Controversial conversation ahead. The "T" is here for a reason.
The Stone Gryphon, Part 1, Oxfordshire, 1942
Chapter 3 -Tea and Sympathy
In which Peter starts an argument about camels and there is Inappropriate Conversation
"This is the best use for stockings ever invented," Peter exclaimed, stirring his own glass of milk tea. "Although, if Mrs. Kwong is using actual stockings, my sister will be outraged."
"It's not really a woman's stocking," Richard began, and then corrected himself midway. "Actually, I don't know that for certain in these austere times."
"Lee would beat you over the head with her cleaver for suggesting such a thing," Mary retorted, in defense of her cook.
"You would gladly sacrifice your stocking ration coupons to assure a properly filtered glass of milk tea," Asim observed.
"Are stockings rationed? Goodness, I don't even know. Asim, how is it that you are more knowledgeable about this than I am?"
"Because the matter falls under logistics and procurement?" Peter ventured the query in such a way that Digory thought something more subtle was implied, which Asim evidently understood as he responded with a small nod of assent.
"Digs, Peter, while we have conclusively established my lack of expertise on the subject, I can confidently theorize that this fine filter has been in use far longer than any pair of women's stockings." To emphasize the point, Mary poked with her chopstick the dark soggy dark mass resting in a bowl next to her on the floor.
They were all encamped in the office. Digory declined to join Mary, Peter, and Asim on the floor. Richard had reluctantly taken the other chair, the indignity sweetened by Mary situating herself at his feet and leaning against her husband's legs.
"More fung zao, dear? Mary held up a chicken foot and Richard bent down to pluck it from her chopsticks.
"Thank you."
Peter had been steadily working his way through the assortment of bau, gow and other delicacies of Kwong Lee's cooking with greater gusto than Digory could credit to a 16-year old's appetite alone. The dried fish flavorings and chicken feet were too novel for Digory's own conservative tastes. As he had enjoyed more conventional fare with them in the past, he did wonder if the Russells had brought today's exotic offerings as a challenge to what they had assumed would be the typically bland English palate. If so, they had been disappointed. Presumably due to adventuresome Narnian culinary diplomacy, Peter had enthusiastically embraced every dish, pronouncing every oddity better than the last. Digory did concede that Mrs. Kwong worked miracles with the tired old staples of the War Victory Garden.
"Now, how do you say it, again?" Peter asked gesturing to his own glass.
"Well, there are several terms," Richard began, as Mary interrupted "Dai pai dong nai cha."
"That's not right, Mary. Dai pai dong is where it's served, not what it is."
"I'm the one who lived there, Richard, and that's what we called it."
"I did as well and dai pai dong are the foodstalls."
"Alright, call it si wa nai cha."
"I thought it was yuenyeun," Asim injected, confusing it further.
"That has coffee in it," Richard corrected. "I thought it was cha chow."
"No, that's the sweet one," Asim contradicted.
"If I may?" Peter interrupted hurriedly. "I really was just wondering what the word was for tea."
"Cha" answered Mary, Richard, and Asim.
Peter held up his milky glass. "So, if cha is tea, why is this dai pai dong nai cha, si wa nai cha, cha chow or yuenyeun?
"Oh of course those aren't cha," Mary laughed, "Cha doesn't have milk in it."
"Oh, but of course," Peter mimicked, with good natured sarcasm.
"You seem to have an ear for language, Peter," Asim commented.
"Not really, but thank you for saying so. I try to learn enough of someone else's to be polite. What about you, Asim? I imagine you have picked up several."
Asim nodded. "My Turkish is not especially proficient now and I know only enough Italian to swear convincingly, which has been rather fortunate the last year or two. Unfortunately, my German and French are another matter."
Hearing Mary and Richard grumble, Digory looked over at them. Mary directed him back to Asim, "Ask him. We shouldn't say anything about it."
Peter too looked to Asim with polite interest.
Asim took a delaying sip of tea. "Mary and Richard are complaining because the War Office, well I assume it is the War Office as it has subsumed everything else, but I don't really know. Whoever it is, I have been placed under travel restrictions. They do not wish me to leave England for the time being."
Digory felt a seeping outrage. "That seems uncalled for." What little he knew of Asim's history and service did not warrant such treatment. Peter, who knew even less, appeared equally disturbed.
"It is not quite as you might think," Asim explained in his quiet way. "Suffice to say, persons with my own particular faculties are very useful right now. The Office wishes for me to be available to them."
