Coota-munda, says baby B-B.
Pardon? says Mango. Did I just hear what you said?
Coota-munda, repeats baby B-B.
Four syllables! says Mango. And only one of them's wrong. You are a fast learner. Just for that, we'll touch down in Cootamundra. You'll like it. Want to know why?
For cherry? asks baby B-B.
For cherries, says Mango. No it isn't. It's for something much more important. Do you like cricket?
Do-no! says baby B-B.
Never mind, says Mango. You'll like it after this visit.
She zooms down to Jubilee Park, and lands gently on the head of Hugh Trumble.
This is the Captains Walk, says Mango. Look down. We are perched on a captain.
Baby B-B looks down. He sees a big nose poking out from a baggy green cap brim.
More captains over there, says Mango. Steve Waugh, Greg Chappell, Allan Border. Have you noticed something?
They don't have legs. But Baby B-B does not have a no-leg vocabulary.
Wah? asks baby B-B.
No legs, says Mango. Beats me how they could be proper captains. But now I'll show you the Captain of Captains.
She hops over to a full body sculpture of Sir Donald Bradman in his famous batting stance, bat and legs included.
This one was born in Cootamundra, says Mango. But that's not why he's the only one with legs. He truly was the best captain.
Baby B-B looks at Sir Donald Bradman, with his bat up, as if he's waiting for something.
He wonders what it can be.
If it was night time, says Mango, these captains would all be lit up. It would look pretty.
He way-ting? asks baby B-B.
No, he's not waiting for the lights to come on, baby B-B, says Mango. But that was an excellent suggestion. Shall I tell you what he's waiting for?
Eth, says baby B-B.
Balls, says Mango. He's waiting for balls.
Balls, says baby B-B.
Hee-hee, says Mango. That's right. But don't ever say that to your mother.
Monday, November 30, 2015
Sunday, November 29, 2015
Time May Yet Defeat Us
Things which are happening.
Mango and baby B-B are flying towards Cootamundra.
This is three days ago now.
Gaius is in Paris at COP21, with Carl Linnaeus.
The spirit has gone out of Paris.
This is Paris, right now.
Vello, David and Terence are leaving Ferney (which is dull), and are heading for Paris. Terence has not been allowed to bring BANG ( his pet parrot, which is really a crane). He is sulking.
This is two days in the future.
Sweezus is thinking of how he and Arthur (and Dries and Pablo) might get out of Adelaide before Mango and baby B-B get there. The problem is, he ought to remain in the office until Vello and David come back.
This is right at this actual minute.
He thinks of a plan. Not a great one. He calls Gaius in Paris.
What is it? says Gaius. Have you forgotten the time zone?
Shit, sorry, says Sweezus. How's everything going?
Dreadful, says Gaius. We're not allowed to do anything. Costumes are suspect. The Climate Guardian Angels, lovely Australian girls, were stopped in the street by gendarmes.
Heavy, says Sweezus. By the way, you got anything for me? Anything that means travel?
A task? says Gaius. You didn't perform very well on the last one. The funnel web spider was eaten and the bristlebirds died. All due to your inattention.
The baby bird's on its way here, says Sweezus.
Is it? Good. Just make sure no one teaches it anything, until I get there.
When's that? asks Sweezus.
End of the week, says Gaius. Friday.
That's four days from now, (if we know when now is).
Sweezus leans back in his chair.
The phone rings.
No wait, that can't happen.
Two days later the phone rings.
It's Vello.
Hello? Sweezus?
Vello? Hello! What's up, boss?
We're heading for Paris, David and I. And young Terence, of course. How's everything in the office?
Cool, says Sweezus. Gaius is in Paris. He says everything's in lockdown. Cops everywhere. You can't do anything.
We'll see about that! says Vello.
Got any jobs for me that ...er...involve travel? says Sweezus. There's not much happening here.
Travel? says Vello. No, no, just sit tight till we get home. Should be....um...sometime next Friday. By the way, Terence is sulking. We made him leave his pet crane in Ferney.
Tell him there's a new baby bird coming, says Sweezus. In six days. He'll like that.
Wonderful, says Vello. That'll cheer him up. Goodbye now.
Damn. Stuck in Adelaide till at least Friday.
Still got two days after that though........
Mango and baby B-B are flying towards Cootamundra.
This is three days ago now.
Gaius is in Paris at COP21, with Carl Linnaeus.
The spirit has gone out of Paris.
This is Paris, right now.
Vello, David and Terence are leaving Ferney (which is dull), and are heading for Paris. Terence has not been allowed to bring BANG ( his pet parrot, which is really a crane). He is sulking.
This is two days in the future.
Sweezus is thinking of how he and Arthur (and Dries and Pablo) might get out of Adelaide before Mango and baby B-B get there. The problem is, he ought to remain in the office until Vello and David come back.
This is right at this actual minute.
He thinks of a plan. Not a great one. He calls Gaius in Paris.
What is it? says Gaius. Have you forgotten the time zone?
Shit, sorry, says Sweezus. How's everything going?
Dreadful, says Gaius. We're not allowed to do anything. Costumes are suspect. The Climate Guardian Angels, lovely Australian girls, were stopped in the street by gendarmes.
Heavy, says Sweezus. By the way, you got anything for me? Anything that means travel?
A task? says Gaius. You didn't perform very well on the last one. The funnel web spider was eaten and the bristlebirds died. All due to your inattention.
The baby bird's on its way here, says Sweezus.
Is it? Good. Just make sure no one teaches it anything, until I get there.
When's that? asks Sweezus.
End of the week, says Gaius. Friday.
That's four days from now, (if we know when now is).
Sweezus leans back in his chair.
The phone rings.
No wait, that can't happen.
Two days later the phone rings.
It's Vello.
Hello? Sweezus?
Vello? Hello! What's up, boss?
We're heading for Paris, David and I. And young Terence, of course. How's everything in the office?
Cool, says Sweezus. Gaius is in Paris. He says everything's in lockdown. Cops everywhere. You can't do anything.
We'll see about that! says Vello.
Got any jobs for me that ...er...involve travel? says Sweezus. There's not much happening here.
Travel? says Vello. No, no, just sit tight till we get home. Should be....um...sometime next Friday. By the way, Terence is sulking. We made him leave his pet crane in Ferney.
Tell him there's a new baby bird coming, says Sweezus. In six days. He'll like that.
Wonderful, says Vello. That'll cheer him up. Goodbye now.
Damn. Stuck in Adelaide till at least Friday.
Still got two days after that though........
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Turning Hypothetical With Cherries
You're heartless too, says Belle. You only think of yourself.
No way! says Sweezus.
He is silent for a second, thinking.
Yeah well, the baby bird might still be alive. You even said so.
You can't have it both ways, says Belle. Either it was a sacrifice Arthur made for you, or it wasn't. I'm calling Unni. She might know what happened.
She calls Unni.
Hi Belle! says Unni. I was meaning to call you.
About that baby bird? How is it? I heard Arthur....um..... left it behind.
Yes, what a shit head. He left it in a coffee cup at the airport. But I rescued it and it's okay. I took it to Joshy, this guy I know who's a bird whisperer.
Fantastic, says Belle. So the story has a happy ending.
It's not over, says Unni. Josh has this macaw called Mango. He's taught her free flying.
Oh, lovely, says Belle, and has she adopted the baby?
Er no, says Unni. She's actually flying the baby over to Adelaide, to return him to Arthur.
Arthur! What for! asks Belle.
Well we found out that the baby thinks Arthur is his mother, says Unni. It's called imprinting. They fix on the first thing they see.
Ha ha, that's HILARIOUS! says Belle. When are they arriving?
It should take at least eight days, says Unni. Macaws fly at about 50 kilometres per hour.
She's actually flying! says Belle That is amazing! How's she carrying the baby?
In a leather contraption, says Unni. He'll be quite safe. We've given Mango the address of the Velosophy office. So if you guys could look out for them.....
Sure, says Belle. Thanks for the heads up. See you, Unni! Bye!
Guess what? says Belle.
I heard, says Sweezus.
You didn't hear the funniest bit, says Belle. The baby thinks Arthur's his mother.
That's not funny, says Sweezus. When are they coming?
Eight days, says Belle.
Sweezus thinks: Cool. Eight days to come up with a reason for us not to be here.
.........
Flap...flap...flap.
We're making good time, says Mango. That's because of not stopping. Look down, baby B-B.
Baby B-B looks down.
That's Harden. Used to be a big railway town.
Way-way, says baby B-B.
Town, says Mango. Way way town.
Way way town, says baby B-B.
Remarkable! Town is not easy to say (it has three consonants)
I know I said I wasn't stopping, says Mango. But you deserve a reward.
Not marshmallow again, hopes baby B-B.
Not marshmallow, says Mango. Cherries. They grow cherries down there.
She lands in a cherry orchard in Harden.
Now Mango and baby B-B are munching on cherries. Red juice runs down the golden breast feathers of Mango.
Look at me, says Mango, I've turned into a hypothetical.
Wat-sat? asks baby B-B ( another first, a double syllable question!)
I knew you'd ask, says Mango. We macaws lay claim to a number of hypothetical extinct species that naturalists think must have existed. One is the Violet Macaw. That's who I look like. It'll wash off though. If I was a real one, it wouldn't.
Baby B-B wonders if he looks like a Violet baby. (He doesn't).
Shall we get moving? says Mango. Hop in to your leather contraption.
Baby B-B hops in.
We'll be there in five days at this rate, says Mango.
FIVE days? But Belle told Sweezus EIGHT.
Let's hope there is a reason for this discrepancy.
No way! says Sweezus.
He is silent for a second, thinking.
Yeah well, the baby bird might still be alive. You even said so.
You can't have it both ways, says Belle. Either it was a sacrifice Arthur made for you, or it wasn't. I'm calling Unni. She might know what happened.
She calls Unni.
Hi Belle! says Unni. I was meaning to call you.
About that baby bird? How is it? I heard Arthur....um..... left it behind.
Yes, what a shit head. He left it in a coffee cup at the airport. But I rescued it and it's okay. I took it to Joshy, this guy I know who's a bird whisperer.
Fantastic, says Belle. So the story has a happy ending.
It's not over, says Unni. Josh has this macaw called Mango. He's taught her free flying.
Oh, lovely, says Belle, and has she adopted the baby?
Er no, says Unni. She's actually flying the baby over to Adelaide, to return him to Arthur.
Arthur! What for! asks Belle.
Well we found out that the baby thinks Arthur is his mother, says Unni. It's called imprinting. They fix on the first thing they see.
Ha ha, that's HILARIOUS! says Belle. When are they arriving?
It should take at least eight days, says Unni. Macaws fly at about 50 kilometres per hour.
She's actually flying! says Belle That is amazing! How's she carrying the baby?
In a leather contraption, says Unni. He'll be quite safe. We've given Mango the address of the Velosophy office. So if you guys could look out for them.....
Sure, says Belle. Thanks for the heads up. See you, Unni! Bye!
Guess what? says Belle.
I heard, says Sweezus.
You didn't hear the funniest bit, says Belle. The baby thinks Arthur's his mother.
That's not funny, says Sweezus. When are they coming?
Eight days, says Belle.
Sweezus thinks: Cool. Eight days to come up with a reason for us not to be here.
.........
Flap...flap...flap.
We're making good time, says Mango. That's because of not stopping. Look down, baby B-B.
Baby B-B looks down.
That's Harden. Used to be a big railway town.
Way-way, says baby B-B.
Town, says Mango. Way way town.
Way way town, says baby B-B.
Remarkable! Town is not easy to say (it has three consonants)
I know I said I wasn't stopping, says Mango. But you deserve a reward.
Not marshmallow again, hopes baby B-B.
Not marshmallow, says Mango. Cherries. They grow cherries down there.
She lands in a cherry orchard in Harden.
Now Mango and baby B-B are munching on cherries. Red juice runs down the golden breast feathers of Mango.
Look at me, says Mango, I've turned into a hypothetical.
Wat-sat? asks baby B-B ( another first, a double syllable question!)
I knew you'd ask, says Mango. We macaws lay claim to a number of hypothetical extinct species that naturalists think must have existed. One is the Violet Macaw. That's who I look like. It'll wash off though. If I was a real one, it wouldn't.
Baby B-B wonders if he looks like a Violet baby. (He doesn't).
Shall we get moving? says Mango. Hop in to your leather contraption.
Baby B-B hops in.
We'll be there in five days at this rate, says Mango.
FIVE days? But Belle told Sweezus EIGHT.
Let's hope there is a reason for this discrepancy.
Friday, November 27, 2015
Two Ways Of Viewing The Ultimate Sacrifice
Mango is about to take off from Boorowa.
She takes a last look at the roadside painting.
Superb Parrots are greedy, says Mango. This one is thin, so you get the wrong impression.
Wah? asks baby B-B.
I'll tell you a story, says Mango. Before we take off. Know why I'm going to tell you?
Eh! Wah? says baby B-B.
So this THIN parrot hears it, says Mango.
Even baby B-B knows the painted parrot won't hear it. But he would like to hear it.
Once, says Mango, I think it was 2008, there was a grain spill on the road in Boorowa. And the Superb Parrots came down from the trees and stuffed themselves silly. They were so full they couldn't fly up when a truck or a car came. Result. They all got run over. Ha ha.
The Superb Parrot remains superbly indifferent to this story.
It's just an old story.
Baby B-B hears a truck coming. He hopes Mango takes off pretty soon.
Mango takes off, with scarcely a wink at the thin painted parrot.
Goodbye Boorowa.
Flap...flap...flap.
As baby B-B rocks in the air in his leather contraption, he reviews what he has learned so far.
1. He can now do two impressions ( a camera, a cash register)
2: He knows what a PUN is ( it's a dangerous predator)
3: He knows what a church is for (sheep)
4; He knows how easily you can choke on a marshmallow
5: He knows how Superb Parrots die
He practises ( under his breath ) his mobile phone impression ( bliiiing! no, that's not right....)
The afternoon sun is warm. The wheat fields below them send up heady wheat-perfumed projections.
Let us leave them flying west for a while.......
Let's arrive at their destination, several days before they do.
Let's see what has happened to Arthur and Pablo and Dries.
Have they resolved their dilemma?
Yeah, says Sweezus. It was easy. It was basic logic.
Is that right? says Belle. I don't follow. Explain it to me again.
Dries paid Arthur four hundred euro for the bicycle, says Sweezus.
It wasn't Arthur's bicycle, says Belle.
I know, says Sweezus. That's why Dries didn't have to pay him real money. Arthur gets to keep the four hundred euro that he got from the Twenty Persons Committee, in lieu.
Something's wrong with that, says Belle. But if Dries is happy.....
He's stoked, says Sweezus. He gets to ride in the Tour Down Under.
He's not that good a rider, says Belle.
Yeah well, I'm kind of doing this for Arthur, says Sweezus. Because he left that baby Bristlebird to die in the coffee cup for my sake.
Heartless, says Belle, frowning. That poor little baby.
No way heartless! says Sweezus. He did it for ME. I was blown away!
She takes a last look at the roadside painting.
Superb Parrots are greedy, says Mango. This one is thin, so you get the wrong impression.
Wah? asks baby B-B.
I'll tell you a story, says Mango. Before we take off. Know why I'm going to tell you?
Eh! Wah? says baby B-B.
So this THIN parrot hears it, says Mango.
Even baby B-B knows the painted parrot won't hear it. But he would like to hear it.
Once, says Mango, I think it was 2008, there was a grain spill on the road in Boorowa. And the Superb Parrots came down from the trees and stuffed themselves silly. They were so full they couldn't fly up when a truck or a car came. Result. They all got run over. Ha ha.
The Superb Parrot remains superbly indifferent to this story.
It's just an old story.
Baby B-B hears a truck coming. He hopes Mango takes off pretty soon.
Mango takes off, with scarcely a wink at the thin painted parrot.
Goodbye Boorowa.
Flap...flap...flap.
As baby B-B rocks in the air in his leather contraption, he reviews what he has learned so far.
1. He can now do two impressions ( a camera, a cash register)
2: He knows what a PUN is ( it's a dangerous predator)
3: He knows what a church is for (sheep)
4; He knows how easily you can choke on a marshmallow
5: He knows how Superb Parrots die
He practises ( under his breath ) his mobile phone impression ( bliiiing! no, that's not right....)
The afternoon sun is warm. The wheat fields below them send up heady wheat-perfumed projections.
Let us leave them flying west for a while.......
Let's arrive at their destination, several days before they do.
Let's see what has happened to Arthur and Pablo and Dries.
Have they resolved their dilemma?
Yeah, says Sweezus. It was easy. It was basic logic.
Is that right? says Belle. I don't follow. Explain it to me again.
Dries paid Arthur four hundred euro for the bicycle, says Sweezus.
It wasn't Arthur's bicycle, says Belle.
I know, says Sweezus. That's why Dries didn't have to pay him real money. Arthur gets to keep the four hundred euro that he got from the Twenty Persons Committee, in lieu.
Something's wrong with that, says Belle. But if Dries is happy.....
He's stoked, says Sweezus. He gets to ride in the Tour Down Under.
He's not that good a rider, says Belle.
Yeah well, I'm kind of doing this for Arthur, says Sweezus. Because he left that baby Bristlebird to die in the coffee cup for my sake.
Heartless, says Belle, frowning. That poor little baby.
No way heartless! says Sweezus. He did it for ME. I was blown away!
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Sheep Worship: A Pun In There Somewhere
Flap...flap...flap.
Mango flies over Laggan, a small village.
Lights, says Mango. See that. That must be Laggan.
Baby B-B peers out through gold feathers and into the darkness.
Laggan looks tiny. He hopes they don't land there.
I'm not going to land there, says Mango. I wouldn't. Want to know why? Course you do.
Flap...flap...flap.
Why doesn't she tell him?
