left.

"He should have been a Mountie," Annie informed her bemused colleagues.

Chapters Seventeen and Eighteen

I’m not entirely happy with these chapters, but here they are. Ready or not!

Chapter Seventeen

"We're here. Wake up, Precious!"

Zeke's feet were kicked from the seat that they rested on, and his balance gone, he slid off his seat.

"Where's here?" he growled from the floor, trying to grope his way out of this undignified posture.

"Dunno," replied the roadie as he left the bus.

Zeke had picked up his personal luggage by the time Ratso sounded the alarm. "Look out - the enemy, closing fast."

The members of the band who were still on the bus grabbed their gear and pushed one another to the door. Tristan was waiting for them.

"Quick, this way." Tristan had his empty hands filled by Hammer, then he joined the others scampering to safety. Hammer fell back, in a ritual they all appreciated. He tripped, and while the others made it safely to the building, security men tried to rescue Hammer from a seething mass of fans that had formed around him.

When he joined the others in the hotel his clothes were torn and his face wore a blissful expression.

"There's always one that grabs the right bit," he said, gesturing to make sure they knew what he was talking about. "Don't know why you boys don't let yourselves get caught more often."

"One day one of them fans'll 'ave yer balls fer a sooveneer. You won't be smilin' then." The members of the band laughed. Biter and Hammerhead’s rivalry had earned the band a few publicity points in the past.

"You will get caught good and proper one day," remarked Tristan. Hammer looked at the man, scarcely more than a boy, who had added his gift to the band. He'd had his misgivings about the youngster, but he was all right.

"Just not cut out for the life-style, are you, kid?" he commented, expecting no reply.

"Oh, I dunno - I remember the night . . ." before Ratso could begin another of his tasteless anecdotes, he was stopped by a stray article of clothing that flew from Tristan's general direction.

"You just keep doing things your way, Tris. Don't let these pricks get under your skin," said Zeke as he headed for a shower.

This was a particularly comfortable hotel. The band's rooms opened onto a central living area, complete with kitchenette and bar. The furnishings were not luxurious - they were too old for that - but the beds were comfortable and the decor inoffensive. They would be here until it was time to go to the concert. They would return afterwards to sleep, perhaps, then after lunch the next day they would leave for the next gig.

Sump Oil set up camp on the couch and began snoring.

"We'd better make sure he wakes up in time so we can feed 'im before the gig," Ratso reminded no-one in particular as he changed into his "street" clothes. Disguise complete, he left to see what he could of this town before he had to move on to the next.

"Bullshit!"

Hammerhead would not budge.

"Look, you're right, what you're saying,” he continued, “but it just doesn't make sense. Why should we change anything? Things are going fine as they are."

"For us," remarked Tristan, who had so far stayed out of the argument.

"Oh shit! Help me, I'm scared. He spoke to me." No-one really appreciated Hammer's sarcasm.

"But 'e's right," took up Biter. "Things might be okay fer us . . . now, but if we've got a chance to do sumpfing to help . . . I mean, fuck it! We can afford ter take a chance."

The band sat about in the cluttered dressing-room. Tristan had asked them all to meet in Zeke's room. Scattered bottles and glasses took up the free bench-space. The mirrors doubled the costumes that hung about the walls, waiting for their moment of glory. They all waited.

"Okay. Okay!" The faces that watched Hammer, broke into smiles. "I guess it's about time I stuck my neck out for something worthwhile. Let's do it!"

"Yes!" The band's jubilation was cut short by their minder bursting into the room.

"Come on, you bastards. You're supposed to be on stage."

It was a signal they all knew. It was time to go. They grabbed their favourite bottles and headed for the door.

Zeke thrilled at the roar of the crowd that greeted the band as they loped onto the stage. Glad to be in charge of himself again, he felt every muscle in his body, tense with anticipation. He bounced on the balls of his feet, looking about him, waiting for the band to take their places. The focus of so many eyes, he thought instead, in this crowded pause, of a beautiful pair of eyes, many miles away.

Spotlights swept the mass of people who shouted and seethed, eager for the band to begin. The energy in the stadium sparked when Zeke began to speak.

"Hello Tokyo!"

The roar from the crowd was deafening.

Sump-Oil started pounding the bass drum, taking up the rhythm of Zeke's energetic tension. The beat seemed to wind up the band, all beginning to tap or nod to the pulse of the drum. Although the crowd still roared in front of them, Zeke gave the signal.

" . . . three, four!"

Sump-Oil's snoring bored through the closed door.

Tristan and Zeke were not trying to sleep. They had become friends during the last few weeks.

They talked about the concert and the party afterwards. Their second cups of cocoa steamed on the table between them.

"And when Sumpy leaned over and burped in his ear I thought we'd had it!"

Zeke laughed in memory. He and Tristan had not been able to get along well - before . . . But now he realized why Ratso had insisted that the lad joined the band when Keith had left. It wasn't just the way the kid played guitar.

Zeke's reverie was disturbed by Tristan.

"You've changed, you know."

Zeke looked carefully at the gentle youth.

"Yes. I suppose I have."

"You've really sorted yourself out. I wouldn't have thought the drugs could make such a difference." He paused, looking thoughtfully at Zeke. "Whatever happened, I'm glad it did."

Zeke looked away. He would never tell any-one what had happened. How could he?

"That's the problem with the world , after all, isn't it?" continued Tristan. "Before we can change the world we have to change ourselves. But there's so much in the world around us that stops us from changing. Before we can change ourselves we have to change the world."

"We just have to change," Zeke replied. "We can't shirk our responsibility for what has happened. We're all involved. We all have to change."

"And perhaps if each of us changed ourselves, perhaps then we could change the world. You know, sort of like ripples in a pond." Tristan was absorbed with the scenario that was developing in his mind.

" Maybe if people cared more, the world would be better anyway. Each person doing their bit to make the world a better place would. One person, for example, who was prepared to help out a kid in trouble, might be stopping the trouble from spreading."

"Like Ratso helped you?"

Tristan smiled. "Yes. I'd be out on the streets, living off my wits and anything I could con or steal from other people. I would have spread a bit of misery." He blushed. "And if I'd ever gotten around to having kids, I wouldn't have liked their chances." He looked over to Zeke. "Don't you see? If people cared for each other and their world, it'd have to spread!"

"There are already people doing all that." Zeke suddenly felt an ancient weariness overtake him. "But it's not enough. Individual responsibility has to lead to collective responsibility, but it just isn't enough. Not yet. Maybe there's a way . . . " His voice trailed away, preoccupied.

Biter and Ratso burst into the room, ending the conversation. Between them they carried the tattered remains of a man. There were no blood-stains on the shredded clothing, but the grimy human trash was inert.

They lay Hammerhead roughly on the couch, then stood over him, deciding the best approach.

"Do ya fink we should call the Doc?" suggested Biter.

"What happened?"

"He finally got what was coming to him. That's what," remarked Ratso.

"After you left the party he jumps up on a table and announces to every-one that you were a prick." Zeke's eyebrows raised. "He said you'd taken credit for his idea to start actively supporting the environmental movement. Not that he minded, you know. After all, you really are the band's spokesperson."

Biter began snorting with laughter, remembering the scene.

"But he'd be real pleased if any sweet young thing would offer to soothe his troubled brow," continued Ratso. "He's just so tense, what with worrying about the environment and all!"

Biter broke into a roar. "They sooved'im awrite!" he managed to gasp out between breaths.

"Tore him to bits," added Ratso, taking a jug of cold water from the fridge. He carried it to the couch and began pouring it slowly onto Hammer's face.

The shambled form spluttered and groped its way into consciousness.

"What the fuck!"

"Good to have you with us, Ham'," said Zeke.

Hammerhead smiled in recognition and leaned back onto the couch.

"We hear you had a spot of trouble," Tristan suggested.

Hammer chuckled as his memory returned. He turned to Tristan soberly, a courageous achievement.

"You know, kid," he commented seriously. "It's not easy being Green."

*******

Chapter Eighteen

"So the class is settling down now?"

"Yes. It's incredible what an effect settling one trouble-maker can have. And Jason's not such a bad kid. I think he can even get enough work done to avoid being kept down another year."

"He's been kept down a year before?"

"Oh yeah, at one of his previous schools. Poor kid's really been pushed from pillar to post."

"I did rather wonder at Ang taking up with him. I heard her talking to Linda once, about the boys in her own class. You'd have thought she was talking about boys who were ten years younger than herself."

"I don't think she's ever forgiven the school and her parents for making her repeat Year Nine."

"It seems a little unfair. It's not her fault she was so ill."

"How fair would it have been to let her attempt work that she was unprepared for?"

"Mmmm. Still, I'm glad she and Linda stayed friends. Ang seems like a good kid, even if her parents are a little odd."

"A little odd! Oh Cassie, what is wrong with you? A little? They are a lot odd. I've been told the father has a lock on the stereo so that it can't be turned up too loud."

"He does," said Linda, looking up from the work she was doing. "I've seen it!"

"Really." Cassie seemed mildly surprised.

Linda and Annie exchanged glances, then looked at Cassie.

"It's the play, isn't it?" remarked Annie.

Cassie looked up. She had been absently observing a fly crawling on her glass.

"It's going to be great, Cass! I knew it from the moment I read that first Act."

Cassie gazed at Annie and wondered again at the vitality that seemed to have returned recently to her old friend.

