by Rhys Hughes
“Jokes are amusing. Lies aren’t,” snapped Orion.
“Often there’s no difference between the two,” suggested Cygnus but in reply Orion snorted and glared at him while Gemini stifled a laugh and Libra scratched his bewildered head.
“Let’s not bicker,” soothed Cassiopeia.
“Even I wouldn’t care to bicker with Orion,” said Taurus.
The others nodded solemnly at this.
The mightiest constellation of all, Orion was a formidable presence in the heavens, his upraised club inspiring respect throughout the galaxy and his broad shoulders pushing aside lesser suns, hydrogen clouds and other celestial phenomena that lacked the self-assurance to stand up to him. Not that he was a bully or tyrant, merely a musclebound hulking hothead, admired and feared in equal measure.
“The art of astrology has always confused me,” admitted Leo, “and I’m not convinced it works anyway.”
“Sure it does. The empirical evidence is overwhelming, and it’s not an art but a science!” stressed Gemini.
“I agree with that. I was born under the sign of Scorpio and have all the qualities associated with that sign,” said Virgo. “I’m mysterious and alluring but also slightly sinister.”
“Wishful thinking!” chortled Pegasus.
“I always wanted to be born under Scorpio,” said Aquarius.
“Me too!” muttered Scorpio.
Libra frowned. “Has any constellation ever been born under its own sign? That’s what I want to know!”
Capricorn nodded. “My sun sign is Capricorn and my ascendant is also Capricorn. So I am what I am.”
But this left Libra more confused. “You mean the other constellations aren’t what they are? That doesn’t make sense. If Sagittarius, for example, was born under the sign of Pisces, then do the beings born under the sign of Sagittarius also possess second-hand Piscean characteristics? But what if Pisces was born under the sign of Cancer or Leo and those second-hand characteristics had third-hand characteristics of their own? The system is bound to get muddled very fast.”
“But I was born under Aries,” corrected Sagittarius.
“Signs within signs within signs!”
“That’s why it’s such an interesting subject,” said Cancer.
“No, it’s not,” groaned Eridanus. “Astrology is a pseudoscience, utterly worthless and beneath our dignity.”
And Orion roared his approval of that opinion.
“I’m offended by your cynicism and think you ought to be ashamed of yourselves for showing disrespect to an ancient belief system. I bet you are just jealous,” sniffed Gemini.
“Why should we be jealous?” frowned Eridanus.
“Yes, kindly explain!” added Orion.
“Because neither of you are members of the zodiac. You’re just normal constellations and the planets never travel through you. I understand your dismay at missing out, of course.”
“Why, you pompous little charlatan!” thundered Orion.
“That’s a bit harsh,” said Cygnus.
“No, it’s entirely justified!” fumed Eridanus.
“I know Orion is famous for his bad moods but something’s different about him today. He’s even more grouchy than usual. What has made him like this, I wonder? It must be a secret he doesn’t want revealed, a tender spot in his psychology,” said Pegasus.
“How dare you?” spluttered Orion.
“Easy, that’s how. I just speak the simple truth…”
“Why, you hornless flying unicorn!”
“Calm down everyone,” pleaded Cassiopeia.
“Stay out of it!” shouted Orion.
It was clear a savage quarrel was brewing and maybe a physical fight was inevitable, and if that happened it was probable Orion would emerge victorious. Then fresh blood would stain the shimmering ribbon of the Milky Way. But before the exchange of insults turned into more serious threats or challenges, an obscure constellation by the name of Ophiuchus spoke up. He was a sign that hardly said anything, so when he did allow his tongue to form words everybody listened, even the most impetuous of the patterns, even the furious Orion.
“There’s an issue of parallax here,” he said.
“Paradox, did he say?” asked Leo.
“I think it was ‘parallax’, whatever that is,” replied Ursa Major.
Ophiuchus stretched his limbs and gazed around the galaxy. “We keep getting stuck in petty concerns, but life and the universe demand attention from us on a far grander scale. I’m talking about the fundamental nature of who we are and what we do.”