Eh? squeaks baby B-B.
Ask me WHY, says Mango.
Wah? says baby B-B.
Good try, says Mango. It's time you learned another impression. I do mobile phones.
Wah? says baby B-B.
No, wait till I do it, says Mango. Briiiing! Briiiing! Of course there are many different ring tones. But I prefer that one.
Baby B-B is confused. Why aren't they stopping in Laggan?
He determines to practice his ring tones. Maybe then he'll find out.
Flap...flap...flap.
The moon has gone now.
The sky is rose pink at the edges.
Mango flies steadily towards Boorowa.
Baby B-B, safe in his leather contraption, is saying over and over: Biiing! Biiing!
What's that? says Mango. A cash register?
Baby B-B falls silent. Mobile phones are too hard.
I'm going to land in Boorowa, says Mango. I want your opinion. Up to you to let me know what it is.
She lands on a painted sign at the side of the road just outside Boorowa.
The dawn light reveals it.
WELCOME TO BOOROWA
Superb Parrots, Superb Country.
And a painted Superb Parrot, in all its glory. (Blue, green, red, yellow.)
Look at that? says Mango. What do you think?
Baby B-B can't see, at that angle.
He looks up into the big beady eyes of Mango, with his small beady eyes.
Silent messages pass between them.
You are more beautiful!
Of course. You are a good little learner.
Now will you tell me why we weren't stopping in Laggan?
Has that been worrying you, all this time?
Yes, is it something terrible? Like a predator?
No, nothing like that. Goodness me, I'd almost forgotten. It's not even important.
It is to me.
Okay. We didn't stop because it's weird there. There's a church....
What's a church, Mango?
I haven't finished, baby B-B. A church is a place of worship.
Worship.
Yes, and this church has been converted into a shearing shed. For shearing sheep.
Sheep!
Yes there's a pun in there somewhere. Shall we be going?
Baby B-B nods. There's a PUN back there, in Laggan. And Mango has saved them, by not stopping.
Mango flies over Laggan, a small village.
Lights, says Mango. See that. That must be Laggan.
Baby B-B peers out through gold feathers and into the darkness.
Laggan looks tiny. He hopes they don't land there.
I'm not going to land there, says Mango. I wouldn't. Want to know why? Course you do.
Flap...flap...flap.
Why doesn't she tell him?
Eh? squeaks baby B-B.
Ask me WHY, says Mango.
Wah? says baby B-B.
Good try, says Mango. It's time you learned another impression. I do mobile phones.
Wah? says baby B-B.
No, wait till I do it, says Mango. Briiiing! Briiiing! Of course there are many different ring tones. But I prefer that one.
Baby B-B is confused. Why aren't they stopping in Laggan?
He determines to practice his ring tones. Maybe then he'll find out.
Flap...flap...flap.
The moon has gone now.
The sky is rose pink at the edges.
Mango flies steadily towards Boorowa.
Baby B-B, safe in his leather contraption, is saying over and over: Biiing! Biiing!
What's that? says Mango. A cash register?
Baby B-B falls silent. Mobile phones are too hard.
I'm going to land in Boorowa, says Mango. I want your opinion. Up to you to let me know what it is.
She lands on a painted sign at the side of the road just outside Boorowa.
The dawn light reveals it.
WELCOME TO BOOROWA
Superb Parrots, Superb Country.
And a painted Superb Parrot, in all its glory. (Blue, green, red, yellow.)
Look at that? says Mango. What do you think?
Baby B-B can't see, at that angle.
He looks up into the big beady eyes of Mango, with his small beady eyes.
Silent messages pass between them.
You are more beautiful!
Of course. You are a good little learner.
Now will you tell me why we weren't stopping in Laggan?
Has that been worrying you, all this time?
Yes, is it something terrible? Like a predator?
No, nothing like that. Goodness me, I'd almost forgotten. It's not even important.
It is to me.
Okay. We didn't stop because it's weird there. There's a church....
What's a church, Mango?
I haven't finished, baby B-B. A church is a place of worship.
Worship.
Yes, and this church has been converted into a shearing shed. For shearing sheep.
Sheep!
Yes there's a pun in there somewhere. Shall we be going?
Baby B-B nods. There's a PUN back there, in Laggan. And Mango has saved them, by not stopping.
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
The Moon And The Map Of A Hole
The smoke from the camp fire rises, drifting across the high moon.
The campers are engaged in a dietary conversation.
Beta carotene, says one of the campers. That would be carrots.
Actually, says Mango, on second thoughts, I'm not used to carrots. Have you got any seeds?
I have some sunflower seeds, says the motherly camper.
She opens a tin.
Mango picks out one or two.
Thanks, says Mango. I like to eat seeds in the wild. And nuts, fruits and berries. Of course some of them turn out to be toxic. It's not funny. Then I have to eat clay.
Clay! says a five year old camper. I used to eat clay. Mum said not to.
I'm a Macaw, says Mango. We are different from humans. Look at my toes.
It's true. Her first and fourth toes point backwards.
Wow, says the five year old camper. Does that mean you can walk backwards?
I suppose so, says Mango. Never tried. Unless you count dancing. And there I admit, I'm out of practice. What do you think of my feathers?
Turn around, says a camper. I like the blue ones.
Spread them, says another.
How rude. Whatever for?
Mango straightens and realises her golden breast feathers are sticky.
I'm sticky, says Mango. Anyone got a wipe?
I have, says the motherly camper. ( She has everything. She even had carrots.)
Oh dear, says the motherly camper. Your baby's been sick.
It's true baby B-B, ignored for too long, has choked on the burnt flakes of marshmallow and thrown up in spectacular fashion.
The motherly camper smells faintly of coffee. As he is wiped, baby B-B begins to feel better.
Ma-ma, squeaks baby B-B. Ker-lick-tick, he adds bravely.
Oh, how CUTE! says the motherly camper. He sounds just like a camera.
I taught him that. Well, better be off now, says Mango. Straight on till morning!
Surely you're not flying all through the night? says a camper.
Oh yes, says Mango. The moon will light our way. Anyone got a map?
I have a map of the whole of Australia, says a dad camper.
Never mind, says Mango. Just tell me which way is west.
That way, says the dad camper, pointing towards Laggan.
Mango tightens the leather contraption in which baby B-B is resting, recovering, and thinking of Arthur, his blue-eyed mother.
Mango takes off.
Her shadow blocks the moon briefly.
Tch! says Mango, when they are well out of earshot of the campers.
I think we can do without a map of the Hole of Australia!
The campers are engaged in a dietary conversation.
Beta carotene, says one of the campers. That would be carrots.
Actually, says Mango, on second thoughts, I'm not used to carrots. Have you got any seeds?
I have some sunflower seeds, says the motherly camper.
She opens a tin.
Mango picks out one or two.
Thanks, says Mango. I like to eat seeds in the wild. And nuts, fruits and berries. Of course some of them turn out to be toxic. It's not funny. Then I have to eat clay.
Clay! says a five year old camper. I used to eat clay. Mum said not to.
I'm a Macaw, says Mango. We are different from humans. Look at my toes.
It's true. Her first and fourth toes point backwards.
Wow, says the five year old camper. Does that mean you can walk backwards?
I suppose so, says Mango. Never tried. Unless you count dancing. And there I admit, I'm out of practice. What do you think of my feathers?
Turn around, says a camper. I like the blue ones.
Spread them, says another.
How rude. Whatever for?
Mango straightens and realises her golden breast feathers are sticky.
I'm sticky, says Mango. Anyone got a wipe?
I have, says the motherly camper. ( She has everything. She even had carrots.)
Oh dear, says the motherly camper. Your baby's been sick.
It's true baby B-B, ignored for too long, has choked on the burnt flakes of marshmallow and thrown up in spectacular fashion.
The motherly camper smells faintly of coffee. As he is wiped, baby B-B begins to feel better.
Ma-ma, squeaks baby B-B. Ker-lick-tick, he adds bravely.
Oh, how CUTE! says the motherly camper. He sounds just like a camera.
I taught him that. Well, better be off now, says Mango. Straight on till morning!
Surely you're not flying all through the night? says a camper.
Oh yes, says Mango. The moon will light our way. Anyone got a map?
I have a map of the whole of Australia, says a dad camper.
Never mind, says Mango. Just tell me which way is west.
That way, says the dad camper, pointing towards Laggan.
Mango tightens the leather contraption in which baby B-B is resting, recovering, and thinking of Arthur, his blue-eyed mother.
Mango takes off.
Her shadow blocks the moon briefly.
Tch! says Mango, when they are well out of earshot of the campers.
I think we can do without a map of the Hole of Australia!
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
A Splendid Impression Of A Camera
Mango is talking to a small group of children on the ferry.
We're on our way to Adelaide, says Mango. Yes, flying.
It's a long way, says a kid. We went to Adelaide. I was sick in the back of dad's car.
The ferry smells of metal.
Baby B-B feels sick in the leather contraption, under Mango's gold feathers.
Is he your baby? asks another kid.
No, not my baby. He's a Bristlebird. I'm a Macaw. That's why I'm the one doing the talking. I also do impressions. Want me to do one?
Yes! Yes! cry the children.
Mango does her impression of the sound of a camera. Ker-lick-tick!
That's good, says the kid who was sick in the back of dad's car.
Well, got to be going! says Mango. Don't suppose you could point me in a westerly direction?
This does not augur well for the rest of the journey.
Luckily baby B-B is too young to realise that Mango does not have an unerring sense of direction.
......
Mango flies over Camden. A historic town.
Look down there, says Mango. That's Camden, that is. Know how I know?
Ker-lick-tick! says baby B-B, who has been practising quietly.
That's right! I've seen an aerial photo. Mind you they all look the same..... But hey hey hey! That was a splendid impression!
Baby B-B is only a few hours old. It is quite remarkable that he has already learned to do an impression.
He deserves a reward.
I'll stop when we get to some smoke, says Mango. Smoke, do you know what that means? No, you don't. Smoke means a camp fire and a camp fire means marshmallows.
Ma-ma, says baby B-B.
Sweetness, says Mango.
It is unclear whether this is an endearment or further enlightenment as to the nature of marshmallows.
It is getting late now. The moon gleams on the darkening landscape.
Flap..flap..flap. Over Lake Burragorang.
Smoke! Mango lands next to a camp fire in a camp site near Wombeyan limestone caves.
People are laughing, and toasting marshmallows.
Hello all, says Mango. Got a spare marshmallow for my baby? Of course, being a Macaw, I don't want one.
A little kid gives Mango a burnt one.
Here you are, says Mango. Get your beak into that, little chickadee. Mm-mm.
What about you, you dear thoughtful bird? asks a motherly person. What do you eat?
Oh, anything rich in beta carotene, says Mango.
We're on our way to Adelaide, says Mango. Yes, flying.
It's a long way, says a kid. We went to Adelaide. I was sick in the back of dad's car.
The ferry smells of metal.
Baby B-B feels sick in the leather contraption, under Mango's gold feathers.
Is he your baby? asks another kid.
No, not my baby. He's a Bristlebird. I'm a Macaw. That's why I'm the one doing the talking. I also do impressions. Want me to do one?
Yes! Yes! cry the children.
Mango does her impression of the sound of a camera. Ker-lick-tick!
That's good, says the kid who was sick in the back of dad's car.
Well, got to be going! says Mango. Don't suppose you could point me in a westerly direction?
This does not augur well for the rest of the journey.
Luckily baby B-B is too young to realise that Mango does not have an unerring sense of direction.
......
Mango flies over Camden. A historic town.
Look down there, says Mango. That's Camden, that is. Know how I know?
Ker-lick-tick! says baby B-B, who has been practising quietly.
That's right! I've seen an aerial photo. Mind you they all look the same..... But hey hey hey! That was a splendid impression!
Baby B-B is only a few hours old. It is quite remarkable that he has already learned to do an impression.
He deserves a reward.
I'll stop when we get to some smoke, says Mango. Smoke, do you know what that means? No, you don't. Smoke means a camp fire and a camp fire means marshmallows.
Ma-ma, says baby B-B.
Sweetness, says Mango.
It is unclear whether this is an endearment or further enlightenment as to the nature of marshmallows.
It is getting late now. The moon gleams on the darkening landscape.
Flap..flap..flap. Over Lake Burragorang.
Smoke! Mango lands next to a camp fire in a camp site near Wombeyan limestone caves.
People are laughing, and toasting marshmallows.
Hello all, says Mango. Got a spare marshmallow for my baby? Of course, being a Macaw, I don't want one.
A little kid gives Mango a burnt one.
Here you are, says Mango. Get your beak into that, little chickadee. Mm-mm.
What about you, you dear thoughtful bird? asks a motherly person. What do you eat?
Oh, anything rich in beta carotene, says Mango.
Monday, November 23, 2015
Mango And Baby B-B
So what's this crisis? asks Sweezus. The Bristlebirds are cactus?
No, that crisis was resolved, says Dries. They left behind a baby. And that was a good thing.
A good thing? Yeah, right. Sweezus waits to hear why.
Dries continues:
A good thing because with the baby, Arthur and Pablo could fulfil their contract.
No kidding! sniggers Sweezus. These guys signed a contract?
Yes, says Dries. So then they are keeping the four hundred euro. But in Sydney the baby bird is suddenly left behind by a crazy decision of Arthur. So I think they are not entitled to be keeping the four hundred euro.
Arthur, says Belle, where did you leave it?
I've still got most of it, says Arthur.
Most of it? says Belle. The baby bird is in pieces?
No, the money, says Arthur. The baby bird's at the bottom of a coffee cup.
So it could still be alive, says Belle.
It could be, says Arthur.
........
In fact, at this minute, back in Sydney, baby Bristlebird is commencing a journey.
See ya, Mango, says Josh. Here's the address. Don't lose it.
No worries, says Mango. See you in about sixteen days.
No need to knock yourself out, Mango, says Josh.
No worries, Joshy, says Mango.
Mango flies up and over the front fence of Josh's garden, with baby Bristlebird in some sort of leather contraption, strapped under her golden breast feathers.
You're trusting, says Unni.
If you love someone, let them go, says Josh. She'll be back. Macaws are heaps smart. Smart as a five year old human.
Really? That smart! says Unni.
Mango flies over Sydney Harbour.
See that bridge? says Mango.
No-o, squeaks baby B-B.
Stick your head out, says Mango. That thing, that's a bridge. Want to fly under it?
No-o! squeaks baby B-B.
Mango flies under it.
Baby B-B didn't like that, not even one tiny bit.
He wants some coffee.
Ma-ma! says baby B-B. Ma-ma!
Arthur, says Mango. You want Arthur. Say ARTHUR.
Arh! says baby B-B. But he still wants coffee.
This trip could take eight days, says Mango, chattily. If I don't stop, that is. But I always stop if I see a nice group of people.
She flies over a harbour side restaurant. Baby B-B smells coffee.
Ma-ma! says baby B-B.
Oh, you want coffee? says Mango. It's bad for you. I'm not stopping. Look, a ferry! Want to land on it?
No-o! squeaks baby B-B.
Mango lands on a stinky old ferry.
What a nightmare this trip's going to be!
No, that crisis was resolved, says Dries. They left behind a baby. And that was a good thing.
A good thing? Yeah, right. Sweezus waits to hear why.
Dries continues:
A good thing because with the baby, Arthur and Pablo could fulfil their contract.
No kidding! sniggers Sweezus. These guys signed a contract?
Yes, says Dries. So then they are keeping the four hundred euro. But in Sydney the baby bird is suddenly left behind by a crazy decision of Arthur. So I think they are not entitled to be keeping the four hundred euro.
Arthur, says Belle, where did you leave it?
I've still got most of it, says Arthur.
Most of it? says Belle. The baby bird is in pieces?
No, the money, says Arthur. The baby bird's at the bottom of a coffee cup.
So it could still be alive, says Belle.
It could be, says Arthur.
........
In fact, at this minute, back in Sydney, baby Bristlebird is commencing a journey.
See ya, Mango, says Josh. Here's the address. Don't lose it.
No worries, says Mango. See you in about sixteen days.
No need to knock yourself out, Mango, says Josh.
No worries, Joshy, says Mango.
Mango flies up and over the front fence of Josh's garden, with baby Bristlebird in some sort of leather contraption, strapped under her golden breast feathers.
You're trusting, says Unni.
If you love someone, let them go, says Josh. She'll be back. Macaws are heaps smart. Smart as a five year old human.
Really? That smart! says Unni.
Mango flies over Sydney Harbour.
See that bridge? says Mango.
No-o, squeaks baby B-B.
Stick your head out, says Mango. That thing, that's a bridge. Want to fly under it?
No-o! squeaks baby B-B.
Mango flies under it.
Baby B-B didn't like that, not even one tiny bit.
He wants some coffee.
Ma-ma! says baby B-B. Ma-ma!
Arthur, says Mango. You want Arthur. Say ARTHUR.
Arh! says baby B-B. But he still wants coffee.
This trip could take eight days, says Mango, chattily. If I don't stop, that is. But I always stop if I see a nice group of people.
She flies over a harbour side restaurant. Baby B-B smells coffee.
Ma-ma! says baby B-B.
Oh, you want coffee? says Mango. It's bad for you. I'm not stopping. Look, a ferry! Want to land on it?
No-o! squeaks baby B-B.
Mango lands on a stinky old ferry.
What a nightmare this trip's going to be!
Sunday, November 22, 2015
Bird Whisperer
There are no insects in the airport. Not ones you might notice, or catch.
Unni buys a seeded roll at Pie Face, and picks a few seeds from the top.
Try this, baby, she says placing a seed on the tip of her finger.
The baby Bristlebird turns its small head away.
A tear plops from his eye into Unni's hand and trickles down to her elbow.
What? says Unni sharply.
She has no patience with precious behaviour.
