O Clam Spam

Gloria reaches the banks of the Embley River.

Moonlight glints on the water, where a pair of discarded green flip flops float gently.

Kambel! Kambel!

Kambel emerges.

Gloria! It's you! Where is the infant with the frog pen?

Back at the cabin, says Gloria. But I have brought Ageless lobster. He of the Mark of the Claw.

Where is he? asks Kambel. I don't see a lobster.

There's been a slight hitch. He is moulting down at the clay deposits, says Gloria. We need you.

As you see, says Kambel, I am currently discommoded.

Is it your feet? asks Gloria. I did wonder.

Take a look, says Kambel. He sticks his front feet up, the toes are quite swollen.

This is no good, says Gloria. I was hoping you might come to the rescue.

For the Claw, I might make an effort, says Kambel. Has he brought me a pot?

The elements of a pot, says Gloria. The clay and a visualisation.

Tell me of the visualisation, says Kambel.

Can we get going? asks Gloria. He will be rapidly fading.

Okay, says Kambel.

He heaves himself out of the water.

This had better be worth it. Oo-aah!

Gloria keeps talking, to take Kambel's mind off the toe pain.

The finished product will be dedicated to you, says Gloria. It will feature you, of course, and various wavy lines representing water, there may also be a clam motif. I hope you won't mind that. He's insisting.

As long as there's a Mark of the Claw, says Kambel. I wish to know all about it, including its history.

I'm sure he can tell you, says Gloria. You're all right with the clam then?

O-clam-spam! says Kambel, dragging himself forward.

She takes that to mean that he is.

....

At the clay deposits, Ageless is languishing.

Nearly all of his carapace has dropped off.

His soft parts are exposed and he should be in water.

He tries to imagine he is.

Criiiiik,,,,,beautiful dark water, streaming with seaweed,,,,,rounded pebbles like cushions,,,,,a spectacled sea snake,,,,,criiiiikee,,,,, where did that come from???

Thud thud. Cruachan! The Campbells are coming!

No! It's Gloria, pursued by a monster!

Awaiting The Scotsman

The full moon shines through the Cape York red gum branches.

A rufous owl screeches.

A snapping frog snaps.

A shrill whistling frog whistles shrilly.

Are we there yet? croaks Ageless.

Not yet, says Gloria, and anyway, we're making a detour.

Didn't you offer to flit low behind me? says Ageless.

I did, says Gloria. Would you like me to flit low behind you right now?

Will it help to propel me? asks Ageless.

It should do, says Gloria. Let's try it.

She flits low behind Ageless. 

Ageless takes a few steps. Yes, it is helping. He feels some sort of wind at his back.

Turn left at that cotton tree, says Gloria. 

Ageless turns left.

Soon they are at the red clay deposits.

Now, says Gloria, grab yourself a lump of red clay.

Ageless grabs at the red clay with his dominant claw. He manages one clawful.

Very good, says Gloria. Now we shall head for the river.

Ach! says Ageless. Not yet. I'll  rest while you give me some pointers.

All right, says Gloria. First: Visualise your finished product.

A round red pot, with creamy white clams set around it, says Ageless. 

White? says Gloria. Could you.... re-visualise that colour?

No, says Ageless, the pot is for Kobo. She is a creamy white clam. I cannot re-visualise her colour.

The pot is for Kambel, says Gloria.

Crackee! says Ageless. I must be delirious. Who is this Campbell? Is he a Scotsman?

A crocodile, says Gloria. Have you forgotten?

No, no, says Ageless.  I have not forgotten.

But he had forgotten.

Manganese and iron oxide make the best decorations, says Gloria. I suggest a crocodile pattern. In between wavy black lines, representing water. You did a fine job on your first pot....

My first pot.....mumbles Ageless.

He remembers the first pot. He traced Kobo on it. A creamy white puffball, soft on the inside.....he had poked his claw into the clay and moved it round a little, to make an opening.........

He moves his claw now. Crack! It opens a little..... 

Half his claw falls to the ground..... 

His willpower crumbles.

Damn it, says Gloria. What to do now?

Wa.....ter! moans Ageless. 

We are not far from water, says Gloria. I shall go to the river and fetch Kambel. He may cooperate, he may not, but I'll .....

He is not listening. She heads for the river.

Ageless lies prostrate, awaiting the Scotsman.

Armless You Are

Ageless has cracked a bit more.

Would you like to sit in the sink? asks Gaius.

No thanks, says Ageless. I have an order to complete before moulting.

An order? says Gaius. Do you mean a new pot for the crocodile?

YES, he DOES! says Terence. But we're not going back.