Orion raised an eyebrow. “Oh yes?”
“There are too many unanswered questions, as far as I’m concerned. I often find myself wondering about the solidity of our identities and why that basic issue hasn’t been settled to anyone’s satisfaction. What exactly are we? Our bodies consist of stars, that’s an undeniable fact, but beyond this nothing can be said with certainty. From different parts of the galaxy we have different shapes. From some vantage points we don’t even exist anymore. It’s highly troubling.”
“Is he alluding to the legend of Sol?” wondered Cygnus.
Pisces nodded. “Maybe he is.”
“In a sense, I am,” confirmed Ophiuchus.
For a few moments they all pondered in silence that old story that was also a philosophical conundrum. Somewhere in the galaxy existed a fairly normal star with an unremarkable family of planets. The name of this star was Sol and one of its planets, a bluish orb called Earth, was infested with fleas. Incredible as it sounds, according to the tale, without those fleas the constellations wouldn’t have been defined in their present configurations. It was the fleas that had ordained and named the sky patterns. Those fleas were true creators, because it was only from their perspective that the star signs attained their ideal shapes.
“They call themselves ‘humans’,” said Ophiuchus.
“The fleas, you mean?” said Leo.
Ophiuchus nodded. “It’s my conclusion that the term ‘constellation’ has no real meaning, no intrinsic basis in the realm of facts, because the stars are not at equal distances from Earth. They are only patterns that happen to lie in the same direction as seen from that planet. Do you understand? There is no real connection between any of the stars in our bodies. Thus those fleas preserve our lives.”
“So we are all optical illusions?” mumbled Libra.
“Yes, that’s the gist of it.”
“That’s extremely intriguing, but we were arguing about astrology, not metaphysics,” pointed out Orion.
“In that case, let me tell you a story,” offered Ophiuchus.
“Be our guest,” said Gemini.
“I know a story too,” interrupted Virgo, “and it’s about a space giraffe that lived on one planet but had a neck so long he could stretch it across the vacuum of outer space to thrust his head deep into the atmosphere of a different planet and nibble the leaves from the tops of the trees. He had to hold his breath each time his head made the hazardous crossing from one world to another and one day he got a crick in his neck and couldn’t move his head and he had to exist with his body on one planet and his head on another until the orbits of the…”
Taurus cleared his throat. Virgo looked up and saw that everyone was frowning at her and she fell silent.
“My story is about some of those ‘humans’ influenced by being born under my sign,” added Ophiuchus.
Gemini gasped in astonishment. “What did you say? Born under your sign? But you’re not a member of the zodiac! There are precisely twelve zodiac signs and you’re not one of them. I don’t mean to sound rude, but that’s a simple observation. Only the zodiac constellations emit mystical rays that can affect individual fates.”
Ophiuchus held up a hand. “I have news for you. I do intrude into the zodiac. Check a star atlas if you don’t believe me. In fact I’m the forgotten thirteenth constellation. My extreme southern point lies between Scorpio and Sagittarius and the ecliptic passes midway
between my stars Theta and Xi Ophiuchi. I’m most definitely a zodiacal constellation. I suppose you want to know what dates lie under my jurisdiction? That’s a complex question because we must first be aware of two incompatible astrological schools, the Western and Jyotish. In the former, Scorpio’s reign comes to a climax on November 22nd each year and Sagittarius begins his rule the following day, but in the latter system the respective dates are December 15th and 16th, so my own secret rule is subject to the same ambiguity. The systems should both be reformed.”
“Is he talking gibberish?” whispered Leo.
“It’s highfalutin,” said Gemini.
“Ah, a foreign language!” exclaimed Leo.
“How boring,” muttered Aries.
“It’s mathematical, that’s why,” explained Cygnus.
