Not Blaming The Whales

 No one is worried about Terence.

They can hear his feet crunching, as he looks for a stick.

Gaius has opened another bottle of water.

Philosopher Smith is asking about the aim of their journey.

When we reach Lake Macquarie, we intend to count maugean skates, says Gaius.

For what purpose?  asks Philosopher Smith.

They are critically endangered, says Gaius. Last count, there were just fifteen hundred. But lately a number of baby skates, bred in captivity, have been released. And we wish to ascertain how they’re doing.

 A noble enterprise, says Philosopher Smith. I assume it will entail…swimming?

It will, says Gaius. And that is why I have brought Surfing-with-Whales along with me. He’s a strong swimmer.

I expected no less, says Philosopher Smith. One does not surf with whales unless one is a strong swimmer.

Yeah, says Surfing-with-Whales. It used to be a good business.

And is no longer? asks Philosopher Smith.

I blame the whales, says Surfing-with-Whales. Well, not blame exactly.

He doesn’t want to seem petty, by blaming the whales.

Indeed, one can’t blame the whales, says Gaius.

Surfing-with-Whales has forgotten why he is holding an apple core.

He eats it.

Terence comes back, with no stick.

All the sticks were too short, says Terence.

Shit, says Surfing-with-Whales. I ate the apple core. Sorry.

Wah! says Terence. I’ll NEVER attract a new parrot.

Yeah you will, says Surfing-with-Whales. Go back. I’ll come with you.

He and Terence go back to the trees.

Are we looking for a stick or a parrot? asks Terence.

Either, says Surfing-with-Whales.

Up or down? asks Terence.

Up, says Surfing- with-Whales. I’ll look down.

So why am I looking up? asks Terence.

Parrot, says Surfing-with-Whales.

This makes sense. Terence looks up.

He sees nothing that looks like a parrot.

But hey.

He does see a masked bird frowning down from the hairy low branch of a tree.

It is white underneath, which is why Terence spotted it.

Found one, says Terence.

Meaning me? asks the masked bird.

Are you a parrot? asks Terence.

No, says the masked bird.

Ask it what it is, says Surfing-with-Whales

I am what I am, says the masked bird.

Mystic, says Surfing-with-Whales. 

Yeah. Why should a bird know what humans call it?