Very wise, says Gaius. The crocodile was happy with his flip flops.

But I granted him a POT, says Terence

 You need to stop granting, says Gaius.

Crackee! ejaculates Ageless.

A piece of his carapace drops off.

I know! says Terence. Ageless can go back to the river and crack there.

I'm going, says Ageless. Don't you worry.

He starts making his way to the door.

Slowly. Hoping that someone will say:

Help him! says Kobo. He can't go alone in his condition.

I'll help him, says Gloria. I'll flit low, right behind him. Not only that, I'll take him via the clay deposits. He can pick up some clay. Then I'll give him some pointers.

Argh! cries Ageless. Can we get going?

It's very kind of you Gloria, says Kobo.

I'm like that, says Gloria.

She and Ageless proceed though the cabin door, watched by Terence, Kobo and Pinky.

Are you jealous? asks Pinky.

No, says Kobo. Ageless is loyal. And Gloria is harmless.

Ha ha, laughs Terence. Armless! You all are.

This is not worth debating.

.........

Ageless looks up at the sky, which is darkening.

Alas, says Ageless. I won't make it.

You will make it, says Gloria. You made one already. It wasn't bad for a beginner.

To the river, grits Ageless.

Ha! says Gloria. What sort of talk is this from the Mark of the Claw?

Ageless is pricked into action.

Arr! Cracky!

........

Sweezus and Arthur have gone to find a traditional old Aussie pub in Weipa.

(There isn't one)

Terence is drawing with his frog pen. Designs for his pots.

Kobo and Pinky are whispering about Ageless.

Poor Ageless.

Gaius and Humboldt are reviewing the day. A successful flip flop delivery, but.....

After all, says Gaius, that's not what we came for.

Exactly, says Humboldt. We've lost sight of our original purpose. You're right!

Let's make one more attempt to save the new bandy bandies from destruction, says Gaius. There's a full moon tonight, and it's humid.

Ideal conditions, says Humboldt, suppressing a burp.

My Surprise Is Not Butter Chicken

Back at the cabin, Ageless is fuming.

Where is his pot?

Let's go back three or four minutes.

Ageless: Beloved! I have a surprise for you and Pinky.

Kobo: I hope it's delightful.

Ageless: It's better than delightful. Ladies, come out of the plum box.

Kobo: Pinky, wake up! Ageless has a surprise.

Pinky: Oo!

Kobo: We're ready.

Ageless: Sit there while I open the freezer.

Kobo: I hope it's not food.

Pinky: Is it food, Ageless?

Ageless (dragging a chair to the refrigerator): No, it's not food.

They watch Ageless climb onto the chair.

From the top rung of the chair back, he can just reach the handle of the freezer.

He opens the freezer.

Inside the freezer are two frozen dinners. Butter chicken.

But where is his pot?

Kobo: So it IS food!

Pinky: Butter chicken! We would never eat that!

Ageless: My surprise is not butter chicken. This must have happened while I was in the corner feeling poorly.

Kobo: Ageless dear! Poorly?

Ageless: Urrrrgh! Crackle!

Kobo: You're splitting. You must find a safe spot near the water where you can moult in private.

Ageless: My darling! Will you come with me?

The door opens and Terence bursts in.

Ageless topples.

Ageless : Craawwwwwk!

Terence: Serves you right. You stole my clay and made a rubbish pot and it MELTED!

Ageless: Melted?

Terence: Floated away.

Kobo: Was that our surprise?

Pinky: Was it?

Ageless: It was not rubbish. It was the best I could do.

Terence: You have to make another one, for the crocodile.

Kobo: A crocodile! How exotic.

Sweezus and Arthur come in.

Sweezus: What's happened to Ageless?

Ageless: I fell off the chair when Terence burst in just after I learned that my red pot had been replaced by butter chicken.

Arthur: Butter chicken. Let's see.

(It's frozen butter chicken from Woolworths, but Arthur is hungry).

Arthur: Is there an oven?

Sweezus: Use the microwave, buddy.

Arthur: Want one?

Sweezus: Yeah, I'm starving.

Ageless: Uhhhhh! Who will carry me down to the river?

Sweezus: We've just been there. We're not going back.

Terence: You SAID!

Sweezus: I know I said. But ...

Arthur: It's ready!

Gaius and Humboldt come in.

Gaius: Arthur! How prescient! We were just saying how hungry we were.

Arthur: Is this yours? We were about to eat it.

Gaius: In that case we must share our butter chicken.

A noble outcome, at which everyone is mildly disappointed.

Ingenious Hum

Kambel the crocodile glides out to mid river.

The flip flops stay on.

