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too cheaply when the gold gave out and doing the Aussie worker in. I could point to many contemporary blots.”
    â€œHowever, since he likes his view of the harbour and his ever escalating equity in this piece of real estate,” a woman said sardonically, “he’ll refrain, for decency’s sake. Besides, we all have hope that Whitlam will save our national soul, and Ian’ll vote Labor with the rest of us. But that’s as far as it goes, right, Ian?”
    â€œDenny, darling, since you’re making so free with my booze and my steaks, why don’t you go jump in the harbour and leave me to dazzle Emily with my jaded innocence?”
    â€œSubtle, aren’t they?” Denny demanded. “You’ll find the men are a decade behind North America. Especially the intellectuals. Don’t contradict them, whatever you do.”
    â€œTry to ignore her,” Ian said sagely. “She writes strident poetry but we love her because she has such gorgeous breasts. She spent a semester at Iowa (as feminist in residence, I think) which is why she’s an authority on the American male.”
    â€œFuck off,” Denny told him amiably. “Actually, Emily, if you can allow for Neanderthal imagery and symbol systems, the Australian male is tolerable. Shall I treat you to my insightful glossary on this particular collection of painters, poets, musicians, intellectuals, and other misfits all pining for London or New York?”
    â€œLondon if they haven’t been fully appreciated yet,” one of the men said, a shaggily bearded satyr, brown as desert sands, shambling over to them barefoot. “Critically speaking, that is. New York if they’re past that stage and just want to make money.”
    â€œThis is Deakin,” Denny explained. “History prof. Haggard from churning out papers to present at overseas conferences so that the world will remember his existence and his Oxford D.Phil. And will offer him a professorship in California which has higher salaries and gentler tax brackets.”
    Ignoring her, Deakin said: “What you are going to have to realise from the start, Emily, is that you don’t have a hope of being taken seriously here while you’re so undilutedly American. You can’t expect to get anywhere in Australia until you’ve suffered through a couple of winters in a poorly heated London flat. There’s just no evidence of artistic integrity.”
    â€œDeak’s hot new scheme for an expenses-paid trip to Denver, Colorado,” one of the women said. She wore very short shorts and a halter top and tossed her long chestnut hair like a colt. “A Social History of the Colonial Inferiority Complex: Some Cultural Implications. Grateful acknowledgments to the Australian government who made this trip possible. Annotations, pomposity, and bullshit courtesy of Deakin Frazer.”
    â€œCome here, Heather,” Deak said sternly, frowning at her from under his bushy eyebrows.
    â€œMake me.”
    â€œWith pleasure.”
    He scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat; she hammered on his back with her fists; they rolled in the grass together, laughing,
    Emily was entranced. It is the sun, she thought again. It is a lubricant; it gives a perspective of mirth to everything; it coats their faint bitterness with nonchalance. She wondered if it were possible for anyone to maintain outrage or moral purpose or even the selfish restlessness of ambition in Sydney.
    Tranquillity must surely do everyone in.
    â€œTrue. It’s like molasses.” She was startled. Had she been thinking aloud then? “Like trying to run in a dream.”
    What she noticed, apart from the inevitable glow of tanned flesh that assaults the senses of newcomers, were his eyes, the skin around them weathered like a network of dried riverbeds.
    â€œI’m Dave,” he said.
    â€œIt’s the sun,” Emily was eager to explain,