“You are correct. So in the myth you, and every other young man, are looking for something in the pool, and have to work very very hard with the bucket to find it. Now we come to Iron John, the hairy man at the bottom of the pool. Is it a real man?”
“No, of course it couldn’t be. The man at the bottom of the pool has to be a symbol. Part of a myth. A symbol of manhood, maleness. The primitive male that lies beneath the surface in all of us.”
“Bang-on, Jim,” he said in a low voice. “The story is trying to tell you that when a man, not a boy, looks deep inside himself, if he looks far down and for long enough, works hard enough, he will find the ancient hairy man within himself.”
Floyd stopped playing and his jaw gaped. “You guys been smoking something I don’t know about.”
“Not smoking,” Steengo said. “Sipping at the font of ancient wisdom.”
“Do you believe this myth?” I asked Steengo. He shrugged.
“Yes and no. Yes, the process of growing up is a difficult one and anything that helps the process is a good thing. Yes, myths and coming-of-age ceremonies help prepare boys, giving them the assurances they need in the transition from boy to man. But that is as far as I will go. I say no resoundingly to a myth manifest as reality. Iron John alive and well and leading the pack. This is a fractured society here, without women and without even the knowledge of women. Not good. Quite sick.”
I was uneasy at this. “I don’t agree all the way. I was affected very strongly by watching that story. And I am a very hard guy to con. This got to me.”
“It should have-because it was dealing with the very stuff of personality and self. I have a feeling, Jim, that yours was not the happiest of childhoods . . .”
“Happy!” I laughed at the thought. “You try growing up on a porcuswine farm surrounded by bucolic peasants who are not much brighter than their herds.”
“And that includes your father and mother?”
I started to answer warmly, saw what he was doing and where this was going. I shut up. Floyd shook the spittle from his so-called musical instrument and broke the silence.
“I still feel sorry for the dog,” he said.
“Not a real dog,” Steengo said, turning away from me. “A symbolic dog like everything else you saw. The dog is your body, the thing you order around, sit up, beg.”
Floyd shook his head in amazement. “Too deep for me. Like that pool. If I could change the subject from theory to fact for just a moment-what’s next on the agenda?”
“Finding Heimskur, of course, so we can find out if he still has the artifact,” I said, happily putting this other matter aside. “Any suggestions?”
“Brain empty,” Floyd said. “Sorry. That hangover never really went away.”
“I’m glad some of us didn’t drink,” Steengo said, a sudden edge of irritation to his voice.
For personal reasons I was happy to hear it, glad that he was still human; he came on pretty strong with the myth stuff. Forget this for awhile. I ticked off on my fingers. “We have only two choices. Hint around about him and gather what information we can. Or blurt right out that we want to see him. Personally, I’m all for the blurting since there is a kind of time limit on this investigation.” Like ten days to the grim reaper. “Let’s ask Goldy, our majordomo. He seems to know everything else.”
“Let me do it,” Steengo said, standing and stretching. “I’ll talk to him like an old buddy and work the conversation around to science and scientists. And Heimskur. Be right back.”
Floyd watched him go, tootling a little march in time with his footsteps. “This Iron John stuff sort of gets to you,” he said after the door had closed.
“Yes-and that’s the worst part. I don’t know why I’m bothered.”
“Women. I had six sisters and there were two aunts who lived with us. I had no brothers. I never think about women except one at a time in the right situation.”