Red Team, Yellow Team

You, Herr Wittgenstein, said Professor Freud, can be on Irma's team. Irma will tell you what to do. Her team is the yellow team. Here are your overalls, here is your paintgun, and here are your paintballs. As you see, they are yellow. And this is Irma, he added, pointing to a little girl of about eleven.

Wittgenstein looked down at Irma. Irma looked up at him.

And you, Saint Nicholas, continued Professor Freud, will be on Emma's team. Emma is Irma's sister. Her team is the red team. Here are your things.

So it's two on two, is it? said Saint Nicholas. Hello Emma. You look rather like your sister.

We're twins, said Emma. And we're both really good, she added.

I like good children, said Saint Nicholas.

At Paintball, I mean, said Emma.

I shall of course be the referee, said Professor Freud. Now is everybody ready? Armbands on? Then go to your bunkers!

There were makeshift bunkers at either end of the meatworks yard, and piles of bones dotted about the middle. Wittgenstein and Irma withdrew to the far end and crouched behind their bunker.

What happens now? asked Wittgenstein.

Watch this, said Irma. She ran out from behind the bunker. Wittgenstein saw her dodge from bone pile to bone pile until she was directly behind the bunker of Saint Nicholas and her twin.

Ouch! he heard, and then Ouch! Ouch!

Saint Nicholas emerged from behind his bunker, covered in yellow paint. You're bunkered! yelled Irma.

Her sister leapt out from behind another pile of bones and shot three red paintballs at her in quick succession.

Ouch! Ouch! squawked Irma. Ouch! She looked down at herself. None of the paintballs had burst. She ran back to Wittgenstein.

That was brilliant! she said. I'm still in, but your friend's out. We're bound to win now, even though you're useless, she added.

No, I'm not, said Wittgenstein. I think I'm getting the hang of it. Sit tight. I'm going to shoot your sister.