Woman's Tongue

Only souse scraps now, on the table, and a few cutter crusts. Empty rum glasses. One bottle, sticky with cherry juice.

We should head back soon, says Julia.

We should, says Gaius. Now where are those Beans?

The bunch of Seaside Beans lies under his chair, severely wilted.

I'll  get you some more, says Surfing-With-Whales.

I'll come with you, says Rachel. I'll put on my dress first.

She stands up, and steps into her parrot green dress.

Performs a wide twirl. How's the back looking?

Great, says Julia. Don't be too long, guys.

Rachel and Surfing-With-Whales walk down the beach track to gather some more Seaside Beans.

Australia, says Rachel. I always wanted to go there.

You should go then, says Surfing-With-Whales. Seize the day. Nietzsche.

Horace, says Rachel. It's Latin.

How is it Latin? says Surfing-With-Whales.

Carpe diem, says Rachel. That's Latin.

Did I say it in Latin? says Surfing-With-Whales. No I didn't.

Okay, says Rachel. I get it. But it wasn't Nietzsche. He was German.

Yeah, he was, says Surfing-With-Whales. Stiff as. But guess what? He had an affair with my mother.

(Yes Surfing-With-Whales has moved on. He can deal with it now. He had counselling from a very nice counsellor).

Your mother must be a remarkable woman, says Rachel.

She is, says Surfing-With-Whales. She does Level Three Reiki.

Is that the one where you don't have to be there, says Rachel.

One of you does, says Surfing-With-Whales.

I mean, can she do healing from a distance? asks Rachel.

Yep, says Surfing-With-Whales. If I busted something right now, I'd just call her.

Why would you need to? asks Rachel.

Yeah, probably wouldn't need to, says Surfing-With-Whales. You'd get on well with my mother. You remind me of her.

Oh, says Rachel.

They walk on in silence, looking for Seaside Beans.

All they can see are wild cucumbers, blue vines, and shak shak, a yellow sweet pea.

Woman's tongue, says Rachel.

You what? says Surfing-With-Whales, who had been deep in contemplation. Those second best shorts. His mother had been giving Nietszche a groin massage. Nietszche had strained it, trying too hard. The shorts needed laundering. But he never wanted them back after that. What happened to them? Oh yeah, he gave them to Sweezus. He liked them. Didn't know about the spunk junk. Probably wouldn't have cared....

Shak shak, says Rachel. Women's tongue. That's what they call it.

No kidding, says Surfing-With-Whales. Wanna sit down for a minute?