"When are you going to introduce me to your new bloke?"

Annie was taken off guard by the question. She hesitated before answering.

"When I'm ready to," she finally said. "There are a few . . . complications that have to be ironed out."

"How long is that going to take?"

"I don't know. But I'll tell you what, it's good to have a man again."

"Yes," said Cassie, observing the fly which had returned to inspect her glass.

"Don't worry, Cass. It'll happen. You're too good to stay alone."

Cassie laughed.

"And who's to say I'm not better off that way?"

Annie chuckled.

"I do sometimes wonder why we go to all the trouble of letting ourselves become fond of men."

"`Can't live with'em and can't live without'em,' eh?"

"Yes." Annie chuckled again. Then silence fell once more on the three women who sat, enjoying the afternoon sun on their secluded back verandah. Annie broke the silence.

"I saw Liz the other day, at the supermarket; I don't think I told you."

"No. How is she?"

"Oh, good. Mind you, those kids are a bit of a handful!"

"There's been times when I've found one off-spring to be too many. I don't know how she copes with three. What's she doing with herself?"

"She's going back to work. Neil wants to take a year off work to spend with the kids, so she'll be the bread-winner."

"Neil taking care of the house? He can't even butter bread!"

"That's more or less what I said. Liz just laughed and said that they'd manage."

"Better her than me." Cassie began to reflect. "I don't know how I'd cope with living with a man again."

"Don't let bad luck prejudice your judgement."

"Oh no," said Cassie, "it's not that I'm scared to get involved, it's just that I'm not sure whether I'm ready for the consequences. Women take care of men. We work so damn hard to keep our men and our families happy. Linda's such a good kid. She's enough for me. I suppose I feel a yearning now and then . . . " Cassie's voice trailed off. "But then," she said, forcing herself to feel an energy that she didn't, "it's nice only having to take care of yourself. Invigorating to know that the demands on your emotional energy have a limit."

Annie laughed at the pomposity of Cassie's manner.

"There speaks a true feminist!"

Cassie joined her friend in laughter.

"I guess a few years ago I'd just have said that women need men like fish need bicycles and left it at that."

"You'd have been able to give some pretty convincing evidence to support your statement if you'd had to. I'm glad you and Jack spent some time together. I think he helped you to trust men again. He changed your perspective."

"Maybe," her voice trailed off with melancholy nostalgia. "But I don't think my beliefs have changed. I've always believed that men and women were equal, only in those days I don't think I realized how different they are. Now I realize that men are different, but I still can't find any justifiable reason for them to have systematically oppressed women." She responded quickly to Annie, who opened her mouth with a protest. "And I know, things are changing.

"People are beginning to value women for what they are instead of trying to apply a male standard. They're starting to see that women do things differently to men, but that it works just as well that way. I think there's hope, Annie."

"Ooh, careful now," teased Annie, "the Commissar for Ideological Purity will be after you."

"The Commissar can stick it!" growled Cassie as she smiled. "Besides, since the Commissar is probably a man, he'd probably decide to interpret my changing views as an affirmation that women should stop this "liberation" nonsense and get back to the kitchen where they belong." Cassie added, as an afterthought, "How many men does it take to do dishes?"

"None, that's women's work!" growled Annie in response to the old joke. A comfortable silence fell over the women.

The peaceful afternoon was not even disturbed by Mrs Evans T.V. set. The trees rustled soothingly in the breeze.

"Men and women are different, though. Whether it's innate - linked with biology - or learned from the society around us, those differences exist. By and large women are nurturers, specializing in the sensitivity that is part of that role, and prepared to put themselves second if necessary. Men are more likely to be aggressive and want to control, even dominate their surroundings.

"What we really need now is to let women use their nurturing abilities to help solve the problems we face, just as they do in their own homes."

"More women in government, eh? Like Bronwyn Bishop?"

"Don't be an arsehole, Annie, you know what I mean. She's just an example of how women have to be more like men if they want to succeed. That's the sort of thing that frightens me. We musn't let conditions for women return to what they were; but what would happen if we lost the values that are traditionally kept alive by women - nurture, caring, selflessness, sensitivity to others, et cetera, et cetera?"

"Oh come on, men have those qualities too!"

"Of course they do! But you still make a big thing of only seeing women doctors." Annie shrugged her shoulders and made noises of dismissal towards Cassie. "Anyway, it's not about who's best at anything, Annie. That's the trouble. People keep getting caught up in the argument about men and women. They end up so damned involved in who's going to win, that they forget that it's not about winning. It's about living together happily."

"World peace and harmony - the Age of Aquarius, huh?"

The women laughed. Then Annie became thoughtful.

"It's a bit depressing sometimes, isn't it? Men and women are different. And we allow these differences to rule our lives. Women should be women and stand back while men thrust themselves forward."

"Yes, added Cassie. "If a woman is too strong she's butch, and heaven help the man who approaches life too gently!"

"Yeah. Bloody woman!" quipped Annie. Then after reflection, "Bit sad, isn't it, that we judge people according to the way we think they ought to behave, rather than by the admirable qualities they may possess."

"And meanwhile the world has been brought to the brink of disaster time and time again by the aggressive, but competent men. Mmmmph!"

"What's the answer, Cass?" Annie eventually asked.

Cassie took on the furrowed brows of deep concentration. After a few moment's silence, a look of serenity played about her face.

"Co-operation. Work together so that the abilities and energies of men and women complement each other; the strengths of one combine with the strengths of the other. Weaknesses are irrelevant. If we're prepared to overcome our prejudices we will see the good in others and be able to change things. Sexism could become as irrelevant as racism. Simple really."

"Oh yes. Nothing simpler. All you have to do is change the way people think and treat each other - revolutionize society. Why don't we do it this afternoon?"

Chapters 14,15 and 16

Chapter Fourteen

Richard Rank, private detective, sat slumped in the front seat of his black Monaro. The rain washed the road outside. Richard was glad to be inside.

He hated stake-outs. He would rather be in a bar trying to guess exactly where the legs of a gorgeous babe ended. He would watch the legs walk past. He would dream.

Only the dreams were no good now. The face of a troubled woman would not let him rest. She made him think of scones on a Sunday afternoon and white picket fences. A good woman like that shouldn't be at the mercy of gangsters.

Richard Rank slumped lower in his seat. The headlights of a passing car raked over the mud-spattered windows of the black Monaro. The car pulled up in front of the dilapidated house opposite Richard's car. A lean man scuttled to the door. He opened the frayed fly-screen and banged on the door. A burst of light announced the opening of the door and the visitor was swallowed by the house.

Richard eased himself out of his car and crossed the street. He crept up to the shabby window. He looked in. The rain was on his side now. The noise he made trampling the garden was masked by the sound of the rain on the rusty tin roof.

Inside the house he could see Larsen talking to a large man who sat slumped in a chair in front of a small electric heater. Richard had his camera set up just in time to capture the transaction. He took the photos he wanted. He slipped through the night and regained the dry interior of his car. He barely had time to slump in his seat before Larsen left the neglected residence.

The coast was clear. Richard Rank started up the motor of the car he called Bertha. She reminded him of a woman he once knew. She was comfortable and reliable and gave you everything she had if you put your foot down.

The dirty dishes cluttered up the bench in the kitchen. Richard made enough space to make himself another cup of coffee. The photos were hanging up to dry in the bathroom. The makeshift darkroom he had made up with some old blankets and kitchen utensils had worked quite well. He could prove that Larsen was in it up to his neck. But what could he prove about Raven . . .

Tossing back the strong coffee, Richard paced over to the coffee table and looked again at the evidence he had gathered in the last week. Time spent in greasy dives, pounding the pavement and pushing punks around had earned him this meagre collection. He had to put the information together. His brain, sharpened by years on the street, tried to build a case out of the photos and documents that lay, mute, on the table in front of him.

"It's not enough," he finally said in disgust.

*******

Chapter Fifteen

"'Morning Dad."

"Greetings, son. I was wondering when you were going to surface. Your turmoil has hung like a grey mist over your castle at the end of the garden."

John Sortilege returned to inspecting and tending the rows of herbs that he grew in his back yard. He plucked blooms from the thriving borage clump. He nibbled at them, surveying the rows of healing: tansy and pennywort, nightshade and arnica, aloe and sage. The butterflies that danced above the garden caught his attention and began trailing glittering rainbows that hung like the trails from jet aeroplanes, before disintegrating.

Morgan hated it when his father was like this.

"I wasn't sulking Dad, I was thinking."

"So? What do you think?"

"I think I need your advice."

"Let's go inside. These plants have more patience than you or I, and I think I can smell the kettle boiling."

"Well, out with it. I can hardly give you advice if I don't know what the problem is - except that it involves that lovely child who was attacking you last night."

Morgan glared despairingly at his father.

"Calm down boy! Remember who it was that saved you from a fate worse than death. The colours of that girl!"

As a child John Sortilege had tried to be like all the rest. His parents had thoughtfully provided him with a very ordinary name, but he was no ordinary child. He was able to avoid using his natural talents - he simply never learned how. His ability to see auras could not be so easily ignored. Those around him marvelled at how sensitive he was to their feelings. As an adolescent his uncanny knack for "reading" people very nearly landed him in a lot of trouble.