The baby Bristlebird has no patience with humans except for his mother.
Where is she?
He looks around the airport in panic. His little heart begins to beat faster.
Damn. But wait a minute, Unni has a brainwave. Why not call Josh? He lives in Sydney.
She calls him, and half an hour later she knocks on the door of his house.
Josh opens the door, with a mango-coloured macaw on his shoulder.
This is Mango, says Josh. Where's the patient?
Here, says Unni, thrusting baby Bristlebird forward.
Mango has a good squiz at the baby.
Ha ha, laughs Josh. Having a good squiz are you, Mango?
Eh-eh, squawks Mango.
Josh is a Bird Whisperer, as you may have gathered.
First though, he offers Unni a cup of green tea.
While they are drinking the tea, Mango tries to get through to the baby.
M-A-N-G-O, says Mango, in Macaw.
B-B, says baby Bristlebird, in Bristlebird.
A kind of awkward rapport develops.
Ma-Ma? asks Mango. (She is asking B-B about his mother.)
Ma, says B-B. ( He is replying.)
From this Mango intuits that the baby is missing its mother.
Josh comes over.
What do we reckon? asks Josh.
Give me time, whispers Mango. So far I've established that the B-B is missing its mother. As to who that is, I have no idea yet.
Josh goes back to where Unni, is drinking the last drops of green tea.
It's missing its mother, says Josh.
I suppose that's pretty obvious, says Unni. Both parents died before it hatched out of its egg.
Who did it first lay eyes on? asks Josh. Was it you?
No, not me, says Unni. It was Arthur.
Then Arthur's his mother, says Josh. You should see if Arthur is willing to raise him.
Mango is pleased that the mother's identity is established.
Ma-Ma, A-R-T-H-U-R, says Mango, to B-B.
But B-B doesn't make the connections.
Okay, thanks, says Unni. So.... is it legal to send Bristlebirds interstate?
Birds go wherever, says Josh. Where's this Arthur?
Adelaide, says Unni.
At least he should be by now.
And he is.
The plane has landed in Adelaide.
Sweezus is waiting, with Belle.
Guys! says Sweezus.
Arthur, Pablo, says Belle, welcome home. And you must be Dries. How nice to meet you. Am I right you're from Belgium?
Yes, says Dries. I am. We are in the middle of a crisis.
Yeah, it's pretty shit, says Sweezus.
Yes, it's awful, says Belle.
How do you know? asks Arthur.
Its all over the news, says Belle. Brussels is in lockdown.
Ha ha, laughs Pablo.
Pablo! says Belle.
Wrong crisis, says Pablo. This is an Arthur-driven crisis. Involving a moral dilemma, a difficult decision, and the ultimate sacrifice of a newly hatched bird.
And a broken contract, adds Dries.
Everyone frowns and looks serious.
Unni buys a seeded roll at Pie Face, and picks a few seeds from the top.
Try this, baby, she says placing a seed on the tip of her finger.
The baby Bristlebird turns its small head away.
A tear plops from his eye into Unni's hand and trickles down to her elbow.
What? says Unni sharply.
She has no patience with precious behaviour.
The baby Bristlebird has no patience with humans except for his mother.
Where is she?
He looks around the airport in panic. His little heart begins to beat faster.
Damn. But wait a minute, Unni has a brainwave. Why not call Josh? He lives in Sydney.
She calls him, and half an hour later she knocks on the door of his house.
Josh opens the door, with a mango-coloured macaw on his shoulder.
This is Mango, says Josh. Where's the patient?
Here, says Unni, thrusting baby Bristlebird forward.
Mango has a good squiz at the baby.
Ha ha, laughs Josh. Having a good squiz are you, Mango?
Eh-eh, squawks Mango.
Josh is a Bird Whisperer, as you may have gathered.
First though, he offers Unni a cup of green tea.
While they are drinking the tea, Mango tries to get through to the baby.
M-A-N-G-O, says Mango, in Macaw.
B-B, says baby Bristlebird, in Bristlebird.
A kind of awkward rapport develops.
Ma-Ma? asks Mango. (She is asking B-B about his mother.)
Ma, says B-B. ( He is replying.)
From this Mango intuits that the baby is missing its mother.
Josh comes over.
What do we reckon? asks Josh.
Give me time, whispers Mango. So far I've established that the B-B is missing its mother. As to who that is, I have no idea yet.
Josh goes back to where Unni, is drinking the last drops of green tea.
It's missing its mother, says Josh.
I suppose that's pretty obvious, says Unni. Both parents died before it hatched out of its egg.
Who did it first lay eyes on? asks Josh. Was it you?
No, not me, says Unni. It was Arthur.
Then Arthur's his mother, says Josh. You should see if Arthur is willing to raise him.
Mango is pleased that the mother's identity is established.
Ma-Ma, A-R-T-H-U-R, says Mango, to B-B.
But B-B doesn't make the connections.
Okay, thanks, says Unni. So.... is it legal to send Bristlebirds interstate?
Birds go wherever, says Josh. Where's this Arthur?
Adelaide, says Unni.
At least he should be by now.
And he is.
The plane has landed in Adelaide.
Sweezus is waiting, with Belle.
Guys! says Sweezus.
Arthur, Pablo, says Belle, welcome home. And you must be Dries. How nice to meet you. Am I right you're from Belgium?
Yes, says Dries. I am. We are in the middle of a crisis.
Yeah, it's pretty shit, says Sweezus.
Yes, it's awful, says Belle.
How do you know? asks Arthur.
Its all over the news, says Belle. Brussels is in lockdown.
Ha ha, laughs Pablo.
Pablo! says Belle.
Wrong crisis, says Pablo. This is an Arthur-driven crisis. Involving a moral dilemma, a difficult decision, and the ultimate sacrifice of a newly hatched bird.
And a broken contract, adds Dries.
Everyone frowns and looks serious.
Saturday, November 21, 2015
Your Mother Has Left You In a Coffee Cup
The plane has departed for Adelaide.
Unni walks back through the airport, thinking of catching a train.
As she passes the Coffee Club, she sees a security guard placing flags round a table.
It's the table where, earlier, she, Arthur, Pablo and Dries had been drinking their coffee.
It might be a bomb threat. She goes up to the guard.
I was just sitting there! says Unni.
Oh, were you? says the guard. Did you by any chance place a dead bird in a coffee cup?
No, says Unni. But I know who might have. Why?
Because there is a dead bird in this coffee cup, says the guard. Can you identify it?
He holds out the cup.
A bedraggled baby Bristlebird is stretched out on the bottom, not breathing.
I know it, says Unni. It's only just hatched. I knew Arth.... my friend shouldn't have given it coffee.
Your friend gave a newly hatched bird coffee! says the guard. I must say, milk would have been better. I wouldn't be surprised if this little tacker's gone into cardiac arrest.
Can we get him out of the coffee cup? asks Unni.
Sure, says the guard, who likes birds, and hates to see dead ones.
The guard tips the baby Bristlebird onto the table.
A crowd has gathered.
Is it a bomb threat? asks someone. Should we be running?
It's a fake bird, says another. I think it's ticking!
Please move on, says the guard. It's a small medical emergency. If you want to help, go and fetch a defibrillator. There's one on the wall there.
The crowd parts so that one of them can run to the wall and fetch the defibrillator.
It's too big, say Unni, when the defibrillator is brought to the table.
Yes it is, says the guard. I should have known. I'm a bit flustered. Time is crucial in cardiac arrest cases.
Look, it's moving, says a woman.
So it is. All it needed was to be taken out of the coffee cup.
Hic squaw wee! The baby Bristlebird looks round for his mother. Where is she?
She had deep blue eyes and a pocket full of feathers. She gave him a very strong stimulant. He can still smell it.
( The baby Bristlebird has taken Arthur for its mother, in a natural process which biologists call IMPRINTING.)
Give him to me, says Unni.
Okay, says the guard. Here he is. All's well that ends well.
He removes the flags from round the table and returns the too-big defibrillator.
Unni cups the baby Bristlebird in her hand and strokes it gently.
What am I going to do with you, baby?
The baby Bristlebird glares at her with the same steely eyes as its parents.
NOTHING, LADY. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER.
Unni walks back through the airport, thinking of catching a train.
As she passes the Coffee Club, she sees a security guard placing flags round a table.
It's the table where, earlier, she, Arthur, Pablo and Dries had been drinking their coffee.
It might be a bomb threat. She goes up to the guard.
I was just sitting there! says Unni.
Oh, were you? says the guard. Did you by any chance place a dead bird in a coffee cup?
No, says Unni. But I know who might have. Why?
Because there is a dead bird in this coffee cup, says the guard. Can you identify it?
He holds out the cup.
A bedraggled baby Bristlebird is stretched out on the bottom, not breathing.
I know it, says Unni. It's only just hatched. I knew Arth.... my friend shouldn't have given it coffee.
Your friend gave a newly hatched bird coffee! says the guard. I must say, milk would have been better. I wouldn't be surprised if this little tacker's gone into cardiac arrest.
Can we get him out of the coffee cup? asks Unni.
Sure, says the guard, who likes birds, and hates to see dead ones.
The guard tips the baby Bristlebird onto the table.
A crowd has gathered.
Is it a bomb threat? asks someone. Should we be running?
It's a fake bird, says another. I think it's ticking!
Please move on, says the guard. It's a small medical emergency. If you want to help, go and fetch a defibrillator. There's one on the wall there.
The crowd parts so that one of them can run to the wall and fetch the defibrillator.
It's too big, say Unni, when the defibrillator is brought to the table.
Yes it is, says the guard. I should have known. I'm a bit flustered. Time is crucial in cardiac arrest cases.
Look, it's moving, says a woman.
So it is. All it needed was to be taken out of the coffee cup.
Hic squaw wee! The baby Bristlebird looks round for his mother. Where is she?
She had deep blue eyes and a pocket full of feathers. She gave him a very strong stimulant. He can still smell it.
( The baby Bristlebird has taken Arthur for its mother, in a natural process which biologists call IMPRINTING.)
Give him to me, says Unni.
Okay, says the guard. Here he is. All's well that ends well.
He removes the flags from round the table and returns the too-big defibrillator.
Unni cups the baby Bristlebird in her hand and strokes it gently.
What am I going to do with you, baby?
The baby Bristlebird glares at her with the same steely eyes as its parents.
NOTHING, LADY. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER.
Friday, November 20, 2015
Red Alert, Not Saying Why
Sydney Airport.
Arthur's phone rings.
It's Sweezus.
Miraculously, Arthur's battery is not flat.
Hello, says Arthur. We're just boarding.
For? says Sweezus.
Adelaide, says Arthur. Me and Pablo, and this other guy called Dries.
Does he ride? asks Sweezus. ( He means a bicycle)
Yes, says Arthur. Schopenhauer's bike.
Cool! says Sweezus. I'm getting a team up for the Tour Down Under.
That's a long time off, says Arthur.
Yep, says Sweezus. Organised as. So how come you're heading home early? Thought you were heading up to Ray's place.
Birds died, says Arthur. So we don't have to.
Excellent, says Sweezus. Bad luck, for Gaius though.
Well, not entirely, says Arthur.
How come? asks Sweezus.
Uh-oh! Red alert.
Nothing, says Arthur. Got to board now. See you shortly.
Click.
Arthur, Pablo and Dries say goodbye to Unni.
Unni says goodbye to them.
Baggage is being loaded.
Where's the baby?
.........
On the flight.
Dries: It was lucky no one noticed.
Arthur: Mm.
Dries: What does Mm mean?
Pablo: It means he's not saying why it isn't lucky no one noticed.
Dries: Is that correct?
Arthur: Mm.
Dries: Turn out your pockets.
Arthur turns out his pockets.
Dirty Russian feathers, knitting needles that were used as props in a production, bun crumbs, tiny bits of egg shell.
Dries: Where's the baby?
Arthur: Not here. I had to make a hard decision.
........
Well, what would you do?
Your cycling team leader will go ballistic if you rock up with the baby of the two birds that he is obviously delighted are no longer in this world to torment him.
Arthur's phone rings.
It's Sweezus.
Miraculously, Arthur's battery is not flat.
Hello, says Arthur. We're just boarding.
For? says Sweezus.
Adelaide, says Arthur. Me and Pablo, and this other guy called Dries.
Does he ride? asks Sweezus. ( He means a bicycle)
Yes, says Arthur. Schopenhauer's bike.
Cool! says Sweezus. I'm getting a team up for the Tour Down Under.
That's a long time off, says Arthur.
Yep, says Sweezus. Organised as. So how come you're heading home early? Thought you were heading up to Ray's place.
Birds died, says Arthur. So we don't have to.
Excellent, says Sweezus. Bad luck, for Gaius though.
Well, not entirely, says Arthur.
How come? asks Sweezus.
Uh-oh! Red alert.
Nothing, says Arthur. Got to board now. See you shortly.
Click.
Arthur, Pablo and Dries say goodbye to Unni.
Unni says goodbye to them.
Baggage is being loaded.
Where's the baby?
.........
On the flight.
Dries: It was lucky no one noticed.
Arthur: Mm.
Dries: What does Mm mean?
Pablo: It means he's not saying why it isn't lucky no one noticed.
Dries: Is that correct?
Arthur: Mm.
Dries: Turn out your pockets.
Arthur turns out his pockets.
Dirty Russian feathers, knitting needles that were used as props in a production, bun crumbs, tiny bits of egg shell.
Dries: Where's the baby?
Arthur: Not here. I had to make a hard decision.
........
Well, what would you do?
Your cycling team leader will go ballistic if you rock up with the baby of the two birds that he is obviously delighted are no longer in this world to torment him.
Thursday, November 19, 2015
Airport Baby With Potential
Sydney Airport. Coffee Club.
How do we know the parent birds are dead? What proof have we? asks Dries.
I told you, says Unni. And Dad told me.
Did you see the bodies? asks Dries, who we will remember is a seasoned trauma counsellor.
No, says Unni. When I got the box back, it was empty.
But for the egg, says Dries.
No, the egg was in Dad's hand, says Unni.
I think, says Dries, that the Twenty Persons Committee has every right to ask for their money back.
Did you hear that? says Arthur.
Yes, says Pablo. They want their money back.
Without a death certificate, says Arthur.
All right, says Dries. Perhaps we can resolve this in some other way.
Arthur feels the egg trembling in his pocket.
I think it's hatching, says Arthur. He lifts it out, and places it on the table.
The egg trembles violently. It was nice in Arthur's pocket. It could feel Arthur's warm leg. And something that felt pleasantly soft and at the same time scratchy. And something else, that was sharp and pointy, and metallic. Of course, the egg would not have used these adjectives.
Look! says Unni. A little hole!
Of course, we've all seen a little hole appearing.
It's getting bigger!
Yes, we've all seen that before. Get to the last part.
They watch, and drink their coffee.
The egg cracks open and a little baby Bristlebird's beak pokes out.
No, not that part. The part when it emerges fully!
At last! Here it is, in its entirety!
Oh how cute! says Unni. I wonder if they'll let you take it on the plane.
Beep! Imagine you have just come out into the world expecting to be in an ovoid ground nest, somewhere in a forest, with a mummy and a daddy who look a lot like you except with better feathers, and who have brought you food.....
........and instead, what you are faced with is an existential question.
Will they let me on the plane?
The baby's little face falls. It looks at Arthur, with its newly opened eyes.
Arthur is not cold hearted. He dips his finger in his coffee and holds his wet finger to the baby's beak.
The baby sucks up his first taste of coffee.
Hic squaw wee!
Already with the language skills! It is obvious the baby has a great deal of potential.
How do we know the parent birds are dead? What proof have we? asks Dries.
I told you, says Unni. And Dad told me.
Did you see the bodies? asks Dries, who we will remember is a seasoned trauma counsellor.
No, says Unni. When I got the box back, it was empty.
But for the egg, says Dries.
No, the egg was in Dad's hand, says Unni.
I think, says Dries, that the Twenty Persons Committee has every right to ask for their money back.
Did you hear that? says Arthur.
Yes, says Pablo. They want their money back.
Without a death certificate, says Arthur.
All right, says Dries. Perhaps we can resolve this in some other way.
Arthur feels the egg trembling in his pocket.
I think it's hatching, says Arthur. He lifts it out, and places it on the table.
The egg trembles violently. It was nice in Arthur's pocket. It could feel Arthur's warm leg. And something that felt pleasantly soft and at the same time scratchy. And something else, that was sharp and pointy, and metallic. Of course, the egg would not have used these adjectives.
Look! says Unni. A little hole!
Of course, we've all seen a little hole appearing.
It's getting bigger!
Yes, we've all seen that before. Get to the last part.
They watch, and drink their coffee.
The egg cracks open and a little baby Bristlebird's beak pokes out.
No, not that part. The part when it emerges fully!
At last! Here it is, in its entirety!
Oh how cute! says Unni. I wonder if they'll let you take it on the plane.
Beep! Imagine you have just come out into the world expecting to be in an ovoid ground nest, somewhere in a forest, with a mummy and a daddy who look a lot like you except with better feathers, and who have brought you food.....
........and instead, what you are faced with is an existential question.
Will they let me on the plane?
The baby's little face falls. It looks at Arthur, with its newly opened eyes.
Arthur is not cold hearted. He dips his finger in his coffee and holds his wet finger to the baby's beak.
The baby sucks up his first taste of coffee.
Hic squaw wee!
Already with the language skills! It is obvious the baby has a great deal of potential.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Those That Tremble As If They Were Mad
Mermaids? says Carl Linnaeus. But mermaids are fabled creatures.
Wait, says Hui Zhong. The next category is:
6. FABULOUS ONES
There you are, says Gaius. Could there be an overlap?
Overlap? says Carl. Oh I see, overlap. As in female top overlaps fishy bottom.
Exactly, says Gaius. So one can be both a mermaid, and a fabulous one.