Oh.
So, not too little trust, but rather too much dependence.
"People who are both talented and trusted are precious in a campaign," Peter finally offered.
"And it's damn inconvenient for the rest of us," Mary griped.
"Well, Mary, what took you to the Sahara this time?" Digory asked, hoping to find less awkward ground. "Any new discoveries?"
"It was Asim who went, doing whatever it is he does. I just invited myself along. I'm still looking for crocodiles."
Silence greeted that extraordinary statement. Discretion permitted no comment whatsoever as to her first sentence. As to the second, Peter could not long tolerate the suspense.
"Crocodiles?" Peter repeated. "In the Sahara? Don't they need water?"
"Extinct ones," Richard explained, nudging Mary with his knee. "Pay her no mind. Mary is just being deliberately obscure to make it all sound more mysterious. As to the water, there have been a number of finds in the Sahara that suggest it once supported aquatic life."
The possibility was quite intriguing. "Could a continent change that much?" Digory asked. "Turn a sea to the largest desert in the world?"
"Over geological time, certainly. The data even now allow us to theorize that much," Richard mused, philosophically shredding the last of his chicken feet. "Look at the east coast of South America sometime and the west coast of Africa and you'll see they fit together like a giant puzzle. You'll find similar fossils in both places as well. There's no good theory yet for what could cause an entire continent to drift and so change."
"I found some large teeth and scales, but didn't have time to do anymore than scout around where we'd been before." Mary cast a scowling look at Asim. "Then, Asim was there with the convoy and I had to go."
"I could not count on Mary finding her own way out. Left on her own, she would still be there. Nor could we leave her with a truck, as she is wholly untrustworthy with anything mechanical."
She shrugged and artfully popped a bit of a roll into her mouth. "I do prefer camels and horses."
"They respond far better to you as well," Asim agreed
"But surely you don't prefer camels to horses?" Peter asked.
A dispute erupted at once, with Mary, Richard and Asim all jostling to make their points heard. "Of course not, except..." "It depends on the terrain." "Stronger." "Smarter." "Nastier." "Stupid, vile."
Digory really wasn't surprised that the three all had such ardent opinions on the subject. They did not have moderate opinions on anything. But, camels? Were camels really worth such animated debate?
"Clearly, I have blundered into a well-traversed argument," Peter cut in through the raised voices.
"Well then, Peter, since you dared impugn the integrity of one of the most ingeniously adaptive creatures in all of modern creation, what is your opinion?" The words were challenging, but Richard's tone was jesting. Digory hoped Peter took the query in the spirit it was intended.
Peter looked up at Richard from his seat on the floor. "I would not presume to second guess God's creative vision of any good creature," he paused, "except perhaps on the matter of mosquitoes."
"And fleas," Mary added. "I can't abide fleas."
"Or leeches," Asim included.
With a nod to these amendatory statements, Peter continued, "I will say, however, that while horses have bitten me, kicked me, landed upon me, stomped on me, thrown me from their backs, and viciously swished me with their tails, no horse has ever spit upon me."
"And a camel has?" Asim asked, rather too pointedly for Digory's comfort.
Had there been camels in Narnia? A talking camel. What an appalling thought. Digory was sure he had not experienced any, but had Peter? Digory caught Peter's eye. Carefully.
"I did not say that a camel had ever spit on me. I only said that a horse never has done so." Peter paused for a deliberate bite of a turnip cake. "So why do camels spit? Richard, is there some evolutionary benefit to it? And come to think of it, why don't horses spit?"
All but the crumbs were left. True to his talent for "procurement," Asim produced dried apricots and sugared dates to conclude the tea.
Peter was leaning happily against the bookcase, cradling the sweets in his palm. "I've not had dates in…" Digory saw Peter correct himself quickly. "Well, it's been some time."
Richard, however, seemed to have caught the hesitation and perhaps the incongruity. "Where did you say you are from, Peter?"
"I don't believe I did, Richard. But, in fact, I'm from Finchley."
"Have you traveled?" Digory could see Mary and Asim now redirect their attention as well to Richard's questioning.
Peter made to chew his date rather contemplatively. "My parents have taken one of my sisters to America, so she's the one traveling this summer. For the duration, I am here with the Professor, my exam tutorials, and searching for the Blessed Duns Scotus' 1298 Ordinatio lectures, which the British Museum has hidden."
