City of Stone

It wasn't long before Margaret noticed Baby Pierre in her carry-on luggage. I don't remember packing a stone, she remarked. Let me see it, said Gaius. Hello! It's Baby Pierre! What are you doing in Margaret's bag? Stowing away, said Baby Pierre. And reading Joyce's Portrait of the Artist. How are you finding it? asked Margaret. Good, said Baby Pierre. I like the part where he gets knocked over by a bully at school and his glasses get broken on the cinder path. Are cinders stones? Not exactly, said Margaret, who was a field geologist. But they are very hard. I suppose you are fond of stories that include stones? Yes I am, said Baby Pierre. Hey, how long is this flight? I'm bored Twenty three hours, in total, said Gaius. Try and get some sleep. Stones don't sleep, said Baby Pierre. ........ Twenty three hours later they arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport, in Paris. It was six o'clock in the morning. They caught the Metro into St Germain and found their hotel. Baby Pierre immediately decided to go exploring. The streets were cobbled in many areas. Cobbles! said Baby Pierre. I love cobbles. He hopped from cobblestone to cobblestone. Soon he found himself outside the old stone church of St Germain. He went in. There was heavenly music pouring down from somewhere above his head, and several people were sitting listening, on straw bottomed seats,. Baby Pierre wandered round the church looking at the different chapels, with their stone statues. He stopped in front of a statue of a smiling virgin. She was not all there. She was in three parts, and had been found buried under the earth during excavations for a carpark. She had a smiling face, a shoulder covered with drapery, and something indistinguishable in the crook of her one arm. Baby Pierre wondered what it was. He walked down the other side of the church, where he saw on the walls, above a painting of Palm Sunday, the words LAPIDES CLAMABUNT. A shiver went through Baby Pierre. He had a feeling the words were important. He must ask Gaius what they meant.

A Room of His Own

Baby Pierre jumped into Margaret's carry-on bag. Just like that. He had no need of luggage.

Don't forget to take something to read! called Aunty Kobo, from the window sill.

Too late.

Baby Pierre looked around. A violet light shone through the canvas sides of the bag, on which he could just make out, back to front, the printed words A Room Of One's Own.

A room of my own, said Baby Pierre. Lucky me. Now what's in the room?

There were two bananas in the room.

Hi! said Baby Pierre. I'm Baby Pierre. Are you going to France?

Pfff! said the first banana. We'll be lucky if we get on the plane.

Yeah, said the second banana. We reckon we're lunch.

Sorry for asking, said Baby Pierre.

That's alright, said the first banana.

We can see you're not part of the food chain, added the second.

Are you fond of reading? asked the first banana.

Yes and no, said Baby Pierre.

I heard someone saying that you should take something to read, said the first banana.

That was Kobo, said Baby Pierre. She'll be cross that I didn't. I should have grabbed something to read on the plane.

Then you're in luck, said the first banana. There are three books in here.

Great, said Baby Pierre, but with no great enthusiasm.

He looked at the books.

300 Fiendish Sudoku Puzzles, he read. Kobo wouldn't like that. A blank diary. Can't read that. And Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, by James Joyce. Cool, that's for me!

He opened the book. Once upon a time there was a moo cow coming down along the road......and he met a nice little boy and the name of the little boy was baby tuckoo....

Wow, said Baby Pierre. I thought James Joyce was supposed to be hard.

Just Watch Baby Pierre

Gaius was pleased with his Smart Phone. He was playing around with it, downloading train timetables and French dictionaries, when Margaret arrived.

Guess what I've got, she said.

What? asked Gaius.

A Tablet, said Margaret. It can do everything.

A magic pill! said Gaius. Let me see!

No, silly, said Margaret, it's a new Android Tablet, I can use it for Facebook and Blogger and emails and downloading music and it even functions as a metal detector.

I don't believe it, said Gaius. Not about the metal detector.

We shall see, said Margaret. I hope it does. I like metal detecting. I shall go metal detecting in the Pyrenees.

So shall I, said Gaius.

But first, said Margaret, I'm looking forward to Paris.

I know, said Gaius. But you know I'm not keen on Paris.

Nonsense, you'll love it, said Margaret. Have you packed some smart clothes?

No, I haven't said Gaius. I don't have smart clothes.

Just as long as you don't pack those green clogs, said Margaret.

Gaius said nothing to this.

Baby Pierre was listening from his spot on the window sill.

They're going to Paris, he thought. And they're not even French.

He turned to his mummy, Pierre.

They're going to France, said Baby Pierre. It's not fair.

Many things in this life are not fair, said his mummy.

I'm going with them, said  Baby Pierre. I deserve to. I'm French.

You're not French, said his mummy. You're millions of years old. And you're not invited. But don't let that stop you.

I won't! said Baby Pierre. Just watch me.

Two Pyrenees

I wonder how old William was when he died, said Le Bon David, sipping his latte.

You mean William of the Symphony for William? asked Freud, toying with his expresso.

Yes, that William, said David. Do you suppose he was a baby? That would have been sad. But the music didn't strike me as sad.

I imagine he was an adult, said Freud. The three movements were named Will-o'-the-Wisp, Sweet William and Will Power.

Those are qualities of babies, said David.

Are they? said Freud. Yes, I suppose they are, but they are also qualities of adults.

So we're none the wiser, said David. Would you like another expresso?

No thanks, said Freud, getting out his Smart Phone. Mustn't have too much caffeine. Here, let me google this William.... William Reynish he must have been called...

David was impressed. Freud had read the program notes with more care than he had.

Died in the Pyrenees, said Freud. In 2002. Look here's a photo.

It was a photo of a young dad with a baby in a pouch. The baby was wearing a white knitted hat. Both he and his father looked happy.

Which one is William? asked David.