Then why have two categories? asks the father of modern taxonomy.
You will see when I tell you the remaining eight categories, says Hui Zhong,
Mummy, says Mai-Mai, holding up her System of Vegetables. What does this look like?
A mole, says Hui Zhong, without hesitation.
It was better when it was an elephant, says Mai-Mai sadly.
Never mind, says her mummy. Why not give it a horn?
A horn? splutters Carl Linnaeus. What will that make it? A molicorn?
Mai-Mai laughs at the very idea of a molicorn.
Ah, here we are, says Hui Zhong, who has consulted her smart phone.
7. STRAY DOGS
8. THOSE THAT ARE INCLUDED IN THIS CLASSIFICATION
9. THOSE THAT TREMBLE AS IF THEY WERE MAD
I'm beginning to admire this system of classification, says Carl Linnaeus. Many animals tremble as if they were mad.
Indeed, says Gaius. I have often observed it.
( He recalls several instances where he has observed it. )
Hui Zhong continues:
10. INNUMERABLE ONES
11. THOSE DRAWN WITH A FINE CAMEL HAIR BRUSH
Mummy, I need a fine camel hair brush, says Mai-Mai.
No, Mai-Mai, says her mother. You must be satisfied with your new pencils.
12. ET CETERA
Et cetera! says Carl Linnaeus. Nothing is left out!
13. THOSE THAT HAVE JUST BROKEN THE FLOWER VASE
My personal favourite, says Hui Zhong.
Our cat did that once, says Mai-Mai
14. THOSE THAT AT A DISTANCE RESEMBLE FLIES
Most comprehensive, says Gaius.
.........
In Sydney Airport, at a distance from those you are meeting, flies are what they resemble.
And you resemble a fly to them too, if they're not short sighted.
Arthur and Pablo spot Unni just as she spots them.
Arthur, Pablo! cries Unni. It's so nice to see you!
Hello, Unni, says Pablo. This is Dries. He's come with us. He's one of the Twenty Persons.
I know all about the Twenty Persons, says Unni. Dad told me. I've brought you the egg.
This is wrong, says Dries. We are not having the egg. We are going to meet with your father and begin instructing the Bristlebirds.
So you don't know, says Unni.
That they're dead? guesses Arthur.
Yes, says Unni. This egg is the only thing we've got now. Dad wants you guys to have it. Keep it warm. It'll hatch soon.
She shoves it at Arthur.
Bad choice, thinks Arthur, taking the egg and dropping it into his pocket.
Ting!
The egg trembles as if it were mad.
Wait, says Hui Zhong. The next category is:
6. FABULOUS ONES
There you are, says Gaius. Could there be an overlap?
Overlap? says Carl. Oh I see, overlap. As in female top overlaps fishy bottom.
Exactly, says Gaius. So one can be both a mermaid, and a fabulous one.
Then why have two categories? asks the father of modern taxonomy.
You will see when I tell you the remaining eight categories, says Hui Zhong,
Mummy, says Mai-Mai, holding up her System of Vegetables. What does this look like?
A mole, says Hui Zhong, without hesitation.
It was better when it was an elephant, says Mai-Mai sadly.
Never mind, says her mummy. Why not give it a horn?
A horn? splutters Carl Linnaeus. What will that make it? A molicorn?
Mai-Mai laughs at the very idea of a molicorn.
Ah, here we are, says Hui Zhong, who has consulted her smart phone.
7. STRAY DOGS
8. THOSE THAT ARE INCLUDED IN THIS CLASSIFICATION
9. THOSE THAT TREMBLE AS IF THEY WERE MAD
I'm beginning to admire this system of classification, says Carl Linnaeus. Many animals tremble as if they were mad.
Indeed, says Gaius. I have often observed it.
( He recalls several instances where he has observed it. )
Hui Zhong continues:
10. INNUMERABLE ONES
11. THOSE DRAWN WITH A FINE CAMEL HAIR BRUSH
Mummy, I need a fine camel hair brush, says Mai-Mai.
No, Mai-Mai, says her mother. You must be satisfied with your new pencils.
12. ET CETERA
Et cetera! says Carl Linnaeus. Nothing is left out!
13. THOSE THAT HAVE JUST BROKEN THE FLOWER VASE
My personal favourite, says Hui Zhong.
Our cat did that once, says Mai-Mai
14. THOSE THAT AT A DISTANCE RESEMBLE FLIES
Most comprehensive, says Gaius.
.........
In Sydney Airport, at a distance from those you are meeting, flies are what they resemble.
And you resemble a fly to them too, if they're not short sighted.
Arthur and Pablo spot Unni just as she spots them.
Arthur, Pablo! cries Unni. It's so nice to see you!
Hello, Unni, says Pablo. This is Dries. He's come with us. He's one of the Twenty Persons.
I know all about the Twenty Persons, says Unni. Dad told me. I've brought you the egg.
This is wrong, says Dries. We are not having the egg. We are going to meet with your father and begin instructing the Bristlebirds.
So you don't know, says Unni.
That they're dead? guesses Arthur.
Yes, says Unni. This egg is the only thing we've got now. Dad wants you guys to have it. Keep it warm. It'll hatch soon.
She shoves it at Arthur.
Bad choice, thinks Arthur, taking the egg and dropping it into his pocket.
Ting!
The egg trembles as if it were mad.
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
Celestial Emporium Of Benevolent Knowedge
Mai-Mai has drawn up a column.
It's a crooked column, because she drew the radishes first, and some were bigger than others, and some had long tails.
She writes, at the head of the column: RADISHES (...........)
Alongside the RADISHES column, she draws up another column.
It has to be crooked as well. That is the nature of paper.
Red pencil poised at the head of the column, she hesitates.
What's not a radish? asks Mai-Mai.
A carrot, says Gaius.
Surely you are not going to divide your System of Vegetables into Radishes and Things That Aren't Radishes? says Carl Linnaeus. I should warn you, that would be foolish.
I meant not a real radish, says Mai-Mai. So, not a carrot, because if a carrot is a real carrot it can't just be not a real radish.
Good heavens, says her mother. I have spawned a genius in semantics.
I put it to you that it can, says Carl Linnaeus, ignoring semantics and addressing Mai-Mai, the budding botanist. I suggest you draw up several more columns, and use a ruler. Then I suggest you divide up your radishes into varieties. You have only just scratched the surface.
He's right, Mai-Mai, says Hui Zhong. For example what about the daikon? It needs a column.
No, says Mai-Mai. I've finished the radishes. My red's getting blunter and blunter.
Carrots are orange, says Gaius.
Why so keen on carrots? asks Carl.
I'm not, says Gaius I simply thought they were similar to radishes.
They are not similar, says Carl Linnaeus. They are an entirely different genus.
I know that, says Gaius. It was an artistic observation.
The Chinese have a different classification system, says Hui Zhong. Although for many years we didn't know it.
How can that be? asks Carl Linnaeus.
It was pointed out to us by a famous Argentinian novelist, says Hui Zhong. But it is only for animals.
Yes, animals! says Mai-Mai. Thanks ma!
She writes ANIMALS (............) at the head of the second column, and with a grey pencil, starts drawing an elephant.
It's not all that easy.
The ears look wrong. She turns it into a mouse.
Meanwhile, because Carl and Gaius have expressed an interest Hui Zhong tries to recall all 14 animal categories of the Celestial Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge, beginning with:
1. THOSE THAT BELONG TO THE EMPEROR
2. EMBALMED ONES
3. THOSE THAT ARE TRAINED
4. SUCKLING PIGS
5. MERMAIDS (or SIRENS)
It's a crooked column, because she drew the radishes first, and some were bigger than others, and some had long tails.
She writes, at the head of the column: RADISHES (...........)
Alongside the RADISHES column, she draws up another column.
It has to be crooked as well. That is the nature of paper.
Red pencil poised at the head of the column, she hesitates.
What's not a radish? asks Mai-Mai.
A carrot, says Gaius.
Surely you are not going to divide your System of Vegetables into Radishes and Things That Aren't Radishes? says Carl Linnaeus. I should warn you, that would be foolish.
I meant not a real radish, says Mai-Mai. So, not a carrot, because if a carrot is a real carrot it can't just be not a real radish.
Good heavens, says her mother. I have spawned a genius in semantics.
I put it to you that it can, says Carl Linnaeus, ignoring semantics and addressing Mai-Mai, the budding botanist. I suggest you draw up several more columns, and use a ruler. Then I suggest you divide up your radishes into varieties. You have only just scratched the surface.
He's right, Mai-Mai, says Hui Zhong. For example what about the daikon? It needs a column.
No, says Mai-Mai. I've finished the radishes. My red's getting blunter and blunter.
Carrots are orange, says Gaius.
Why so keen on carrots? asks Carl.
I'm not, says Gaius I simply thought they were similar to radishes.
They are not similar, says Carl Linnaeus. They are an entirely different genus.
I know that, says Gaius. It was an artistic observation.
The Chinese have a different classification system, says Hui Zhong. Although for many years we didn't know it.
How can that be? asks Carl Linnaeus.
It was pointed out to us by a famous Argentinian novelist, says Hui Zhong. But it is only for animals.
Yes, animals! says Mai-Mai. Thanks ma!
She writes ANIMALS (............) at the head of the second column, and with a grey pencil, starts drawing an elephant.
It's not all that easy.
The ears look wrong. She turns it into a mouse.
Meanwhile, because Carl and Gaius have expressed an interest Hui Zhong tries to recall all 14 animal categories of the Celestial Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge, beginning with:
1. THOSE THAT BELONG TO THE EMPEROR
2. EMBALMED ONES
3. THOSE THAT ARE TRAINED
4. SUCKLING PIGS
5. MERMAIDS (or SIRENS)
Monday, November 16, 2015
French Breakfast Is A Long One
Arthur, Pablo and Dries have now landed in Sydney, and finally learned of the terrible events which they avoided in Paris.
I guess we were lucky, says Dries. We could have been there. Instead, we were not there, but flying.
That's one way of looking at it, says Arthur, frowning. I wish I'd been there.
Dries looks shocked. But Pablo knows Arthur better than Dries does.
Explosions, says Pablo. Death. The gates of the unconscious, the unknowable, evil, visions, the future, madness, that's Arthur's oeuvre.
Dries looks unconvinced.
So does Arthur.
Pablo stiffens. Océane! What if SHE was one of the one hundred and twenty nine dead ones?
Call her, says Arthur.
No way, says Pablo. She was shitty with me.
Call Gaius, says Arthur. He'll know. But don't mention the Bristlebirds.
Why not? says Dries. You'd better not be thinking....
No, says Arthur. We're not thinking.
Pablo calls Gaius.
Gaius is in an art shop in Montmartre, buying a box of coloured pencils for Mai-Mai, who is in the art shop as well.
Hello? says Gaius.
It's me, Pablo, says Pablo. Is Océane.... I mean are you all right?
Yes, yes, says Gaius. I'm fine. I suppose it was Arthur that asked you to call me. The dear boy. Tell him I'm touched. Are you in Sydney?
Yes we are, says Pablo. By the way, is Océane all right?
Of course she is, says Gaius. She is not the sort of person to be out enjoying herself on a Friday evening.
Pablo let's that go by.
Let me know when you get to Ray's house, says Gaius. There is good news. An egg has been laid.
Sure, mutters Pablo, ending the call on a low note.
These ones are nice, says Mai-Mai, waving a box of 60 coloured pencils.
Jumping Jupiter! says Gaius. Look at the price!
Back at the hotel, Mai-Mai opens her box of twelve pencils.
Now, says Mai-Mai. Radishes first.
Would you like me to help you? asks Carl Linnaeus. I am the father of modern taxonomy. And radishes have their own special name.
Okay, says Mai-Mai. What is their special name?
Raphanus, says Carl Linnaeus.
What does it mean? asks Mai-Mai.
Raphanus means radish, says Carl Linnaeus. But there are different types with different shapes and colours and they all have their own names.
Mai-Mai draws a red circle. She gives it a face and a tail.
This one is called Cherry-Belle Raphanus, says Mai-Mai. The next one will be Purple Plum. After that, Bunny Tail. It's a long one.
Is Mai-Mai that clever? Or is she just lucky, coming up with those names?
I guess we were lucky, says Dries. We could have been there. Instead, we were not there, but flying.
That's one way of looking at it, says Arthur, frowning. I wish I'd been there.
Dries looks shocked. But Pablo knows Arthur better than Dries does.
Explosions, says Pablo. Death. The gates of the unconscious, the unknowable, evil, visions, the future, madness, that's Arthur's oeuvre.
Dries looks unconvinced.
So does Arthur.
Pablo stiffens. Océane! What if SHE was one of the one hundred and twenty nine dead ones?
Call her, says Arthur.
No way, says Pablo. She was shitty with me.
Call Gaius, says Arthur. He'll know. But don't mention the Bristlebirds.
Why not? says Dries. You'd better not be thinking....
No, says Arthur. We're not thinking.
Pablo calls Gaius.
Gaius is in an art shop in Montmartre, buying a box of coloured pencils for Mai-Mai, who is in the art shop as well.
Hello? says Gaius.
It's me, Pablo, says Pablo. Is Océane.... I mean are you all right?
Yes, yes, says Gaius. I'm fine. I suppose it was Arthur that asked you to call me. The dear boy. Tell him I'm touched. Are you in Sydney?
Yes we are, says Pablo. By the way, is Océane all right?
Of course she is, says Gaius. She is not the sort of person to be out enjoying herself on a Friday evening.
Pablo let's that go by.
Let me know when you get to Ray's house, says Gaius. There is good news. An egg has been laid.
Sure, mutters Pablo, ending the call on a low note.
These ones are nice, says Mai-Mai, waving a box of 60 coloured pencils.
Jumping Jupiter! says Gaius. Look at the price!
Back at the hotel, Mai-Mai opens her box of twelve pencils.
Now, says Mai-Mai. Radishes first.
Would you like me to help you? asks Carl Linnaeus. I am the father of modern taxonomy. And radishes have their own special name.
Okay, says Mai-Mai. What is their special name?
Raphanus, says Carl Linnaeus.
What does it mean? asks Mai-Mai.
Raphanus means radish, says Carl Linnaeus. But there are different types with different shapes and colours and they all have their own names.
Mai-Mai draws a red circle. She gives it a face and a tail.
This one is called Cherry-Belle Raphanus, says Mai-Mai. The next one will be Purple Plum. After that, Bunny Tail. It's a long one.
Is Mai-Mai that clever? Or is she just lucky, coming up with those names?
Sunday, November 15, 2015
Paris Morning: Candles and Radishes
Next morning, in the hotel Montmartre-St Pierre.
Grey light creeps through the window.
Three phones ring at once.
Carl Linnaeus answers his first.
You! says Carl Linnaeus. About time too. Yes, I'm fine. I should have seen it coming? What do you mean, boy? No one saw it coming. No. Yes. How is the jaundice? You should never have gone to London. Give my love to your mother. And .....thanks for the call, son. Goodbye.
He ends with a barely disguised air-kiss.
Meanwhile Hui Zhong is talking to Granny. Yes, Granny Zhong. No, Granny Zhong. Fine, Granny Zhong, that's your opinion. It's ECOLOGY, Granny Zhong. It's very important. We'll be staying.
Gaius is trying to return his missed call with fumbling fingers, having cut it off somehow.
Who was it anyway?
He hopes it was Arthur, using someone else's phone, because his battery (as usual) has died.
Hello? Gaius? It's Océane. I'm just outside. Are you all okay in there?
Of course, says Gaius. Come in, if you're out there.
No, I'm going out to buy candles, says Océane. You can all have the day off. See you tonight.
Who was that? asks Carl.
Océane, says Gaius. I was hoping it would be Arthur.
Is Arthur a relative? asks Carl Linnaeus.
My right hand man, says Gaius.
Oh, says Carl. That was my son who just called me. Carl Linnaeus the Younger.
Pretentious name, says Gaius.
You can talk, says Carl Linnaeus. Isn't your nephew Pliny the Younger?
Exactly, says Gaius.
The two famous men nod empathetically.
My son's a good lad, says Carl, but I must say he never quite lived up to.....expectations.
Did he publish? asks Gaius.
Yes, he published "Supplement of Plants: A System of Vegetables".
Well, that's certainly something, says Gaius.
What's a System of Vegetables? wonders Mai-Mai, looking up at the bed sheet.
If only she had a pencil.
She could start her own system, beginning with radishes, which are round, red, white, bitey.
She gets out from under the bed sheet and opens some drawers.
He was enrolled at Uppsala University at age nine, says Carl Linnaeus. Tutored by my best students. At twenty two he became a professor, and inherited my place as Head of Practical Medicine.
Hm, says Gaius.
Many people were of the same opinion, says Carl. Because he passed no exams.
Do either of you have a pencil? asks Hui Zhong. Mai-Mai wants to start her own System of Vegetables.
Carl and Gaius beam with the goodwill of the learned, who love to encourage scientific projects in the young.
But will either of them have a pencil?
You can bet that's not likely.
Grey light creeps through the window.
Three phones ring at once.
Carl Linnaeus answers his first.
You! says Carl Linnaeus. About time too. Yes, I'm fine. I should have seen it coming? What do you mean, boy? No one saw it coming. No. Yes. How is the jaundice? You should never have gone to London. Give my love to your mother. And .....thanks for the call, son. Goodbye.
He ends with a barely disguised air-kiss.
Meanwhile Hui Zhong is talking to Granny. Yes, Granny Zhong. No, Granny Zhong. Fine, Granny Zhong, that's your opinion. It's ECOLOGY, Granny Zhong. It's very important. We'll be staying.
Gaius is trying to return his missed call with fumbling fingers, having cut it off somehow.
Who was it anyway?
He hopes it was Arthur, using someone else's phone, because his battery (as usual) has died.
