She Sucks It From Under

Karl Marx, father of socialism, cycles back to Marrawah with Ying, Cradle Coast campus student.

Well, Ying..... says Marx, in order to open the conversation.

Yes? says Ying.

She grips the handlebars tightly, and presses down hard on the seat.

Nice name, says Marx. What does it mean?

Clever, says Ying. It means clever.

Clever, says Marx. That was optimistic of your parents. Are you clever?

I'm at uni, says Ying. So far I'm going okay. Got a distinction for Regional Science A.

Ah, regional science, says Marx, swerving to avoid a tin can. I'm afraid I can't stomach the country.

But it's so beautiful, says Ying, pointing through the trees to the coastline.

It's the country people, says Marx. They suffer from what I call idiocy.

That's a bit rich, says Ying.

In the classical sense, says Marx quickly. From the Greek 'idiotes', meaning concerned with their private affairs.

What's wrong with that? says Ying, thinking about her own private affairs, and how she never seems to get any closer to Arthur.

Except that she's riding his bicycle.

She looks down at the cross bar.

It is smeared with something like cheese.

Everything, says Marx. What do you think the purpose of life is?

To understand things, says Ying.

(Such as is that really cheese?  And why is Arthur elusive?)

That's where you are wrong, says Marx. The purpose of life is to CHANGE things through the constant revolutionising of production and the disturbance of all social conditions.

That's for old guys like you, says Ying. Good luck with it. Nowadays we're into tourism and making artisan honey and chocolates. And by the way, what does YOUR name mean? And what do you reckon THIS is? This sticky stuff here?

Marx is taken aback at the abruptness of his young comrade.

It looks like blood, says Marx. But it also exhibits the properties of dried up soft cheese. I suggest you scrape some off and lick it. As for my name, Karl simply means man.

Your parents were not optimistic, says Ying, scraping away at the hard stuff.

She sucks a bit out from under her fingernail. It tastes metallic and salty, with hints of crab.

Yuk, says Ying. That was disgusting.

You are courageous, says Marx.

They are now getting on as two equals, which is an improvement.

They arrive in Marrawah fifteen minutes behind Zak's Hilux and the Wicked camper.

They stop at the Marrawah General Store.

It's open, and their famous scallop pies are on the menu again.

And you can buy ice there.