Digory concealed an inward smile as Mary and Richard abandoned their inquiry into Peter's "travels" to pounce upon where Forsdyke might have stored Scotus' missing lecture notes. Peter was allowed to enjoy the last of his sugared dates in peace.
Asim huffed with quiet exasperation at Mary and Richard's bickering. "I believe I have heard Professor Kirke say that you have another brother and sister? Are they traveling?"
"Oh no, they are stuck, quite unhappily too, with my aunt and uncle in Cambridge."
"Cambridge, eh?" Richard said suspiciously, suddenly breaking into the conversation.
"Oh, Richard, I'm sure Peter's relatives are not narrow minded, dull, priggish, mathematicians."
"Actually," Peter began, and the look Digory saw blossoming on his face was pure, adolescent, mischievous glee.
"What Peter means to say," Digory interrupted, "is that his aunt and uncle are…"
"Not mathematicians!" Peter at least had the manners to look slightly embarrassed as the others laughed. "Sorry, Professor."
Digory frowned, but let the matter pass. Harold and Alberta, for all their pretensions of modernity, really were ghastly.
"Speaking of Cambridge, I did see the Leakeys while I was in Africa."
"Mary mentioned that. How are Louis and Mary?"
Richard grunted and settled himself again in his chair. "It was the usual riot. They are eking out an existence with a stipend from a museum in Nairobi. No electricity, no running water."
"This sounds horrible." Digory exclaimed, truly shocked. He didn't necessarily agree with Louis Leakey's way of doing things, but the man was indisputably an extraordinary scientist. "They certainly deserve better than that."
"They manage, and some part of it is certainly self-imposed. Keeping baboons and vipers as pets does not help their situation. They'll be digging at … where will they be this summer, Mary?"
"Rusinga Island."
"That's right. With a good season, they might get some things in Nature again."
Mary stretched her legs out. "We've been trying to think of ways to get Louis back into scientific good graces. They won't have a stable income to continue their work until grants start flowing and that won't happen until this whole Cambridge cloud dissipates."
Digory glanced at Peter, who was avidly following every word. He wondered how much Peter knew of the eminent scientist's professional and personal controversies at Cambridge. Or, perhaps Peter deliberately introduced the subject of Cambridge to steer the conversation in this direction.
"And speaking of immorality, Mary, I didn't tell you what Copeland said. Jomo Kenyatta is still here, in England."
A feeling of alarm began to creep up Digory's spine. He shot a quick look at Peter. There was no reason why he would recognize the name; there was also no way this conversation could be comfortable.
"Oh?" Mary's polite query was forced. Asim shifted his position on the floor, frowning slightly. Digory saw Peter take this all in, undoubtedly sensing the current of tension that began curling through the room.
"Copeland said that he thought Kenyatta is on a farm in Sussex. Rumor is that he volunteered to avoid conscription into the army!"
Mary's cold, stony expression conveyed her thoughts on pursuing the subject.
"How extraordinary," Digory found himself muttering quietly. He set his cup down with a sense of foreboding. "Well, perhaps we should…"
Richard, however, pushed on, now warming to his dislike. "I thought Asim could drive me down there so we could have another go at each other."
"That might be petrol well spent," Asim said with rather uncharacteristic, even if mild, heat.
"Yes, well," Digory began, casting a frantic look Peter's way. He was certain that Peter would not be able to let this pass.
"Who is Mr. Kenyatta?"
"He is a very clever, but…"
Mary interrupted Richard's burgeoning quarrel with a slice of her hand. "Let's answer the simple question first, before beginning the personal epithets."
To Peter, she said tightly, "Jomo Kenyatta is of the Kikuyu peoples of East Africa. He's been living in Europe for about the last ten years. He is a very prominent and articulate activist in the anti-colonialism movement, one which, by the way, Richard, Asim and I all support." She directed a challenging glare at her husband, daring him to contradict her statements.
Asim was not to be quelled entirely. "Despite an abundance of common ground, Richard, Louis Leakey, and Kenyatta also have a long and acrimonious history on certain issues."
Digory could not think of a way to stop what would happen next. Any attempts to interrupt would be thoroughly embarrassing, although he wasn't sure to whom.
Mary swiveled from her seat on the floor toward Richard, and rested her hands on his knees. "Can't you just …"
"What?" Richard asked softly. "Let it go? Ignore it?" He reached down and touched her cheek in a painfully intimate moment. "You know I can't, Mary. Kenyatta defends ritualized, mutilating violence to half of his own people."
