Victims

So sorry, mother, says David. I appear to have run over Porky.

Impossible, says Katherine. Porky's inside. But wait, yes it does look like Porky.

David, Katherine and Ray Moon focus on Porky, dripping blood on the step.

This is a nuisance, says Katherine. I suppose we must go to the vet. And that means no Fringe show. What a waste of a ticket. Unless.....would you like to go, Ray?

To the vet? says Ray Moon. I don't think so.

No, to the show with my ticket, says Katherine.

What about the snakes? says Ray Moon.

Oh, the snakes, says Katherine. They'll have to come with me and poor Porky. How are you Porky? Still bleeding?

Allow me to lend you the snake box, says Ray Moon.

That is kind, says Katherine. Drop him in, David.

So Moon, are you coming with us? says David.

Looks like it, says Moon. What's the show?

Something about fascism, says David. Vello picked it. Just excuse me a minute. Must wash my hands.

Porky is now in the snake box, losing blood fast. Does nobody care?

He lies in the corner and waits.

Into the snake box drop Olive and Charles, recalled from the garden.

Hello! says Olive. Are you our dinner?

A good size, says Charles Red-belly, sniffing at Porky. And already open. What's your name fella?

Pour-quoi, says Porky, mustering some family pride.

Because, says Charles Red-belly, we'd like to know what it is. That is all, merely.

That is what it is, says Porky. My name is Pour-quoi. They call me Porky. I don't like it but what can you do. I don't like snakes either.

No doubt with good reason, says Charles, inching forward to lick at the poor little paw of Pour-quoi.

Not really, says Porky. It's more of a phobia, than a reason.

Charles raises and lowers his head in a hypnotic fashion.

Olive wonders how this will play out.

.........

David , Vello and Moon are sitting at a rough wooden table under the trees at the Holden Street Theatres, drinking sparkling wine, before the play starts.

Strings of tiny lights twinkle as the evening breeze rustles the leaves.

David and Vello are waiting for Moon to reveal himself, as a man of religion. Then they will pounce.

Well, well, says Pastor Moon. Fascism.

Pardon? says Vello. Oh, this play. Yes I believe it touches on fascism. In an allegorical fashion.

Very good, says Pastor Moon. I shall be interested, as a new Beaudelarian.

Pounce on that, boys.

But later.

Ding Ding! It's time to go in.