One day in October, Ian Asquith took the morning train to Canberra, where he’d arranged to stay at the quarters of the British High Commission. The rooms overlooked a paddock and rubbish tip on a grim plain that would soon be flooded to create a lake, according to long-delayed town plans. Such a body of water would be ideal for the mosquito population. These insects knew Asquith well. As second secretary at the British consulate in Sydney, one of Asquith’s tasks was to visit the national capital and keep the high commissioner up to the letter on whatever he wished to know about business in Sydney. Asquith regarded most of his duties as a waste of time. He did not work hard. He had other interests. In consequence, a stern letter had arrived from Canberra. It said Asquith was not fulfilling his responsibilities, his position was in question, and a complaint regarding incompetency had been made. In response, he boarded a train to the capital, bringing with him excerpts of the Bion translation to show the commissioner, who himself was strong on Euripides and Pindar.

In the main dining room of Artie’s Restaurant, before the commissioner could raise the subject of the complaint, Asquith began their conversation with a summary of the Bion play. He handed over a published excerpt and asked for an honest opinion on The Twins.

Once reprieved, once praised, Asquith enjoyed dinner with his superior. They failed to discuss in detail the complaint of incompetency, because the commissioner said he didn’t want to bother much with tedious talk, although he advised Asquith to keep at least one eye on his paperwork. Instead they discussed Moschus and Bion and Theokritos, they spoke about literature as if it were a vice they kept from colleagues.

Three times during the meal he asked the commissioner if he’d enjoyed the Bion translation.

‘Please, speak honestly,’ Asquith urged him.

‘I would say,’ the commissioner said finally, ‘that this Bion of Smyrna was probably a genius.’

The next day another excerpt of The Twins appeared in the Sydney Morning Herald. I.W. Asquith sent the newspaper what he believed was the best sequence of his play: the part in which Kastor and Polydeuces dispatch their rival cousins, Idas and Lynceus, with assistance from Zeus. The front page of that same edition carried a story, which Asquith skimmed, about radiation sickness in Nagasaki and Hiroshima.

Chapter 12: 2002

2002

1.