One day his grandfather came to visit. After he left, John had begun to learn about that part of himself he had so far ignored. Today that knowledge weighed him down. His own father dead, he was left responsible for the family.

"Morgan, that young woman is crazy for you. Now tell me what the problem is."

Morgan paused and tried to clear his mind as he had been taught.

"I really like her, Dad, but, I just don't know if it's right?"

"Surely it's all right to like her?"

"Yes, of course, but . . . you know what I mean."

"Probably, but you'll have to spell it out. I can't read minds." John Sortilege sat back and sipped his tea. Morgan was suddenly angry with his father.

"Why not? You can do everything else, can't you? Sitting there laughing at me." Morgan stopped. His father was sitting perfectly still, his aura showing nothing but anxiety. "Why are you worried, Dad?"

His father replied with a gentle comment, "I'm your father. So why don't you talk to me?"

There was silence for a moment.

"I really like her, Dad. She doesn't care about the family being weird. I guess she doesn't realize how weird we are. But I don't think she has to - not yet, anyway." Morgan found it easier to talk this way, thinking out aloud while his father listened. "I didn't make her want me. But she does. I think she wants to . . ." He was suddenly lost for words.

"Share her body as well as her mind," came the gentle prompt.

"Yes," replied Morgan, blushing. "It's silly. You've always taught us that our bodies are nothing to be ashamed of. You taught us to take pleasure in physical sensations and to use them to increase our power. I shouldn't be embarrassed by wanting her!" Morgan's last comment became an accusation.

"I can't be held responsible for the influence that the world out there has on you, boy. I thought you'd learned to trust your instincts by now!"

"I don't know," whispered Morgan. "Dad?"

"Yes."

“I can't help wondering whether I did make her like me. Maybe without knowing it. What if I did?"

"Did you?"

Morgan stared at his father.

"No!" John Sortilege smiled at the vehemence of his son's reply. "No, I didn't. But if I'd wanted to I could've!"

Morgan's words hung in the air. John sipped his tea. It was not yet time for him to speak. There was more he needed to know.

"Is that all that's bothering you? You know the rules about influencing the Children of the Earth."

"Yes, that's just what I mean. The rules don't stop me. The only thing they stop me from is letting people know who I am and what my family really is. I can do anything I want as long as nobody finds out! It's not right!"

"Why not? There are restrictions on the extent to which we of the Air can influence the lives of the Children of the Earth."

"And that's not right either! We're supposed to just stand by and let them . . . let them . . . Dad! Can't you see what's happening around us. The world's a mess. All this rubbish about the days of the Ancient People being over - we should be doing what we can to help!"

"So, son, because you feel a responsibility to the people we live among, you were reluctant to take advantage of one of their daughters, desirable though she was?"

"I suppose so. It wasn't fair on Linda either - she was upset. I don't know if she really knew what she was doing."

"Is that why you gave her Fey's `Hand Cream' amulet?"

"How did you know?"

"Your sister, quite rightly, told me. It's a powerful charm, Morgan, not to be treated lightly. Your joke name doesn't change the seriousness of the matter."

"Can't you see the funny side of it Dad? The book should be re-written - the only thing that you hear about that `soothes and protects' these days is hand cream."

John Sortilege twisted his mouth to hide his smile. He had already been old when he met Sheila. Their love had made him young again, and the children of their love had made it a joyful life. He looked at the boy, no longer anxious.

"It is time for you to listen, son."

When his father's voice took on the ceremonial tone, Morgan was surprised. Not knowing what to expect, he adopted the position of the disciple, acknowledging his father as master.

"Listen and remember, my child, for you will one day be father to a family - responsible."

His father's words, echoing in the cluttered study, seemed ominous to Morgan. What was so important?

"Alongside the history of man runs the history of the Ancient People. We will never know how we came to be or why - but we are. In the confusion before written history, the people of the Air were revered by those around them, or so we are told by our most knowledgable scholars. Throughout history and legend there are examples of our people who were honoured for their wisdom. There are also examples of persecution. Often innocent men and women died."

"So we must never show people what we are. I know that, Dad."

Mr Sortilege relaxed for a minute. "My sources tell me that you have been . . . indiscreet. A bunch of roses is a common trick, but disappearing beer?"

Morgan looked at the floor for a moment, then replied, "But what about what you did with Linda? You did tricks that can't be explained by sleight of hand or deception."

"Yes, boy, but as you know, Linda is different." John looked at his son, choosing his words. "You were right to give her the amulet. I have looked, and I believe we must help her."

John Sortilege stood. He took Morgan's hand and motioned for silence. "Look, my child. Listen and remember."

The walls of the study began to fade. Morgan had not yet learned to Travel, as his father could. His father had allowed him to be present, an observer on previous journeys. He was not shocked by the experience, merely curious.

The journey was accompanied by the voice of John Sortilege. Listen and remember! Morgan could not have described what he saw. His other journeys had been in a world with which he was familiar. Now he Travelled . . . where?

"Listen and remember, child. You have learned about the physical world in which we live, now see it as it is! This is matter, raw energy. Those who travel here can see and do."

As Morgan watched, his father manipulated the vibrant atmosphere that surrounded them. The swirling ether cleared and Morgan stared until the scene before him was sharp. He gasped and grabbed at John.

"It is the past, and cannot be altered. We must learn from it."

They watched as Linda and Ang crept in the back door of a nightclub. A small gesture from John and the tableau sped up, becoming slower only as the girls left the club in the company of Ralph Larsen. Morgan's ears detected no sound, but he understood that Larsen was driving the girls home rather than call the police to deal with two under-age drinkers. The inexpertly altered, out-of-date licences the girls had brought with them were now in Larsen's pocket.

Linda pleaded with him not to tell their parents. Ang sat, resigned, in the back seat. When Larsen suggested that he might know a way to avoid involving their parents, the girls were eager. Their driver made a brief call on his car-phone.

They drove to a small, isolated house. Three figures hunched through the night and into the empty building. Some minutes later an expensive-looking black car settled down outside the house. A stocky figure climbed out of the passenger-side door and hurried into the house. The picture seemed to follow this man into the well-lit sitting room. Morgan didn't really notice the fifth person who entered the house.

The girls were sitting nervously, waiting for the small, balding man. They tried to explain that they had changed their minds but Larsen told them it was too late. He drew a gun from his pocket and told them that they would not be harmed, as long as they did as they were told. Then he sat and watched.

Morgan watched helplessly as the girls began to remove their clothing, huddling together, pathetically seeking protection.

B.B. Raven watched the girls, talking to them all the time, telling them what would happen. When Ang began to cry he seemed pleased. He ordered her to come to him. When she refused, Larsen calmly rose, grabbed Linda by the hair and threatened to kill her. Still crying, Ang went to B.B. and stood in front of him.

The unpleasant little man began to touch Ang, obviously enjoying her attempts to shrink from his touch. When he tired of this game he turned his attention to Linda, still held by Larsen and less able to evade him. The gun in Larsen's hand kept Ang at bay, a pitiful spectator.

"No!" screamed Morgan, shattering the vision.

"Peace, boy," said John Sortilege. "It has already happened - some time ago."

Morgan turned to his father, now standing before him in their own lounge room, in disgust. The sight of the old wizard's beard, black with anger, stopped the harsh words that had passed through his mind.

"I think you have seen enough, child."

"I have to know what he did to her."

Morgan tried to control himself. Tides of anger and nausea dragged at him. His father steadied him with a firm grip on his shoulder and spoke.

"Fortunately the girls had a guardian that night. This man has been watched by us for some time now. Your Aunt Stella made sure that the only harm they suffered is the humiliation that the man wields to debvauch the innocents of the world around him. But that is too much."

He paused and Morgan commented, "That must be the bastard that Linda wanted me to . . ."

Father and son gazed into one another's eyes.

"Do you still want to harass this man?"

"Yes."

"Will you?"

Morgan tried to avoid his father's eyes, knowing that lying would be useless.

"But . . ."

"Will you?"

John Sortilege's voice had returned to the formal voice of ceremony. Morgan's attempt at an apparition could be excused. Refusing to abide by the law in the presence of the head of the family would be a different matter.

"No," Morgan replied at last, grudgingly.

"Why?" John asked more gently.

"The rules do not allow it."

"Is the law just?"

Morgan hesitated before answering, "Yes."

The head of the Sortilege family took a deep breath. As Morgan watched, his father exhaled and his aura began to glow. The healthy colours of joy and pride shed an eerie light in the small room.

"My son," said John, "you are now a man and must make the choices of a man. You have shown yourself moral of character and sensitive of spirit. Welcome."

Morgan accepted his father's formal handshake, bewildered to hear again the words from the coming-of-age ceremony.

"What's going on, Dad?"

John Sortilege gathered his son into the vice of his arms’ love. When he stood back Morgan saw tears in his eyes. He sat when his father gestured. John reached for his cup, full, as always, of the strong tea that he so loved. He sipped and spoke.

"You have told me that Linda doesn't understand how weird your family is. You," he said, "do not understand how powerful. And with power comes responsibility. The men and women of our people who made the laws and decided how we should live were wise. They knew that only those who are worthy should know of power that could be dangerous.

"Before you could begin your final training, you had to be tested. The head of each family is responsible for testing, at the time and in the way he or she chooses. But we have been observed."

A rustle of ghostly voices interrupted.

"Welcome. Welcome, Morgan," they said. "Welcome and farewell."