Mary humphed with exasperation and turned back around, shrugging off Richard's hand. "And I think you are taking too narrow a view. Kenyatta defends, and very well, their right to pursue their own culture and practice their own rituals without white, European condemnation."
It was Asim who finally spoke what Digory had dreaded.
"Even if part of a culture for a millennium, genital cutting cannot be excused," Asim said firmly. "It is simply wrong."
"And here we are, going over the same ground again," Mary groaned. "Concededly, it's not part of our Western traditions or yours, Asim, but it is part of theirs."
Digory dared a glance at Peter, trying to gauge his reaction. Their eyes met and Digory saw an impassive adult staring back at it him. Digory felt very unsure. Was it the unsettling subject? Or was Peter conveying that he did not welcome any well-meaning but, in his judgment, unnecessary intervention?
Mary resolved the matter. "Oh, and not the two of you as well!" she exclaimed, having noticed the silent exchange. "We know where you stand on the issue, Digs. What about you, Peter?"
Peter looked away, without a hint of apology, and turned to Mary. "I really only have the barest understanding of the particulars."
"When has a lack of facts ever halted expression of an opinion?" Richard asked dryly.
"Perhaps, but I prefer that mine be based upon facts." Peter countered firmly and a bit coolly. He paused, then began again. "So, I really only have general observations that might be broadly applicable to a conundrum such as this."
"How can you describe cutting as a conundrum?" Asim challenged.
"I don't, and didn't," Peter responded. "I speak of the dilemma its elimination poses. Bear with me, please, I'm having some difficulty finding the right vocabulary." He gathered himself, then carefully spoke again, "As I see it, any sovereign faces a problem when it enters another's land and objects to the particular practices in that place. It becomes even more difficult when that sovereign seeks to change those practices it finds objectionable."
Narnia. He is obviously speaking of personal experience in Narnia. Which time, Digory wondered. What might have been so objectionable? To whom?
"You speak of the sovereign objecting, and finding objection," Richard countered. "What if it is objectionable? Evil even? Or are you arguing a relativist position?"
Peter shook his head. "Assume what you wish as to the particular practice. It could be animal sacrifice, polygamy, child marriage, slavery. My concern, the conundrum, is what to do when the sovereign seeks to eliminate it. Criticism and condemnation run the very real risk of strengthening adherence to the objectionable practice, precisely what you don't wish to happen. At worse, the imposition of the sovereign's will becomes a reason, even the reason, for dissent, even rebellion." Peter let out a sigh of air and slumped against the supporting bookcase. "There, I managed to get it all out. I've now exhausted my knowledge and while I'll defend that general point, I have nothing more to say for the time being on the particulars."
"So, you take Mary's view in this?" Asim asked curiously.
"I don't think so," Richard replied. "Peter has very cleverly stated no opinion on the practice at all. I rather think he comes closer to our view, Asim, since he presupposes undertaking efforts to abolish it."
Peter shrugged. "I don't know the facts or anyone's views well enough to say what I support."
"Curiouser and curiouser say I," Mary mused. "Wouldn't you say, Richard?"
"I say we give Peter the papers so he can master the facts and then find out what he really thinks."
The first thing Digory thought was what Peter's mother would have to say about that. The second thought, even more disconcerting, was that Peter had already seen the papers in the binder of earlier and had understood their context. The last thought was that there was no reason for him to say anything at all; if Peter wished to, he would.
"For the privilege of another tea with you all, I'd happily review and annotate the Encyclopedia. But, the principal of my time must be with the Professor."
"I'm sure we can work something out," Digory assured.
Taking that as a cue, Asim began collecting the plates, bowls, and other detritus of the tea. Peter joined him on the floor, suddenly seeming to be the boy again. Did the others see these peculiar shifts in language and maturity? Digory worried that Mary and Richard did, given their mutual studied looks. Mary rose to her feet, whispering privately with her husband.
Digory stood, intending to join them, and wondering how he could possibly divert them without making it worse. Peter's voice interrupted him. "Actually, Professor, it occurs to me that, as interesting as this all is, I should probably begin at a more basic level. I've not yet even been to the museum here. Do you suppose one of Dr. Copeland's assistants might show me about?"
The impact could not have been greater if a German bomb had detonated in the room.
Mary spun around, shouting, "WHAT?" then had to spin back to help Richard who under better circumstances, would have leapt to his feet. Today, he settled for slowly and menacingly rising from his chair.
