Trevellas Goes Forth...in mare humanitas (in a human sea).

Trevellas Goes Forth, Continued.

CONTINUED....IN LIATIA, THE CREW OF DISCOVERY CONTINUE TO BE AGHAST. THE NEXT CHAPTER RECOUNTS THEIR VISIT TO SOMEWHERE JUST AS STRANGE, 'TRUTHIA'.

“Lies!” yell the listeners, “untrue!” The official relaxes and resumes beaming, his red eyes focused somewhere to my side.

I begin to realize ‘true’ means ‘untrue’, and the first answer about this strange man’s name, which was greeted with “good truth” by all the others, must, in fact, be perversely true. The thin-lipped squinting official is indeed Mentiroso, and he is the mayor. I decide to check my assumption. He lies about it, and the others lie that he’s lied.

“You are Mentiroso...,” I begin, but I’m chorused out by shouts of “true, true!” How on earth? If they’re right, I have the correct name. But they lie, don’t they, and ‘true’ means ‘false’. Could it be the name is correct, but me saying it too truthful? Is the company sowing untruth another way?

That night as Ned and I sit sipping rum (which I feel a worrying urge to call not-rum) in the galley, discussing the experiences of the day, young Bill turns from his task of peeling now-sprouting potatoes and says “permission to speak, Sir...”

“Get it off your chest,” I say. Bill puts the potato and knife down, and turns to face me.

“I think”, he says in that high-pitched voice of the adolescent, “there is something very odd about this place!”

“You do?” guffaws Ned, “How so?” “They’re fibbers, every one!” Bill stammers. “Lie to you, did they?” I ask, much amused by Bill’s

belligerence. “Sure did. I saw a boy, younger than me, about nine or

ten, and tried talking to him. He didn’t make any sense, and all he did was fib!”

“For example?”

“I asked how old he was, and he said twenty five. I asked if he lives here, and he said no, he didn’t. Also, he never once looked at me!”

“Pass more not-rum, I mean yes-rum, young ’un, then back to the potatoes,” Ned says, grinning at his gaff, which I could just as easily make. “If they’re not ready, cook will do for you!”

“I don’t like it here!” Bill says sullenly, resuming his peeling.

Lielîa is a town of most perplexing confusion. It’s the centre of everything on the island of Liätia, and all aspects of life are supervised by apparently elected (though this is denied) officers in a large glass-fronted building on the main street, called Par-liar-ment, which almost fronts the confluence of the rivers with the sea. It takes several days to discover the name of the building, because there is an ‘Undertaker’ sign outside. Mentiroso is furious when a careless assistant lets the real name slip.

“Next time you do that, I promise I won’t report you to the Department Of Truth Telling Inhibition,” he shouts angrily. The acronym is ‘DOTTI’. I think this describes these people, and especially Mentiroso, very well!

“Thank you, thank you, and so very true!” says the assistant. The lie of non-report pleases him more than the threat, which we later learn is grave, disturbs. He also has thin, compressed, lips and shifty eyes, but I’ve almost stopped noticing. I’m getting used to people like this. I even find myself beginning to squint!

Because everyone always lies, it’s no simple thing to determine any truth about this country. People lie about their history and politics, their leaders, their hopes and their ambitions. Not accustomed to such a dishonest society, we visitors are naturally diverted into all kinds of conclusions, which, when reviewed later, don’t quite seem right.