The Fat Man in History and Other Stories by Peter Carey

travelling up and down the coast, along the great rivers, traversing great mountains and vast deserts. They travel in small parties of three, four, sometimes five, making their own time, working as they please, because eventually it is their own responsibility to see that their team’s task is completed in time.
    My father, a Cartographer himself, often told me stories about himself or his colleagues and the adventures they had in the wilderness.
    There were other stories, however, that always remained in my mind and, as a child, caused me considerable anxiety. These were the stories of the nether regions and I doubt if they were known outside a very small circle of Cartographers and government officials. As a child in a house frequented by Cartographers, I often heard these tales which invariably made me cling closely to my mother’s skirts.
    It appears that for some time certain regions of the country had become less and less real and these regions were regarded fearfully even by the Cartographers, who prided themselves on their courage. The regions in question were invariably uninhabited, unused for agriculture or industry. There were certain sections of the Halverson Ranges, vast stretches of the Greater Desert, and long piecesof coastline which had begun to slowly disappear like the image on an improperly fixed photograph.
    It was because of these nebulous areas that the Fischerscope was introduced. The Fischerscope is not unlike radar in its principle and is able to detect the presence of any object, no matter how de-materialized or insubstantial. In this way the Cartographers were still able to map the questionable parts of the nether regions. To have returned with blanks on the maps would have created such public anxiety that no one dared think what it might do to the stability of our society. I now have reason to believe that certain areas of the country disappeared so completely that even the Fischerscope could not detect them and the Cartographers, acting under political pressure, used old maps to fake-in the missing sections. If my theory is grounded in fact, and I am sure it is, it would explain my father’s cynicism about the Festival of the Corn.
2.
The Archetypal Cartographer
    My father was in his fifties but he had kept himself in good shape. His skin was brown and his muscles still firm. He was a tall man with a thick head of grey hair, a slightly less grey moustache and a long aquiline nose. Sitting on a horse he looked as proud and cruel as Genghis Khan. Lying on the beach clad only in bathers and sunglasses he still managed to retain his authoritative air.
    Beside him I always felt as if I had betrayed him. I was slightly built, more like my mother.
    It was the day before the festival and we lay on the beach, my father, my mother, my girlfriend and I. As was usual in these circumstances my father addressed all his remarks to Karen. He never considered the members of his own family worth talking to. I always had the uncomfortable feeling that he was flirting with my girlfriends and I never knew what to do about it.
    People were lying in groups up and down the beach. Near us a family of five were playing with a large beach ball.
    “Look at those fools,” my father said to Karen.
    “Why are they fools?” Karen asked.
    “They’re fools,” said my father. “They were born fools and they’ll die fools. Tomorrow they’ll dance in the streets and drink too much.”
    “So.” said Karen triumphantly, in the manner of one who has become privy to secret information. “It will be a good Cartographers’ report?”
    My father roared with laughter.
    Karen looked hurt and pouted. “Am I a fool?”
    “No,” my father said, “you’re really quite splendid.”
3.
The Most Famous Festival
    The festival, as it turned out, was the greatest disaster in living memory.
    The Cartographers’ report was excellent, the weather was fine, but somewhere something had gone wrong.
    The news was confusing. The