Bumptious Infant

I smell wongai plums, says the new bandy bandy.

That will be me, says our one.

Don't tell me you eat them! says the new bandy bandy.

I travel in a wongai plum scented container, says our bandy bandy.

How fascinating, says Gaius. Hear that, Humboldt?

But we knew that, says Humboldt. It was Frances's container.

Not THAT, says Gaius. The two species of bandy bandy are conversing. Is that not remarkable?

In English, says Humboldt. A difficult language.

I taught them, says Terence. I was the teacher.

I learned in Weipa, says the new bandy bandy. I often go there. I sit on a concrete block and look at the sea.

Did you lose a brother? asks Terence. Did he float away on a piece of wet cardboard?

No, says the new bandy bandy. Not on a cardboard. But I have lost many brothers and sisters.

What on? asks Terence.

Not everyone floats off on a piece of cardboard, says Gaius. I assume our new friend refers to population loss due to diminishing habitat, because of the mining.

I do refer to it, says the new bandy bandy. But what can we do?

Move, says Terence. Next time you go to the concrete block, look for a box and get in it.

That seems risky, says the new bandy bandy.

It is risky, says Humboldt. Don't even consider it.

Risky, says Terence, if you follow the wrong pointing finger.

Don't confuse him, says Gaius.

I'm not confused, says the new bandy bandy. I'm resigned to my fate. We all are.

How a person masters his fate is more important than what his fate is, says Humboldt.

Assuming he masters it at all, says Gaius.

Obviously, says Humboldt.

What do you want from me? asks the new bandy bandy.

To kidnap you, says Terence.

To take a photo, says Gaius. One with our own bandy bandy would be nice. For comparison.

Can I be in it? asks Terence.

Yes, says Gaius. Hold them both up, heads together. Ask them first.

Ask them what? asks Terence.

If they will let you, says Humboldt. You really are bumptious.

He said bum-tious! says Terence.

Nothing wrong with bumptious, says Gaius.

I'll remember that, says Terence.

He grabs the two bandy bandies and holds them up for a photo.

It's dark in the mangroves.

Not much moonlight filters through.

So Humboldt shines the torch on the bandies and Terence's face in the middle.

Flash! Whirr-click.

Good one!

A grinning infant, two gasping snakes.