I'm Reliant On Others For My Movements

Gaius, Arthur, Proust and Daniel O'Connell are on board the Wizz Air flight from Constanta to Paris.

Gaius is reading Science Daily. A story about marine ecosystems being degraded by eutrophication.

Arthur is thinking about the future. Specifically, his meeting with Sweezus, when he gets home.

He has promised Sweezus a report on the sayings of Proust, during their underground cave adventure. And he can't recall anything worth reporting.

Proust is asleep.

The kiss curl on his forehead moves up and down with his breathing. His eggshell eyelids are almost transparent.

Arthur stares at Proust's forehead. Inside it are memories.

What is it that Proust will remember?

The uncomfortable bicycle saddle? The Camel Balls? The fact that he thought they might wrap around his appendix? The Nâsal cheese? The methane? The rescue of Daniel O'Connell? The Irish countess? Albertine?

As he gazes at the sleeping face he sees something move over the moustache.

It's Daniel O'Connell.

Finally! says Daniel O'Connell. I've had no end of trouble to get here

Why did you bother? asks Arthur.

To ask you this, says Daniel O'Connell. What's going to happen?

We'll all die, says Arthur.

But before that, says Daniel O'Connell.

Gaius will take you to his house, says Arthur. And you'll meet Ageless, if he's about, and not at the library. And you should get on well with Terence.

Who's Terence? asks Daniel O'Connell.

A cement statue of baby Jesus, says Arthur. He loves parrots, but he might take to a spider. Especially one who has relatives in the Canaries.

Don't remind me, says Daniel O'Connell. My chances of seeing them get slimmer.

If I want to do something I do it, says Arthur.

But that's you, says Daniel O'Connell. I'm more reliant on others for my movements.

A-huch! splutters Proust, sucking in a big breath. His moustache is tickling.

Daniel O'Connell disappears up his left nostril.

Arthur doesn't know whether to tell him, or wait and see what happens.

In Favour Of The Passionate Existence

Albertine grabs Gilberte's towel.

My turn, says Albertine.

She starts drying her legs with the towel, and rubbing the damp patch at the back of her skirt.

Would you like an ice cream? asks Proust.

That would be lovely, says Albertine. Coming Gilberte?

Yes, Gilberte is coming.

Proust is now obliged to get up off the lounge chair and walk over the road with Albertine and Gilberte to look for the Betty Ice.

He didn't invite you, says Constance.

He knows me, says Arthur. He knows if I wanted an ice cream I'd get one.

Like me, says Constance.

I can attest to that, says Gaius. She wanted one, and she got one, without even moving.

And I got one, says Daniel O'Connell. But I had to crawl out of the bottle.

So Arthur, your'e a poet, says Constance. I knew Yeats, as a girl. Do you know him?

Arthur doesn't answer. He is picking his knee scabs, which have softened since he went in the water.

Perhaps he doesn't, says Gaius.

W B Yeats? says Constance. Wild Swans At Coole?

Arthur places a scab on his tongue. It tastes salty.

Let me try, says Daniel O'Connell. Arthur?

What? says Arthur.

Yeats makes 'drop' rhyme with 'up', says Daniel O'Connell.

Ah! says Gaius. So he does.Where does that come from?

It comes from A Dialogue of Self and Soul, says Constance.

Now she has Arthur's attention. He swallows the scab, although he hadn't meant to.

It goes like this, says Constance:

A living man is blind and drinks his drop
What matter if the ditches are impure?
What matter if I live it all once more?
Endure that toil of growing up...?

Did you catch that? says Daniel O'Connell. If you say 'up' as 'op', 'drop' rhymes with it. We Irish know that sort of thing, so we do.

Self or Soul? asks Arthur.

Self, replies Constance. I think Yeats was rejecting his higher self in favour of a passionate existence, even if it meant making mistakes.

So it goes on, says Arthur.

Yes, it's quite a bit longer, says Constance.

We must be thinking of going, says Gaius.

Must you? says Constance. Where are you off to?

Tenerife, says Daniel O'Connell.

Adelaide, says Gaius. But first we must return to Constanta, and hand in these bicycles.

Not necessarily, says Arthur.

Of course we must, says Gaius.

Only the first two hours were free, says Arthur.

Dear me, says Gaius. We are probably up for a hefty bill. How annoying!

Good reason not to return them, says Constance. I'm with Arthur, and the passionate existence!

Arthur thinks she must have a dull life if failing to return a hired bicycle is a mark of a passionate existence.

Proust meanwhile has bought both Albertine and Gilberte mint ice creams.

They are crossing the road. Proust is propositioning Albertine.

Proust: Will you write to me when I go back to Paris?

Gilberte: No, she won't.

Albertine: I might.

Proust: I require a promise.