Hello? Gaius? It's Océane. I'm just outside. Are you all okay in there?
Of course, says Gaius. Come in, if you're out there.
No, I'm going out to buy candles, says Océane. You can all have the day off. See you tonight.
Who was that? asks Carl.
Océane, says Gaius. I was hoping it would be Arthur.
Is Arthur a relative? asks Carl Linnaeus.
My right hand man, says Gaius.
Oh, says Carl. That was my son who just called me. Carl Linnaeus the Younger.
Pretentious name, says Gaius.
You can talk, says Carl Linnaeus. Isn't your nephew Pliny the Younger?
Exactly, says Gaius.
The two famous men nod empathetically.
My son's a good lad, says Carl, but I must say he never quite lived up to.....expectations.
Did he publish? asks Gaius.
Yes, he published "Supplement of Plants: A System of Vegetables".
Well, that's certainly something, says Gaius.
What's a System of Vegetables? wonders Mai-Mai, looking up at the bed sheet.
If only she had a pencil.
She could start her own system, beginning with radishes, which are round, red, white, bitey.
She gets out from under the bed sheet and opens some drawers.
He was enrolled at Uppsala University at age nine, says Carl Linnaeus. Tutored by my best students. At twenty two he became a professor, and inherited my place as Head of Practical Medicine.
Hm, says Gaius.
Many people were of the same opinion, says Carl. Because he passed no exams.
Do either of you have a pencil? asks Hui Zhong. Mai-Mai wants to start her own System of Vegetables.
Carl and Gaius beam with the goodwill of the learned, who love to encourage scientific projects in the young.
But will either of them have a pencil?
You can bet that's not likely.
Saturday, November 14, 2015
Paris: If It Wasn't You
It had been partly good news about one egg of the Bristlebirds surviving.
But now things have changed.
Paris is in lockdown.
In the hotel room in Montmartre:
Mai-Mai and her mother are camping on a duvet, under a sheet draped between two hotel chairs.
Gaius and Carl Linnaeus are talking, in low whispers.
Have you ever taken a life? whispers Carl.
Once or twice in Germania inferior, whispers Gaius. I was a praefectus alae. And we Romans were justified.
I have led a peaceable life, says Carl Linnaeus.
A phone rings. Hui Zhong's phone. She answers.
Zhen! Yes, we're all right. I know. This would never happen in China. Mai-Mai, it's daddy.
Mai-Mai: Hello daddy. We're camping.
Zhen Zhong: Is it fun?
Mai-Mai: Yes. As long as nobody kills us.
Zhen Zhong: Of course nobody will kill you.
Mai-Mai: Have you seen the news, daddy?
Zhen Zhong: Yes, dear. But you are safe, aren't you.
Mai-Mai: Yes, I wish you were here.
Zhen Zhong: Me too, Mai-Mai.
Mai-Mai: I've got a red moustache.
Zhen Zhong: Get mummy to send me a photo.
Mai-Mai: Okay. Bye daddy.
Zhen Zhong: Bye bye, Mai-Mai.
Ten minutes pass. The streets are quiet, except for police and ambulance sirens, far away........
Gaius is trying to sleep. His eyes are shut but his mind is still open. Should he call someone? Who though? The thought strikes him that someone might try to call him. A further thought strikes him that no one yet has.
Carl is trying to sleep. This is terrible. All those people, what a waste. And the killers dead too, what another waste, and what is the point of continuing to lobby for two degrees of global whatnot, and why hasn't his son called, the lazy young scoundrel....
Hui Zhong is trying to sleep. The duvet is uncomfortable. But camping is good for the spirit. She remembers the night on Mentougou mountain, with Xui Li, Sikong Shu, Arthur and Richie Porte. They ate savoury jelly. Dear China. Bad events don't happen there.......
Mai-Mai is thinking, as she stares up at the sheet. Imagine (she likes to imagine). Imagine you knew. Imagine it was like spirit wandering. Like knowing the man who got out of bed and put on his pants (hee hee) and went downstairs to open the box would find an egg in it even before he had done it.
Except finding an egg was good. Knowing that someone would shoot you for no reason was bad. And if it wasn't you, it was someone. Daddy forgot that.
But now things have changed.
Paris is in lockdown.
In the hotel room in Montmartre:
Mai-Mai and her mother are camping on a duvet, under a sheet draped between two hotel chairs.
Gaius and Carl Linnaeus are talking, in low whispers.
Have you ever taken a life? whispers Carl.
Once or twice in Germania inferior, whispers Gaius. I was a praefectus alae. And we Romans were justified.
I have led a peaceable life, says Carl Linnaeus.
A phone rings. Hui Zhong's phone. She answers.
Zhen! Yes, we're all right. I know. This would never happen in China. Mai-Mai, it's daddy.
Mai-Mai: Hello daddy. We're camping.
Zhen Zhong: Is it fun?
Mai-Mai: Yes. As long as nobody kills us.
Zhen Zhong: Of course nobody will kill you.
Mai-Mai: Have you seen the news, daddy?
Zhen Zhong: Yes, dear. But you are safe, aren't you.
Mai-Mai: Yes, I wish you were here.
Zhen Zhong: Me too, Mai-Mai.
Mai-Mai: I've got a red moustache.
Zhen Zhong: Get mummy to send me a photo.
Mai-Mai: Okay. Bye daddy.
Zhen Zhong: Bye bye, Mai-Mai.
Ten minutes pass. The streets are quiet, except for police and ambulance sirens, far away........
Gaius is trying to sleep. His eyes are shut but his mind is still open. Should he call someone? Who though? The thought strikes him that someone might try to call him. A further thought strikes him that no one yet has.
Carl is trying to sleep. This is terrible. All those people, what a waste. And the killers dead too, what another waste, and what is the point of continuing to lobby for two degrees of global whatnot, and why hasn't his son called, the lazy young scoundrel....
Hui Zhong is trying to sleep. The duvet is uncomfortable. But camping is good for the spirit. She remembers the night on Mentougou mountain, with Xui Li, Sikong Shu, Arthur and Richie Porte. They ate savoury jelly. Dear China. Bad events don't happen there.......
Mai-Mai is thinking, as she stares up at the sheet. Imagine (she likes to imagine). Imagine you knew. Imagine it was like spirit wandering. Like knowing the man who got out of bed and put on his pants (hee hee) and went downstairs to open the box would find an egg in it even before he had done it.
Except finding an egg was good. Knowing that someone would shoot you for no reason was bad. And if it wasn't you, it was someone. Daddy forgot that.
Friday, November 13, 2015
The Red Flower Of Determinism
How absurd. Is Carl Linnaeus suggesting that his wandering spirit travelled faster than mobile technology?
Absurd, says Gaius. I am talking to Ray at this moment. He has not yet opened the box.
Do you want me to get out of bed now and open it? asks Ray. I may as well. I'm wide awake now.
If you don't mind, says Gaius.
What's happening? asks Mai-Mai.
Hush, says her mother. Look, the waiter has brought you another Wahaha. And it's not orange.
Mai-Mai inspects the Wahaha. It's red, and only slightly less curdled. And she is thirsty......
He's getting out of bed, says Gaius.
I know, says Carl Linnaeus.
He's putting on his pants, says Gaius.
Hee hee, laughs Mai-Mai.
He's going downstairs, says Gaius. He's opening the sliding door.
Yes, yes, I know, says Carl Linnaeus.
He's stepping out onto the balcony, says Gaius. He's going down the stone steps and into the .....
.....dried up garden, says Carl Linnaeus, where he might note his hibiscus has died.
(Carl is just being annoying)
Is it a red one? asks Hui Zhong. It's bad luck, to lose a red one.
I hope not, says Gaius. But it may not have died.
He throws a sharp look at Linnaeus.
Now what's happening? asks Mai-Mai, lifting the red Wahaha to her lips, and licking the top bit which is frothy.
Mr Moon is about to open the red box IN REAL TIME, says Gaius.
Of course, says Carl. Let's see if he recoils when he does it.
Indeed, says Gaius.
But something occurs to him.
How will he know?
Ray, is it open? asks Gaius.
Yes, says Ray Moon. Awwh!
What? asks Gaius. Can I ask you to describe what is happening exactly?
I have recoiled, says Ray, due to something being in the box that I had not expected.
Damn, says Gaius.
Heh-heh, gloats Carl Linnaeus.
Yuck! exclaims Mai-Mai, through her frothy red milky moustache.
(The Wahaha tastes yucky)
Don't finish it, warns her mother.
What's in it? asks Gaius.
Tomato, says Mai-Mai. It's so disgusting.
I was asking Moon, says Gaius. But I'm with you on tomato.
What's in the red box, Ray? asks Gaius.
Urr, says Ray. It's not quite as bad as I thought, now the air has cleared.
Cleared of what! roars Gaius.
You'll be pleased, on balance, says Ray.
Gaius is not going to ask him again. He waits for the reason.
Because, says Ray, the Bristlebirds have produced two more eggs, and only one of them's broken.
Absurd, says Gaius. I am talking to Ray at this moment. He has not yet opened the box.
Do you want me to get out of bed now and open it? asks Ray. I may as well. I'm wide awake now.
If you don't mind, says Gaius.
What's happening? asks Mai-Mai.
Hush, says her mother. Look, the waiter has brought you another Wahaha. And it's not orange.
Mai-Mai inspects the Wahaha. It's red, and only slightly less curdled. And she is thirsty......
He's getting out of bed, says Gaius.
I know, says Carl Linnaeus.
He's putting on his pants, says Gaius.
Hee hee, laughs Mai-Mai.
He's going downstairs, says Gaius. He's opening the sliding door.
Yes, yes, I know, says Carl Linnaeus.
He's stepping out onto the balcony, says Gaius. He's going down the stone steps and into the .....
.....dried up garden, says Carl Linnaeus, where he might note his hibiscus has died.
(Carl is just being annoying)
Is it a red one? asks Hui Zhong. It's bad luck, to lose a red one.
I hope not, says Gaius. But it may not have died.
He throws a sharp look at Linnaeus.
Now what's happening? asks Mai-Mai, lifting the red Wahaha to her lips, and licking the top bit which is frothy.
Mr Moon is about to open the red box IN REAL TIME, says Gaius.
Of course, says Carl. Let's see if he recoils when he does it.
Indeed, says Gaius.
But something occurs to him.
How will he know?
Ray, is it open? asks Gaius.
Yes, says Ray Moon. Awwh!
What? asks Gaius. Can I ask you to describe what is happening exactly?
I have recoiled, says Ray, due to something being in the box that I had not expected.
Damn, says Gaius.
Heh-heh, gloats Carl Linnaeus.
Yuck! exclaims Mai-Mai, through her frothy red milky moustache.
(The Wahaha tastes yucky)
Don't finish it, warns her mother.
What's in it? asks Gaius.
Tomato, says Mai-Mai. It's so disgusting.
I was asking Moon, says Gaius. But I'm with you on tomato.
What's in the red box, Ray? asks Gaius.
Urr, says Ray. It's not quite as bad as I thought, now the air has cleared.
Cleared of what! roars Gaius.
You'll be pleased, on balance, says Ray.
Gaius is not going to ask him again. He waits for the reason.
Because, says Ray, the Bristlebirds have produced two more eggs, and only one of them's broken.
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Jiggling The Fabric Of Time
I should call Ray, says Gaius. Let me think. What time is it now in New South Wales?
Early, says Carl. Or late, depending.
Never mind, says Gaius. I must know the fate of the Bristlebirds.
Why don't you use the pointers? asks Mai-Mai.
The grown ups catch their breath. From the mouth of a child comes wisdom.
Excellent idea, says Carl Linnaeus. But I've never used the pointers.
It can't be that hard, says Gaius. They are pointers. Therefore they point.
The trick is to get them pointing, says Carl, without influencing the direction.
Obviously, says Gaius. I suppose a jiggling motion is in order. Beat the drum.
Carl places the bone pointers on the sun rhombus in the centre of the drum.
Tam-tam-tam-tam, he beats the side of the drum with the horn hammer. The leather tails fly.
Stop, says Gaius.
Carl stops beating.
Where are the pointers pointing? At which magical image?
The dead bird, says Hui Zhong.
The Spirit of Death, says Carl Linnaeus.
Wouldn't you know it, says Gaius.
There is a flaw, says Hui Zhong.
What? Everyone looks at the floor.
But no. She means a flaw in the procedure.
Gaius was watching the pointers, when he said stop, says Hui Zhong.
So I was, says Gaius. But you surely don't think I would exert undue influence to prove something that has no credibility.
No credibility? says Carl.
Hardly, says Gaius. It's all mumbo jumbo. But..... it does make one wonder.
Is your bird dead? asks Mai-Mai.
Birds, says Gaius. And that remains the question. I must call Ray.
Go ahead, says Carl Linnaeus.
Yes, go ahead, says the waiter, but first, would you care to order galettes and more coffee? You have been at this table for hours and only ordered one coffee per person, and one orange Wahaha.
Certainly, says Carl Linnaeus. More coffee, and galettes all round, and another Wahaha.
I don't want another Wahaha, says Mai-Mai. I wasn't allowed to drink the first one. It was curdled.
Too late, she has said it. The waiter has gone.
Gaius calls Ray, in East Blaxland.
Moon, answers Ray. Go away, I'm sleeping. Who is it?
Gaius, says Gaius. Have you opened the red box yet?
No, says Ray.
Gaius looks at Carl.
He hasn't opened it yet, says Gaius. So much for your spiritual wandering.
You forget the time difference, says Carl.
Early, says Carl. Or late, depending.
Never mind, says Gaius. I must know the fate of the Bristlebirds.
Why don't you use the pointers? asks Mai-Mai.
The grown ups catch their breath. From the mouth of a child comes wisdom.
Excellent idea, says Carl Linnaeus. But I've never used the pointers.
It can't be that hard, says Gaius. They are pointers. Therefore they point.
The trick is to get them pointing, says Carl, without influencing the direction.
Obviously, says Gaius. I suppose a jiggling motion is in order. Beat the drum.
Carl places the bone pointers on the sun rhombus in the centre of the drum.
Tam-tam-tam-tam, he beats the side of the drum with the horn hammer. The leather tails fly.
Stop, says Gaius.
Carl stops beating.
Where are the pointers pointing? At which magical image?
The dead bird, says Hui Zhong.
The Spirit of Death, says Carl Linnaeus.
Wouldn't you know it, says Gaius.
There is a flaw, says Hui Zhong.
What? Everyone looks at the floor.
But no. She means a flaw in the procedure.
Gaius was watching the pointers, when he said stop, says Hui Zhong.
So I was, says Gaius. But you surely don't think I would exert undue influence to prove something that has no credibility.
No credibility? says Carl.
Hardly, says Gaius. It's all mumbo jumbo. But..... it does make one wonder.
Is your bird dead? asks Mai-Mai.
Birds, says Gaius. And that remains the question. I must call Ray.
Go ahead, says Carl Linnaeus.
Yes, go ahead, says the waiter, but first, would you care to order galettes and more coffee? You have been at this table for hours and only ordered one coffee per person, and one orange Wahaha.
Certainly, says Carl Linnaeus. More coffee, and galettes all round, and another Wahaha.
I don't want another Wahaha, says Mai-Mai. I wasn't allowed to drink the first one. It was curdled.
Too late, she has said it. The waiter has gone.
Gaius calls Ray, in East Blaxland.
Moon, answers Ray. Go away, I'm sleeping. Who is it?
Gaius, says Gaius. Have you opened the red box yet?
No, says Ray.
Gaius looks at Carl.
He hasn't opened it yet, says Gaius. So much for your spiritual wandering.
You forget the time difference, says Carl.
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Spirit Wanderings And Irrelevant Monkey
I saw a garden, says Carl Linnaeus. I saw a man, whose name is Moon.
The man in the moon! says Mai-Mai.
There is no man in the moon, says her mother, Hui Zhong. A Green Rabbit lives there, with the Goddess Chang'e.
This is no Chinese legend, says Carl Linnaeus. In my spirit wanderings I saw a man. He was opening a red box on a wooden table in a dried out back garden. His name is Moon.
Gaius needs more than this to be convinced of the truth of the story.
How did your wandering spirit know the man's name was Moon?
He received a phone call, says Carl. He answered it. He said: Pastor Ray Moon.
He never answers the phone that way, says Gaius.
Not to you perhaps, says Carl Linnaeus.
What was in the red box? asks Mai-Mai. Was it a monkey?
Why on earth would it be a monkey? asks her mother.
Ninghong brought one to show and tell, says Mai-Mai.
A monkey? says her mother, surprised.
No, a red box, says Mai-Mai.
What was in it? asks Carl Linnaeus, interested in spite of himself.
She wouldn't open it, says Mai-Mai.
So what's this about a monkey? asks Carl.
I thought it might be a monkey, says Mai-Mai. It still might be.
Now stop talking, Mai-Mai, says Hui Zhong. You have interrupted Carl's story.
Carl tries to gather his wandering thoughts. Where was he?
Supposing it was Ray Moon, says Gaius. And supposing he opened a red box in his garden. And supposing his garden was dried out as you say, which does in fact support the truth of your story, as he has been away from home for quite some time, and it is almost summer....
Carl is pleased to hear how convincing his story has been. And he has not yet reached the dénouement.
Carl continues: As my wandering spirit looked on, the man called Moon opened the red box. The moment he opened it, he recoiled.
Recoiled? says Gaius. As in, stepped back a little?
He means like a snake, says Mai-Mai. They have coils. If you step on a snake it recoils all around you.
Not always, says her mother. Only certain types of snakes do that. But well done, Mai-Mai, for making an intelligent guess at the meaning.
Not like a snake, in this case, says Carl Linnaeus. Moon recoiled IN HORROR.
Horror, you say, says Gaius. If what you say is true, this could be serious. The bristle birds were in the red box. What can have happened?
