rthstewart (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rthstewart) wrote2011-09-23 08:04 pm
rthstewart) wrote2011-09-23 08:04 pm
Mary, Polly, South America and the wet books
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lady_songsmith who asked for this: Polly, Mary, South America, and the time all the books but one got soaked.
EDIT: NOW WITH ADDED COMMENTFIC (OF COURSE)
Three pairs of eyes peered over the edge of the dugout canoe into the murky depths of the Amazon.
Polly blew out an aggravated breath. “And I suppose that all your examination textbooks Digory gave you were in that bag now sinking to the bottom of the second largest river in the world?”
“I’m afraid so,” Mary replied airily. “The Latin and Greek, the religion, and the philosophy.”
“The only thing that did not fall in is Gadow’s Amphibia and Reptiles, Asim added.
“That is a stroke of luck, what?”
Polly vowed she was never traveling again with a seventeen year old girl. If she wanted further demonstration of the merits of relationships only with women, and rigorous use of contraception when with men, here it was in the boat next to her.
“What do you think, Asim?” Polly asked.
“I think I am more comfortable swimming with the fauna of Africa than South America.”
“Mary? What’s down there if I push you in to retrieve your bookbag?”
“Well, there is Eunectes murinus of course.”
Asim looked at Polly and she whispered, “Green Anaconda.”
“Largest snake in the world. There’s also Melanosuchus niger.”
“That’s a…”
“I know,” Asim said wearily. “It’s some kind of crocodile.”
“I wonder…” Mary leaned precariously over the side of the boat and stuck her fingers into a small school of circling fish. The fish rushed at her appetizing appendage.
“Ha! I thought so!” Mary exclaimed, yanking her fingers out. “Pygocentrus nattereri!!” She waggled her fingers – one was bleeding.
That did it.
“Asim, start the engine,” Polly said, utterly exasperated. Tempting as it was to shove Mary in, Polly really couldn’t blame her. The red piranhas of the Amazon were welcome to Digory’s fourth best copy of the Virgil’s Aeneid and Duns Scotus’ Questions on Metaphysics.
lady_songsmith who asked for this: Polly, Mary, South America, and the time all the books but one got soaked.EDIT: NOW WITH ADDED COMMENTFIC (OF COURSE)
Three pairs of eyes peered over the edge of the dugout canoe into the murky depths of the Amazon.
Polly blew out an aggravated breath. “And I suppose that all your examination textbooks Digory gave you were in that bag now sinking to the bottom of the second largest river in the world?”
“I’m afraid so,” Mary replied airily. “The Latin and Greek, the religion, and the philosophy.”
“The only thing that did not fall in is Gadow’s Amphibia and Reptiles, Asim added.
“That is a stroke of luck, what?”
Polly vowed she was never traveling again with a seventeen year old girl. If she wanted further demonstration of the merits of relationships only with women, and rigorous use of contraception when with men, here it was in the boat next to her.
“What do you think, Asim?” Polly asked.
“I think I am more comfortable swimming with the fauna of Africa than South America.”
“Mary? What’s down there if I push you in to retrieve your bookbag?”
“Well, there is Eunectes murinus of course.”
Asim looked at Polly and she whispered, “Green Anaconda.”
“Largest snake in the world. There’s also Melanosuchus niger.”
“That’s a…”
“I know,” Asim said wearily. “It’s some kind of crocodile.”
“I wonder…” Mary leaned precariously over the side of the boat and stuck her fingers into a small school of circling fish. The fish rushed at her appetizing appendage.
“Ha! I thought so!” Mary exclaimed, yanking her fingers out. “Pygocentrus nattereri!!” She waggled her fingers – one was bleeding.
That did it.
“Asim, start the engine,” Polly said, utterly exasperated. Tempting as it was to shove Mary in, Polly really couldn’t blame her. The red piranhas of the Amazon were welcome to Digory’s fourth best copy of the Virgil’s Aeneid and Duns Scotus’ Questions on Metaphysics.
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And Fate perhaps that the most important book did not fall into the river?
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When Digs found out about this, it was a thing to see. His Victorian British cast-iron sentimentality warred mightily with his profound irritation for the treatment of the Dread Dunce - as Mary called him, and as Polly tended to heartily agree. All involved watched avidly as various emotions flitted across Digs' face.
Finally, he came to a concluding explosion that was neither too sentimental nor too stoic.
"MARY ANNING!" he thundered. "YOU ARE NEVER TO REMOVE ANY WRITTEN MATERIALS FROM MY OFFICE AGAIN. UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. EVER. HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR?"
"Crystal," said Mary, shifting to attention in her seat.
Only Asim noticed the battered copy of Darwin's Descent of Man which Mary slipped into her rucksack, behind her back. He said nothing, of course -- nothing verbal, that is; in a quiet place within himself he asked Allah to please make him understand why he, Asim, had been compelled to follow so troublesome a charge.
Mary, always aware of attention, winked at Asim over her shoulder before attentively returning to Digory's tirade. Asim cracked a slight smile, against his own will. So be it: Allah had a sense of humor, and that was reason enough for this.
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"So, how goes the study of the dread Dunce?"
"Well," Digory began, resolved to ignore her usual epithet and stepping away from the Wardrobe, "we…"
"I was asking the question of Peter. He's more likely to give me an untarnished answer."
Peter was in the process of pulling his own chair out to make more space in the room. "Mary? Would you like a seat?"