He glides back again.

Very good, says Humboldt. None of us thought they'd stay on.

NOW you tell me! says the crocodile. I must say I'm finding swimming more difficult.

Two of your webs are cut, says Gaius. And I made cross cuts at the inner ends, for wedging the toe pieces.

Ingenious, says Humboldt.

Hum, says the crocodile.

At least you've achieved your desire, says Gloria. O Knight of the Golden Tortoise.

One of them, says the crocodile. Where is Carved Cloud?

Nowhere, says Terence. It's a girl's name.

Nothing wrong with a girl's name, says Gloria.

If you're a girl, says Terence.

It's your reward, says the crocodile. Take it or leave it....... No, don't bother.

Why? asks Terence.

I'll simply ask you, who is Ageless and when will he make me another?

He's a robber, says Terence. He stole my red clay and made a pot that was rubbish.

Not in my eyes, says the crocodile. That pot bore a sign.

I know, says Terence. That's Ageless's mark. The mark of the Claw. It's not a real claw, it's a tulip.

It isn't, says Sweezus. Don't confuse him.

What is a tulip? moans the crocodile. His front phalanges are hurting.

Ha ha, laughs Terence. You don't even know!

That's enough, says Gaius. I think it's time Terence went back to the cabin.

Yeah, come on, little dude, says Sweezus. We'll find Ageless, and ask him to make a new pot.

But not with MY clay, says Terence.

No, we'll get him his own, says Sweezus. Coming Arthur?

Okay, says Arthur standing up from the log.

They head off to the cabin.

Gaius addresses the crocodile.

Well now, says Gaius. Are you happy with the flip flops?

Yes, says Kambel. But I would have liked the frog pen.

Too late. Terence has gone off with it, says Gloria. You are slow-witted.

Only in the afternoon, says Kambel.

Gaius and Humbolt turn away from the river.

Gloria too.

They soon disappear like flies in the distance.

Kambel kicks himself, for his lack of aggression.

Visionary Agony

The crocodile stops groaning.

All right. I will try on the flips flops.

Good man, says Gaius, unwrapping a pair.

How shall we do this? asks Humboldt.

I'll roll over, says the crocodile.

He rolls over in the shallows.

Let ME do it, says Terence.

He takes a flip flop from from Gaius. Size nine.

There are four feet to choose from.

Terence is not the only one who is looking.

Everyone is looking.

So everyone sees the same thing.

Front feet, five phalanges, back feet, four, the back ones being longer. But this is not the problem. His webbed toes are the problem.

YOU CAN'T WEAR FLIPS FLOPS! says Terence. YOU CAN'T GET THEM ON!

No need to shout, says the crocodile. Surely someone here can solve the problem.

Arthur? says Gaius.

Scissors, says Arthur. Or a knife.

Excellent! says Gaius. Do I still have my Swiss army knife?

Back at the cabin, says Humboldt. No wait! I have it in my pocket. I was peeling an apple.....

Surgery? roars the crocodile.

You okay with that? asks Sweezus.

I don't know, says the crocodile. Who will advise me?

I will, says Gloria. If flip flips are the preferred footwear of Knights of the Golden Tortoise, and you aspire to be one, then the outcome should outweigh the agony.

Gloria, says the crocodile, you don't have feet now. You're not the best person to advise me.

Try Arthur, says Gloria.

Do it, says Arthur. If nothing else, you might come up with a visionary poem.

The crocodile thinks about that.

He would like to come up with a visionary poem. If nothing else.

I submit, says the crocodile.

Can I do it? asks Terence.

No, says Gaius. It's my knife. I'll do it. Front feet first. Hold still, Kambel.

Gaius make two quick slits between the first and second phalange of the crocodile's front feet.

Flip flops! Quick! says Gaius.

The crocodile tries to think of other things.

ark! the AGONY!
but O! in the words of Carved Cloud
AGELESS WILL MAKE ME ANOTHER ONE

Turn over, says Gaius. Try them.

Is it already over?

He treads the shallow water....gingerly.

O...O...let them stay on!

Rare Infant Wisdom

Everyone stares at the red pot.

My clay! wails Terence.

We thought so, says Gaius. That's why we brought it.

Why did you leave it in the freezer? asks Humbolt.

I DIDN'T! says Terence. Can I have it?

Humboldt hands it to him.

The crocodile glances at the pot. Freezes. Something has caught his attention.

Terence is examining the artwork.

Let's see, says Sweezus. That mark looks like Kobo.

SHE wouldn't do it, says Terence.

I didn't say that, says Sweezus.

Ageless was MINDING it, says Terence.

