The Uplifting Brightness Of Blackness

It's good to travel with someone who lives a charmed life.

When Arthur comes out of Perth Scuba, everything has been sorted.

Sorted, says Arthur. We get the Rebreather for free. And we won't need to pay for the extras.

Awesome, says Sweezus. How come?

It's Easter, says Arthur. I asked Ferdy if he was doing anything.  He wasn't. So he's coming with us. It's all good unless the Rebreather gets damaged.

So that's not his, says Sweezus.

He offered, says Arthur. Before I even promised him anything.

Is he coming with us, or what? asks Sweezus, ignoring the implication.

He's heading to Esperance after work in the van, says Arthur.

Eight hours drive! says Sweezus.

He says he'll pull an overnighter, says Arthur. I might go down with him.

Gaius won't like it, says Sweezus.

Not for long, says Arthur. Just keep him focussed. See you in Esperance.

Sweezus gets on the Canning Vale bus back to the Backpackers, to give Gaius the good news.

Gaius is pleased about the Rebreather, but annoyed about Arthur.

Now who will provide him with pencils?

I don't suppose YOU could find me two pencils, says Gaius. A blue and a red one.

What? says Sweezus.

Pencils, says Gaius. Never mind, don't bother.

.........

It is dark in the luggage compartment.

Dark and rumbly.

Ageless was right. Brianna doesn't like it.

To keep her up spirits she sings the words of the song by Marlisa:

if black is your brightest colour
if hurt is your only lover
when you fight we fight together
la la la la

Keep singing, says Ageless.

Do you like it? asks Brianna.

No, says Ageless. But now I know where you are.

I like it, says Baby Pierre, from the exact same location.

My voice or the song? asks Brianna.

The song, says Baby Pierre.

You just dropped a clanger, says Ageless.

I like it because it makes me think about blackness, says Baby Pierre, ploughing on regardless.

Humph, says Brianna.

Go on, my son, says Ageless. Continue your philosophical musings. What are your thoughts about blackness?

It's good if it's the brightest colour, says Baby Pierre. My tulip is black.

Not here it isn't, says Brianna. My greyness is black, my yellow is black and my cream is black. It's depressing. That's why I'm singing.

And my red hat, says Ageless.

What? says Brianna.

Is black, says Ageless.

Everyone is quiet, thinking about the blackness of blackness, including the rest of the luggage.

The bus rumbles south towards Esperance, through desert country, red and treeless.

As one might be led to suppose.