They had discussed creation, women's stockings, gryphons, Franciscan theology, Alice in Wonderland, female circumcision, crocodiles in the Sahara, the sacking of an eminent scholar on moral grounds, avoided discussion of what was certainly espionage, and there had been that matter at the beginning where a trusted, decorated military man of unknown rank was forced to disarm. But it took Peter's disclosure to truly outrage the Russells. Peter jumped up, ignoring the their palpable shock, but perhaps recognizing he and the tea plates were vulnerable to a kick from Mary's boots if he remained on the floor.
Peter's ability to deflect, draw, or redirect the attention of a room was something Digory had never seen anyone do so well. It was superbly timed, utterly sincere, and completely disarming. Digory managed to not laugh at the brilliant dissembling. "I think that would be an excellent idea, Peter. Perhaps, though, you could ask Richard if he might take you? As many of the specimens there are his, it would be far better informed."
Peter's face lit with such genuine enthusiasm, it was impossible to think this was anything but completely earnest and spontaneous. "Would you?" he asked. "I recognize it's an imposition, but…"
"Oh shut up, Peter." Richard said irritably. "I'm very aggravated that you didn't say something sooner. I'd suggest we go now, but…"
"Perhaps later in the week," Mary said, linking her arm in her husband's. "We'll find a time when Copeland and the trils won't be there and have the place to ourselves." She sniffed disapprovingly. "Honestly, Peter, I was just beginning to think better of you."
Peter inclined his head graciously, taking no offense. "I did admit earlier to ignorance in this area after my uninformed reference to King Kong. I'll make every effort to improve upon that this summer."
Mary blew out an aggravated breath, but had to leave off further berating as she relinquished her place at Richard's side to Asim.
"Richard, why don't you and I go to the car and Mary can make arrangements with Digory. Peter, would you mind helping with the rest of the tidying up?"
"Of course. I'll bring the hampers down to the car shortly." They all made their farewells, though the delay was beginning to tell on Mary as she fidgeted about. Richard was moving far more slowly now than when he had arrived and it seemed that the event had genuinely fatigued him. Digory did not like the clammy feel of the weak handshake they exchanged or the pallor that was steadily rising in Richard's face.
"Oh, and Asim, don't forget your knives," Peter said with a grin. "You wouldn't want me near them."
"I'm sure you would have returned them, eventually."
"What's this?" Richard asked, sounding now more querulous than curious. He was leaning heavily on Asim's arm.
"I will explain downstairs," Asim said, rearming as they went out the door.
Into the quiet that followed Asim and Richard's departure, the storm finally broke. "I'm sorry, Digs," Mary whispered. "I know this was sudden, but Richard…" Her breath hitched and she swayed on her feet. "He so wanted to see you. This is the first day I thought he could and I didn't know when else…"
"He really isn't well, is he?" Digory asked quietly.
Mary brought her hands up to cover her reddening face. "No," she choked.
Digory let Mary step into his arms, and held her tightly, just as he'd done when she had been so very much younger. Her shoulders were broader and stronger, his weaker, but the tears she shed on his jacket were much the same.
Peter quietly edged toward the door with the hampers.
"Thank you," she muttered into his shoulder. Mary pulled herself together and away with a shudder and a mighty sniff. "It's alright, Peter. I won't alarm you any further with sniveling. You don't need to flee the scene."
"Not at all, I did not wish to intrude."
Digory reached for a handkerchief as did Peter, but Mary had a larger one of her own. "I'm fine. No, I'm not fine. I'm worried out of my mind."
"Do you know what's wrong?"
Mary shook her head. "Too many things. The jaundice took forever to clear. Now, his tremors are getting worse, and he's forgetting things," She was babbling and Digory let her ramble. The stress had obviously been enormous. "Every treatment seems to make something worse happen. I didn't even realize how bad he'd gotten until we'd been apart for two months. You just don't see it when you live with a person every day."
"Please let me know if there is anything we can do, Mary."
Her eyes darted toward Peter, standing at the threshold. "If you wouldn't mind sparing Peter for an afternoon now and again, and Peter, if you would be willing, I do think that would be good. Richard misses teaching. I think it would help him focus, give him some reason to…"
Her voice hiccuped again and Peter broke in to spare her completing the thought. ""I would be glad to, Mary.
"And while you're at it, you could look for that twelfth century beastiary…"
"No," Digory said, poking her firmly in the shoulder. "If you want a research assistant, get your own!"