Looks like Ageless did more than mind it, says Arthur, wrapping Humboldt's handkerchief round his scraped knee.

The effect is quite pleasing. The red clay stains look bloody.

YES! says Terence. See that mark! That's the mark of the Claw!

The crocodile lunges at the red pot which bears the mark of the Claw.

He desires it.

Terence loses his balance, and the red pot drops into the Embley River.

Oop! It was already crumbling. And it was never fired. Putting it in the freezer was the last thing it needed.

The impassive waters of the Embley break it into component particles.

Rapidly.

It flimmers away.

Look what you've done! says Terence.

Apologies, says the crocodile Too much going on in my head at the moment.

Understandable, says Gloria who has been watching from a high stringy bark.

Why is that? asks Gaius.

Poor Kambel. He has been promised two pairs of Crocs. He has waited. He has not eaten Arthur. He has had his mind turned by Chinese poetry. The Crocs have arrived in wrong sizes. His attention has been diverted by a desirable punching frog pen. He has then been promised flip flops, the alternative footwear favoured by Knights of the Golden Tortoise, and now, just as he seemed about to attain them, a red pot turns up with the mark of the Claw, which means something to him, but it dissolves in the water, as he is watching.

Jumping Jupiter! says Gaius. That's a lot to come to terms with.

The mark of the CLAW! groans the crocodile. Gone forever.

Ageless will make you another one, says Terence. Stop groaning and try on your flip flops.

Wise advice from the mouth of an infant.

The Golden Tortoise

Sweezus has walked back to meet Gaius and Humboldt.

Whoa! says Sweezus. Lucky you're here.

Is Arthur with you? asks Gaius.

Yeah, says Sweezus. But the croc's getting toey.

Then it's fortunate we've brought extra flip flops, says Humboldt.

Awesome, says Sweezus. What sizes?

Does it matter? asks Gaius. We just chose them at random.

It matters, says Sweezus.

As they talk they keep walking.

What's Terence doing? asks Gaius. He appears to be poking the crocodile with a pencil.

Shit! says Sweezus. It's a pen. Why doesn't Arthur stop him?

He sprints for the riverbank, where the crocodile is showing signs of amusement.

Terence is demonstrating the frog pen. Boof! Boof!

I saw you sprinting, says Arthur. But it's not what it looks like.

No, it's not, says Gloria. Kambel loves the pen. He wishes to order a box full.

Punching frog pens, says Arthur. Just when we've brought all these Crocs.

Yeah, but Gaius and Humboldt've brought extra flip flops, says Sweezus.

The crocodile stops toying with the frog pen.

He draws himself up.

And what are flip flops?

Sweezus is about to explain, but before he can say that flip flips are no good in the water, Arthur says:

Footwear, worn only by Knights of the Golden Tortoise.

Hmmm, muses the crocodile. I have long wished to be one of those.

He considers.

Do you have any size nine or twelves? he asks. Or both preferably?

The beauty of flip flops , says Arthur, is size doesn't matter.

Gaius and Humboldt arrive at the log on which Arthur is sitting.

Arthur! says Gaius Your knee is bleeding!

The Way never acts, says Arthur, but nothing is left undone.

Nonsense, says Gaius. Do you have a bandage?

No, says Arthur.

I have one, says Humboldt. It's a handkerchief, but a clean one.

He draws it out of his pocket.

It is stained with red clay.

Damn this red pot! says Humboldt. I should never have brought it.

Wah! cries Terence recognising the clay, but not the artwork.

Nothing Left Undone

Terence is frowning. He is knee deep in mud.

But that's not the problem.

Carved Cloud is a girl's name!

Stupid crocodile.

The stupid crocodile is knee deep in mud too.

Serves him right. His new Crocs will get filled up with mud when he puts his feet in.

Ha ha.

Then Terence will draw him.

He stops frowning, and feels in his shorts pocket for the frog pen.

Yippee! It's there!

The crocodile is eyeing the size eights and sevens that Sweezus has brought him.

He is doubtful they'll fit.

But he can't see his feet at the moment.

Gloria has a suggestion.

Step back into the water, Kambel. Wash the mud off your feet.

Kambel, she knows his real name!

But not his new title.

He steps back into the water. Now what?

Now, says Gloria, float on your back with your feet up. The boys will do the rest.

It doesn't seem very dignified, says the crocodile.

Do you want the shoes or don't you? asks Gloria.

Not yet, says Kambel. First I wish to know your opinion.

You don't, says Gloria.

I do, says Kambal.

Okay, says Gloria. It is the height of ridiculousness for you to wear Crocs, when you live in a river. Furthermore, your front feet are at least three sizes smaller than your back feet. You need nines and twelves.

