The Fanstastic Ms. Fox

I show my mother a map. There is a large, round island to the South of New Zealand. The first thing before open Ocean on its way to Antarctica.

It has a name, but I can't remember it now. They speak Wallum, which is to sound like French I expect.

I'm in their airport and the staff are very helpful. Dream foroeigners speak excellent English. The airport has ceiling lights, but no walls or roof, instead giving way to the twilit rolling hills.

"The people are very helpful" some of the people with me say. But I see that they are actually avoiding us. I tell my father's-side aunt this as we walk up the steep streets in the old town. Mourning, we cry against a lamppost.

I'm Puzzled py a dark landmass across the sea, one that boasts conspicous with rows of lights. I want to see where the Island ends and the ocean to Antarctica begins: I want to walk to the end of the world.

"Whuch way is South?" I check with a local woman.

She points about forty-five degrees off of where I'd expect.

"You have to take the boat to get there."

Off now, jostling along a plunging dirt road. Dangerous, but without accident statistics, they've never seen the need to change it.

On foot now. A conspicuous utility cover beckons.

Open it to see aplaque. One side is Wallum, the other English. It comemorates the cease-fire btween the two peoples of the Island: Gauls and Romans.

MacGuyver from Stargate is incredulous at the thought of surviving Gauls but I ask him if he's ever read Asterix and laugh.