Direct From Faux-Heaven

It's morning in Beaconsfield. Time to say goodbye to Father Martin Aye Ngwe.

They are just waiting for Arthur, who has disappeared.

Father Martin Aye Ngwe has kindly scraped the barnacles off the font using fingernails. Not his fingernails. Ones normally kept in an ancient worm eaten box.

I am very grateful to you, says Gaius.

Be grateful to Saint Wilhemina, says Father Martin Aye Ngwe. And take care of those barnacles. They look exhausted.

Goodbye Martin, says Schopenhauer. I should like to leave you with a copy of my book On Suffering, but I don't have one with me. Perhaps I could post one to you when I get home?

I should like that, says Father Martin Aye Ngwe. I am big on suffering.

So am I, says Schopenhauer, thinking of his grumbly tummy.

Goodbye Unni, says Father Martin Aye Ngwe. I am sorry I didn't have the opportunity to speak more with  you about your congregation.

That bunch of gullible bumpkins, says Unni. I bet they don't even know I've gone.

Don't be too sure, says Father Martin Aye Ngwe.

Oh, I have faith in them, says Unni. And anyway, I make good use of social media. I send them text messages direct from faux-heaven.

Dear me, says Father Martin Aye Ngwe. We really should have talked. That sounds like a wonderful idea.

Feel free, says Unni.

Yes, but I don't have access to the messages, says Father Martin Aye Ngwe.

No worries, I'll link you in, says Unni.

.........

Arthur has left St Francis Xavier's early, on his bicycle, to look for a Post Office.

He finds one on Weld Road, open Monday to Thursday.

It's Tuesday, so the Post Office should be open, but it isn't, and a delightful smell is issuing from next door.

Arthur enters the Tamar Valley Wholefoods and Coffee Shop, a wonderland of  wholefoods, herbal teas, coffees and fruit smoothies, and local home made cakes.

Arthur has money in his pocket. Fifty dollars that Rachelle Hawkins slipped him, in payment for her copy of the sea horse poem.

He also has the postcard, with the original poem on it, to post to Sweezus, if the Post Office ever opens.

He orders a raspberry and apple smoothie, and a lemon tart, and sits down at a table, near the window.

He takes the postcard out of his pocket, and places it on the table in front of him.

A woman sitting at a nearby table drinking coffee, sees it and says, I see you have a postcard! Are you waiting for the Post Office to open? I'll be opening it as soon as I've finished my coffee.

She comes over and sits down at Arthur's table. What a busybody! She starts to read the postcard.

What a lovely poem, she says. Look at this, Lenore! It's about the sex life of the seahorse.

Lenore has just brought the raspberry and apple smoothie and lemon tart to Arthur's table.

The sex life of the sea horse! She takes a squizz.

Magic! says Lenore. Can I have a copy for the cafe? Our customers will go mental when they read about the benefits of sweet prolactin.

It may not be sweet, says Arthur. I made that up.

But not prolactin? says Lenore. Please tell me that part's true?

Direct from Wikipedia, says Arthur.

..........

And so it is that later, when Gaius, Schopenhauer and Unni, cycling down Weld street, see Arthur emerging from the Post Office, they are unaware that he has just had a free breakfast and been issued with one free postage stamp, and still has in his pocket the fifty dollar note, (another thing they didn't know he had).