They may have died, says Carl Linnaeus. I didn't see into the box. My spirit journey had ended.
Mai-Mai is thinking.
She is making connections.
One: the mysterious pointers that she wasn't allowed to get her hands on.
Two: the dead birds in the red box of Moon.
Three: the Spirit of Death on the drum membrane, in the shape of a bird with a cross on its back.
Four: a monkey.
Of these, the monkey is irrelevant.
The man in the moon! says Mai-Mai.
There is no man in the moon, says her mother, Hui Zhong. A Green Rabbit lives there, with the Goddess Chang'e.
This is no Chinese legend, says Carl Linnaeus. In my spirit wanderings I saw a man. He was opening a red box on a wooden table in a dried out back garden. His name is Moon.
Gaius needs more than this to be convinced of the truth of the story.
How did your wandering spirit know the man's name was Moon?
He received a phone call, says Carl. He answered it. He said: Pastor Ray Moon.
He never answers the phone that way, says Gaius.
Not to you perhaps, says Carl Linnaeus.
What was in the red box? asks Mai-Mai. Was it a monkey?
Why on earth would it be a monkey? asks her mother.
Ninghong brought one to show and tell, says Mai-Mai.
A monkey? says her mother, surprised.
No, a red box, says Mai-Mai.
What was in it? asks Carl Linnaeus, interested in spite of himself.
She wouldn't open it, says Mai-Mai.
So what's this about a monkey? asks Carl.
I thought it might be a monkey, says Mai-Mai. It still might be.
Now stop talking, Mai-Mai, says Hui Zhong. You have interrupted Carl's story.
Carl tries to gather his wandering thoughts. Where was he?
Supposing it was Ray Moon, says Gaius. And supposing he opened a red box in his garden. And supposing his garden was dried out as you say, which does in fact support the truth of your story, as he has been away from home for quite some time, and it is almost summer....
Carl is pleased to hear how convincing his story has been. And he has not yet reached the dénouement.
Carl continues: As my wandering spirit looked on, the man called Moon opened the red box. The moment he opened it, he recoiled.
Recoiled? says Gaius. As in, stepped back a little?
He means like a snake, says Mai-Mai. They have coils. If you step on a snake it recoils all around you.
Not always, says her mother. Only certain types of snakes do that. But well done, Mai-Mai, for making an intelligent guess at the meaning.
Not like a snake, in this case, says Carl Linnaeus. Moon recoiled IN HORROR.
Horror, you say, says Gaius. If what you say is true, this could be serious. The bristle birds were in the red box. What can have happened?
They may have died, says Carl Linnaeus. I didn't see into the box. My spirit journey had ended.
Mai-Mai is thinking.
She is making connections.
One: the mysterious pointers that she wasn't allowed to get her hands on.
Two: the dead birds in the red box of Moon.
Three: the Spirit of Death on the drum membrane, in the shape of a bird with a cross on its back.
Four: a monkey.
Of these, the monkey is irrelevant.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Spirit Of Sun Death And Moon
David Suzuki stands up to go. He has another meeting.
Carl Linnaeus, Hui Zhong and Gaius remain in the semi quiet corner.
Mai-Mai comes out from under the table. She is holding the drum.
How do you like it? asks Carl Linnaeus.
I like the pictures, says Mai-Mai. But it won't make a noise.
It's a magical drum of the Sami, says Carl Linnaeus. You need the special horn hammer with tails, and these vuorbi, or pointers. Only then can you make the noise.
Can I hold the hammer? asks Mai-Mai.
No, says her mother. We want no drum banging in here.
What about the pointers? asks Mai-Mai.
There is no point in using the pointers, says Carl Linnaeus, if you don't have the hammer with tails.
Let's just look at the pictures, says Hui Zhong. Look here's a rhombus.
Let's see, says Mai-Mai. Oh, you're wrong mummy! That's the sun.
Well done, Mai-Mai, says Carl Linnaeus. It is indeed the sun. And what else can you see on the membrane?
A boat and a beaver. A reindeer. A long bird with a cross on its back.
That is the spirit of death, says Carl Linnaeus.
It looks like a dead bird, says Hui Zhong.
How did you gain possession of this drum? asks Gaius.
I was given it by a noaidi, or Sami shaman, says Carl. He taught me how to use it to fall into a trance. In the trance, one can seek knowledge of how things are in other places.
How wonderful, says Gaius, if that should be the case.
What? Of course it's the case, says Carl Linnaeus. Allow me to show you. Stand clear.
He kneels on the floor beside the table in the semi quiet corner of the Moulin de la Galette in Montmartre and with the drum in his left hand begins beating it slowly with the horn hammer and tails.
Bam-bam-bam. The rhythm gathers speed and wildness. A crowd gathers around him, consisting of astonished Parisians and one or two environment ministers, in Paris for the climate talks.
Quoi? Qu'est-ce que c'est? Qui est ce grand fou?
Bam-de-bam-bam! Carl stops suddenly and rolls over on his tummy, rocking like a walrus.
Now for the hard part. He must place the drum, membrane down, on his back and lie on the floor in a trance while his spirit wanders.
He places the drum on his back, membrane down.
He falls into a trance.
His spirit wanders.
Yes. You can see he has done this before.
His spirit wanders to the airport, where Arthur, Pablo and Dries are just boarding a plane.
Not good enough. Gaius will expect something more impressive.
His spirit makes a grand leap across the planet to the back garden of Pastor Ray Moon who is in the process of opening a red box and recoiling.
Now that's bound to be pretty impressive.
Carl Linnaeus sits up.
Carl Linnaeus, Hui Zhong and Gaius remain in the semi quiet corner.
Mai-Mai comes out from under the table. She is holding the drum.
How do you like it? asks Carl Linnaeus.
I like the pictures, says Mai-Mai. But it won't make a noise.
It's a magical drum of the Sami, says Carl Linnaeus. You need the special horn hammer with tails, and these vuorbi, or pointers. Only then can you make the noise.
Can I hold the hammer? asks Mai-Mai.
No, says her mother. We want no drum banging in here.
What about the pointers? asks Mai-Mai.
There is no point in using the pointers, says Carl Linnaeus, if you don't have the hammer with tails.
Let's just look at the pictures, says Hui Zhong. Look here's a rhombus.
Let's see, says Mai-Mai. Oh, you're wrong mummy! That's the sun.
Well done, Mai-Mai, says Carl Linnaeus. It is indeed the sun. And what else can you see on the membrane?
A boat and a beaver. A reindeer. A long bird with a cross on its back.
That is the spirit of death, says Carl Linnaeus.
It looks like a dead bird, says Hui Zhong.
How did you gain possession of this drum? asks Gaius.
I was given it by a noaidi, or Sami shaman, says Carl. He taught me how to use it to fall into a trance. In the trance, one can seek knowledge of how things are in other places.
How wonderful, says Gaius, if that should be the case.
What? Of course it's the case, says Carl Linnaeus. Allow me to show you. Stand clear.
He kneels on the floor beside the table in the semi quiet corner of the Moulin de la Galette in Montmartre and with the drum in his left hand begins beating it slowly with the horn hammer and tails.
Bam-bam-bam. The rhythm gathers speed and wildness. A crowd gathers around him, consisting of astonished Parisians and one or two environment ministers, in Paris for the climate talks.
Quoi? Qu'est-ce que c'est? Qui est ce grand fou?
Bam-de-bam-bam! Carl stops suddenly and rolls over on his tummy, rocking like a walrus.
Now for the hard part. He must place the drum, membrane down, on his back and lie on the floor in a trance while his spirit wanders.
He places the drum on his back, membrane down.
He falls into a trance.
His spirit wanders.
Yes. You can see he has done this before.
His spirit wanders to the airport, where Arthur, Pablo and Dries are just boarding a plane.
Not good enough. Gaius will expect something more impressive.
His spirit makes a grand leap across the planet to the back garden of Pastor Ray Moon who is in the process of opening a red box and recoiling.
Now that's bound to be pretty impressive.
Carl Linnaeus sits up.
Monday, November 9, 2015
Mushroom Internet Versus The Monster
The pre-meeting proper is over.
Océane has left, with the malodourous blue Swedish folder wedged strategically between the Chinese red folder and the Canadian green folder.
The others are still at the table, except for little Mai-Mai who is playing under the table.
She is inventing a pleasant scenario, in which mushrooms warn pretty pink flowers of imminent danger.
Watch out, you Pinkies! whispers Mai-Mai. He's coming!
Yipes! Who's coming? answer the Pinkies, which are fashioned from torn white paper napkins.
The NIAN! whispers Mai-Mai Mushroom, rather too loudly.
(Mai-Mai is playing all parts)
Hush, Mai-Mai! says her mother, bringing her face under the table.
Hide, Pinkies! warns Mai-Mai Mushroom.
The white paper Pinkies look around them, but oh! they have nowhere to go.
We have nowhere to go, whisper the Pinkies, in raspy voices like tissue paper.
I will help you, says Mai-Mai Mushroom. First, turn on your computers.
Is my drum all right down there? asks Carl Linnaeus, above the table.
She's just playing a game, says Hui Zhong. The drum isn't in it.
Mai-Mai pulls at the leg of David Suzuki's trousers.
He brings his face down under the table.
What is it, Mai-Mai?
What's the password? whispers Mai-Mai.
What password? whispers David Suzuki.
For the Mushroom Internet, whispers Mai-Mai. I'm playing a game. The Pinkies are in danger.
Are they the Pinkies? asks David Suzuki, indicating the white scrunched-up tissues.
Yes, and I know that they're white, says Mai-Mai. That's because they're SCARED. Quick, give me the password.
That would be MYCORRHIZAE, says David Suzuki. Can you remember that name?
My crozzie eye, says Mai-Mai.
Close enough, says David Suzuki. What are they scared of?
The NIAN, says Mai-Mai Mushroom.
So they should be, says David Suzuki.
He lifts his head above the table.
So cute, says David Suzuki. She's invented a Mushroom Internet.
I thought that was you, says Gaius.
No no, not me, says David Suzuki. It's Earth's Natural Internet, and that wasn't me either.
Pardon me for being confused, says Gaius.
Quite understandable, says David Suzuki. It is the work of many scientists. Plants, including trees, connect to each other through structures called mycorrizhae. Ninety percent of land based plants are involved in mutually beneficial relationships with fungi. They.....
Arghhh! screams Mai-Mai, under the table.
David's head bumps Hui Zhong's as they both look under the table.
The password doesn't WORK! says Mai-Mai.
What happened to the Pinkies? asks David.
The NIAN ate them, says Mai-Mai sadly.
And it is true. They have all been eaten.
What an excellent game.
Océane has left, with the malodourous blue Swedish folder wedged strategically between the Chinese red folder and the Canadian green folder.
The others are still at the table, except for little Mai-Mai who is playing under the table.
She is inventing a pleasant scenario, in which mushrooms warn pretty pink flowers of imminent danger.
Watch out, you Pinkies! whispers Mai-Mai. He's coming!
Yipes! Who's coming? answer the Pinkies, which are fashioned from torn white paper napkins.
The NIAN! whispers Mai-Mai Mushroom, rather too loudly.
(Mai-Mai is playing all parts)
Hush, Mai-Mai! says her mother, bringing her face under the table.
Hide, Pinkies! warns Mai-Mai Mushroom.
The white paper Pinkies look around them, but oh! they have nowhere to go.
We have nowhere to go, whisper the Pinkies, in raspy voices like tissue paper.
I will help you, says Mai-Mai Mushroom. First, turn on your computers.
Is my drum all right down there? asks Carl Linnaeus, above the table.
She's just playing a game, says Hui Zhong. The drum isn't in it.
Mai-Mai pulls at the leg of David Suzuki's trousers.
He brings his face down under the table.
What is it, Mai-Mai?
What's the password? whispers Mai-Mai.
What password? whispers David Suzuki.
For the Mushroom Internet, whispers Mai-Mai. I'm playing a game. The Pinkies are in danger.
Are they the Pinkies? asks David Suzuki, indicating the white scrunched-up tissues.
Yes, and I know that they're white, says Mai-Mai. That's because they're SCARED. Quick, give me the password.
That would be MYCORRHIZAE, says David Suzuki. Can you remember that name?
My crozzie eye, says Mai-Mai.
Close enough, says David Suzuki. What are they scared of?
The NIAN, says Mai-Mai Mushroom.
So they should be, says David Suzuki.
He lifts his head above the table.
So cute, says David Suzuki. She's invented a Mushroom Internet.
I thought that was you, says Gaius.
No no, not me, says David Suzuki. It's Earth's Natural Internet, and that wasn't me either.
Pardon me for being confused, says Gaius.
Quite understandable, says David Suzuki. It is the work of many scientists. Plants, including trees, connect to each other through structures called mycorrizhae. Ninety percent of land based plants are involved in mutually beneficial relationships with fungi. They.....
Arghhh! screams Mai-Mai, under the table.
David's head bumps Hui Zhong's as they both look under the table.
The password doesn't WORK! says Mai-Mai.
What happened to the Pinkies? asks David.
The NIAN ate them, says Mai-Mai sadly.
And it is true. They have all been eaten.
What an excellent game.
Sunday, November 8, 2015
Earth's Natural Internet
Non, pas de letchi, says the barman at Moulin de la Galette. Peut-être la petite veut un Wahaha avec jus d'orange?
I don't think so, says Océane. Orange would curdle the milk. Let me go back and ask her.
Océane returns to the table in the semi quiet corner.
They don't have lychee, says Océane.
Aiyo! This is the first of many disappointments for Mai-Mai.
Wah-ha-ha!
Don't cry dear, says Hui Zhong. You are in a grown ups meeting.
David Suzuki likes children.
He says kindly to Mai-Mai: If you stop crying, I will tell you something amazing about mushrooms.
I hope your story isn't too long, says Océane.
Let's hear it in any case, says Carl Linnaeus.
Well, says David Suzuki, it appears that mushrooms are more important than we think. We now know that they help plants talk to one another.
What do they say? asks Mai-Mai, She has already forgotten the jus.
Who? asks her mother. The plants or the mushrooms?
Both, says Mai-Mai.
Gaius would like to know the answer to this question as well.
Carl thinks he knows it.
David says: Mushrooms have underground threads called mycelia, and they form a network.
Like a computer? says Mai-Mai, who is quite smart.
Yes, it's Earth's Natural Internet, says David Suzuki. Through this internet, plants warn other plants of danger.
What danger? asks Mai-Mai.
Don't get him started, says Océane. Time is limited.
What's limited? asks Mai-Mai.
Mai-Mai! says her mother. Carl, can she play with your drum?
Oh no ......it's .... well yes, all right, if she doesn't take it out of my sight, says Carl Linnaeus.
The waiter appears with five cafés au lait and a glass of what looks like orange curdle.
Don't drink that dear, says Hui Zhong. It will give you a tummy ache.
Mai-Mai examines the drum, which is decorated with magical images.
The meeting begins.
Canada is sending a strong delegation to the Climate Talks, says David Suzuki. Here is our list of concerns.
He hands Océane a green manilla folder.
China too is sending a delegation, says Hui Zhong. We understand the need to limit global temperature rises to 2 degrees.
She hands Océane a red manilla folder.
As is Sweden, says Carl Linnaeus. Our snow is melting. The length of our snow season is predicted to shrink by 40 to 60 days by the end of the century.
That is good, says Océane. Have you got a manilla folder?
Somewhere, says Carl, undoing the scrimshawed reindeer antler buttons on the front his gakti.
He draws out a damp and malodorous blue manilla folder.
Just put it on the table, says Océane. Now Gaius, have you anything......?
Not officially, says Gaius. These days I reside in Australia........
I don't think so, says Océane. Orange would curdle the milk. Let me go back and ask her.
Océane returns to the table in the semi quiet corner.
They don't have lychee, says Océane.
Aiyo! This is the first of many disappointments for Mai-Mai.
Wah-ha-ha!
Don't cry dear, says Hui Zhong. You are in a grown ups meeting.
David Suzuki likes children.
He says kindly to Mai-Mai: If you stop crying, I will tell you something amazing about mushrooms.
I hope your story isn't too long, says Océane.
Let's hear it in any case, says Carl Linnaeus.
Well, says David Suzuki, it appears that mushrooms are more important than we think. We now know that they help plants talk to one another.
What do they say? asks Mai-Mai, She has already forgotten the jus.
Who? asks her mother. The plants or the mushrooms?
Both, says Mai-Mai.
Gaius would like to know the answer to this question as well.
Carl thinks he knows it.
David says: Mushrooms have underground threads called mycelia, and they form a network.
Like a computer? says Mai-Mai, who is quite smart.
Yes, it's Earth's Natural Internet, says David Suzuki. Through this internet, plants warn other plants of danger.
What danger? asks Mai-Mai.
Don't get him started, says Océane. Time is limited.
What's limited? asks Mai-Mai.
Mai-Mai! says her mother. Carl, can she play with your drum?
Oh no ......it's .... well yes, all right, if she doesn't take it out of my sight, says Carl Linnaeus.
The waiter appears with five cafés au lait and a glass of what looks like orange curdle.
Don't drink that dear, says Hui Zhong. It will give you a tummy ache.
Mai-Mai examines the drum, which is decorated with magical images.
The meeting begins.
Canada is sending a strong delegation to the Climate Talks, says David Suzuki. Here is our list of concerns.
He hands Océane a green manilla folder.
China too is sending a delegation, says Hui Zhong. We understand the need to limit global temperature rises to 2 degrees.
She hands Océane a red manilla folder.
As is Sweden, says Carl Linnaeus. Our snow is melting. The length of our snow season is predicted to shrink by 40 to 60 days by the end of the century.
That is good, says Océane. Have you got a manilla folder?
