6. THE FOURTH LESSON

Today's comedy can possibly become tomorrow's knowledge

“Now that Fil has left us and taken the first steps to her important career,” said Zoz thoughtfully, “the rest of you will have to work all the harder to make my life worth while!”

Cun sniggered and Din spluttered “surely it must be the other way round? Surely you will have to work all the harder to provide the four of us with the education normally delivered to five?”

“There is that too,” admitted Zoz. “Today I thought our search for the origins of life, our close examination of pre-history would focus on records of those who dwelt near the beginning of evolution.”

“I thought so little was known about such primitive times that it is largely regarded as not worth learning about,” put in Els.

“That is the case,” admitted Zoz, “and a concept I usually adhere to. But whilst I was researching the origins of the earliest religions in order to give dear Fil a leg up the ladder of learning, so to speak, a sort of extra something to combat the downside of her, shall we say, facial deformity, her scars, I hit upon some truly ancient stuff that has got sidelined in the least accessed of my memory vaults.”

“You make it sound as if your head was a dirty great and very ancient library,” murmured Din, “you know, the sort of hollow subterranean chamber with row after row of dusty old tomes and a wizened librarian looking over it all.”

“It sometimes feels a bit like that,” smiled Zoz, “but hearken to what I have discovered. Before I start though, there is this cavil: what I am about to tell you is only in the most incoherent of fragments joined together with little more reliable material than guesswork. What survived the Great Chaos was fragmentary anyway, with long periods of time during which humans lived and thrived and grew have been left almost completely unrecorded. You must understand that or you may end up returning to me one future day to tell me I taught you untruths!”

Cun was twirling her hair thoughtfully round her fingers. “Surely a great deal of learning is like that,” she murmured, “events from before our own time are never more than fragments of knowledge. Large fragments quite often, that is true, but fragments none the less.”

“You are wise beyond your two decades, my dearest Cun” sighed Zoz, “for what you say must be the truth. So bearing that in mind and the very opaqueness of what still lurks almost lost in my memory vaults, or...” and he smiled at Din, “…my dirty great subterranean library, please attend.”

His four students glanced at each other, and sighed. They would attend.

“There was a time,” began Zoz, “when the Earth, long ages before it was destroyed in the Great Chaos following the false dictates of the Trumpster, was inhabited by gigantic creatures who roamed hither and thither quite freely. They were of the sub-division of life called lizards, or reptiles, and they stood the height of many men. Their voices, it is suggested (though no recording survives) were throaty and mean and their breath noxious.”

“I’ve heard old tales of them,” ventured Pul, “they were often covered in scales and ate nippers!”

“Maybe that is so, and maybe it is just an old tale,” sighed Zoz, “but I have a fragmented recording of a man and his fem who lived at the same time as did those giant creatures. And he was sophisticated enough to have been given a personal name, as was his fem.”

“A name almost brings a person to life,” sighed Cun, “if we can call him by it, if we can utter it knowing he would respond were he here, then he is more than a mere shadow in our heads.”

“So true,” added Pul, fancying a game with Cun after lessons and needing to lend support to her words in order to gain access to her flesh later when they played Doctors and Nurses, an ancient game and favourite of most Terraful youth.

“You are, of course, quite right, Cun,” agreed Zoz, “and the fragment of the name of this wise ancestor of yours begins with the “f” sound, and the best I can do when I try to rebuild it is venture that he may have been called Fred.”

“Fred. A nice name,” sighed Els, letting Din gently and secretly stroke her hand.

Zoz nodded, oblivious to the game that was starting on the front row of his classroom between Els and Din, continued.

“And there is more,” he said, proudly, “he has a family name, which is something that people back then used to have, one that reflected elements of his life or that of his own ancestors, and after considerable struggling and wrestling with words, with their meaning, and sounds, I have decided that he was known as Fred Flintstone.”

“It is a much longer name than we have in this age on Terraful,” pointed out Cun, “but somehow I like it better. It says something about the man! But what was flintstone if it was more than a name?”

“Back then, so long before the Great Chaos that is is difficult to encapsulate the ages in mere words, the only tools that early men had were crafted from stone, or, to be more exact, a type of tough stone called flint which can take a sharp edge, and this hero that is mentioned in tiny wisps of information was seemingly named after it.”

“And he met the huge lizard creatures that you mentioned?” asked Pul.

“I hitherto thought it impossible,” confessed Zoz, “and it has been commonly assumed that millions of years separate the first human ancestor from the giant reptiles, but a fragment almost lost for ever shows quite clearly that Fred Flintstone, may Eternity bless him, was around at the very same time as at least one of the terrible lizards!”

“And this is pre-history?” asked Els, awe-struck.

“Built from the best evidence at hand,” nodded Zoz, “it seems that the earliest of men were around at the same time as the fiercest of creatures! So, I beg you, consider this: how is it that Fred Flintstone and his comrades in the long ago of time managed to survive against such monsters? And if you’re [pondering on the problem and fail to find an answer, let me tell you: Fred had a brain, a cunning and active and thoughtful brain, and the giant reptiles were numbskulls, and easily subdued. That must be the answer, for I can think of no other.”

“Good old Fred,” breathed Els, and she winked at Din, “and good old you,” she whispered when she noticed the way his hand was shaking as she touched it lightly with fingers that were soft and fragrant and very, very attentive.

© Peter Rogerson 15.04.19