What contradictory opinions! cries Kambel.

He snaps at Gloria, who quickly flits out of his way.

Sweezus looks at Arthur.

Arthur shrugs.

He is about to intervene with some Daoist philosophy.

The Way never acts, yet nothing is ever left undone.

But he doesn't need to.

Like flies in the distance, two scientists are approaching.

They bear a red pot, and more Crocs in different sizes

Resembling Flies

Midday approaches.

Arthur has been entertaining the crocodile with poetry.

There is only one Carved Cloud
Yet she dreads the spring, blowing cold in the palace
When her husband, a knight of the Golden Tortoise
Will leave her bed to be early at court.

That's rather good, says the Crocodile. I wonder how one becomes a knight of the Golden Tortoise?

It's not about that, says Arthur. It's about Carved Cloud, dreading the spring, like I dread midday.

More fool you for reminding me, says the Crocodile. Is it midday?

Not yet, says Arthur.

So entertain me, says the crocodile.

Okay, says Arthur. This is from the Celestial Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge. All animals are divided into fourteen categories.

1. Those that belong to the emperor.

Are you Chinese? asks the crocodile.

French, says Arthur. I have a friend, Sikong Shu, a Middle Tang poet.

Never heard of him, says the crocodile. Continue.

2. Embalmed ones, says Arthur.

3. Those that are trained.

4. Suckling pigs.

5. Mermaids.

Stop! says the crocodile. What sort of list is this?

A fantastic one, says Arthur. Made up by an Argentinian writer.

The world contains more than the Embley River, I see, says the crocodile.

Yes, says Arthur. But today the world is coming to you, like flies in the distance.

What? asks the crocodile.

Number 14, says Arthur. Those that resemble flies in the distance.

I know all there is to know about flies, says the crocodile, and no other animals resemble them.

Look over there, says Arthur. He points towards the distance.

The crocodile looks.

Sweezus, Terence and Gloria are approaching.

Only Gloria resembles a fly, in any way.

Ding! It is midday.

The crocodile stiffens. At last his delivery is here.

Yo bro! says Sweezus, squelching through mud to the log where Arthur is sitting.

Fuck, man! Did he bite you?

No, says Arthur. I fell against a tree. We've been talking poetry. The crocodile's into it.

Boys! Boys! says Gloria. Talk to the crocodile. Don't ignore him!

Good day, crocodile, says Sweezus. I'm Sweezus. This is Gloria, and the little dude here is Terence.

I know him, says the crocodile. The infant who promised me my shoes. Greetings Terence. If I approve of the shoes, I shall grant you a new name.

I don't want a new name, says Terence.

Hush, says Gloria. It's an honour.

What new name is it? asks Terence.

Carved Cloud, says the crocodile.

Urk! Terence hates it.

Random Red Tufts

The red object in the freezer stares out at Gaius and Humboldt.

No wait. It doesn't. It is just a red pot.

Wrapped in a dirty red hat.

This is Ageless's hat, if I'm not mistaken, says Gaius.

He takes it out of the freezer.

Freezer or not, it's unhygienic to have such an object in close contact with their frozen dinners.

Humboldt takes the object, and places it on the table, next to Sweezus's note.

Aha! says Humboldt. A note! Gone to deliver 1st crocs w. T.  S. Who is T.S?

Gaius examines the note while Humboldt unwraps the red pot.

It is crumbly, and bears the mark of the Claw.

There are wavy lines drawn around it. And stick figures, depicting a clam and four fingers. Tufts of red wool sprout from random positions. Which could be unintended. 

Terence's work no doubt, says Humboldt. I wonder where he is? And why he put his pot in the freezer?

Gaius puzzles over the note.

Got it! says Gaius. It's not T.S. It's T. S. which is quite different.

Humboldt puts the pot down and looks at the letters.

Gaius is right!

So T will be Terence, says Gaius. Which explains why he's not here. And S will be Sweezus.

Perhaps we should follow them, says Humboldt.

We must, says Gaius. We can't guarantee Arthur is with them. He is not mentioned.

So what? asks Humboldt.

Arthur can deal with anything, says Gaius.

(This sounds like an exaggeration to Humboldt).

And Terence is impervious, adds Gaius.

(Humboldt agrees).

But Sweezus is vulnerable, says Gaius. Come, let us go after them.

Shall we take a few more pairs of Crocs with us, as a second delivery? asks Humboldt.

Excellent idea, says Gaius.

(Humboldt is pleased).

And what about this pot? asks Humboldt.