The baby, said Freud, but the photo is old. Here's a picture of the father as he is now.

So William grew up, said Le Bon David. And then died in the Pyrenees. And his parents commissioned a symphony.

Not just one, said Freud. Look at this list.

What a lot of meaningful music! said David. I say, these Smart Phones are good. Shall we go? I want to buy a going away present for Gaius and Margaret. Perhaps I'll get them a Smart Phone.

Why, where are they going? asked Freud.

They're going to France, said Le Bon David. Margaret won the trip as a prize. A trip for two. And she invited Gaius. They'll be getting around on bicycles and trains. Starting in Paris, then down through the Pyrenees.

Yes, get them a Smart Phone, said Freud. They're bound to get lost.

The Cleverness of Musical Jokes

How happy is Professor Freud. It is a beautiful morning. He is walking into the city with his friend, Le Bon David, through autumnal streets, lit by red and gold leaves. They carry a picnic lunch in a bag. Belle et Bonne made the picnic. You cannot expect philosophers to think of everything.

They arrive at North Terrace and sit down on a bench outside Bonython Hall. And what's in the picnic? Chicken and lettuce sandwiches, grapes and fresh pineapple. They eat, and observe modern students using their phones. 

Now it is time for the concert. They go into the Elder Hall and find seats near the middle. The Wind Orchestra comes on to the stage. They are young. They tune up playfully.

Wind, says Le Bon David. I don't generally like it.

I like anything tuneful, says Freud.

Robert Hower comes on and the concert begins. They play a serenade, a spiritual and a celebration. They play a symphony for William, who has apparently died. They play a tune with dense and radiant harmonies, and a resonance that ends up like birds. Finally they play Ives' Country Band March, the famous one with all the bum notes.

It's over. The audience applauds. They file out.

Ahh, says Le Bon David, music. I don't think I get it.

What's to get? asks Freud. It's just notes.

But they're supposed to mean something, says Le Bon David. And I never know what.

You must have known in that last one, says Freud, It was a country band, going haywire.

Yes, I did, I suppose, but I don't see the point of deliberately playing badly, says Le Bon David.

It's a musical joke, says Freud. A MUSICAL JOKE, David. Of which there are many.

I have never got one, says David. Tell me just one that is funny.

They aren't funny, says Freud. They are CLEVER.

Stop using CAPITALS, says David.

That's what they do, says Freud. But not always. Not today.

Ahh, says David. Not today. Would you like a coffee?

Yes, says Freud.  Where shall we go?

Doing Nothing for Israel and Palestine

Another night, another lecture to attend. 'Paths to a Just Peace for Palestine and Israel'. Professor Freud was enjoying himself.

The Velodrone and Le Bon David met him outside the Hawke Centre. They were two minutes late, so they all had to sit up at the back.

There was a security guard on the door, and an unattended bag on a reserved corner seat.

Look at that! whispered Le Bon David. A bomb!

Keep calm, David, whispered The Velodrone. 

Freud looked at the bag. It looked like the bag of a well-meaning woman, he thought. Nothing to worry about there. But the man in the yarmulka? And the man in the red baseball cap? Could be some trouble ahead....

The moderator, Dr Lynn Arnold, introduced the two guests. They were Izzat Abdulhadi, Head of the Delegation of Palestine to Australia, and Meir Itzahaki, Deputy Chief of Mission, Embassy of Israel to Australia. They had met in the past and discussed peace before.

They explained, as well as they could, the inexplicably insoluble with frankness, sophistry and circularity.

Then it was question time.

Someone asked about settlements.

That depends what you mean by settlements, said Meir.

A section of the audience exploded into giggles.

Respect for the speakers please, said Lynn Arnold sternly.

He's strict, whispered The VeloDrone, winking at Freud.

He's very strict, agreed Freud. I wonder if he knows how attractive that is?

No he doesn't, whispered Le Bon David. He's with Anglicare. Oh I say! Look at that lady down there! She's changed seats. And she's sitting right next to the bomb!

Should we do something? whispered Freud.

No, whispered The Velodrone. Nothing will happen.

Various Opinions on Intelligent Design

The following evening is Film Club night at RIAUS. The VeloDrone and Le Bon David are going. Professor Freud joins them at the bar. They buy drinks. They sit down.

The film is A Flock of Dodos, made by marine biologist Randy Olsen, examining Intelligent Design. Randy Olsen has interviewed scientists and creationists and even his own mother, whose name is Muffy Moose. Everyone in the film is presented as equally quirky.

In the end Randy Olsen sides with the scientists against the supporters of Intelligent Design. You know this, not just because he says so, but because at the end of the film he shows unreleased material in which the Intelligent Designers say things that make them look careless or wrong.

That was mean, observes The Velodrone. That bit at the end. It can hardly be called unreleased material.

Oh who cares! says Le Bon David. I'm all for for the scientists, not the believers in God.

If God did not exist, says The Velodrone, we would need to invent him.

Very good, laughs Professor Freud. Though I've heard it before.

It's mine, says The VeloDrone. I said it first. But of course, I said it in French.

It sounds even better in French, says Le Bon David. Si Dieu n'existait pas, il faudrait l'inventer.

Mmmhmm, says Freud. That's strong stuff.

Not really, says The VeloDrone. When I first said it,  I was replying to some atheists. It was meant as a mild rebuke.

Good heavens! says Freud. A mild rebuke. I see you like having it both ways.

Ahem, says The Velodrone. As you wish.

And what is your opinion of the Flock of Dodos, Professor Freud? asks Le Bon David.

Freud considers a moment.

Rich pickings for a psychoanalyst, he says.

Those Intelligent Designers, you mean? says Le Bon David.

No, says Freud, I was thinking particularly of 'Randy', and his mother 'Muffy Moose'.