Morgan looked about, confused at only now noticing the spiritual presence of his relatives. The hazy auras glittered briefly. Then the room was still.

"They have seen what they need to. I will be meeting with many of them later, though. We have a great deal to discuss." John sipped his tea.

"If I hadn't said the right things I would never have been able to learn my full power?" asked Morgan.

"You would not have been allowed to," his father replied solemnly. "Do you remember your grandfather?"

"Yes." The memories were the unreliable snatches of early childhood. A bear of a man romped through picnics and beaches, and then disappeared.

"Do you remember being told he was dead?"

"Yes." A frightening person, his aura coloured with blood, had abruptly appeared. His mother had set her jaw while his father wept.

"His father - my grandfather - killed him." John allowed a little time for this to sink in. Morgan roused himself from his shock and questioned John Sortilege.

"Would you have killed me, Dad?"

The wizard, seeming suddenly frail, rested his hands on his son's shoulders. "If I had to, I would," he said sadly, "but I think it would kill me." He hugged his precious child, then briskly continued with his speech.

"My father had failed the test of his character when he was quite young. As is our way, he continued to live amongst we of the Air. But he abided by the rules and did not learn the ways of the Ancient People. He tried to raise me so that I would never have to face the situation he found himself in. When it became necessary, his father spoke to me. All that I know about our ways I learned from my grandfather. We all believed there was no reason to fear.

"We don't really know what happened, but the ether showed his mark. Somehow he had learned what was forbidden to him, and used it destructively. There is only one possible way to deal with such danger." He paused. "A father is responsible for his family.

"It is so important for you to listen to the wisdom of those around you. Understanding the full implications of your actions is difficult. That is why, when we do interfere in the affairs of mankind, it is done by a group, and only after careful study."

While Morgan groped for words his father continued.

"Mankind is, as you say, damaging this earth badly. They do this because their understanding is limited. They cannot see far enough to realize the way their actions disturb a delicate balance. The child who throws away a plastic wrapper can't conceive of it choking an animal to death. The factories polluting the oceans are run by men who are more interested in money than dying wildlife and disrupted ecosystems. The greed of men is short-sighted, but seems to have no limit. They persist in believing that climate change isn’t their problem.

"We Ancient Ones see this. There may be a chance, soon, for us to guide the thoughts of mankind."

"But Dad," said Morgan, finding his tongue, "the law forbids interference."

"We will only help make the message clear - ensure that it is delivered. The rest is up to the children of the Earth."

"Can I help Linda, then?"

"When you were small you were not allowed to play with matches. It would have been dangerous. You are now a man and trusted to play with fire."

"Then I can help Linda."

"Yes, boy. As long as you do the right thing."

"How?"

"Be her friend, be her lover if she still wants you. But be gentle, boy. Her mind is scarred, not her body: the mind is more precious and fragile. And, son!" The tone was a command. "You are too young to start a family!"

Morgan grinned and blushed, a habit his father would never admit to enjoying immensely.

"But what about that . . . slime?" asked Morgan.

John Sortilege laughed. Linda would have been gratified to hear the demonic roar.

"Leave him to the experts, boy!"

*******

Chapter Sixteen

Shawn examined his surroundings.

Light came cautiously through a small barred window that also served as ventilation for the tiny room. Underneath the inadequate window there was fungus growing, weirdly decorating the stone wall. Further from the miserable window the masonry was slimy with moisture and unable to support life. The floor, paved with roughly hewn boulders, was bare. There was a crude bucket in one corner; in the other was a pile of dank straw, on which, wrapped in the single blanket, Shawn sat.

The rough wooden door, bound with iron, had no handle. It was locked from the outside with an iron bar which was held firmly in position. Shawn could see no hope of escaping from this dungeon. Unless . . .

As he waited for someone to open the forbidding door, Shawn could not avoid the thoughts that crowded into his solitude. As he remembered days of sunshine and laughter he smouldered with rage and frustration. This was all wrong!

He could remember clearly, Sarah, wobbling towards him, unsteady on her tiny chubby legs. Then he turned and looked across the fields to see her running towards him, a lithe child with flowing golden hair. Suddenly she was a blossoming young woman and there was a buzz as the young men of the valley were unable to resist swarming about her.

The Baron's son had proved more persistent than most and less threatened by the aggressive stance that Shawn had developed to deter the eager suitors. Shawn had chaperoned his daughter diligently, mistrusting the youth's intentions. Everyone who lived in the area knew of the unfortunate young women who had been spoiled and then heartlessly cast aside.

Shawn found himself regretting his hasty words to the Baron. The people of his village were depending on him to negotiate a good deal for their harvest. Instead he had allowed the sight of the Baron's arrogant son to move him to anger.

The look in the youth's eye as he sauntered past had provoked Shawn to question the Baron's ability to control his son and heir. The altercation that followed had ended in Shawn's imprisonment. The welfare of the village, depending on their leader to bargain for their harvest, was in jeopardy because of Shawn's imprudent concern for his daughter.

Where was Sarah now?

Shawn longed to be home. In the snug little cottage there would be a cheerful fire in the hearth. The air, smelling of pine-smoke and stew, would be fresh and wholesome. Sarah would smile as she handed him the bowl of steaming food. He would hear the owl's melancholy cry, muffled by the steady stone walls of his father's house. Shawn had never before spent a night away from the tranquil valley that had been his family's home for generations.

The chilly cell was becoming dark. The sombre surroundings were best unseen, Shawn found himself thinking. He settled himself to sleep, trying to fight off the sense of injustice that made him restless.

This is wrong! One person should not have this power over others. There is enough room in our valley for everyone. It is not necessary for one person to try to keep the wealth of the land to themselves. The Baron and his kin can have enough to sustain them and more. There is no need for such all-consuming greed. He dreamed of a time when men cared for each other and the world around them, putting aside selfish greed and working to benefit all. That would be a time of true wealth. The ravening beasts would turn their shoulders to bearing the common load.

When would the shame of a history that told of man's oppression of other men, of thoughtless and profligate waste of resources, of the wanton desires of a few outweighing the needs of the many, when would this tragic saga end? In taking the apple from the Tree of Life, Adam and Eve were given the power to distinguish between right and wrong. It was this power which gave them dominion over the beasts of the field. When would humanity prove themselves worthy of their superior intellect and morality?

This is wrong!

Chapters Twelve and Thirteen

Chapter Twelve

"How are we going to explain to the insurance company that the toilet was destroyed by lightning?"

Yes. That was definitely her favourite line. She was not entirely happy with the rest, however. Cassie sat, trying to control the restlessness within her.

She looked at the words on the screen in front of her. She looked out the window. She looked at the screen again. She looked at the picture of Zeke that she had brought home from work.

"What a waste of a morning off!" she finally exclaimed. Familiar with the discipline of writing, Cassie refused to give up. She looked through her notes. The brief survey reminded her that this would be her best book ever. She may even publish under her own name.

She selected a chapter that was very clear in her mind, and began to work.

"Chapter Twelve

Sunrise had always been her favourite time of day. As a child she had crept from the house while her family slumbered, cautiously climbing onto the garage roof to sit and worship the display in the east. As an adolescent her poetic imagery had reflected the glory of the dawn. Now, sunrise was the dreaded time when her clock would summon her to face another day."

"This is shit!" said Cassie. Abruptly she rose from the chair and pulled on her old runners. Stampeding away from the house, she grabbed the startled dog as she went through the back gate. The ten-minute walk to the park took less than five.

It was a large park, stretching along the river banks for many miles. There were manicured areas and flower gardens as well as bushland reserves which actually boasted a few possums and some native birds. The park was Cassie's favourite part of her home and she often wondered about the far-sighted councillors of yesteryear who had originally set aside these tracts of land, valuable river frontage even then.

Hoover, named for her ability to detect and remove scraps of unwanted food, also thought the town planners were commendable souls. She moved busily about, her tail a question mark as she caught up on the tree-trunk gossip. Her long-range smell detected a barbecue a kilometre ahead, and two humans in the bushes by the river bank. She could never figure out why humans were so secretive about their mating. It might be amusing to frolic down and jump on them. Perhaps she could even persuade Cassie to follow her.

Unfortunately for Hoover, she did not get the opportunity to pursue her entertainment. Cassie's peremptory whistle took the dog away from the bushes, but towards the barbecue. Knowing the dog as well as she did, Cassie attached the lead when they were close to the picnic area.

Cassie found herself observing the people clustered around the gas barbecues. They had obviously done this before. They were so well prepared that Cassie wondered if it was a family of boy scouts.

There was a man in charge of the cooking wearing a special barbecue chef's apron with an assortment of special utensils in its pockets. A small boy was waving a teatowel over the cooking surface to discourage the flies.

The women and smaller children were seated around various tables. They had brought deck chairs and banana lounges especially for the occasion. The children were smothered in insect-repelling sunscreen and had hats tied firmly to their heads.

A little distance away, most of the men were involved in supervising a game of cricket for the older children. Three men were deep into an argument over the correct way to set up a new portable canvas device for providing shade when outdoors.

The nearby trees rustled and snickered. Sitting informally on the ground, or squatting on small camp-stools, a group of older people that sat under the shady trees did not appear to belong to the main party.