Yes, the pot, says Gaius. Bring it. It may come in useful.

How exactly? asks Humboldt. It isn't well made.

But Gaius is looking for pairs of Crocs in different sizes, and not listening.

So, the red pot is coming.

The Scientists' Dinner

What time is it? asks the crocodile.

Not midday yet, says Arthur. Your delivery's coming.

You know that for certain? asks the crocodile. Because if it isn't, all poetry's off.

.......

This is scary.

What if Arthur gets eaten?

Let's see where the delivery has got to.

.......

Terence goes slowly past trees.

Speed up, little buddy, says Sweezus.

I'm looking for parrots, says Terence.

I'll look for them, says Gloria. I'm best placed to.

She flits up and darts through the stringbarks and red gums.

She flits down again.

Nothing doing, except for a Wompoo fruit dove, says Gloria. And it flew away.

Keep looking, says Terence.

Not too hard, says Sweezus.

Gloria winks.

Now Terence, says Gloria. I want you to think about your drawing. We'll be getting there soon. Sweezus will be meeting the crocodile. It's a moment fraught with danger, especially if it's in the afternoon.

Good! says Terence. I'll draw him running away, dropping flip flops.

Let's hope that will not happen, says Gloria. I suggest you think of other scenarios, so that you will be ready for any eventuality. Did you bring a pencil?

No, says Terence.

I've got a pen, says Sweezus. Don't know if it works though. 

Try it now, says Gloria. We don't want to be caught scribbling madly to get the ink running while dealing with an unpredictable crocodile.

Sweezus gets a pen out. It's one he once thought was funny.

For goodness sake, says Gloria. How much did you pay for that silly frog pen?

I was given it, says Sweezus.

He scribbles on the side of a shoe box. It works!

He hands it to Terence.

Terence is delighted. If you press a button the frog will throw punches. Boof! Boof!

.......

This is tense. Will they arrive after midday?

.....

And what of Gaius and Humboldt?

They were out when Terence and Gloria returned from the clay deposits.

Where were they?

They had gone to the shops.

Tired of plums and apples they had decided to splash out on two frozen dinners from Woolworths.

They have just returned to the cabin, with two Butter Chicken dinners.

Gaius places them in the freezer.

I look forward to dinner, says Humboldt.

As do I, says Gaius. Now, what's this in the freezer? It wasn't there earlier.

Let me see, says Humboldt.

The scientists regard the red object.

Praise From A Reptile

Terence catches up.

You should have waited, says Terence.

We're waiting, says Sweezus.

But before, says Terence. I had no one to walk with. Not even a parrot.

We'll look out for parrots, says Gloria.

That's why I went slow, says Terence.

Come on, says Sweezus. Arthur must be way in front now.

He knows about crocs does he? asks Gloria.

No, says Sweezus.

Got a first aid kit? asks Gloria.

Of course he hasn't.

......

Arthur has reached the banks of the Embley, and sat down on a log.

The river is deep and something in it is moving.

It moves towards Arthur.

Arthur stands up and backs into a tree, festooned with climbing swamp fern.

Peace! says Arthur.

Piece of what? asks the crocodile. You don't appear to have anything, other than knees.

The crocodile lunges at Arthur's knees.

Arthur steps sideways, as the crocodile snaps, merely grazing a kneecap.

I meant to do that, says the crocodile. I'm playful in the morning. My teeth are okay, if you're asking.

My knee's bleeding, says Arthur, if you're asking.

Least of your worries, says the crocodile. Wait till after midday.

What happens then? asks Arthur.

I've set a deadline, says the crocodile. I was promised a delivery. If it's not here by then, I'll .....

Lash furiously the impassive river with your water-drunk carcass, says Arthur.

You're a poet! says the crocodile.

Was. Given up, says Arthur.

Still, says the crocodile. I admire what you said there.

Thanks, says Arthur, not averse to praise from a reptile who has recently threatened his knee.

I try my hand at poetry, from time to time, says the crocodile.

Arthur waits. He is bound to continue, without further encouragement.

Sure enough:

Damarri stepped on a thorn.
His foot was bleeding.
Ganyarra the crocodile smelt blood.
He followed Damarri across the inlet.
He tried to bite off his leg
But he couldn't.
This was because
Ganyarra had no teeth.

Damarri was a hero.
He laughed.

He made Ganyarra teeth
From the white mangrove.

With his gift
Ganyarra bit off
The left leg of Damarri.

Damarri told Ganyarra
To go off and hunt other people.

See Both Ways

Yeah some people say that, says Sweezus.

It's your face, says Gloria.

Yeah well, says Sweezus. We look different in helmets. Even our faces.

