We've Bonded

You're not going to leave them? says the fellow climber.

Err, no, says Sweezus. Maybe we shouldn't.

I hear a stream babbling, says the fellow climber. Let us pick them up and drop them in there.

We have to get going, says Arthur.

The fellow climber gives him a hard stare.

Arthur scoops up seventeen dead tadpoles, stuffs them in his pockets, and saunters across to the tiny stream where he ditches the tadpoles.

He returns.

If the bottle wasn't cut we could've filled it with water, says Arthur.

He gives her a hard stare.

Don't tell me you've come without water, says the fellow climber. You'll be sorry.

Sweezus picks up the cut bottle. It's still a container of sorts. Just got no lid on. And there's two fat frogs in it. Shit.

Give them here, says the fellow climber. These two are froglets. They've sprouted legs and started absorbing their tails. And of course, they are breathing using their lungs. Hello, little fellows.

The two froglets ignore her. They have more pressing problems.

I'm Pauline, says the fellow climber. We seem to have bonded. Shall we go up together?

It's not like they're going to answer, says Sweezus.

I was talking to you, says Pauline.

We've bonded? says Sweezus. Yeah well, we're going straight up. You're probably taking the road.

I'm not, says Pauline. We shall go up together. It'll be nice to have someone to talk to. And I have water. Also, a number of sandwiches.

Okay, says Sweezus. Let's go.

They start up Chimborazo.

Pauline is from Idaho. She likes talking.

Since my husband died, says Pauline, I've taken up climbing. I used to be a property manager. Good at it too. Always check the ceiling fans. That was my motto. Anyway, Cedric hated climbing. Hated poetry. I love poetry. Especially the exalted sort. That's why I chose Chimborazo.....

Arthur's a poet, says Sweezus.

Really, says Pauline. What about you?

Creative, says Sweezus. But not a poet. Arthur's like really awesome at poetry. He can...

Do you know Chimborazo? asks Pauline. I mean Chimborazo the poem. Written by Simón Bolívar? That's what inspired me.

Never heard of him, says Sweezus. No wait yeah, I have. Or....no. Bolivar's a water sewage treatment works north of Adelaide. That might be what....

Arthur smirks. The poetry discussion is not going all that well.

He decides to bring the conversation round to the sandwiches, by a roundabout method.

How are the froglets going? asks Arthur.

Pauline is carrying the cut bottle under one arm. She stops and looks in at the froglets.

They look a bit dry, says Pauline. I'll just sprinkle them with some water.

She stops and takes a water bottle from her backpack. Anyone like a sandwich?

Bit early, says Sweezus.

Never too early, says Pauline. These are cheese and pickle. These are sardine.

Arthur has a cheese and pickle. Sweezus has a sardine.

Pauline, chewing on a pickle, looks up at the snow covered summit.

Enveloped in the cloak of Iris I came... says Pauline.

Sweezus rolls his eyes at Arthur, but Arthur doesn't mind it.