The Smell Of A Drying Parrot

Sweezus, Arthur and Marx are going back to Sweezus's place in a taxi.

By the way, says Sweezus (as if he's just thought of the question), how's Terence?

Ah, says Marx, I fear I owe you an apology.

Sweezus braces himself for the worst.

When I left Melbourne, Terence was still listed as missing, says Marx. I felt bad about it, but your friend Belle said she'd stay and keep searching.

Oh, okay, says Sweezus. I feel bad too, about letting her do it.

She'll find him, says Arthur. I bet she's found him already.

Excuse me, says the taxi driver, turning round. Aren't you that Sweezus?

Yeah, says Sweezus. Why're you asking?

I follow the cycling, says the taxi driver. I recognise you. You rode in the Tour Down Under and the Tour de France.

Yeah, says Sweezus. So did Arthur.

I love watching the cycling, says the taxi driver. What do you reckon about Alberto Contador?

What about him? says Sweezus. We've been in Esperance. We're not up with the latest.

Dislocated his shoulder, but retained the pink jersey, says the taxi driver. That's determination for you. How come you're not in the Giro?

Marx isn't listening. He is about to break in and ask the taxi driver how much he gets paid.

Forgot all about the Giro, says Sweezus. Shit, how long till the Tour de France?

July fourth, says the taxi driver. Not too far off now. You going in that one?

Yeah, says Sweezus. Arthur. You in?

Yes, says Arthur. And we should ask Pablo.

Pablo Neruda? says the taxi driver. Respect, guys! Well, here we are. That'll be.......sixty four dollars.

Marx can't believe it. He gets out his wallet.

How much of that will you keep? he asks the taxi driver.

None of it, says the taxi driver gloomily. I'm paying off my house and my taxi.

Here, keep the change, says Marx, handing over sixty five dollars.

They get out of the taxi.

Sweezus opens his front door. They go into the kitchen.

Amazeballs! It's tidy.

Belle et Bonne is sitting in the kitchen, with Terence.

They are waiting for Terence's parrot to dry.

Belle! says Sweezus.

Grandpa! says Terence.

Terence! says Marx.

What's cooking? says Arthur.

Nothing, says Belle. Who do you think I am? Your mother?

What's the smell then? asks Arthur.

My parrot, says Terence. He's drying.

I could ask the same of you Arthur, says Belle. What's that smell? Is it.....custard?

Arthur pulls the blue cloth out of his shorts pocket dramatically.

A smell of old custard wafts through the room.

Several knitting needles tumble to the floor with a clatter. Followed by three off-white Russian feathers.

Arthur, you surprise me, says Marx.

Arthur shrugs. Why should Marx be surprised he owns property?