Albertine: All right. I promise.

Gilberte: What about Daniel?

Albertine: Shut UP, Gilberte.

Proust: A dagger has gone through my heart. I'd forgotten about Daniel.

Albertine: So had I.

Proust: If you're so forgetful, how can I expect you to remember your promise?

Gilberte: If you really want to keep her, why not put her in a novel?

Proust: Perfect. I'll put you both in!

Angels Are Supposed To Be Sexless

In the distance they look like three stick figures, surfing.

Proust squints, with the object of seeing them better.

It's not possible to see what Albertine is wearing. One thing is certain, she will have taken her sensible skirt off. And then.... all she had underneath was her knickers. Although he has never seen them they have conflated in his imagination with the colourful scarf she had tucked inside them and become like a rainbow filament floating about her like the phylacteries of angels in medieval paintings, covering who knows what since angels were always supposed to be sexless, whereas Albertine.... an unpleasant thought strikes him.....

He hears Constance say: Here, take this one.

And Gaius walks off down the beach with a towel.

Where's he going? asks Proust.

He's taking a towel to the girls. Weren't you listening?

No, I was thinking about Albertine.

But not in a practical way, I imagine, says Constance. Gaius thought a towel might be handy. Especially if the girls have gone in in their underwear. It can become quite transparent when one has been bathing.

Only one towel, did you say? asks Proust.

I only had one, replies Constance. Honestly. I must do some washing.

Are you staying in Neptun long? asks Proust.

Leaving tomorrow, says Constance. How about you?

I suppose I must go back to Paris, says Proust. I have had too much excitement.

So have I, says Daniel O'Connell. Too much excitement and not enough information.

Constance turns to look at Daniel O'Connell, who has just finished his ice cream.

Oh yes, I promised to tell you more about Daniel O'Connell, says Constance.

The Liberator, says Daniel O'Connell.

That's the one, says Constance. He was a campaigner for civil rights and economic betterment for the Irish majority. In 1829 he achieved Catholic Emancipation, so that Catholics could sit in the Parliament.

What did they sit in before? asks Daniel O'Connell.

Nothing, says Constance. They weren't allowed to.

Well that doesn't seem too bad to Daniel O'Connell. When does a spider sit down?

And what was he like as a person? asks Daniel O'Connell.

Well, says Constance. You might like to know he had quite a reputation. He was fearless in court, resourceful, ingenious, verbally witty, and the countryside teemed with his natural children.

Daniel O'Connell had not imagined such greatness!

He is so overwhelmed he sits down in the sticky patch.

Careful, says Constance.

Proust has been scanning the beach for approaching wet maidens.

He thinks he can see Arthur, yes it is Arthur, in his faded purple board shorts, followed by Gilberte in a towel, and then yes... he can see Gaius, walking behind Gilberte, looking as though he is shielding someone, and ......behind Gaius, it can only be....yes, it is Albertine.

She is wearing her sensible skirt, water still dripping from under it, down her smooth suntanned legs to her sandy ankles.

Hi, says Albertine. That was the best! You should have come with us.

I had nothing to swim in, says Proust.

Both Beautiful, One A Gazelle

Constance can't find the sketch in her bum bag.

Never mind, says Gaius.

Why not describe it, says Proust.

Constance settles back into the puddle of melted ice cream on her lounge chair.

Buggeration! says Constance. My last clean pair of knee shorts!

I was eating that, says Daniel O'Connell.

Constance ignores him, and tries to conjure the sketch in her head and find words to describe it.

Well..... says Constance. It's me as a young woman. With a hat on, and my black hair fixed up underneath it, but spilling from under the hat to frame the top half of my face. I had a sweet face then. The rest of me is all scribbly, but gives an impression of a coat with big sleeves and a collar. I am leaning forward and looking up to the right, with large eyes, full of provocation. Underneath it is inscribed, Madame Markiewicz.

I thought you said you were a countess, says Proust.

My husband claimed he was a count, says Constance. A Polish one. You know how they are. Dear Casimir. After we married he went back to Poland. Not immediately of course....

No of course not, says Proust. And what did Yeats call you?

Con, says Constance. He always called me Con.

And I'll be betting he wrote a fine poem about Con, says Daniel O'Connell. Did it go like this now:

O how I love Con
For leading me on.

No, says Constance, It was far more lovely and sad, and my dear sister Eva was in it.

Can you recall it? asks Proust. I should like to hear it.

If it isn't too long, says Gaius.

I'll just do the first part, says Constance.

She closes her eyes and recites:

Light of evening, Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
beautiful, one a gazelle.

And which one was the gazelle? asks Proust.

I was, says Constance.

Congratulations, says Gaius. It's a fine conceit, but his rhyme and metre are atrocious.