Cassie was almost past the large group of picnickers when she overheard the comment. A woman had spread a groundsheet, setting up her deckchair in it's centre. She wore a broad- brimmed hat which was hung with netting to keep the flies from her face. From further away Cassie had seen her periodically move from her chair to brush insects away or remove dirt, leaves or bits of grass left behind by the feet of passing children. As Cassie passed close to the group, the woman spoke.

"Isn't it lovely to get back to nature like this?"

Cassie found herself smiling as she walked towards the path that would take her along the river's edge for her return journey. At the top of the bank she stopped and looked at the city. The buildings, only a few kilometres away, huddled in a misty shroud of pollution. Once again Cassie found herself glad that these parks had been left, so close to the city.

Smiling, though, that any-one could think of these parks as "nature", Cassie heard a voice echoing in her memory.

" . . . such a beautiful world! How can we let it be destroyed . . ?"

Glancing from the hazy skyline to the manicured lawns behind her, Cassie was confused. Then she felt something stirring in her heart and mind. The wild terrain and powerful oceans at Wilson's Promontory came to her mind as she heard the bushes at the top of the bank stir in a gentle breeze. The sound of the uncivilized environment brought with it an opinion.

"We have to do something now, before it's too late. . . . Every individual has to do what they can."

With Zeke's words ringing in her ears, Cassie strode homewards, Hoover scuttling disconsolately at her heels. When she reached home Cassie switched on her computer. Her mind had matched the furious pace she had set while walking home, and she knew exactly what to write.

"A Morality Play

CAST

Gung-Ho Greenie, Joy Greenie, Adam Greenie, Tim, Jack, Sky"

Her list of characters complete for now, Cassie began unfolding the scenes that were playing in her head. In a shabby apartment a small boy sat, reading a book and eating an apple.

Adam is a boy like any other his age. The apartment that surrounds him is a patchwork of pre-loved items. The door opens, introducing the boy's father.

This is Gung-Ho Greenie, G.H. to his friends. His frame is spare and covered with clothes which have been patched together. Set in a gentle, but stark face are eyes that shine with a wild light.

Fossicking about, he doesn't really notice that Adam has switched the book he was reading. When G.H. decides to check on his son's reading habits he is taken aback. This is a piece of sensationalist trash! But he is a modern parent, and he does not wish to interfere with his son's life, until he notices the hidden book.

It is Hamlet, a school text. But . . it is new!

Barely ruffled by Revenge of the Nympho Vampires, Gung-Ho is upset by the profligate waste of resources involved in a new book. He is horrified that his son has participated in this immoral act. His reprimand becomes a sermon. His words are sincere, but the intensity of his delivery is comic. A caricature of a "Greenie", he uses any chance to climb on his soap-box and preach.

Almost every day Cassie would hear or see some evidence of the way in which conservationists were stereotyped. The pictures that sprang to mind, of nutters chained to trees and jumping in front of bulldozers, danced about in her imagination as she tried to bring to life the images people had. So often people's ideas about environmentalists were like the comedy sketches she had seen, where a person called "Sky" would drink herbal tea and refuse to use disinfectant because it killed things.

Gung-Ho Greenie was all that was serious and sentimental about such people.

"How many ecosystems, home to cute, furry things, have been turned from emerald treasures to pages of dry words, written by dead men?"

And yet, even as she wrote the words, Cassie was not immune to the appeal that lay behind them. Such a beautiful world!

She rang work to tell them she could not come in that evening and Gung-Ho told Adam to put his apple core in the compost bin.

Adam is reluctant, but his father insists that the boy's tales of life in the compost heap are fanciful nonsense. G.H. leaves the room and Adam edges towards the door. He stops to arm himself with an umbrella. He walks out of the apartment and we hear him being attacked by a killer compost heap.

Somehow Adam manages to break away and rushes through the door, the umbrella no longer with him. As he slams the door behind him the apple core sails in through the opening. Catching his breath, frustrated that no-one else realizes what is happening outside, he places the core on a ledge next to the door, along with several others which are showing definite signs of age.

When Annie, later in the evening, read about the revenge of the vegetable kingdom, she told Cassie that she thought their supernatural visitor the other night had been the inspiration.

"The ghosts of salads past, huh? Carrot zombies and the wraiths of eggplants ganging up on a poor kid."

Cassie came and sat on the arm of the chair and read over Annie's shoulder, trying to critically judge what she had written. Now that the characters had stopped acting out their parts in her mind, she tried to imagine how the play would look when it was actually on the stage.

"Joy Greenie enters through front door to find her husband and son preparing posters for a hastily called protest action.

JOY Hello! (Looks at activity. Waves umbrella about.) Can either of you enlighten me? Is there some reason why the umbrella has been used as a stake in the compost bin?

ADAM (Aside.) I thought if it worked for vampires, it might work for compost.

GH (Finally realizing he is addressed.) Joy! You're home! (Rushes over for hug.) Were you saying something?

JOY Never mind. (Addresses mess.) I take it the local chapter of the "Friends Of the Park" are planning to go on the rampage again?

GH Joy! Adam's here.

JOY I had noticed.

GH Must you mock me in front of him?

JOY If I hide it from him, I'm hiding my true feelings. Anyway, (joking) no-one else takes you seriously, why should I?

GH (Indignant.) Why should you? Why should you? Why should any-one? The people of this planet have almost totally destroyed the ecosystem - plants, animals, gone forever. It's a miracle that human beings have managed to survive. I try to do what I can to help save what little is left of the other life that belongs on this Earth and you don't think I should be taken seriously. (Becoming hysterical.) Millions of years of evolution wiped out in the blink of an eye by jumped-up apes who think they're God! What right do we have to condemn other species to oblivion? Well, don't worry, (calming down a bit) the last joke will be on us all right. When the air just won't support us any more we'll laugh all right. Laugh with the last gasp of air that'll burn our lungs and kill us. That's the way to go, isn't it? Die laughing. (Realizes he has been silly. Looks at family who are listening patiently. GH shrugs.) I just can't stand by and watch it happen.

JOY And I couldn't live with you, if you could. (Moves to hug him.) I just wish you could grow a sense of humour with all that stinking compost.

GH (Calms down during brief pause. Sighs.) I can't seem to find a lot to laugh about.

JOY (Sad.) No. It's hard to see so clearly what's happening around you and yet be powerless to change what's wrong.

GH (Intense energy returns.) But we will make a difference! We have to! They have to listen!

The sounds of an approaching dispute have now reached the stage where conversation is audible. Players pause, then begin to listen.

TIM Look. Just listen to me, will you?

JACK Oh Christ! What's the point? You make about as much sense as tits on a fish. . . . Sorry Sky! Sorry! As much sense as lactose-based liquid-producing glands on an aquatic life-form which, being reptilian, does not suckle it's offspring.

SKY (Very dry.) It sounded better as "tits on a fish".

TIM Wow! What a lovely compost heap!

A knock on the door. Adam answers. Greetings all round as Tim, Sky and Jack enter.

SKY We made a trip to the recycling centre on our way: we're not too late are we?

GH No. Not at all. Heaps of time. Anyway, it's all for a good cause. What were you taking there?

TIM Oh. We had a recycling party. It was really great! We had Soy Bean Dip and Alfalfa Tea. You should have seen all the stuff that people brought. I got this scarf: it's really neat. isn't it? (Displays something suitably garish.) It's so warm.

JOY Ummm. . You seem to be enjoying wearing it.

SKY Anyway, what's the latest on today's action?

GH We'll be meeting the others at ten. They've been on the night shift. I thought we'd get a few signs - there was no time to organize anything yesterday.

SKY What have you done?

(GH picks up sign and shows it "Keep Our Planet Green".)

GH And this too. ("Plants Breathe - People Breathe")

TIM Here. Give me some paint. I'll make a sign.

SKY Yes - we need some more signs.

JACK What about "Save Our Environment - Save Our Selves", making the S.O.S. stand out - perhaps in a different colour.

GH Yeah - that's good. Give me a hand Adam, you make them look better than I do. (Activity.)

JACK Excuse me, I have to contribute to the pollution of our oceans. (Jack's delivery should always be rather dry. Joy and Sky converse apart from the others.)

SKY You know - we shouldn't be doing this.

JOY Pardon? Did I miss something?

SKY Oh, it's just that we shouldn't have to do this. I can't believe that people have stood by and let things get this bad.

JOY But they have - knowing what would happen. That's why I don't "march" with you. I don't see how you can fight a deliberate act - at least, not with the pacifist tactics you take.

SKY But Joy (Concerned, places hand on Joy's arm.) you can't give up. There must be hope.

JOY Yes - but I'm not strong enough to keep hoping when nothing changes. Our world is sick, dying. I can't keep hoping that we can fix it when I see nothing happening - no changes.

JACK (Returning.) "Where there is no change there is death." This sounds like a meaningful conversation.

JOY We were just . . .

TIM I've finished! Look! (Holds up sign - "FREE BOB BROWN!" (Stunned silence.) Really good, isn't it?

GH But Tim . . .

TIM (Whining) You're always saying that I miss the wider issues. This is my statement. Destruction of the environment is only a symptom of political repression. "As long as one man is in chains, I can never be free." And Bob's a really important person in the environmental debate - a focal point for public opinion.

JOY But Tim. No-one's actually holding Bob. He's not in prison. He's not doing much, I'll grant you, but then he's . . .

TIM Well there you are! Censorship of the left-wing press! Political pressure preventing him from being heard. Free speech is a green issue.