Somewhere, says Carl, undoing the scrimshawed reindeer antler buttons on the front his gakti.
He draws out a damp and malodorous blue manilla folder.
Just put it on the table, says Océane. Now Gaius, have you anything......?
Not officially, says Gaius. These days I reside in Australia........
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Symbolic Climate Change Meeting
Where are we going? asks Gaius.
The Moulin de la Galette, says Océane. An appropriate place for a climate meeting.
Why is that? asks Gaius.
Yes, why is that? asks Carl Linnaeus.
Wind power, says Océane. It's a famous old windmill, now a bistro.
And does it still run on wind power? asks Gaius.
I have no idea, says Océane. But what does it matter? It's the symbolism of it.
I'm all for that, says Carl Linnaeus, patting his drum.
In a few minutes they arrive at the Moulin de la Galette. It is teeming with tourists, drinking aperitifs and coffee, and clattering their cake spoons.
Océane guides them to a semi quiet corner.
Ah! Here are the others.
At a table in the semi quiet corner, sit three persons.
One is David Suzuki. The second is Hui Zhong, the third is Mai-Mai, her cute little daughter.
Hello everyone, says Océane. Do we need introductions? Or does our fame precede us?
I know Carl Linnaeus, says David Suzuki. The Pliny of the North. Who doesn't?
Surely you also know Gaius Plinius Secundus, says Océane. The original Pliny.
Forgive me, says David Suzuki. But no. However, I am hon.....
I know him, says Hui Zhong. Hello Gaius. You may not remember but we almost met in Beijing two years ago. Your fingers were stuck together with a particularly powerful ancient Roman glue. I and my colleague Xui Li suggested nail polish remover, or WD40. I assume at least one of them worked?
I remember the incident, says Gaius, but not you, I'm sorry.
You wouldn't, says Hui Zhong. I met Arthur, Sikong Shu and that very nice pilot.
Very nice pilot? says Gaius.
Richie Porte, says Hui Zhong. From Team Sky.
Richie no longer rides for Team Sky, says David Suzuki.
Is that so? says Gaius. Who does he ride for?
Team BMC, says David Suzuki. He thought he'd gone as far as he could with Team Sky.
A sound decision, says Gaius.
I thought so, says David Suzuki
Carl bangs his magical drum. Bong-bong-shut-up!
Quite right Carl, says Océane. The meeting proper must begin sometime. Shall I order drinks?
Mummy? says little Mai-Mai. Can I have a Wahaha?
I don't know if they have Wahaha here, says her mother.
What is it? asks Océane.
Fruit juice and milk, says Hui Zhong.
Oh, I'm sure they will make one, says Océane. What is her favourite fruit juice?
What is it, Mai-Mai? says Hui Zhong.
Lychee! says Mai-Mai, looking excited.
Oh she is so cute. But none of the ecologists notice. Even her own mother is more concerned with the pre-meeting meeting, which surely will start in a moment.
The Moulin de la Galette, says Océane. An appropriate place for a climate meeting.
Why is that? asks Gaius.
Yes, why is that? asks Carl Linnaeus.
Wind power, says Océane. It's a famous old windmill, now a bistro.
And does it still run on wind power? asks Gaius.
I have no idea, says Océane. But what does it matter? It's the symbolism of it.
I'm all for that, says Carl Linnaeus, patting his drum.
In a few minutes they arrive at the Moulin de la Galette. It is teeming with tourists, drinking aperitifs and coffee, and clattering their cake spoons.
Océane guides them to a semi quiet corner.
Ah! Here are the others.
At a table in the semi quiet corner, sit three persons.
One is David Suzuki. The second is Hui Zhong, the third is Mai-Mai, her cute little daughter.
Hello everyone, says Océane. Do we need introductions? Or does our fame precede us?
I know Carl Linnaeus, says David Suzuki. The Pliny of the North. Who doesn't?
Surely you also know Gaius Plinius Secundus, says Océane. The original Pliny.
Forgive me, says David Suzuki. But no. However, I am hon.....
I know him, says Hui Zhong. Hello Gaius. You may not remember but we almost met in Beijing two years ago. Your fingers were stuck together with a particularly powerful ancient Roman glue. I and my colleague Xui Li suggested nail polish remover, or WD40. I assume at least one of them worked?
I remember the incident, says Gaius, but not you, I'm sorry.
You wouldn't, says Hui Zhong. I met Arthur, Sikong Shu and that very nice pilot.
Very nice pilot? says Gaius.
Richie Porte, says Hui Zhong. From Team Sky.
Richie no longer rides for Team Sky, says David Suzuki.
Is that so? says Gaius. Who does he ride for?
Team BMC, says David Suzuki. He thought he'd gone as far as he could with Team Sky.
A sound decision, says Gaius.
I thought so, says David Suzuki
Carl bangs his magical drum. Bong-bong-shut-up!
Quite right Carl, says Océane. The meeting proper must begin sometime. Shall I order drinks?
Mummy? says little Mai-Mai. Can I have a Wahaha?
I don't know if they have Wahaha here, says her mother.
What is it? asks Océane.
Fruit juice and milk, says Hui Zhong.
Oh, I'm sure they will make one, says Océane. What is her favourite fruit juice?
What is it, Mai-Mai? says Hui Zhong.
Lychee! says Mai-Mai, looking excited.
Oh she is so cute. But none of the ecologists notice. Even her own mother is more concerned with the pre-meeting meeting, which surely will start in a moment.
Friday, November 6, 2015
The Will And The Metaphor
Arthur, Pablo and Dries are on their way to Gare du Nord to catch a train to the airport.
They are wheeling their bicycles on the footpath.
This is a cool bike, says Dries. I do not detect a peculiarity.
You're not on it yet, says Arthur.
Dries hops on, rides a few metres.
Gardez! snaps a grumpy Parisian pedestrian.
The pedestrian is aware that his Will has been thwarted, says Dries.
Arthur glances at Pablo.
It's starting already.
Dries hops off.
I don't know what made me say that, says Dries. It was quite intellectual.
Not your normal type of statement, says Pablo.
No. I'm normally happy go lucky, says Dries.
I am not happy go lucky, says Pablo.
No, a poet should not be, says Dries.
What do you do? asks Pablo.
I'm a trauma counsellor, says Dries.
Counsel me, says Pablo.
What for? asks Dries. Have you recently been in a war zone?
No, says Pablo. But I was gutted when Océane, whom I love madly, said that we three should push off, as if I was of no importance.
You are well out of it, says Dries. She's a strange one. Always wears a blue raincoat.
A green dress with cream spots, says Pablo,
And drinks yellow sports drinks, says Arthur.
Carelessly, says Pablo.
And she doesn't admit it, says Dries. Believe me. I've been there.
Have you? says Arthur. Is this your trauma counselling technique?
No, says Dries. She is my cousin. She never admits anything.
She admitted me, says Pablo gloomily.
Only once, says Dries.
How does he know that?
Luckily, they are now at the station, and must attend to buying their tickets.
........
Océane, Gaius and Carl Linnaeus are walking to the hotel Montmartre-St Pierre, which is just round the corner.
It is good you have ditched your bicycle, says Océane. In Paris, it is easier to walk.
Indeed, says Gaius. I prefer to walk, whenever possible. And I'm glad to see the back of that bicycle.
It looked like a perfectly good bicycle, says Carl Linnaeus.
It was, says Gaius, but it caused me no end of trouble. It was, technically it still is, Schopenhauer's.
What was the problem exactly? asks Carl Linnaeus.
It channelled him somehow, says Gaius. Even the experts at Utrecht University couldn't get to the bottom of it.
You believe in a channelling bicycle, but not a magical drum, says Carl Linnaeus.
Evidently, says Gaius.
Luckily, they have now arrived at the hotel.
This is your room, says Océane. You'll be sharing, so I hope you get on. The pre-meeting proper is in half an hour. I'll come for you in fifteen minutes and we'll walk there.
She is very efficient, says Carl, when the door shuts.
What is this pre-meeting? asks Gaius. I don't have a program.
It's a group of ecologists from various countries, says Carl. We will table our concerns. Océane will look at them from a lawyer's perspective, before we proceed to a post-pre-meeting meeting.
Very good, says Gaius. And are you intending to go in that outfit?
Yes, says Carl. It makes my point in a visual manner.
Your point being? asks Gaius.
The snow in Sweden is melting, says Carl.
Point taken, says Gaius. In that fur and leather, you'll sweat like a pig.
It's not supposed to be that metaphorical, says Carl.
They are wheeling their bicycles on the footpath.
This is a cool bike, says Dries. I do not detect a peculiarity.
You're not on it yet, says Arthur.
Dries hops on, rides a few metres.
Gardez! snaps a grumpy Parisian pedestrian.
The pedestrian is aware that his Will has been thwarted, says Dries.
Arthur glances at Pablo.
It's starting already.
Dries hops off.
I don't know what made me say that, says Dries. It was quite intellectual.
Not your normal type of statement, says Pablo.
No. I'm normally happy go lucky, says Dries.
I am not happy go lucky, says Pablo.
No, a poet should not be, says Dries.
What do you do? asks Pablo.
I'm a trauma counsellor, says Dries.
Counsel me, says Pablo.
What for? asks Dries. Have you recently been in a war zone?
No, says Pablo. But I was gutted when Océane, whom I love madly, said that we three should push off, as if I was of no importance.
You are well out of it, says Dries. She's a strange one. Always wears a blue raincoat.
A green dress with cream spots, says Pablo,
And drinks yellow sports drinks, says Arthur.
Carelessly, says Pablo.
And she doesn't admit it, says Dries. Believe me. I've been there.
Have you? says Arthur. Is this your trauma counselling technique?
No, says Dries. She is my cousin. She never admits anything.
She admitted me, says Pablo gloomily.
Only once, says Dries.
How does he know that?
Luckily, they are now at the station, and must attend to buying their tickets.
........
Océane, Gaius and Carl Linnaeus are walking to the hotel Montmartre-St Pierre, which is just round the corner.
It is good you have ditched your bicycle, says Océane. In Paris, it is easier to walk.
Indeed, says Gaius. I prefer to walk, whenever possible. And I'm glad to see the back of that bicycle.
It looked like a perfectly good bicycle, says Carl Linnaeus.
It was, says Gaius, but it caused me no end of trouble. It was, technically it still is, Schopenhauer's.
What was the problem exactly? asks Carl Linnaeus.
It channelled him somehow, says Gaius. Even the experts at Utrecht University couldn't get to the bottom of it.
You believe in a channelling bicycle, but not a magical drum, says Carl Linnaeus.
Evidently, says Gaius.
Luckily, they have now arrived at the hotel.
This is your room, says Océane. You'll be sharing, so I hope you get on. The pre-meeting proper is in half an hour. I'll come for you in fifteen minutes and we'll walk there.
She is very efficient, says Carl, when the door shuts.
What is this pre-meeting? asks Gaius. I don't have a program.
It's a group of ecologists from various countries, says Carl. We will table our concerns. Océane will look at them from a lawyer's perspective, before we proceed to a post-pre-meeting meeting.
Very good, says Gaius. And are you intending to go in that outfit?
Yes, says Carl. It makes my point in a visual manner.
Your point being? asks Gaius.
The snow in Sweden is melting, says Carl.
Point taken, says Gaius. In that fur and leather, you'll sweat like a pig.
It's not supposed to be that metaphorical, says Carl.
Thursday, November 5, 2015
If They Fail To Ejaculate You'll Be Ready
The hotel rooms are satisfactory, says Océane.
Pablo nods in agreement.
(dark waters in which phosphorescent jellyfish glide)
And I have upgraded one of our rooms to a double, says Océane.
Pablo shrugs.
(but for me my love no more submerged submarine sweetness)
Gaius will share it with Carl, says Océane. Now, Dries, you, Arthur and Pablo can push off any time.
Not yet, says Gaius. First I need to discuss something with Arthur.
What? asks Arthur.
It's private, says Gaius.
They move to a leafy corner of Place St Pierre.
What? says Arthur.
What do you think of Carl's Laplander outfit? asks Gaius.
I liked the magical drum, says Arthur. I was disappointed he gave me the amulet.
Irrelevant, says Gaius. I meant, what is your impression?
My impression is that he's a clown, says Arthur.
Good, says Gaius. Then I won't bother to dress in a toga.
Good decision, says Arthur. Maintain your dignity.
Thank you, Arthur, says Gaius. Now, when you get hold of those Bristlebirds, the first thing to do is to make sure they have lost all capacity for language.
How will I know? asks Arthur.
Ah, says Gaius. Good lad. Perspicacious as usual. I suggest you approach them unawares, and surprise them with a noise. If they fail to ejaculate, you'll know that you're ready to start...
....teaching them to say the Twenty Names, says Arthur.
What? Oh, that too, if you can be bothered. But I refer to new bird alarm calls. Of course, first you must learn them yourself.
Fine, says Arthur.
(although he has no intention of learning new bird alarm calls)
Excellent, says Gaius. Oh, and......I wonder if Dries would be so kind as to take my bicycle back to Adelaide. Tell him he's welcome to use it of course. Just remember it's peculiarity.
Won't you need it in Paris? asks Arthur.
No, I believe we shall be taking taxis, says Gaius.
Is that a good look? asks Arthur. For a Climate Conference?
Why on earth wouldn't it be? says Gaius.
They go back to the others.
Océane is licking butter sauce from her lips, watched by Pablo.
We've got an extra bicycle to take home, says Arthur. Dries, you can ride it.
Cool, says Dries.
It has a peculiarity, says Arthur.
What peculiarity? asks Dries, thinking of gear or brake peculiarities or an uncomfortable projection in a particular part of the saddle.
You'll find out, says Arthur.
Pablo nods in agreement.
(dark waters in which phosphorescent jellyfish glide)
And I have upgraded one of our rooms to a double, says Océane.
Pablo shrugs.
(but for me my love no more submerged submarine sweetness)
Gaius will share it with Carl, says Océane. Now, Dries, you, Arthur and Pablo can push off any time.
Not yet, says Gaius. First I need to discuss something with Arthur.
What? asks Arthur.
It's private, says Gaius.
They move to a leafy corner of Place St Pierre.
What? says Arthur.
What do you think of Carl's Laplander outfit? asks Gaius.
I liked the magical drum, says Arthur. I was disappointed he gave me the amulet.
Irrelevant, says Gaius. I meant, what is your impression?
My impression is that he's a clown, says Arthur.
Good, says Gaius. Then I won't bother to dress in a toga.
Good decision, says Arthur. Maintain your dignity.
Thank you, Arthur, says Gaius. Now, when you get hold of those Bristlebirds, the first thing to do is to make sure they have lost all capacity for language.
How will I know? asks Arthur.
Ah, says Gaius. Good lad. Perspicacious as usual. I suggest you approach them unawares, and surprise them with a noise. If they fail to ejaculate, you'll know that you're ready to start...
....teaching them to say the Twenty Names, says Arthur.
What? Oh, that too, if you can be bothered. But I refer to new bird alarm calls. Of course, first you must learn them yourself.
Fine, says Arthur.
(although he has no intention of learning new bird alarm calls)
Excellent, says Gaius. Oh, and......I wonder if Dries would be so kind as to take my bicycle back to Adelaide. Tell him he's welcome to use it of course. Just remember it's peculiarity.
Won't you need it in Paris? asks Arthur.
No, I believe we shall be taking taxis, says Gaius.
Is that a good look? asks Arthur. For a Climate Conference?
Why on earth wouldn't it be? says Gaius.
They go back to the others.
Océane is licking butter sauce from her lips, watched by Pablo.
We've got an extra bicycle to take home, says Arthur. Dries, you can ride it.
Cool, says Dries.
It has a peculiarity, says Arthur.
What peculiarity? asks Dries, thinking of gear or brake peculiarities or an uncomfortable projection in a particular part of the saddle.
You'll find out, says Arthur.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
Magic May Or Not Happen
Time ticks on in Montmartre. The climate warms imperceptibly. It is almost lunch time.
No one has come back yet.
Gaius and Carl Linnaeus are thinking of moving.
Just round the corner, says Gaius. I believe I smell crêpes.
Shall we move there? The others will find us, says Carl Linnaeus.
They could hardly miss YOU, says Gaius.
That's the idea, says Carl Linnaeus, lifting his feet up.
His curly-toed Sami boots attract several glances.
Gaius stands up. When Carl follows suit, his Sami belt jangles.
What ARE those items on your belt? asks Gaius.
Lucky amulets, says Carl Linnaeus. And this is my magical drum.
I don't believe that, says Gaius.
And here, says Carl Linnaeus, is my signature flower.
He opens a scrimshawed bone pot, and whips out a tiny pink flower.
Very nice, says Gaius. Is it plastic?
Take a close look, says Carl. Do you know it?
Yes I know it. The twin flower, Linnaea borealis.
A passer-by whistles. Hoo! Les Plinys du Nord, vous deux!
Really, says Gaius. It's too ridiculous. How are we in any way similar? Let's get those crêpes before anything else happens.
They go round the corner, to find Arthur and Dries already tucking into crêpes.
Ah, there you are, says Gaius. What are the crêpes like?
Very good, says Dries, but overpriced, naturally.
Carl has been showing me his trinkets, says Gaius. A scrimshawed bone knife, amulets and his magical drum. Show them, Carl, and perhaps you'll explain how the drum works.
When you strike it, says Carl, magic may or not happen.
May or may not, says Arthur.
May or may not, yes. I see your knees are inflamed, says Carl.
Sometimes they bleed, says Arthur.
They only bleed when he scrapes them on gravel, or falls off a bicycle, says Gaius.
He didn't do either of those, says Dries.
Try one of my lucky amulets, says Carl. You can give it back later.
He hands Arthur an amulet. Arthur slips it into his pocket.
Ting! It lands on an old knitting needle. Thank you.