Philistine! says Daniel O'Connell. Can't you see that 'both' falls in the third line, and rhymes with 'south'! Am I not right there, Mrs Con?

I'm not sure it helps, says Constance. He was always tricky with the rhyme and metre.

You said it was sad, says Proust. What happens in it?

We grow old, says Constance. Withered old and skeleton gaunt. But hey! That was a long time ago. Here I am at Neptun in the sunshine sitting in a sticky patch of blueberry ice cream, and watching the young people in the water. Look at them out there. I wonder what Albertine and Gilberte are doing for swim suits?

There's a question neither Gaius nor Proust had thought of.

But they are both thinking of it now.

In Search Of Lost Ice Cream

Blueberry, murmurs Proust as he watches the countess eat her ice cream.

He remembers the first blueberry he ever tasted, as a child in Combray. It had been a disappointment, as he had always imagined a blueberry would taste sweet and tangy, like a mulberry but richer, whereas his first blueberry had tasted bland and oily ......

Are you wishing you had one? asks the countess. Gaius could always go back.

No, thank you, countess, says Proust.

Do call me Constance, says the countess.

I would NOT have gone back, says Gaius. The idea!  There's nothing wrong with Proust's legs.

Apologies, says Constance. I forget myself sometimes. Do you know, when I went to my first revolutionary meeting I wore a satin ball gown and a tiara. Imagine how well that went down with the Daughters of Ireland!

Proust tries to imagine himself as a Daughter of Ireland, and Constance in a satin ball gown and tiara, and how he would view her, but as she is wearing khaki knee shorts and a red tee shirt spotted with blueberry ice cream, he is unsuccessful.

Gaius does not even attempt it.

Daniel O'Connell has been trying to eat the ice cream which Gaius wedged in the top of his bottle, after Daniel crawled out.

The shade has shifted, and the sun is melting the ice cream, which drips down the side of the bottle.

The first drip reaches Daniel O'Connell.

Slurp. He licks it.

Not bad at all, says Daniel O'Connell. 'Tis like the birds' milk, but more bland and more oily.

It's dribbling all over my shorts, says Constance, shifting away from the bottle. Could you eat it faster?

No, I could not, says Daniel O'Connell. 'Tis the slow savouring that makes it so fine to be eating.

He sounds comically Irish, says Constance. Strange to think he has relatives in the Canaries.

Indeed so, says Gaius. I have gone into the matter. I believe he may be related to the Tenerife Black Jumping Spider.

Do you now? says Daniel O'Connell. That rings a bell. Oh, I have a hankering to go there!

It's a long way away, says Constance. I have friends who went there on holiday. I recall they complained of being bitten by Black Jumping Spiders. Quite a problem, apparently.

Not for me, says Daniel O'Connell.

There is some debate on the subject, says Gaius. Are they poisonous, or aren't they?

They aren't, says Daniel O'Connell. They aren't, they can't, they shan't.

A poet now, says Proust.

A competent rhyme, says Constance. But I would hardly call it poetry.

I agree with you, says Gaius. Arthur is a poet, and he never bothers with rhyming.

He's not Irish, says Daniel O'Connell. Show me an Irish poet and I'll show you a rhymester.

You are not wrong there, Daniel O'Connell, says Constance. I was friendly with W B Yeats in my girlhood. He was a rhymer. Although I must say, some of his rhymes were quite borderline. 'Drop' with 'up' for example.

Drop with up, says Gaius. No wonder I've never heard of him.

Come on! says Constance. He's extremely famous. He wrote a poem about me and my sister. He drew a sketch of me too. I might have a copy of it here in my bum bag.

She turns and leans over the side of her lounge chair, to rummage about in her bum bag.

Daniel's ice cream oozes stickily towards the warm patch in which she was sitting.

Surfing Short Waves

Arthur spots a few people surfing, on very short waves.

He decides he would like to go surfing.

Where are you off to? asks Albertine.

Surfing, says Arthur.

Can we come? asks Gilberte.

Sure, says Arthur.

Coming, Marcel? asks Albertine.

No, thank you, says Proust.

That will teach her a lesson.

Arthur, Albertine and Gilberte head off to hire surf boards.

Anyone feel like an ice cream? asks the countess.

I do, says Daniel O'Connell.

Anyone else? asks the countess.

Neither Proust nor Gaius feel like one.

I can hardly send the spider, says the countess.

The penny drops.

I'll go, says Gaius. What kind would you like?

Blueberry, says the countess. Go to the Betty Ice.

I'll have the same, says Daniel O'Connell.

Gaius goes off to look for the Betty Ice.

That leaves Proust and the countess, and Daniel O'Connell.

Proust screws his eyes up and looks into the distance.

He can see Arthur, Albertine and Gilberte, paddling out to sea on hired surfboards.