Cassiopeia lifted a finger to her lips for silence, but Ophiuchus was so engrossed in his own lecture he hadn’t noticed any discord in his audience at all and he blithely kept going:
“The sun actually takes eighteen days to travel through me, but thanks to the jostling from my ‘official’ neighbours, and because most astrologers don’t even acknowledge my presence, my influence has become restricted to a single day and night, either that of November 23rd or December 16th, I don’t know which. That question can’t be settled here, so let me instead take you in your imaginations across time and space to the surface of that bluish orb where the humans have established a rather unique civilisation of their own bizarre devising…”
Orion hissed to Eridanus, “Great! A story about fleas!”
“Sarcasm, is that?” asked Eridanus.
“Of course it is, you blithering idiot!” gasped Orion.
“Don’t turn on me!” huffed Eridanus.
“Gentlemen, please!” begged Cassiopeia.
Ophiuchus barely paused for breath as he proceeded with his story and clearly he wasn’t aware of any bickering among his listeners. “In the cities of Earth may be found the institution of the pub. The pub is a grand thing. It’s a kind of house in which is sold strong drink for the purpose of getting a man or woman drunk. How the humans love to visit the pub! The pub I want to describe to you can be found in a city called Cardiff, which is in a land known as Wales, where it rains without surcease and where the only viable currency is umbrellas. The name of that pub is The Tall Story and the landlord is Hywel Price and the quality of his beer ensures a loyal and regular supply of dazed customers.”
“I wish he would speak in English and not Highfalutin, because some of us aren’t linguists,” sighed Leo.
“In English? Do we speak in English?” cried Taurus.
“Sorry, I don’t know what I meant by that. I must be ill. I meant to say Constellish. It came out wrong…”
But Taurus scrunched up his face dubiously.
“Hush! I’m listening!” said Draco.
“Some of those regular customers,” Ophiuchus was saying, “include a mad inventor by the name of Karl Mondaugen, and two friends, Harold the Barrel and Billy Belay, not to mention Madame Ligeia and Flann O’Brien and dozens of others. I didn’t make those names up, I promise! I want you to concentrate until you can visualise the scene for yourselves. It’s dark inside the pub, but a low fire is burning in the grate. Harold has an itch on his left buttock and he scratches it with a pair of tongs. Billy accuses him of scraping the bottom of the barrel. That’s the level of wit to be found in the lounge! Suddenly the door opens and a figure enters. He nods at Mondaugen, who is busy fiddling with spare parts in the corner, then he strides forward to the bar.
“It turns out that he is Dr Kennedy and he’s a qualified psychiatrist. I won’t explain what one of those is, because then I’d have to explain every other meaningless word in this tale. He orders a beer from Hywel and he stands to drink it with the rain dripping off his face and then he puts down his empty glass and begins to talk.”
“What does he say?” prompted Cassiopeia.
“He starts to tell a tale, a story about what happened to him a few days earlier,” answered Ophiuchus with a small frown of concentration, “while he was at work, busy with his psychiatric practice. Actually I think I’ve made a tiny mistake, I believe he was a psychoanalyst instead, but as I’m not human, how can I be expected to know the difference? Anyway, this is a résumé of the story he related:
“He began by saying, ‘I recently had a most unexpected patient come to visit me, not a human being or even a clever animal, but an inanimate object that was sentient. Has anyone ever heard of such a thing! For many minutes I was too surprised to react, but finally I recovered my wits and asked it to lie down on the couch.’
“And at this point, Karl Mondaugen interrupted with, ‘I’m not the only mad inventor at large in the world. I believe there’s a fellow by the name of Frabjal Troose who specialises in imparting consciousness to everyday items such as tables, kettles and shoes.’
“Dr Kennedy nodded with some relief, ‘Then it must have been one of his creations. Anyway, the object in question was a telescope, a reflector in fact, a 12 inch Schmidt-Cassegrain if you want to be very precise, and it said to me, ‘I won’t lie down, thanks, I’m tripod mounted’ and so I didn’t want to press the issue. I asked the telescope what the trouble was, had it been having suicidal thoughts, was it hearing voices, etc? But it replied in the negative to those questions and then it sighed and said, ‘I want to tell you a story, if that’s acceptable.’ Naturally I nodded my approval and the telescope began describing a discovery it had recently made which would rattle the science of astronomy to its core.’