JACK Tim, the bastard’s been dead for twenty years.

SKY Remember? It was all because of that accidentally lethal dose of radiation.

TIM Yeah! Accidental! I'll bet. You see. He was martyred by the repressive regime. They really made sure he didn't say anything they didn't like. We can't let them get away with that. Free Bob!

JACK Oh, what's the use! Great sign, Tim.

TIM Yeah. Thanks Jack.

SKY Look . . . everybody. There's something I wanted to talk to you about.

JOY Excuse me everybody. Adam, come with me. I want to talk to you about this note from school. (Joy and Adam exit. People in room sit, except Sky.)

GH We have to leave in a while, Sky.

SKY I know - this shouldn't take long. You see, I'm really concerned about what's happening. Joy just said something that made me realize . . . Maybe we're not doing things properly.

JACK Oh God. Not again!

SKY Don't just sit there and whinge, Jack. Let's face it, what have we achieved any way? Sure, there are recycling depots, but not many people use them. The natural environment doesn't really exist any more. What are we trying to save? (Pause.) The only point to a "Save The Whale" sticker is as an historical oddity. Just who are we fooling? In some ways Joy and Jack are right. It's all a waste of time.

GH Well, what do you suggest we do?

SKY I'm not sure: I don't know. Only . . well . . maybe we'd achieve more if, instead of marching at the park, we went to Greedie Incorporated and blew up the bastards who are responsible. We can't just keep hoping things will change. Peaceful protest isn't working. Public opinion can't change a thing as long as companies are making money by destroying our home.

GH Oh Sky! You make it sound like they've done it on purpose. Alienating people won't help.

JACK (Heavily sarcastic.) Oh no! We musn't upset any-one. (Now serious.) She's right though. Companies make their money convincing people that a hamburger is no good unless it comes with their packaging. They've fucked our forests so they can make money shoving dead cow down our throats.

TIM Yeah. It's a conspiracy. They're gonna kill all of us in the end.

JACK You, Tim, are a deadshit. Though they may as well have a conspiracy. Their disregard of environmental consequences is criminal. Another forest gone? Never mind. Enjoying your lead-impregnated dioxin-bleached arse-wipes are you?

TIM What do you mean, I'm a deadshit?

JACK Oh sweet Jesus - who was it thought we should protest against skyscrapers knocking holes in the ozone layer?

TIM I still don't see what's wrong with that.

JACK And who wanted to set up communal toilets for collecting shit to be turned into fertilizer?

TIM Well, the government won't stop pumping sewerage into the ocean. Anyway, it would have worked.

SKY Most people have a certain need for privacy.

TIM That's just bourgeois middle-class conditioning. If we're going to set up a truly communal society we must learn to share all aspects of our lives.

JACK Is that why you insisted on disrupting the last Environmental Conference by jumping onto the stage stark naked and yelling, "I want to fuck Mother Earth!"

TIM I never said that. I said, "I want to make love to Mother Earth". If we all truly loved one another we wouldn't have these problems. "Make Love Not Pollution." Wow! That'd make a great sign.

GH We don't have time, Tim. We have to get to the park now. C'mon, get your stuff.

SKY Oh great. Marvellous! Just ignore what I've said. "Sorry Sky. We don't have time for your political and ideological insights right now". You're a pack of wimps.

GH Look Sky, we can talk on the way to the park. What you say is important, but until we have a better course of action we have to continue doing what we can to protect our precious environment. Besides, we have an obligation to relieve our comrades in the front lines.

JACK Yeah, he's right. They've been out all night. They can't be expected to stay there forever.

TIM "The future of our planet is a shared responsibility."

JACK Thanks for those words of wisdom, Tim. Anyway, G.H. is right. And we can talk while we're at our posts as well. O.K.?

SKY All right. . . G.H.?

GH Yeah. (Absently collecting things together.)

SKY How did you find out that those bastards were planning to mow the lawn?

GH That's confidential. Sorry. C'mon. You ready? Let's go!

>(Opens door to leave. Exeunt. The following comments can be heard during the leaving process.)

JACK Yeah. Let's get the bastards.

SKY They can't do this to our precious natural environment.

TIM Not one innocent blade of grass will suffer from the knives of voracious industry while I'm around!

JACK (Fading.) Absolute and utter deadshit."

"Well. What do you think?" asked Cassie.

Chapter Thirteen

Why was she so ashamed? After all, she had done nothing wrong. Foolish perhaps. Stupidity was nothing to be ashamed of. Or was it? "I haven't done anything wrong," Linda told herself, hoping she could convince that part of her that felt used and soiled.

She looked at her face in the mirror. It looked no different. "And anyway," she thought, for the hundredth time, "he hurt us and it was wrong, but he didn't really do anything." Linda's skin crawled at the memory of his touch. She fought back the urge to shower again to rid herself of the filthy recollections.

"I just wish I could forget," she murmured.

Annie knocked at the door and then opened it. She looked at Linda.

"You look gorgeous, kid."

"Thanks," said Linda.

"Your ‘date’ has arrived."

"Oh, thanks."

"Linda?"

"Yeah." Linda peered into her bag to make sure she had everything.

"I know it's none of my business, but I'm not sure I like seeing you leave in a hearse."

Linda went to the window. It was a strange, old black car, but it wasn't a hearse.

"Annie! You don't like Morgan, do you."

Annie shrugged. "I didn't mind him until his parents came to school to see me. They're . . ."

"Weird?"

"Yes."

Linda glared wearily at Annie. Why couldn't she leave her alone? Why couldn't everybody leave her alone?

"I'm sorry kid. It's just, well . . . I watched him one day, you know. While everybody else was fixing their mistakes with white-out he just sort of waved his hand over the page."

"Annie!"

"All right, maybe I'm exaggerating."

"What's wrong with him, Annie?"

Annie shrugged and shook her head. "Nothing I guess. Only, well, you take care of yourself, kid. I know! I know. Don't call you kid. I'm trying. Have a good time."

"Thanks Annie."

Linda went to the lounge, where Morgan was talking uncomfortably to her mother. Both seemed glad to see her.

"Well, you have a good time, honey," said Cassie, putting an arm around Linda and hugging. She quickly shepherded the pair to the door, then waved as they walked down the path. Linda spoke to Morgan when they reached the gate, a little bewildered.

"What did you say to her?"

Morgan was glad it was getting dark; it would help hide his blush.

"She was worried about you going out with me. I think she's been talking to Miss Friend. I just told her I liked you and was glad you were a friend of mine." Morgan stopped to let Linda through the gate first. "I said I'd make sure you were home on time. Stuff like that."

Linda stopped now and turned to face Morgan. The question was unnecessary. He grinned sheepishly.

"I'm sorry. She was worried. I just thought . . . I can change things back."

"No," Linda laughed, "although you'd better not try any of that stuff on me. Anyway, Mum needs an early night. She's been working on something, something special . . ." Her voice trailed off. The pace at which Cassie was working was a bit frightening.

A figure walked around the car and opened the door for Linda, interrupting their conversation. Morgan had tried to prepare Linda, but was unsuccessful.

"Oh! You startled me," she said, trying to retrieve the situation. Morgan's father threw his head back and laughed. It was an unnerving experience. Expecting to hear satanic howls, she didn't know how to cope with a chuckle that would have pleased an aspiring Santa.

"Don't let yourself be fooled by appearances, child, they can be very deceptive," said the bizarre man, leaning his face towards Linda.

As she looked, the wild silver hair that surrounded his face changed from silver to purple to green to black, and then settled on silver again. The display fascinated Linda.

"Dad!" groaned Morgan. "Must you?"

"If she's going to be a friend of yours she has to accept you and yours as they are," snapped the devilish parent. "Into the car, both of you," Morgan's father again leaned his face towards Linda, "before you turn into pumpkins."

Linda giggled and climbed into the back seat. Morgan was going to close the door after her and sit in the front, but his father pushed him in and slammed the door.

"Hells bells, boy, she's your date!"

The journey was an enjoyable one. Linda made friends with a raven that had waited, perched on the bottom of the steering-wheel, for it's master's return. Much to Morgan's relief, the entertainment was confined to simple magic tricks. (Neither passenger noticed the red lights that Mr Sortilege changed.) Linda had seen a few magic shows, but was certain no ordinary magician could have persuaded a bird to walk upside-down across the roof of a moving car and gently produce a flower from her ear.

They arrived safely at Ang's place. Before Linda left the car, her unusual chauffeur turned and took her hand.

"You are beautiful, child. Your heart shines out, good and clear. Be happy." There was a brief puff of smoke and Linda found herself standing next to the road without a car in sight.

"I wish he wouldn't do that," sighed Morgan.

Ang hated the way parties started. She always went to parties late to avoid this "awkward" stage. The guys were sitting around the lounge-room. They were being loud, rude and obnoxious. The girls were in the kitchen organizing the food and gossiping good-humouredly. Ang looked about and decided that once the guys had had a couple of beers they'd settle down and stop worrying about being macho idiots. Things were going as well as could be expected.

The mood quietened a little when Linda entered with Morgan. As the revellers, still few in number, looked at the couple, a sudden urge seized Morgan. He glowered menacingly at his observers then waved his hands about and drew a bunch of fresh roses from behind his head.

