Wholeness

That dead crab, said Pliny the Elder.

What about it? I asked.

The one you wrote about at Aldinga reef that was tastefully arranged inside a hole, he added helpfully.

Yes, I know which crab you mean, I said patiently. Do you have a question about it?

I do, said Pliny. Was it all in one piece or was it in pieces?

Didn't I make it clear? I asked.

No you didn't, said Pliny. You said most of the crabs were dead and in pieces. Was the one in the hole whole or in pieces?

The one in the hole wasn't whole I said, trying not to laugh. It was in pieces.

And how big was the hole ? asked Pliny.

The whole crab?

The hole the crab was in.

It was, I said grandly, the exact size of the crab.

But you said that the crab was in pieces.

The pieces fitted perfectly into the hole.

How then, did you know that the crab was in pieces?

Pliny, I said, do you not know the works of Picasso?

Only his Blue period, said Pliny.

Aha. Picasso painted people with their parts unusually arranged. Their noses on their foreheads, both arms on the same side, I said, inventing wildly.

I see, said Pliny. I see. But crabs have no noses.

This one did, I said.