All I Need Is A Spiracle

Proust informs Albertine that the spider is likely to die in fresh air.

I didn't realise, says Albertine. Awfully sorry. But how do spiders breathe anyway? Do they have lungs or what?

No one knows, not even the spider.

It's not something he thinks about, normally.

Gaius returns from his tour of the living quarters.

Hello all, says Gaius. How's my spider?

It's having difficulty breathing, says Albertine. I took the lid off.

Let me see, says Gaius. I know a little about spiders' breathing. Some have book lungs, which consist of flat plates called lamellae, and oxygen passing between the lamellae diffuses through the tissue and into the blood.....but, of course, oxygen will not serve this spider.

That much is evident. The spider is turning grey, whereas before, it was transparent.

Gaius pokes at the spider. No reaction.

Put the lid on, says Gaius. Some gas from the cave may still be in the bottle.

Albertine replaces the lid.

Now, let us observe him, says Gaius. He may be one of those spiders that have tracheae, or breathing tubes, held open by rings of chitin. The tubes open to the outside via a spiracle.

The spider can't hear what Gaius is saying too clearly, now the lid is back on the bottle.

Something about a spiracle.

Perhaps he must wait for a spiracle.

I came out to call Arthur and Marcel in to dinner, says Gaius. I assume the young lady has plans?

No I haven't, says Albertine.

Join us for dinner then, says Gaius. Are you Romanian?

French, says Albertine. I'm here on holiday. I met Marcel on the beach.

Clever fellow, says Gaius. A microbiologist and also a talented clown.

Clown? says Albertine, raising an eyebrow.

Ask him to show you his mechanical arm, says Gaius.

Come on, says Arthur. Let's get dinner.

......

Dinner is fish soup, followed by mamaliga, a type of polenta.

Then cheese and Tuica (plum brandy).

Cristian, Rich, Gaius, Arthur, Proust and Albertine are seated at a long table.

The bottle containing the spider sits in the middle.

He's dead, I think, says Cristian. That is a pity.

He may not be, says Rich. He just moved a leg.

Arthur picks up the bottle, takes the lid off and shakes out the spider.

The spider lies on the table, inert.

Interesting creatures, spiders, says Cristian. They appear to have no active muscular breathing mechanism.

HA! This is the first the spider has heard of it.

No active muscular breathing mechanism! Hallelujah! Who needs a spiracle!

He drags himself over a grain of polenta to a tiny scraping of cheese.

Sniffs. Woof! A pungent aroma!

See that, says Proust. It's crawled over a grain of polenta and it's eating the horrible cheese.

Manners, Marcel! says Albertine. It's a nice cheese. What kind is it?

Nâsal, says Cristian.

No one laughs. That's its name. It's not even funny.

They eat Nâsal and drink plum brandy, until half past nine.