Where's Pablo? asks Dries. I'm supposed to keep him in sight at all times.
We don't know, says Gaius. Perhaps you should ask Océane.
Time ticks on in Montmartre. The climate warms imperceptibly.
Pablo and Océane haven't come back yet.
Carl strikes his drum with his crêpe fork.
Ah! Here they come now!
No one has come back yet.
Gaius and Carl Linnaeus are thinking of moving.
Just round the corner, says Gaius. I believe I smell crêpes.
Shall we move there? The others will find us, says Carl Linnaeus.
They could hardly miss YOU, says Gaius.
That's the idea, says Carl Linnaeus, lifting his feet up.
His curly-toed Sami boots attract several glances.
Gaius stands up. When Carl follows suit, his Sami belt jangles.
What ARE those items on your belt? asks Gaius.
Lucky amulets, says Carl Linnaeus. And this is my magical drum.
I don't believe that, says Gaius.
And here, says Carl Linnaeus, is my signature flower.
He opens a scrimshawed bone pot, and whips out a tiny pink flower.
Very nice, says Gaius. Is it plastic?
Take a close look, says Carl. Do you know it?
Yes I know it. The twin flower, Linnaea borealis.
A passer-by whistles. Hoo! Les Plinys du Nord, vous deux!
Really, says Gaius. It's too ridiculous. How are we in any way similar? Let's get those crêpes before anything else happens.
They go round the corner, to find Arthur and Dries already tucking into crêpes.
Ah, there you are, says Gaius. What are the crêpes like?
Very good, says Dries, but overpriced, naturally.
Carl has been showing me his trinkets, says Gaius. A scrimshawed bone knife, amulets and his magical drum. Show them, Carl, and perhaps you'll explain how the drum works.
When you strike it, says Carl, magic may or not happen.
May or may not, says Arthur.
May or may not, yes. I see your knees are inflamed, says Carl.
Sometimes they bleed, says Arthur.
They only bleed when he scrapes them on gravel, or falls off a bicycle, says Gaius.
He didn't do either of those, says Dries.
Try one of my lucky amulets, says Carl. You can give it back later.
He hands Arthur an amulet. Arthur slips it into his pocket.
Ting! It lands on an old knitting needle. Thank you.
Where's Pablo? asks Dries. I'm supposed to keep him in sight at all times.
We don't know, says Gaius. Perhaps you should ask Océane.
Time ticks on in Montmartre. The climate warms imperceptibly.
Pablo and Océane haven't come back yet.
Carl strikes his drum with his crêpe fork.
Ah! Here they come now!
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Why We Are Both Here
Carl Linnaeus sits at the outdoor café table, opposite Gaius.
He surveys his old friend.
I see you haven't gone to much trouble, says Carl Linnaeus.
I see that you have, says Gaius. May I ask why?
It's the advice of my stylist, says Carl Linnaeus. Price of fame, ha ha, having a stylist. I go on talk shows a lot. She suggested I wear my Laplander outfit to the climate talks.
It does draw attention, says Gaius. Is it hot in there?
It is rather, says Carl Linnaeus. The hat is cool enough, but the leather gakti is stuffy, and one must keep it buttoned, or one's belly shows.
Nice buttons, says Gaius. Beautifully scrimshawed. Is it reindeer antler?
Yes, as is my knife.
The knife reminds Gaius of Arthur.
Where is Arthur? He was here just now.
He went off with the other young man.
Pablo?
No. The one with the fluoro orange back pack.
He went off with Dries? How peculiar. What about Pablo? And where is Océane?
They walked off in that direction.
Extraordinary, says Gaius. We can only wait here until they decide to come back.
Fine by me, says Carl Linnaeus. Tell me, what mischief have you been up to lately?
Ah, says Gaius, (lucky he had Arthur make all those notes.) Researching a new species of funnel web spider in New South Wales. Before that, paleomagnetics, and virtual technology in Utrecht. In between, I rode in the Tour de France. Didn't come anywhere. Earlier.....
Same old dilettante Gaius, says Carl Linnaeus.
I suppose you've been focussing, says Gaius.
Of course I've been focussing, says Carl Linnaeus. Today there is only one story. The climate.
Naturally, says Gaius. That's why we're both here.
.........
Arthur and Dries have climbed up the steps to the Basilica de Sacre Coeur, and are surveying Paris, along with a few hundred others.
Does this view inspire you? asks Dries.
No, says Arthur. It takes more than this.
Me too, says Dries. I prefer flatness.
Now we know, says Arthur.
His knees feel itchy, for the first time in ages.
........
Océane enters the hotel, followed by Pablo.
You needn't have come, says Océane. I'm just checking the booking.
but anyway
whatever the reason
she has let him
He surveys his old friend.
I see you haven't gone to much trouble, says Carl Linnaeus.
I see that you have, says Gaius. May I ask why?
It's the advice of my stylist, says Carl Linnaeus. Price of fame, ha ha, having a stylist. I go on talk shows a lot. She suggested I wear my Laplander outfit to the climate talks.
It does draw attention, says Gaius. Is it hot in there?
It is rather, says Carl Linnaeus. The hat is cool enough, but the leather gakti is stuffy, and one must keep it buttoned, or one's belly shows.
Nice buttons, says Gaius. Beautifully scrimshawed. Is it reindeer antler?
Yes, as is my knife.
The knife reminds Gaius of Arthur.
Where is Arthur? He was here just now.
He went off with the other young man.
Pablo?
No. The one with the fluoro orange back pack.
He went off with Dries? How peculiar. What about Pablo? And where is Océane?
They walked off in that direction.
Extraordinary, says Gaius. We can only wait here until they decide to come back.
Fine by me, says Carl Linnaeus. Tell me, what mischief have you been up to lately?
Ah, says Gaius, (lucky he had Arthur make all those notes.) Researching a new species of funnel web spider in New South Wales. Before that, paleomagnetics, and virtual technology in Utrecht. In between, I rode in the Tour de France. Didn't come anywhere. Earlier.....
Same old dilettante Gaius, says Carl Linnaeus.
I suppose you've been focussing, says Gaius.
Of course I've been focussing, says Carl Linnaeus. Today there is only one story. The climate.
Naturally, says Gaius. That's why we're both here.
.........
Arthur and Dries have climbed up the steps to the Basilica de Sacre Coeur, and are surveying Paris, along with a few hundred others.
Does this view inspire you? asks Dries.
No, says Arthur. It takes more than this.
Me too, says Dries. I prefer flatness.
Now we know, says Arthur.
His knees feel itchy, for the first time in ages.
........
Océane enters the hotel, followed by Pablo.
You needn't have come, says Océane. I'm just checking the booking.
but anyway
whatever the reason
she has let him
Monday, November 2, 2015
Sticky Pre-Meeting Meeting In Montmartre
Gare du Nord.
They retrieve their bicycles, except for Océane, who doesn't have one, and get off the train.
Excuse me, says Pablo. I'm just running off to buy quince paste. Arthur, look after my bike.
I can't wait for you, says Océane. I have a pre-meeting meeting.
I'll find you, says Pablo.
No you won't, says Océane. You must stay here to meet Dries. Tch! Where is he?
She looks at her watch. Ah, here he is now. Dries! Dries! Over here!
A young man with black hair and a fluoro orange back pack lopes over.
Hi guys! Sorry I'm late!
You're not late, says Océane, we are two minutes early.
Dries winks at Arthur.
Two minutes. How bad these trains are.
Pablo meantime has disappeared to find quince paste.
How annoying, says Océane. I need Pablo to be here for the handover.
But what is the problem? asks Dries.
I must be in Montmartre in twenty minutes, says Océane. I'm to meet Carl Linnaeus.
I too, says Gaius.
Dries looks confused.
I thought we were going to to Sydney?
I shall be staying in Paris for the pre climate talks, says Gaius. Only Arthur and Pablo have signed your Twenty Names contract.
Oh, okay, says Dries.
Arthur likes Dries already.
Pablo comes back at a gallop, waving a paper bag of membrillo.
This is for you, my sweet Océane. Eat it and don't forget me.
Thank you, says Océane. Now we really must.....
is she drifting away from him already?
but he wishes to watch her ingest the membrillo
to place it on her tongue, let it melt there,
and slip past the pink flaps in her throat.....
Arthur has an idea. Why don't we all go to Montmartre?
Okay, says Dries. I am easy.
It's only twenty minutes walk to Montmartre from Gare du Nord.
They arrive at the Place des Abbesses.
They find seats outside a café near the ancient merry go round.
Dries orders and pays for the coffee.
Océane offers each of them a bite of membrillo.
Pablo watches her afterwards wipe it clean of everyone's spit.
The sun filters through the plane trees. The merry go round music tinkles gaily.
I wonder why he's so late, says Océane. Where is he?
A curious figure approaches their table. Could it be? No it couldn't. Yes it IS!
Carl Linnaeus! says Gaius, quickly swallowing his membrillo.
Gaius Plinius Secundus! says Carl. You haven't changed.
I can't say the same for you, Carl, says Gaius. Why are you dressed in that way?
This is my Laplander outfit, says Carl. Do you like it?
Don't tell me that Laplanders wear brown pancakes on their heads, says Gaius. Or is it a fruit bowl?
I'm surprised at you, Gaius, says Carl. It's a genuine hat, one of many types worn by the Sami.
I know, says Gaius. The Sami. But are you sure that you're wearing it right?
Come, gentlemen, says Océane. Our pre-meeting meeting ought not to be hijacked by banter.
It won't be, says Carl Linnaeus. I never banter.
Nor do I, says Gaius Plinius Secundus. But remember, this is not the pre-meeting meeting. This is the pre-pre-meeting meeting
HA HA HA HA! laughs Carl Linnaeus.
Océane looks a little put out.
They retrieve their bicycles, except for Océane, who doesn't have one, and get off the train.
Excuse me, says Pablo. I'm just running off to buy quince paste. Arthur, look after my bike.
I can't wait for you, says Océane. I have a pre-meeting meeting.
I'll find you, says Pablo.
No you won't, says Océane. You must stay here to meet Dries. Tch! Where is he?
She looks at her watch. Ah, here he is now. Dries! Dries! Over here!
A young man with black hair and a fluoro orange back pack lopes over.
Hi guys! Sorry I'm late!
You're not late, says Océane, we are two minutes early.
Dries winks at Arthur.
Two minutes. How bad these trains are.
Pablo meantime has disappeared to find quince paste.
How annoying, says Océane. I need Pablo to be here for the handover.
But what is the problem? asks Dries.
I must be in Montmartre in twenty minutes, says Océane. I'm to meet Carl Linnaeus.
I too, says Gaius.
Dries looks confused.
I thought we were going to to Sydney?
I shall be staying in Paris for the pre climate talks, says Gaius. Only Arthur and Pablo have signed your Twenty Names contract.
Oh, okay, says Dries.
Arthur likes Dries already.
Pablo comes back at a gallop, waving a paper bag of membrillo.
This is for you, my sweet Océane. Eat it and don't forget me.
Thank you, says Océane. Now we really must.....
is she drifting away from him already?
but he wishes to watch her ingest the membrillo
to place it on her tongue, let it melt there,
and slip past the pink flaps in her throat.....
Arthur has an idea. Why don't we all go to Montmartre?
Okay, says Dries. I am easy.
It's only twenty minutes walk to Montmartre from Gare du Nord.
They arrive at the Place des Abbesses.
They find seats outside a café near the ancient merry go round.
Dries orders and pays for the coffee.
Océane offers each of them a bite of membrillo.
Pablo watches her afterwards wipe it clean of everyone's spit.
I wonder why he's so late, says Océane. Where is he?
A curious figure approaches their table. Could it be? No it couldn't. Yes it IS!
Carl Linnaeus! says Gaius, quickly swallowing his membrillo.
Gaius Plinius Secundus! says Carl. You haven't changed.
I can't say the same for you, Carl, says Gaius. Why are you dressed in that way?
This is my Laplander outfit, says Carl. Do you like it?
Don't tell me that Laplanders wear brown pancakes on their heads, says Gaius. Or is it a fruit bowl?
I'm surprised at you, Gaius, says Carl. It's a genuine hat, one of many types worn by the Sami.
I know, says Gaius. The Sami. But are you sure that you're wearing it right?
Come, gentlemen, says Océane. Our pre-meeting meeting ought not to be hijacked by banter.
It won't be, says Carl Linnaeus. I never banter.
Nor do I, says Gaius Plinius Secundus. But remember, this is not the pre-meeting meeting. This is the pre-pre-meeting meeting
HA HA HA HA! laughs Carl Linnaeus.
Océane looks a little put out.
Sunday, November 1, 2015
The Blue Blob At The Tip Of The Ball
What's that face for? asks Pablo.
What face? says Arthur.
Hopeful, says Pablo. When I'm in despair.
Someone from the Twenty Names Committee is meeting us in Paris, says Arthur. And I'm hopeful.
Océane Conscience looks up from rearranging the tights in her handbag.
Go on, says Pablo.
For two reasons, says Arthur. One, we've had two women follow us already.
So you think it'll be a man, says Pablo. And the second?
He'll have money, says Arthur.
Pablo thinks about this for a moment. Yes, it's a given that he will have money.
I could have told you, says Océane. It is Dries, and yes, he has money. Now I have a question for Pablo. Why are you in despair?
I love you, says Pablo. I have composed a poem about you, I began it when you dribbled your drink down your chin, and let it dry there.
I never did that, says Océane. I am meticulous. Where is this poem?
I have not yet written it down, says Pablo. But I will now.
He takes out.....NOT his pencil.
But his famous green pen.
For the first time, Océane is attracted. The pen is fish green. The point sparkles. A blue blob of ink appears at the tip of the ball.
She watches, as Pablo starts writing: Ode To A Meticulous Woman On A Train.
Arthur, says Gaius. As Pablo's not using his pencil, I wonder if you might use it to take down some notes.
Sure, says Arthur, reaching into Pablo's pocket for the pencil.
I'd just like to get my life's work into perspective, says Gaius.
We'll be in Paris in ten minutes, says Arthur.
Nevertheless, says Gaius, if I'm meeting up with Carl Linnaeus, he's sure to be asking.....
Okay, says Arthur. Paper?
Use the back page of my notebook, says Gaius.
Shall we work backwards? asks Arthur. Start with teaching the birds?
He hasn't DONE that, says Océane sharply.
I'll mark it To Be Completed, says Arthur. Now what were you doing in Antwerp?
Escaping from Utrecht, says Gaius. With the bicycle. I'd been visiting the University, their Paleomagnetic Lab, and their BikeLab, where they made me a Doppelganger. And after that there was the discovery of the new species of funnel web spider in Booderee National Park.....
You didn't do that, says Arthur.
I superintended it, says Gaius.
But the spider was eaten by the birds, says Arthur. Do you want Linnaeus to know that?
He's a man of the world, says Gaius. It's a natural aspect of ecology. Leave it in.
Pablo has finished the poem and handed it to Océane just seconds before the very fast train pulls into Gare du Nord.
She scans it briefly.
Oh, says Océane. It is highly sensual.
She reads it again.
And now that we have arrived in Paris, says Pablo, seizing the moment, I don't want you to go anywhere until I have given you a piece of membrillo.
(Of course, we all know this is quince paste, a Spanish fruit jelly).
What face? says Arthur.
Hopeful, says Pablo. When I'm in despair.
Someone from the Twenty Names Committee is meeting us in Paris, says Arthur. And I'm hopeful.
Océane Conscience looks up from rearranging the tights in her handbag.
Go on, says Pablo.
For two reasons, says Arthur. One, we've had two women follow us already.
So you think it'll be a man, says Pablo. And the second?
He'll have money, says Arthur.
Pablo thinks about this for a moment. Yes, it's a given that he will have money.
I could have told you, says Océane. It is Dries, and yes, he has money. Now I have a question for Pablo. Why are you in despair?
I love you, says Pablo. I have composed a poem about you, I began it when you dribbled your drink down your chin, and let it dry there.
I never did that, says Océane. I am meticulous. Where is this poem?
I have not yet written it down, says Pablo. But I will now.
He takes out.....NOT his pencil.
But his famous green pen.
For the first time, Océane is attracted. The pen is fish green. The point sparkles. A blue blob of ink appears at the tip of the ball.
She watches, as Pablo starts writing: Ode To A Meticulous Woman On A Train.
Arthur, says Gaius. As Pablo's not using his pencil, I wonder if you might use it to take down some notes.
Sure, says Arthur, reaching into Pablo's pocket for the pencil.
I'd just like to get my life's work into perspective, says Gaius.
We'll be in Paris in ten minutes, says Arthur.
Nevertheless, says Gaius, if I'm meeting up with Carl Linnaeus, he's sure to be asking.....
Okay, says Arthur. Paper?
Use the back page of my notebook, says Gaius.
Shall we work backwards? asks Arthur. Start with teaching the birds?
He hasn't DONE that, says Océane sharply.
I'll mark it To Be Completed, says Arthur. Now what were you doing in Antwerp?
Escaping from Utrecht, says Gaius. With the bicycle. I'd been visiting the University, their Paleomagnetic Lab, and their BikeLab, where they made me a Doppelganger. And after that there was the discovery of the new species of funnel web spider in Booderee National Park.....
You didn't do that, says Arthur.
I superintended it, says Gaius.
But the spider was eaten by the birds, says Arthur. Do you want Linnaeus to know that?
He's a man of the world, says Gaius. It's a natural aspect of ecology. Leave it in.
Pablo has finished the poem and handed it to Océane just seconds before the very fast train pulls into Gare du Nord.
She scans it briefly.
Oh, says Océane. It is highly sensual.
She reads it again.
And now that we have arrived in Paris, says Pablo, seizing the moment, I don't want you to go anywhere until I have given you a piece of membrillo.
(Of course, we all know this is quince paste, a Spanish fruit jelly).
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