Robo knew who he was as well. His father, Alistair McAllister, came from a long line of Scottish sheepherders. Robo’s mother was an orphan, raised by a rare sect of Episcopalians who championed procreation. Alistair married Fiona, joined her church, took a vow of fecundity, and abided by his wife’s wish to leave the only place he’d ever known.
Alistair and Fiona McAllister left Scotland to procreate in the green fields of New Zealand. The Bay of Plenty. They managed a son in their first southern-hemisphere winter. Alistair insisted on naming the boy Atlas. Fiona, who scorned hubris, reluctantly agreed. Alistair found the boy perfect in every sense, a son who could bear the burden of their new world beneath the equator.
Atlas died in his second New Zealand winter, his strength and perfection undermined by a rare allergy to wool.
After Atlas’s death, Fiona renounced her oath of fecundity and refused sex to her husband. Chaste behavior was, at that time, strictly forbidden by the Sexually Inclined Order of Episcopalians. Alistair pleaded with the parish elders. He needed help with his predicament. Instead of help, the elders provided only harsh judgment. Alistair faced a mandate to cure his wife of her “affliction.” There were laws – a man must keep his betrothed in a family way. Failure to do so would result in excommunication. The decision was final.
Alistair set about his duty. Initially, the broad-boned Scotsman tried to win over Fiona with romance. He failed miserably. A man who spent his life amongst sheep had few skills to seduce a woman. He was too clumsy to dance, unable to sing, and lacked the knowledge and ambition to recite poetry. Furthermore, he was never versed in the ways of etiquette, and his oafish mannerisms seemed at odds with the fairer sex.
So Alistair appealed to Fiona on religious grounds. On a damp night, after a meal of warm porridge and mutton, he showed his bride the Book of Fecundity. The hallowed volume belonged to the local parish. Alistair paged through the book’s images, hazy black-and-white photos taken in the dim light of the baptismal chamber. In each, proud parents posed with their offspring behind the local Bishop. These were good churchgoers. The bishop always held a heavy wooden scepter. The shaft was said to be carved from single strand of myrtle, its deep-hued grain diligently polished with linseed oil. Alistair pointed out the scepter, noting its weight and the firm, muscular grip of the Bishop. Fiona found the scepter unnecessary.
Robo’s father appealed to his wife’s love of nature. On a brisk, blustery afternoon he took Fiona out for a “spring picnic.” He wrapped her in a woolen blanket and walked her out to the lea where the sheep were feeding. As if on cue, one feisty ram mounted a seemingly unsuspecting ewe, their two mounds of plush hide becoming one. Alistair smiled and ran his hands around the thick woolen pile that enveloped his wife. Fiona was not impressed.
There seemed to be no chance at seducing the woman. Alistair’s last sexual act was born out of complete desperation. He put a dose of sheep tranquilizer in Fiona’s mutton. When she complained of the bitter flavor, he insisted that her chaste behavior had tarnished her taste. In an hour she was completely unconscious. At this point he had his way with Fiona McAllister, her lifeless body unable to refuse him.
This was how Robo was conceived.
“The Act,” as it became known, had immediate reverberations within the local parish. Alistair McAllister, who initially said nothing in his defense, was discharged from his post on the church council. Fiona was sent off to live with another family, and then, for a short time, life in the Bay of Plenty plodded quietly forward. The local parishioners only spoke of “The Act” in hushed tones or behind closed doors. The church elders hoped that time would heal the wounds. Unfortunately, they couldn’t ignore the increasing girth of Fiona’s belly. Neither could Alistair.
On a bright Sunday morning, as Fiona approached her third trimester, Alistair stood tall in his pew. The congregation was seated, having just completed a recitation of the Beatitudes. Alistair spoke loudly and abruptly. “I was only acting as directed.” Murmurs ran through the crowd. “The elders told me that Fiona must bear another child. It was their wish.” The priest immediately silenced Alistair, and he spoke no more. But the damage was done.
A parish forum convened later that night. The Elders attempted to cast a different light on the instructions they had given Alistair. This did not appease the women in the audience, who responded angrily. The Elders had never heard such voices of dissent. They claimed they had never considered that the expectant father would resort to drugging his wife. Yet, in their final statement, they held strong by their decision. Chaste behavior could not be tolerated, and it was Alistair’s duty to break his wife’s vow of chastity by every means possible. This final admission proved extremely unpopular. The women of the parish reacted with riotous indignation. Church law could not stand up to the weight of their scorn. The wives banded together and made a pact, deciding to withhold sex from their husbands. They maintained the pact for an impossibly long time. Impossibly long even for Episcopalians. So began what would later be known as the great chastity movement of the Sexually Inclined Order of Episcopalians in the Bay of Plenty.
Robert Allison McAllister arrived in the world, kicking and screaming, on a soggy winter night. He was the last child born in the community for seven years. His mother insisted on the somewhat feminine middle name. His father allowed it, since his son’s initials would appropriately spell RAM. As a teen, Robert was nicknamed Robo after a particularly inspired gig at a punk club in Wellington. The name stuck.
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