But Gloria isn't put off. It's not from the Tour de France that she thinks she knows him.

It's the Mission.

And Terence, says Gloria. He looks familiar too.

He fell off the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, says Sweezus. I caught him.

Good man, says Gloria. Thousands wouldn't.

Guess not, says Sweezus. But when I say caught him, he just kind of landed.

Meant to be, says Gloria. Do you believe our fates are determined?

If they ARE fates, says Sweezus.

That's the question, says Gloria. If they are, then they are. Me, I believe in the Old Ways.

Cool, says Sweezus. What are the old ways?

Make up stories to suit the landscape, and explain events that have already happened, says Gloria. For example the crocodile stories. Why do you think they have teeth? Why do they eat some people and not others? Which mountain range are they?

Which mountain range are they? asks Sweezus.

Trick question, says Gloria. Many. But one is the Yarrabah Range behind Cairns.

You're going to be useful, says Sweezus.

Yes I am , says Gloria. For one thing I can see both ways, by revolving my head.

Sweezus does not comment. Who can't see both ways by revolving their head?

And, continues Gloria, I can see that your friend Arthur is way ahead of us, and I think I know why.

So do I, says Sweezus. He's a poet. He likes to go alone into dangerous situations. He wants to meet the crocodile first.

I was going to say that, says Gloria.

Sorry, says Sweezus. What about Terence?

He's lagging behind us, says Gloria. I believe he is cross. He thinks we should wait for him. He wishes he had a parrot.

Yeah, says Sweezus. That would be right. A parrot. Suppose we should wait.

So they stop and wait for Terence.

Gloria who is intuitive, even more so since becoming a spirit guide, now knows a bit more about Sweezus.

Mainly, that he's a man who responds well to nudging.

Mission Awkward

Is it an hour yet? asks Terence.

He knows that it isn't.

No, says Gloria. Don't interrupt us.

How did I interrupt us? asks Terence.

The grown ups are talking, says Gloria. I'm offering my services as a crocodile psychologist.

Yeah, says Sweezus. We should get this done.

Then let's go, says Gloria. Crocodiles are more friendly in the morning.

Brilliant, says Sweezus. What can we carry the Crocs in?

Don't take too many, says Gloria. We should test the waters.

Good thinking, says Sweezus.

He opens a Croc box and lifts out a pair of size sevens. Then he opens a pair of size eights.

And two pairs of flip flops, says Gloria.

Sweezus packs them all in his back pack. He's ready.

Ready Arthur?

But it seems Arthur has left already.

Am I coming? asks Terence.

Sure you are, says Sweezus.

What about my clay? says Terence.

Ageless is here somewhere, says Sweezus. Ask him to mind it.

No, says Terence. I'm bringing it.

He picks up the clay lumps wrapped in the wet tea towel and hugs them close to his body.

Sweezus writes a quick note to Gaius.

Gone to deliver 1st crocs w.T.  S.

And they set off.

In the cabin, Ageless lifts his head from the plum box.

He would have minded the clay. He would have unwrapped it to see how it was going. He would have smoothed it, if that had proved to be possible. He would have tried out some designs of his own. If they were successful he would have taken a small piece from each lump of clay and formed his own lump. He would have made a pot for Kobo, his beloved, bearing the mark of the CLAW.

Terence clomps back in, and plonks the wet clay down on the table.

Sweezus refused to carry it, and Gloria couldn't.

I'll mind it, says Ageless. Don't worry.

Terence stomps back outside.

Sweezus is way up the road now. Gloria floats by his side.

I was brought up at the Weipa Mission, says Gloria.

No way, says Sweezus.

Yet I feel like I know you, says Gloria.

Uh. This could be awkward.

Wait Till It Happens

Now what? asks Terence.

Wet it, says Gloria. No not like that. Wrap it in a wet tea towel.

I haven't got a tea towel, says Terence.

Every cabin has a tea towel, says Gloria. A dish cloth and a tea towel.

Where? asks Terence.

Probably in the cupboard under the sink, says Gloria. Don't tell me you people haven't washed any dishes?

We only just got here, says Sweezus. Gaius might have.

Arthur looks in the cupboard. Yes, one pristine tea towel!

Good, now wet it, says Gloria, and wrap it round the clay.

Terence likes wetting the tea towel. He likes wrapping the clay.

But he doesn't like the next part.

Now we wait, says Gloria.

What for? asks Terence.

For the clay to soften up, says Gloria. Then you can work it.

How long will that take? asks Terence.

An hour or so, says Gloria. Meanwhile, you can work on your designs.

I've already done it, says Terence.

