The Mystery of the Venus Island Fetish by Tim Flannery, Dido Butterworth Page B

Dithers was notorious
for his chaotic office, but it was a paragon of tidiness compared with this. It dawned
on Archie just how cramped life would be until Courtenay left for Africa.
    Dithers put down his publication, pulled a whisky bottle from under his bed, and
groped about in a pile of soiled shirts before coming up with some shot glasses.
‘We must have a dram to welcome you home!’
    It was the last thing Archie felt like, but he took the proffered glass, sat on his
trunk, and downed it in a gulp.
    ‘How does it feel being back, Archie? A bit queer, I’d venture.’
    Something in Archie
collapsed. ‘Very hard,’ he said. ‘Beatrice is acting quite bizarrely. She has refused
my proposal of marriage. She stormed out when she saw me.’
    ‘Oh, Archie! My dear, poor old fellow. Five years, you know, is a very long time.
You’re a different man now, and Beatrice is quite possibly a different woman. I know
how you feel, though. The war cost me dearly in love. And trust. But I’m sure things
will work out. Give her some time, Archie. That’s what she needs. After all, your
return must have come as quite a shock. Now, have another tot.’
    Archie found himself unable to say anything else about Beatrice. Everything was so
confusing that he seemed to be in a dream.
    ‘Courtenay, I can’t thank you enough for this,’ he said. ‘I can see it will be quite
a squeeze with two of us staying here.’
    ‘Not at all, old chap! Delighted to have you doss down with me. A man needs company
at times. I’m out late at least one night a week with the Society for the Preservation
of Native Animals. They’ve just appointed me treasurer. And with any luck I’ll be
off to Africa before too long.’ Dithers rolled and lit another cigarette.
    ‘What will you do there?’
    ‘Oh, I’ll study the fauna. That sort of thing. But I also hope to answer some questions
that have been with me for quite some time—since 1918, you know. Africa’s the last
place where the cold-blooded killers thrive—the lion, leopard and the hyena. Our
stone-age ancestors lived among them. I want to understand how the prospect of being
eaten alive impacts the psyche. It might account for the devil in us.’
    Archie was stunned. This was so uncharacteristic of the genial, untroubled Dithers
he thought he knew.
    ‘The common washroom is down the hall. Just one thing, Archie. I don’t always sleep
well. If you hear me yelling and carrying on, take no notice.’
    Dithers flung a towel over his shoulder, and disappeared out the door.
    As Archie arranged his belongings he developed a severe headache. Was it the beer,
the whisky, a malarial attack—or the effect of Beatrice’s rejection? Before he could
decide, he collapsed onto the bed beside his trunk, and was instantly asleep.
    He found himself back in the Venus Isles, in the head-hunting days. Polkinghorne
had been captured by cannibals, and a ritual leader approached with a bamboo beheading
knife. The curator screamed, and his buck teeth lunged forward, as if to bite at
Archie’s face.
    Buck teeth! Archie sat upright in his bed. He had a crushing headache, was covered
in sweat, and was shaking. He went to his jacket pocket and took out the incisor
that had fallen from the fetish. He looked at it. ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid, Archie.
It’s impossible,’ he said to himself.
    ‘Go back to sleep,’ Dithers drawled from the adjacent bed. ‘There’s a good chap.
It’s just a bad dream.’

Chapter 6

    Archie had slept badly. He struggled into his new shoes for a second time. His suit
was damp and musty with sweat, and he disliked putting it on. ‘In the islands, a loincloth is haute couture,’ he
thought wistfully as he limped to work. Jeevons, the museum guard, was waiting for
him in the foyer. The man had, by his own account, seen a torrid war. His own limp
seemed to come and go with his retelling of the battle of the Somme. But Archie had
to admit that John Jeevons really looked the part in