As Far As You Know

Terence lies on the ground under the eye of the Lorikeet.

The Lorikeet is colourful.

Blue head, red beak, green wings tail and back, orange breast.......

Do you give out feathers? asks Terence.

No, says the Lorikeet. When they fall out they just blow away.

As far as you know, says Terence.

As far as I know, says the Lorikeet.

I come from Spain, says Terence. I lived in a palace. It was painted bright beautiful colours.

And yet, says the Lorikeet, you yourself are a shade of pale blue.

I used to be grey like a parrot, says Terence. So I wore colourful beach shorts. Then they got paint on. Can you see if they're dry yet?

The Lorikeet can't see any colourful beach shorts.

I can't see any colourful beach shorts, says the Lorikeet. There's a wash basin, with black water sloshing around in it, and a tattered rag hanging up in a tree.

That won't be my beach shorts, says Terence.

It might be, says the Lorikeet. It has legs and elastic and a shoestring.

You don't know anything, says Terence.

Nor do you, says the Lorikeet. You think parrots are grey. I'm a parrot!

Ha ha, says Terence. You're funny.

While they become further acquainted, let us shift focus.

Kong Fu-Zi and Gaius are discussing a short list of ladies.

I know Katherine, says Kong Fu-Zi. David Hume's mother.

She wouldn't report you, says Gaius.

I know Belle et Bonne, says Kong Fu-Zi.

Nor would she, says Gaius.

That's the list. Done.

Maybe it's someone YOU know, says Victor.

I thought you weren't telling, says Gaius.

No harm in giving a clue, says Victor.

Gaius thinks immediately of Margaret. Yes, she can be devious.

Does her name start with M?

Close, says Victor. But not M.

Baby Pierre stops hooning around in the basin.

A guessing game! This is fun. What's close to M?

Lavender! cries Baby Pierre! And she knows the future!

What has that got to do with it? says Victor. It's the past.

Not when she did it, says Baby Pierre.

But he knows this is sophistry. It still wasn't the future.

So, it's not Lavender.

Arr, says Victor ( as though he is clearing his throat ).

A missed opportunity. Even Freud thinks that Victor was clearing his throat.

Another cup of tea, Victor? asks Freud.

Don't mind if I do, says Victor. Then I'd better make tracks.

He leans back in his camp chair.

He closes his eyes. The late afternoon sun warms his face and somewhere near his left ear water drips down from the tattered remains of the beach shorts.

Drip, drip, drip.

Ring! It's his phone.

Victor, says Victor, getting up and walking over to a clearing, Yes... yes.... yes.... no..... no... not stolen..... no.....still in Kuitpo... no dramas....bye Roz.