Marriage And Its Opposite

Early morning on a country road. Cool air. Long pale shadows.  Schopenhauer is speeding.

Don't drive so fast, says Ray.

Leave the driving to me, says Schopenhauer, as they speed through Millicent.

Millicent, says Ray dreamily. That's my wife's name.

So you are married, says Schopenhauer.

Was, says Ray. Millicent Mountjoy-Moon. She left me. You been married?

No, says Schopenhauer. Once nearly. An opera singer. She was nineteen, I was thirty three.

Opera singer. That's classy, says Ray.

Schopenhauer looks at Ray sideways.

I rejected marriage, says Schopenhauer. Marrying means to grasp blindfolded into a sack hoping to find an eel amongst an assembly of snakes.

That doesn't quite describe my marriage, says Ray. More the opposite.

Schopenhauer slows down a little. What would be the opposite? Ray was somewhat lacking in the snake department? He tries to picture Millicent Mountjoy-Moon.

They both fall silent. Ray's foot is throbbing to the rhythm of the passing trees.

.....

In the back, Arthur is catching up on the sleep he missed last night.

Gaius is checking his itinerary. It should be three hours to Port Fairy. Then, another three or four to Lorne. Perhaps there will be time to potter on the beach there.......

Arthur's newspaper-wrapped parcel moves a little.

It must be the wind. Gaius moves the parcel with his foot, wedging it under a bike pedal.

It moves again.

Gaius pokes Arthur.

What? says Arthur. I was sleeping.

I know, says Gaius, but whatever's in your parcel has woken up.

Impossible, says Arthur. It's a dead one.

See for yourself, says Gaius.

They both stare hard at the newspaper parcel.

The parcel edges itself out from under the bicycle pedal, and unwraps itself.

.........

Lunch time. They drive into picturesque Port Fairy.

Schopenhauer pulls up outside  cafe.

Chop chop, says Schopenhauer. Ten minute lunch break.

Ray eases himself out of the cabin with difficulty.

Gaius climbs out of the back, followed by Arthur.

We must get a bucket, says Gaius.

Nonsense, says Schopenhauer. This is a civilised town. There will be public toilets.

......

In the back of the Ute, on a yellow-smeared double sheet of newspaper, waving its antennae hypnotically, lies a living breathing kidnapped lobster, waiting for a bucket filled with water.