"A beautiful bouquet for my gracious hostess," he said, presenting the flowers to Ang. Ang started to giggle, infecting the others with her humour. Linda slipped her hand into the crook of Morgan's elbow and whispered into his ear.

"Thank-you."

"You know everybody, don't you?" asked Ang, acting as graciously as she could manage over the hiccups her giggling had caused. Morgan's trick pleased her. He had impressed his audience and Ang wanted people to like him, for Linda's sake. She also had a strange instinctive feeling that he could be trusted; trusting people was something Ang was having trouble with lately.

She went to the kitchen to put the flowers in water. She poured herself another glass of wine. Ang listened to the noise from the other room. Every-one was urging Morgan to do another trick. There was a startled shriek, followed by an exclamation.

"You bastard! What the . . ?"

Linda came into the kitchen as the party broke into laughter.

"What's Morgan doing?"

Linda laughed.

"Macca asked if he could magic up anything useful. It was really amazing. This big stubby appeared out of nowhere and sorted of floated above Macca. Then it started pouring beer on him. You should've seen the look on Macca's face. Then it sort of un-poured it and disappeared and Macca isn't even wet. He was ready to go Morgan when the beer started falling all over him!"

"Just as well it disappeared again; I'd hate to have to explain the mess to my folks. I'm only supposed to be having a couple of friends over."

"I just hope we only have the people you asked. I heard someone saying that Jason was going to crash the party."

"No. He doesn't have to - I invited him."

"You what?"

"Look Linda," said Ang, becoming unusually assertive, "I've backed you up about Morgan. Some of the girls were getting a bit bitchy the other day. I like Jason." Ang's mood became softer and a plea entered her voice. "He's coming because you're here. Only, I was kind of hoping, well, you know . . . "

"But . . . "

The two girls looked at one another. Linda took Ang's hand, realizing that their friendship had deepened over the weeks that they had shared their unpleasant secret.

"Just be careful you don't get hurt. He's . . . pretty rough, Ang. Your parents won't like him."

"The olds! I don't think I care about them any more. I'm sick of my life being controlled by a couple of wrinklies."

"Oh come on Ang. They let you have this party, didn't they?"

"Yeah." She paused. "You don't understand, do you?"

"No."

"You get on well with your Mum. My Mum doesn't really care, just so long as I don't make too much of a mess in her life. She's so busy with the twins, and fighting with Dad; she doesn't have time for me."

"You can't say that Ang!"

"Why not? Would your mum let you have a party if she wasn't there?" Linda shook her head. She could see Ang's point. "The party will only bother Mum and Dad if there's any mess. Only there's not going to be any mess. As long as I don't inconvenience them I can do what I want with my life. Well, I'm going to."

Ang drained her glass and reached for the half empty wine bottle.

"That Morgan's okay, you know," said Macca, going to the fridge for another beer. "Think of the possibilities! Just think what he could do to Mr Bond next time we have a school assembly. And he's been keeping to himself all this time. What a waste!"

Macca went back to the main party, muttering about disappearing chairs, exploding pens and other items of interest to dedicated stirrers. The girls laughed. A disturbance in the lounge announced the arrival of Mandy and her collection of prized CDs. She needed help when she reached the stereo.

"What the hell is this!"

Ang had to explain about the neighbour who would ring the police if any-one played music too loudly.

"So Dad put that contraption on the stereo so that you couldn't play it too loud."

"Oh bullshit!"

"No, it's true. I was here once and the cops came to the door and asked for the music to be turned down. They had guns and everything! Although they did seem a bit kind of . . . "

"Pissed off." Ang interrupted Linda. "Poor cppoers. Bill, the neighbour, he's one of those silly old buggers who drives them crazy with complaints, but he used to be a cop, so they sort of have to do something. You know?"

"What kind of a loony is your Dad, then? Who ever heard of a stereo with a padlock on the volume knob?"

The steady beat of Venom's latest album prevented any response to Matthew's question. Some of the girls began to dance and the party was suddenly in full swing.

James and Nicole arrived to find Linda dancing with Morgan and to hear about the floor show earlier on.

Jason arrived to find Linda dancing with Morgan, to hear about the floor-show and to be consoled by the very attentive Ang, a perfect hostess concerned for the welfare of her guests.

It was a good party.

Macca had already had too much to drink when he had arrived, but when he had just one too many he had the good taste to reach the, fortunately vacant, toilet before throwing up vigorously.

Matthew was finally able to persuade Mandy to stop avoiding him. Sky avoided breaking anything. James and Nicole avoided Linda and Morgan. Lisa avoided appearing too intelligent. Joe had avoided the party altogether - only no-one noticed. Jason, who was strangely unable to avoid Ang, decided he didn't want to. The lounge room was a dim den, people dancing about the clear space while couples kissed in dark corners. In the kitchen there were people talking and watching the activity through the doorway.

Ang and Jason found it easy to discretely disappear to her room. Ang had worked hard to reach this conclusion. Without insulting Linda, she was able to convince Jason that she wasn't his type. This wasn't all that difficult as Jason, naturally a rather cautious person, had decided that Linda was a bit of a risk. A girl who would be seen with Morgan could damage his image. His affections for Linda had been a good excuse for talking to Ang, though.

Morgan's apparent popularity was a little unsettling for Jason. For a few moments he had wondered if he was wrong about Linda, but Ang's attention soon took his mind off that. However he didn't concentrate on what Ang was saying. Too busy observing what was happening, ever conscious of the impression he may be having on others, Ang was asking him the third time before he realized that she wanted him to go to her room with her.

Jason found himself in Ang's room wishing there was some way out of this. New at the school at the beginning of the year, he had worked hard on creating an image for himself. Jason was tough, cool and knew everything. It hadn't been difficult to create the impression he wanted. He was tall for his age and reasonably good-looking. And he was able to come and go as he pleased.

When his father had returned a couple of months ago, Jason had been pleased, but it was becoming more obvious that he would not stay long. Their caravan was too small for Jason and his sister and both parents. Jason helped by staying away as much as possible. His mother hadn't been able to keep him at home for some time and was now actually glad that Jason was home for meals and clean clothes and little else.

Hanging around the streets, he had often seen the others from school. He would join them while they were allowed out. He enjoyed the company. When they had to return home he would go to visit his aunt. It was this that had given Jason the reputation for sexual experience. His aunt ran her business from home, a very small-scale local brothel. Jason's family had moved so that his mother could be near her sister. Sometimes she was even able to earn a little extra money.

When the other kids talked about sex, Jason kept quiet. He had learned by accident how they would react. They pestered him for information. His denials were never believed. Knowing that it was his aunt he was visiting seemed to make the others more vehemently convinced of his experience. Jason decided to let them believe what they wanted and would finally, with a bored and reluctant air, give advice to the other boys about the best way to get on with girls.

He was terrified of being found out. He watched Ang as she closed the door behind them. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, his cool completely gone.

"Is something wrong?" asked Ang, turning and seeing the lost expression on his face. Jason felt inspiration wash over him. He sat on the edge of the bed heavily and arranged a stoic expression on his face.

"I'm sorry. I'm not really with it tonight." He paused for effect. "You know - family trouble."

"Oh, that's dreadful! I know what it's like. What's wrong?"

"Oh, you know." Jason waved a hand as if dismissing things. "I'm just having trouble getting on with my old man. If he sees me he yells at me. I think he's going to leave Mum again. They're always fighting."

"Yeah. Mine are like that. You'd think they'd get sick of yelling at each other. Only, I don't think they'll ever split up."

"I wish my Dad would leave. He doesn't care about us. He just wanted somewhere to stay for a while."

Ang sat next to Jason on the bed. He found himself uncomfortably aware of her. Her well-developed breasts, something he had often joked about among the "men", were leaning towards him as Ang tried to express her concern.

"You should really just ignore them; that's what I do. I just go ahead and try to do what I want to do. Bugger 'em. Why should we suffer for their stupid fighting? Anyway, what they don't know won't hurt them."

Jason listened to his heartbeat pounding and hoped that Ang wouldn't notice the hardening in his groin.

"You'd think grown-ups would have learned that it's important to be happy, wouldn't you?"

"Yes." Jason decided that he would have to do something, no matter what the effect on his reputation. He liked Ang, he was more certain of that with every moment that his blood raced, so he took a breath and plunged. "Ang?"

"Yes Jason."

"You keep talking about trying to be happy and live your life the way you want. Do you really mean it?"

"Yes," said Ang, prepared to answer yes to whatever he might ask.

"I agree, and I think you and I have a lot in common." Oh Christ! thought Jason, This sounds like a bad soap opera. "It's just that, well, I'm new in the school and I didn't know you people all that well and now I do. I want to have a steady girl. Ang, would you be my girlfriend?"

Jason sighed with relief at having managed to finish his speech, bad though it was. Ang sighed with disbelief. Jason wanted to go around with her!

"Yes," she beamed, "I'd love to! That'd be really great"

The two looked at each other for a moment until a sudden thought seemed to strike Jason. Trying to remember every romantic movie he had ever seen, he reached over and placed his hand behind Ang's head. Glad now of the embarrassing kissing games he had played at previous schools, Jason sought Ang's eager mouth and they kissed.

Ang felt desire tingling in her body. Jason's obvious feelings for her made her feel worthwhile again. When he held her closer to him she put her arms about him and began stroking his back. When he gently pushed her down onto the bed and lay beside her she moaned with pleasure. When his hand reached inside her shirt and began caressing her bare skin she felt like tearing off her clothes and begging him to take her, now! Instead she pressed more closely against him, her hands seeking his skin and her thigh rubbing against the most conspicuous symptom of his lust.

