How was that, girls?
Kobo is moaning.
Why are you moaning? asks Terence.
It was supposed to be a delight for the two of us, says Kobo. But Pinky missed it.
No, she didn't, says Terence. She's here.
Inert and deflated, says Kobo.
Let's see, says Brad.
He pulls Pinky off the end off the bottle.
Kobo is right.
Ask her what she thought of it, says Kobo. I guarantee there won't be an answer.
Terence sees what the problem is. There is no air in Pinky.
It's the bird's fault! The comb crested jacana.
He blows Pinky up. Ties her off.
When are we starting? asks Pinky. What a beautiful day!
Brad has to go, darling, says Kobo. We're not starting.
You already went, says Terence. But my bird had a really bad idea.
Your bird! says the comb crested jacana.
Parrot, says Terence. Don't worry, I don't even want you.
Who is this? asks Pinky. What a glorious red crested creature!
Thank you, says the comb crested jacana. I also walk on water.
You don't say? says Pinky. Would it be rude to ask you to show us?
Rude, no, says the comb crested jacana. But I walk on fresh water, not the sea.
What lovely long toes you have, says Pinky.
You are quite lovely yourself, says the comb crested jacana. Your four rose pink rubber fingers and your whimbrel beak drawn on sideways could be the work of Picasso.
O Pinky, says Kobo. Did you hear that?
It's thrilling, says Pinky.
Well, I'm off, says Brad. Want a lift back to the cabin?
No thank you, says Kobo. We'll stay a bit longer.
Will we? says Terence. What for?
To feel the sun on our faces, says Kobo. To breathe the milky air. To speak of art with our new bird friend who can walk on water. To unpack our lives.
I was just passing through, says the comb crested jacana. But I suppose I can spare fifteen minutes.
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