Muezzinland by Stephen Palmer

are primitive men who experience men and women as permanently different. Men are free beasts, women are a dangerous ocean." Captain Nfor nodded to himself and took a lazy drag from his reefer, as if pleased with the wisdom he was disseminating. Now they could see men with staring white eyes upon the riverbank. "Notice how ugly they are," Captain Nfor continued. "This is an aspect of primitive male identity. Each man considers himself bad, a bad boy if you like, and so the image he projects of himself through the aether is harsh, ugly, as if to equate ugliness with badness."
    "Who are they?" Nshalla asked.
    "Criminals for kilometres around are attracted to Volta Blanc. See, corpses!"
    Nshalla was disgusted to see the vulture ravaged corpses of women lying in mud near the river. No attempt at burial had been made, and the bodies had been left as carrion. A troupe of hyenas were attacking some unfortunate victim not far away.
    Captain Nfor said, "You see, they cannot accept women. The cultural identity of Volta Blanc and all who live there has been built up over decades, and it is wholly masculine. Some ordinary men come here and they are immediately corrupted."
    "But why?"
    The captain shrugged. "Many decades ago there was a womens' revolution here, led by the heroine Jawah in response to the excesses of the local fetish priests, who took young girls as slaves. Those slaves were supposedly sent by the gods to atone for the previous sins of local families."
    Nshalla shivered. "It sounds perverted beyond belief."
    "It is belief that sustains this violent place. Around here death comes by berserker."
    "Berserker?"
    "Indeed! There comes a point in each man's life when aspects of Volta Blanc culture boil over in his mind. Every man living there represses his feelings and emotions, but always some event sparks off a geyser of emotion, usually anger. Then they run berserk. The biograin hierarchies in their brains transmit the truth of how they perceive themselves. They swell up to bear-like size, foam at the mouth, and they develop gigantic erections that they twist off and use as a weapon. Eventually of course they are killed by real weapons. Often their blood is collected and made into an alcoholic brew called mortebeer, which is drunk by the man who killed the berserker. That man becomes a shaman and is considered in touch with the eternal masculine."
    Nshalla shivered. "It's a foul place."
    "It is. But worse, some of the entities that inhabit the aether seem attracted to the place. Most are from the remains of America, but some seem to have emerged from Chauvenist France and Free Muscovite Russia. All are savagely male in their aspects—competitive, aggressive, intellectual, narcissistic. I gather the local Aetheria thinks it could become quite a problem."
    Nshalla nodded. "Somewhere there must be a female equivalent, some matrilineal culture of love and connection. It must exist." Suddenly brave, she asked, "Have you ever heard of Muezzinland?"
    "Never." It was the expected answer. But then Captain Nfor added, "Long ago I heard of a feminine land. Indeed I believe it to be located at a place called El Qahira—the country known as Bast."
    "I would not go there," Gmoulaye remarked.
    The day passed slowly. The burden of hating male stares was never lifted. Nshalla slept little during the night, fearful despite reassurances of attack, jumping at every whoop, growl and thud from the riverbank.
    The boat chugged on. A third and fourth day passed. On the fifth they left Volta Blanc, on the sixth they were free of it.
    Other passengers boarded, many of them local entertainers hoping to make money. Noticing that Msavitar was quiet, Nshalla tried to engage him in conversation, but the attempt was abortive. He demanded the cowries that so far he had earned. Nshalla lodged her purse with Captain Nfor, not trusting Msavitar, and made the transaction bank to bank. Was he about to jump ship?
    Next day the riverboat was attacked by an octopus