A Genius!

You've drowned my potato, says Terence.

We thought it could swim, says Vello.

So did the potato, says Terence. 

He lifts his red parrot potato tenderly out of the bowl of cold water.

What's wrong?

The potato has no means of saying.

It certainly is a fine looking potato, says Vello. What are these things?

Peduncles, says Katherine. And these are red feathers. 

We can see that, says David.

He pulls out a feather.

Baa! Saaave mee!

Did you hear that? says Wittgenstein. The potato spoke. I'm sure of it.

Was it you, Terence? asks Belle.

No, says Terence. My potato can talk! Yippee! 

I won't believe it unless I hear it say something else, says David.

He leans in. Hearing nothing, he tickles the potato with its own feather.

The potato finds his speaking voice again.

Baa! Saave mee!

Wah! says Terence. Where's your voice coming from?

The feather hole, says Wittgenstein, an interested observer.

Good heavens! says Vello. What would happen if we pulled out another one?

Try it, says David.

Vello pulls out another one.

Baa! Saave mee!

Remarkable, says Vello. We must use him. What a pity he can't swim.

He can, says Terence. He just doesn't want to. He only does surfing.

He could swim in the sea, says Katherine. But you can't reproduce the ocean in a cheap Fringe show.

Cheap! says Vello. Do you know how much we've shelled out so far!

All you need is a stick and a string, says Belle. Tie the string round the potato, attach the string to the stick, Terence can hold it over a bowl of cold water and raise and lower the stick to give the impression the potato is swimming. The potato can shout Baa! Saave mee! each time it comes to the surface. Terence won't need to learn any lines. That's a good thing because he'd be sure to forget them. But Terence will be happy because he gets to work the potato.

Yes! cries Terence.

Belle, you're a genius! cries Vello. What would we do without you? Are there any more fruit buns?

Another whole packet, says Belle.

She goes out to get them.

Is there any paper? asks Wittgenstein. 

Here, says David. Need a pencil?

Of course he needs a pencil. 

He starts drawing up stick-and-string plans.

These are good, says David looking over his shoulder, dropping fruit bun crumbs.

Wittgenstein thinks he means the plans.

I do have an engineering background, he murmurs.