“Hywel Price and the other patrons of The Tall Story waited patiently while Dr Kennedy paused to order another beer. Because they are human they had very alien assumptions and nobody in the room objected to Dr Kennedy’s definition of astronomy as ‘science’ whereas we constellations know it’s just an art and that it shouldn’t be confused with astrology, a real science. Anyway, he drank his beer.”
Ophiuchus paused at this point for breath…
“It’s a tale within a tale within a tale!” cried Libra. “I hope it doesn’t go on much longer! I’m so confused!”
“I’m sure all the loose ends will get tied up,” said Gemini.
“Who gives a damn?” sneered Orion.
Ophiuchus was finally ready to resume his account. “When the second glass of Dr Kennedy was empty he continued his tale by saying, ‘I asked the telescope to proceed with its story and it told me that while studying the constellation known as Orion it had noticed a dramatic change in one of its stars. The star Betelgeux. That’s one of the most famous stars in the entire sky. Betelgeux is a red giant, in other words it has consumed all its hydrogen and is eating other fuels instead, expanding in the process until it becomes a bloated monster. Betelgeux is one of the largest and reddest stars anywhere. It’s a firm favourite.’
“And Hywel Price answered, ‘We all know what Betelgeux is, but how does this concern anyone at all?’
“To which Dr Kennedy said, ‘The telescope had noticed that Betelgeux had turned from red to pink. It was no longer a red giant but a pink giant! What could it mean? One thing. The star Betelgeux had ‘come out’ as gay. That’s the only conclusion.’ Yes.
“The mightiest star in the toughest constellation was now openly gay. It had to mean trouble somewhere along the line. Orion is far too macho to be rational about it. That’s me speaking now, not Dr Kennedy, and the reason I told that tale was to break the news obliquely on behalf of Orion because if left to himself I don’t think he’ll ever do that, he’ll just keep it secret and grow more and more bad tempered. The gayness of Betelgeux explains his recent grouchiness.”
Gemini peered at Orion. “Is this true?”
Libra squinted. “Yes, it is. I can see the colour of Betelgeux for myself and it’s bright pink. Not at all red.”
Orion was acutely embarrassed. “I did want to make an announcement but I didn’t know how to save face.”
“Why does the sexuality
of Betelgeux matter?”
Orion shifted uncomfortably. “Well, it shouldn’t matter, but when you have a certain image to display…”
“None of us care in the slightest!” cried Cygnus.
“Really? You still think I’m a big strong virile constellation? The most powerful of all of you, a hero?”
“Of course! Don’t be ridiculous!”
Ophiuchus waited a few more moments and then smiled. “Now that our friend Orion has become reconciled to his most famous star turning gay, let me reveal a coda to the story I told you. Let me take you back to that pub on that planet… By the way, I forgot to stress that Dr Kennedy was born under my sign. After a third beer, he explained that Betelgeux had suddenly turned pink not because he’s gay, but because he has taken a small step to the right in his politics. That star is no longer a communist but merely a socialist, a pinko!”
“Oh, I see,” said Orion.
“None of us should allow ourselves to be defined by any isolated star in our bodies,” laughed Ophiuchus.
“Why not?” wondered Libra.
“Remember what I said about parallax?”
“No, what did you say about it?”
“Not much really, but I did point out that each star is only apparently inside our bodies. So whatever Betelgeux does or becomes, whether he adopts socialism, gayness, vegetarianism, or anything else, is really only his business and only affects Orion if he deliberately lets it. From other parts of the galaxy Betelgeux isn’t within his constellation but in one of us instead or in no constellation at all.”
“That’s such a weird thought. And I suppose that the individual cells in the bodies of those fleas don’t determine the behaviour of those bodies? Is there a moral lesson here, perhaps?”
Ophiuchus made a sour face. “Not a moral lesson, oh no. A lesson of some kind, but not a moral one!”
“Thank goodness for that!” laughed Taurus.
They all turned to look at him. “Goodness? What’s that?”
But Ophiuchus was already starting a new story. This one was even more like a lecture than the last.