Mary pouted. "That so unlike you Digs, to not share."
"And it is very like you to monopolize whatever resources you find."
Digory clasped her shoulders and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "You both are in my prayers."
"Thank you." She wiped her face again and shoved the damp handkerchief into her trouser pocket. "Do I look like I've been crying?"
"Not with that peeling nose."
"Alright then. I'll send a note around later about next week."
She turned smartly and strode out, Peter following in her wake with the empty hampers, very like the local workers who would trail behind her on a dig. "I'll be back in a moment, Professor," Peter called over his shoulder.
Digory opened the desk drawer on the right. Pencils, notes, bits of string, two buttons, a dog eared biography of St. Francis. He opened the drawer below it. More notes, a book of Psalms, letters he had started and not finished. He opened the drawer on the left. A bird's nest, some rocks, a book of matches, a tin of very old tea, a slim volume of poetry by Gerard Manley Hopkins. He opened the drawer below it. Clips, ties, pens, thread, pins, and, his goal. He carefully pulled the aspirin powder out. He was mixing the drug with the dregs of his tea when Peter strolled back in, casually munching a handful of dates.
"What a smashing afternoon, Professor!" He settled down into the chair. "Date? Asim gave me a few extra."
"No thank you, Peter." Digory raised the cup, and swallowed the bitter brew down with a grimace.
Peter took in the powder bag as he crumbled it up. "Aspirin? Are you well, Professor?"
"I'm fine. Just a bit of a headache."
Peter tilted dangerously back into his seat, staring at the ceiling. "I have not enjoyed myself so well in a long time." Lowering his voice, he added, "Since Narnia. The first visit, even."
"I'm glad then for you Peter. I had thought it might be difficult."
"No, not at all. All three of them certainly test one's mettle, but that is part of what made it so entertaining. And the food!" Peter leaned forward, animated and very happy. "Thank you, really. I did not expect such things, any of it, to even be had here."
"The Russells are quite extraordinary. Asim is very much in a category by himself. I'm pleased you might come to know them better during your stay here. And, as Mary says, spending some time with Richard may be good for him, and will certainly be educational for you."
"I hope he improves."
"As do I, for both their sakes, well, everyone's really. Richard is really an amazing and accomplished person."
"He's a bit like my centaur tutor, actually."
"Really! I would have never made such a connection."
"There's no reason why you would have. It's different, though the feeling is similar, except of course very much here, rather than there, and goodness, I'm not explaining it well at all. "
Digory really did not know what Peter meant, but refrained from saying so. "We will have to keep Mary from assigning you tasks."
Peter laughed. "She is single-minded."
"I do want to congratulate you, Peter, on handling it all so well. I knew they would be stimulating; I didn't expect it to be quite so challenging."
"As I said, Professor, I really enjoyed myself. I only lost my bearings during that digression into camels and parallel evolution of a vicuna, whatever that is."
"And that last conversation," Digory hesitated, suddenly feeling the utter fool for even bothering. Out of a sense of obligation to Peter's parents, he forced himself to ask, "The subject matter, did you understand the context?"
"The cutting? Oh yes, it was in one of the articles. The description of the ritual and its effects was quite clear."
And that was that, Digory supposed. Peter was looking at him levelly, with no question or concern, no desire or need to share a confidence. There was nothing further to say.
"If there's nothing else, Professor, I should go back to the library and let Mrs. Tucker yell at me for running in the stacks earlier today."
"You do that, Peter. I appreciate your sacrifice on behalf of the cause. Also, when you get a moment, could you write down the references we are missing? The Russells might be able to find them."
"I'll do that a bit later, if that's alright." Peter stood and stuck his hands in his pockets. "I need a long walk and a chat with Aslan."
"And then begin a letter to Edmund?"
"A very, very long letter to Edmund."
Chapter 4 - Chain Mail
Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brothers and sisters to dwell together in unity. Book of Psalms 133:1
When I first drafted this chapter, I considered omitting the discussion of Leakey, Kenyatta, genital mutilation, and questioned whether to insert a fictional character into this "real" history. However, the issue was a shorthand for a number of things I wanted to do with Peter, Digory Kirke, and the OCs and it introduces certain important themes that are revisited again and again. I wavered. Then, as my child was getting a hair cut, I was sifting through a 2009 TIME magazine and there was an article on the persistence of the practice. So, the discussion stayed in.