You should have gone with them, says the countess. You're young enough.

I'm an observer, says Proust. I've learned that much.

I'm a doer, says the countess.

Proust thinks she doesn't seem much of a doer. Can't even get her own ice cream.

I was a suffragette, as well as a revolutionary nationalist and Sinn Féin politician, says the countess. I've lost count of how many times I've been to prison.

I've been in this bottle for ages, says Daniel O'Connell. Before that I lived in an underground cavern, with a poisonous atmosphere. Funny that. Look at me now.

You look chipper, says the countess.

I have relatives in the Canaries, says Daniel O'Connell.

Good heavens! How do you know that? asks the countess.

He doesn't, says Proust. He overheard it from one of the microbiologists. It may not be true.

Oh? And are you a microbiologist? asks the countess.

I like to think so... says Proust. But, no, not qualified. However I have trained as a clown.

Odd sort of thing to have trained as, says the countess. As a young woman, I trained as an artist.

I have a strong interest in art, says Proust.

So do I, says Daniel O'Connell.

Gaius returns with two Betty Ices, both blueberry.

Thank you, says the countess. What do I owe you?

Nothing, says Gaius.

How kind, says the countess, licking her ice cream.

How do I eat this? asks Daniel O'Connell.

I'm not your nursemaid, says Gaius. Come out of the bottle.

The spider crawls out of the bottle, to eat his ice cream

Fine Sweet Words Like The Scent Of Apples

A lovely morning in Neptun. Eleven o'clock. Now there are crowds on the beach.

Albertine has revealed that her aunt Daniel is really her cousin, Gilberte.

They are sharing a white plastic lounge and umbrella, next to the duchess, who is reading.

Gilberte: I couldn't keep it up any longer.

Albertine: Never mind. It's okay.

Proust: No, it isn't.

Albertine: Why not? It was funny. Look, Arthur thinks it was funny.

Arthur: I'm not laughing. I'm grimacing.

Gilberte: Are you in pain?

Arthur: I think there's still glass in my knees.

Proust: Why is it that every time I try to explain why I am not satisfied with an explanation everyone at once turns their attention to Arthur, who never requires the least explanation for anything.

Arthur: I usually know why things happen.

Duchess (to herself): Sharp boy.

Albertine: Marcel, what is the trouble?

Proust: There remains an unresolved issue. Who is the original Daniel?

Duchess (mutters): A solver of riddles, if I remember my Old Testament.

Albertine: Why do you even think there was one?

Gilberte: I know why.

Albertine: Shut UP, Gilberte.

Arthur: Was he your boyfriend?

Gilberte : There were two of them They were both our boyfriend.

Proust: I hope your syntax is at fault, and not your morality.

Gilberte : Hoo! Listen to him!

Duchess: I'm trying to READ, here, young people.

Albertine: Sorry.

Duchess: Why don't you all go for a swim.

Arthur: We're waiting for our aunt, the duchess, to pay the five euros.

Duchess: Haven't you paid for your seat?

Arthur: We haven't brought any money.

Duchess: I couldn't help overhearing that you have glass in your knees. Would you like me to take a look? I was a revolutionary and Sinn Féin politician, so I know about glass in the knees and anywhere else you might care to mention.

Arthur: Or, you could pay the five euros.

Duchess: There is something about you, young man. Are you a poet? All right. Here is five euros.

Proust: Here we go.....watch it go straight in his pocket.

Duchess: You are a rude sort of person.

Proust: And you are strange sort of duchess.

Duchess: True, that is only what the ticket man calls me. My name is Countess Constance Markiewicz. I am a countess.

Gilberte: Are you Polish?

Albertine: She was in Sinn Féin. She must be Irish.

Constance: Well yes, in a manner of speaking. By the way, is that gentleman known to you? He is gesticulating.

Arthur: It's Gaius.

( Gaius wheels his bike over).

Gaius: I imagine you're surprised to see me. For that you can blame the spider.

Daniel O'Connell: Blame the Liberator!

Constance: Who said that?

Daniel O'Connell: Me!

Constance: Oh my lord, a spider! Why isn't there a lid on its bottle?

Albertine: Are you afraid of spiders?

Constance: Of course not!

Gaius: You must be Albertine's aunt. Pleased to meet you. Daniel O'Connell, my spider, has many questions to ask you, concerning his name sake.

Constance: I'm not this young woman's aunt.

Proust: She is an imposter, and not even a duchess.

Constance: What have I done? You are the mad ones. But I do know something of Daniel O'Connell, the Liberator. How could I not?

Daniel O'Connell: Was he a great man?

Constance: He was indeed. It was said that what he achieved was 'not with guns but with fine sweet words, like the scent of apples'.

Daniel O'Connell: So, by using his mouth. I thought so.