They kissed, caressed, stroked and rubbed, limbs entangled on the tiny bed. Jason had forgotten his image and Ang had forgotten her feelings of self-disgust. Both were caught up by the sensations of the moment, healed by the heat in their blood.

Jason had just gained the confidence to begin trying to undo Ang's jeans when they heard glass smashing in the kitchen. Ang sat up, listening. There was a very definite argument in the kitchen. Another smashing sound brought Ang to her feet, straightening her clothes. She rushed to the kitchen. Jason, unable to rearrange his body as quickly as his clothes, waited a little, listening from the doorway.

"You wouldn't expect other people to behave like that if you weren't such a slut yourself!" Linda's voice sounded very harsh.

"You're just jealous because you couldn't keep James for yourself!" Nicole's voice had it's characteristic whining tone.

"I didn't want to keep him."

"Oh, I see," Nicole said, heavily sarcastic. "You've decided that freaks are more your style, have you?"

"Will you two just stop it!" Ang was angry. "Look at this. Who broke Mum's best vase?"

"I just wanted to see if the magic flowers would float, that's all. Not much of a wizard, are you?" Nicole almost spat in Morgan's face.

"What difference does it make, Nicole?" James was anxious for the fight to end. "She wasn't trying to con onto me; she just asked me if I could pass the chips, for Christ's sake!"

"Oh, sure. That's what you say."

"And why is this glass broken?" demanded Ang.

"Nicole dropped it on my foot. She said it was an accident." Linda had begun to cool down. "Look, why don't we just call it quits. We're ruining the party. James's all yours, Nicole." She paused and the kitchen was a tableau of conflict arranged around the two girls who faced one another so aggressively. Linda felt suddenly sad. "We used to be friends."

"Well we're not friends any more. Tracey told me what you said to her. You're a real bitch."

"You steal my boyfriend and I'm a bitch!"

"You've got no right to bad-mouth me."

"I was only telling the truth."

"Maybe I should tell some truths about you, getting all cosy with witchy-poo here. Been to any good orgies lately? James told me all about the people running around stark naked at Morgan's. Or maybe you just go along to watch. That'd be all you'd be capable of, you tight-arsed virgin."

Linda lunged towards Nicole but was grabbed by Morgan. "She doesn't know what she's talking about," he said.

"Well I know what I'm talking about," said Linda, her voice distorted by anger. "Maybe everybody should hear how Nicole got James in the first place. She can only get a guy to go with her because she's such a slut. Did you tell'em about what you did behind the hall, margarine-legs?"

It was James's turn to hold back Nicole. He was acutely embarrassed by this whole business and just wished it would end. Jason returned to the party in time to witness Linda's parting words.

"In fact, I don't think I want to breathe the same air as you, Nicole. Who knows where it's been." She said an abrupt good-bye to Ang, collected her bag and her jacket and left.

Morgan hesitated long enough to gently place the broken vase back on the shelf, completely intact and apparently unharmed for it's ordeal. He then waved a guilty farewell and hurried after Linda.

The park was cool and calm. There was barely enough breeze to stir the air and the trees stood as silent observers, guarding the perimeter.

Linda and Morgan walked across the lawn.

"Don't worry about it. She just wanted to hurt you. Since she couldn't say anything about you she picked on me."

"She just makes me so mad!"

"That's what she wants, though I can't see why."

Morgan moved closer to Linda and put an arm in front of her, stopping her.

"People can only hurt you if you let them. If you hate her so much for what she's done, just ignore it - then she has no power over you." Morgan put his arms around Linda, folding her into a hug. Linda did not resist the embrace.

This Morgan was so different to James. And it wasn't just the magic stuff. Whenever James had touched her, Linda had known he was getting his thrills. At first it had pleased and flattered her. Since . . . well, before they broke up, she had shrunk from his pleasure in feeling her. In fact, she had been sickened by it. Morgan's arms were now about her, protecting and comforting. His only thought was for her welfare.

"Could we go to your place?" she asked. "It's not far from here, is it?"

"If you want."

"I just don't feel like going home right now. Besides, it's too early."

They set off in a slightly different direction, Morgan's arm on her shoulder, her arm around his waist. It was not long before they reached the odd house in the ordinary street.

When Morgan headed for the front door, Linda spoke up.

"Would they mind if we just went round to your place? I don't really feel like socializing."

They walked around the side of house, Linda noticing as they went that there was only one broom leaning against the wall. Once Linda was comfortable, Morgan went to let his parents know that he was home. He returned with a tray loaded with a teapot, cups, spoons, scones, cake and some of the weirdest looking fruit Linda had ever seen. Discovering a sudden hunger, Linda was glad of the supper. The fruit looked bizarre but was wonderfully refreshing.

"Your Mum's a great cook!" Linda mumbled through a mouthful of cake.

"No, Dad does the baking. Mum's better at plumbing and fixing cars."

"I should have realized," said Linda wryly as she poured herself another cup of tea. "You're really well set up in here, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Morgan, looking about the bungalow in surprise. Apart from his bed there were two armchairs, a large table and three rather old but comfortable straight-backed chairs. A door at one end of the room led to a tiny bathroom. At the other end was what Morgan called his "workshop", hidden by a curtain. "My folks just think that kids have a right to privacy too. My sisters have all the top floor of the house to themselves."

"They must trust you."

"Dad says `If I can't trust you it's my own damn fault'," remarked Morgan with a grin. "Dad's always got something to say."

Linda rose from the chair she had been sitting at while she ate. The confused feelings which had troubled her on the walk here had settled down. Perhaps Morgan wasn't every-one's idea of a suitable boyfriend, but Linda knew differently. The first time she had been alone in a room with James she had found herself working overtime to keep her clothing and her reputation intact. She had learned to avoid being alone with him too often.

After sitting with her for nearly twenty minutes, Morgan was content to continue talking. He was enjoying her company and had no intention of rushing her into anything. Linda looked about the room, strolling from object to object, enjoying the variety of interesting and beautiful things as she chatted with Morgan.

She stopped to admire an intricate pendant. While she looked at it Morgan stood thoughtfully, then he strode over to her, purposefully. He took the amulet from its place and undid the clasp, whispering to himself. He put his arms around Linda's neck so that he could fasten the clasp. He muttered as he secured the chain.

"Wear this and be happy," he said to Linda. She giggled at the formal statement.

"Is this for me?" she asked.

"Yes, only if you have to take it off, just slip it over your head - don't ever undo the clasp."

"Why?" asked Linda. "Is it magic?"

"Yes," said Morgan, adopting a wicked posture, "and if you don't do as I say, you'll turn into a frog!"

Linda laughed. She found herself more and more attracted to this young man. She controlled an urge to fling herself at him, instead thanking him and continuing her inspection of the bungalow. When she seemed about to look behind the curtain, Morgan rose to stop her.

"It's a mess - really."

Linda looked anyway. Morgan was right. She could barely make head or tail of what she saw. There were shelves with jars lined up along them, a blackboard covered in what looked like scrawl to Linda, and a bench that was littered with half-empty containers, lumps of something-or-other and pieces of plants, plus one or two books lying open amongst the jumble.

"Dad gets really annoyed with me. He says I'm asking for trouble if I don't keep things tidy - it's too easy to make mistakes."

Morgan drew the curtain behind them and Linda sauntered along the room. With Nicole's words still fresh in her mind, she flopped onto the bed.

"Why do you have a double bed in here?"

"Umm, I don't know. It's always been here."

"Are you a virgin?"

Morgan stood stunned. Long practise made it easy for him to see that there was no malice in Linda. He had taken Linda at her word and hadn't used any of "that stuff" on her. Now he looked closely and was startled. Her aura was glowing with lust. When Cousin Harriet came at him, colours glowing like that, he would use any excuse to escape. This, however, wasn't Cousin Harriet. It was Linda, beautiful Linda, but . . .

"Well? Are you too shy to tell me?" The few drinks that Linda had had that evening had gone to her head. Her inhibitions shed, she was intent only on the young man who stood silently in the centre of the room.

Morgan was uncertain what to do.

"Well?" He would have to answer her.

"No, I'm not. But that's only because of, well, you know . . . family and all that. It doesn't really count." Morgan cursed himself. He had tried to tell the truth but it sounded all wrong.

"What do you mean, it doesn't count?"

"Well, it's not as if I cared or anything, you know." How could he possibly explain?

Linda paused, making Morgan hope that he had been able to explain. Then she gazed seriously into his eyes.

"Do you care about me?"

Morgan didn't even think. "Yes," he said, lowering himself to the bed and drinking in her wonderful eyes. The spell they cast was so strong that, before he even realized what was happening, Morgan found himself lying on the bed with Linda. Mouth to mouth, bodies pressed together, Linda had surprised him with the oldest magic of all.

Fighting to keep his mind clear, Morgan began trying to unlock their embrace. No, I musn't let this happen. It's wrong. Dad! Help! In his distress Morgan must have gained a strength of which he was unaware. It was not long before a knock at the door saved the situation for him.

The young lovers barely had time to assume a respectable appearance before Mr Sortilege entered.

"Well young lady, it's time you were going home!"