"Oh, for the moment, but we'll have to sit on the floor for tea."
Digory must have imagined the cloud of sand that seemed to puff out when she plopped down inelegantly into Peter's vacated seat.
Peter retreated to the bookshelf as Digory found his own squeaky office chair again.
"Well?" Mary demanded again, speaking directly at Peter. "And stop with meaningful looks at one another!"
"If you mean the Blessed John Duns Scotus, the work has been a bit frustrating," Peter admitted.
"Aha!" Mary pinned Digory with a fierce glare. "Not that I take particular issue with Scotus' whole reasoning from effect to cause. I also certainly agree that we can come to know God apart from revelation. But, I have serious concerns about his Immaculate Conception argument. I mean really, it's all very fine and well for her, but procreation without sex is a rather difficult trick for other women to emulate, yes?" Here, she had to pause for a breath – thankfully not elaborating further on the last point. "And I really can't follow Dunce's seven part Proof for the Existence of God beyond Step 5D."
Declining the implicit challenge to debate theology, Peter continued calmly. "I meant that we are having difficulty locating some of Scotus’ works that should be in the Oxford Franciscan library."
"Have you looked on your own desk, Digory?" Mary asked sweetly.
"Unfortunately, yes," he admitted brusquely, pique rising. Digory did not appreciate this ongoing criticism of the status of the paperwork on his desk. It was his desk. He knew where everything was that he needed, and usually could find it when he needed it. He didn't particularly care if others could not.
Besides, Mary was in no position to condemn him. He looked pointedly at her. “We might have used the older copies in my personal collection but they, regrettably, are at the bottom of the Amazon.”
Mary at least had the good grace to look embarrassed.
“Amazon?” Peter asked. “Why would Duns Scotus’ Questions on Metaphysics be in Brazil? In a river?”
“Now Digs!” Mary huffed. “It was an accident! Ten years ago!”
“This, Peter, is why you must never loan a book to Mary. She has a habit of taking them to the far flung reaches of the globe and feeding them to piranhas and giant snakes that swallow crocodiles whole.”
“Are you finished, Digs?”
“Are you finished criticising my desk?”
“Yes,” Mary muttered meekly.
“Piranhas?” Peter asked. “Could we just return a moment to…”
“No!” Mary said. “It’s very embarrassing and always puts Digs in a surly mood.”
Digory had to agree. “Peter, you should ask Polly about it, as she was there. And as we shall not mount an expedition to retrieve what is certainly ruined, we have attempted to locate the manuscripts missing from the library here.”
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She snorted. “Really, Digs, of course not.”
That was a relief. "In any event, it took Peter the better part of two weeks, but we did eventually learn that some of the Franciscan library, including a number works by Scotus and Ockham, have been loaned out."
"Ockham! Now that's a loss I do care about. Any idea where they went?"
"To the British Museum," Peter replied gloomily.
"Oh dear," Mary responded. She obviously saw the problem.
"Indeed," Digory echoed the expressed pessimism. "I understand many of the collections have been hidden until the War ends."
"It's not really secret," Mary supplied helpfully. "Forsdyke put a lot of it in underground storage in Bradford. Other material is scattered with FOMs."
"FOMs?" Peter asked.
"Friends of the Museum," Mary and Digory both responded at the same time. Mary continued, "Richard and I have a few things."
"From the British Museum?" Peter asked, wonderment in his tone. "Really?"
"Well, for your sake, I'm sorry but we don't have anything from the Oxford Franciscans. Forsdyke would know better than to give something like that to us."
"If you are as bad about returning historical artifacts as you are about flinging precious books into the Amazon, I'm surprised Forsdyke gave you anything, Mary."
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"Oof," said Peter. "Your boots aren't half painful."
"Steel capped toes," Mary said primly. "You deserved that, especially after the trouble you've had with the Dread Dunce yourself."
"It's not that," Peter said, clambering to his feet and rubbing a sore spot perilously close to his left kidney. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the bed.
"Only so that I can shove you away again if you mock me," Mary said, refusing to look at him.
"No," Peter soothed, taking her hand. She didn't pull away: a good sign. "No, no. I'm laughing because I know that you're still offended that he gave you a dressing-down in front of Polly and Asim, and that is why you've always taken a perverse pleasure in stealing his papers."
The silence next to Peter grew petulant. He'd experience with this, too. He waited her out.
"Mostly," Mary finally admitted.
"Mostly?" Peter echoed. "What's the rest of it, then? Oh, don't tell me - you're single-handedly redressing the wrongs done by all those thieving male paleontologists."
This time, a feathered pillow accompanied Peter to the ground.
"Not that I'm against larceny for its own sake," said Peter, removing the same boot from the same sore spot on his back - he was sure it'd bruise delightfully - "and especially not when it's to redress great wrongs. But I'm sure there are better ways to set this right."
"And you'd know all about that," Mary huffed. "You're a King, not an archaeologist. An ex-King."
"Kings know a few things about how to dismantle a revered hero," Peter said. "I think these heroes have it coming, and I think you're just the one to knock the statues down."
"Get the gin while you're down there," Mary finally replied, "and then tell me what you're thinking."
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Paying up
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I love how she's pretty much the same several years on, and how Polly is just "...why is this my life." :DD
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Mostly, though, I love the three little pairs of eyes peeping over the edge of the dugout canoe. :)