For one, says Gloria. You were going to make three pots.

Ambitious, says Sweezus. Who are they for?

One's for you, says Terence. Do you want a parrot?

No way, says Sweezus. I'm allergic to birds.

A crocodile, says Terence.

Yeah, okay, a crocodile, says Sweezus. A crocodile wearing flip flops.

It has to be a STORY, says Terence. Tell me the story.

Go on, says Arthur. Tell him the story.

It starts off with a promise, says Sweezus. A little dude can't get back across a river. A croc comes along. The croc's been admiring the Crocs on the feet of a traveller. He mentions to the little dude that he likes them. The little dude grants two pairs of Crocs to the croc. It's only a promise, but the croc helps the little dude get home.

Yay! That's one side! says Terence. Then what?

Later the croc's wish comes true. In abundance. A couple of guys rock up from San Sebastian with two hundred pairs of Crocs, for the crocodile and his buddies.  Only trouble is, half of them are Croc flip flops. So.... yeah....

They'll come off in the water, says Arthur

Ooh! says Gloria. Is this a true story? If it is, you need someone who knows croc psychology to go with you when you deliver them. Crocs can be tricky.

No kidding, says Sweezus.

How do I draw THAT? asks Terence.

Maybe wait till it happens, says Sweezus.

Birds Came After

This basket is rubbish, says Terence.

Let me see, says Gloria.

I have to hold it out like a saucer, says Terence.

Pa'u's first attempt, says Gloria. He forgot to make handles.

Terence keeps walking.

The grass ends tickle his nose.

It would be annoying if it wasn't a cement one.

They move on in silence until......

Where are you from? asks Gloria.

A palace, says Terence. We had parrots. The parrots brought messages.

That's nice, says Gloria. Did you have many messages?

No, says Terence. I didn't have any.

You're still an infant, says Gloria.

I'm probably not the original, says Terence.

That's an interesting thought, says Gloria. I suppose I'm not the original either.

You had hands and a body, says Terence. Pa'u told me.

How are you different now? asks Gloria.

There's no Saint Joseph to spy on me, says Terence.

That's a negative, says Gloria.

What does that mean? asks Terence.

A thing you don't have. Was he a statue?

No. A whacker, says  Terence.

Bad luck, says Gloria. But you're with better people these days. Think positive.

Are we there yet? asks Terence.

No, says Gloria.

But eventually they get to the door of the cabin.

Sweezus opens the door.

Hey little dude, awesome pots, says Sweezus, not looking at them properly.

They're not pots, says Gloria. Just hardened clay. Terence will need some water.

Where's Gaius? asks Terence. I have a question.

Out, says Sweezus. Ask me.

You won't know, says Terence.

Try me, says Sweezus. And if I don't know, you can ask Arthur.

Okay, says Terence. It's about a crocodile.

Cool, says Sweezus. I've been researching crocodiles.

Pa'u says the very first crocodile didn't have any teeth, says Terence. Is that true?

Sweezus's research doesn't go back that far.

Dunno, says Sweezus. It's possible, but no...yeah...before it was a...... Who's Pa'u?

A lizard, says Terence.

Yeah, before they were lizards, says Sweezus, I guess they were birds.

No, says Arthur. Birds came after.

Were they parrots? asks Terence.

Yeah, says Sweezus. Some of them would be.

So Terence is satisfied. Some of them would be. He won't need to ask Gaius.

All he needs now is some water.

The Original Teeth

It's getting hotter.

And Gloria has not woken up.

Terence and Pa'u are waiting.

She looks like a pot, says Terence. A pot with white hair.

Yes she does, says Pa'u. She used to have hands and a body.

Gloria's eyelids flicker, but she remains forty-winking.

Was that when she made the pot you're on? asks Terence. With crocodile teeth?

It was called 'Kambal the Crocodile and Pa'u the Lizard Exchange Teeth', says Pa'u.

Is it a true story? asks Terence.

I don't know, says Pa'u. I'm not the original Pa'u.

Terence wonders at this. Perhaps he is not the original Terence. Come to think of it, the Virgin never called him Terence. Nor did Saint Joseph.

Can you be not the original you? asks Terence.

A lizard can, says Pa'u. Are you listening to the story or are you going off on a tangent?

Listening, says Terence.

Kambal the crocodile wants to go hunting and fishing, but he doesn't have any teeth, says Pa'u.

Why? asks Terence.

The original crocodile didn't, says Pa'u.

No teeth. Terence doesn't believe it. He is going to ask Gaius.

The crocodile tricks the lizard into lending him his teeth, says Pa'u. Which proves I wasn't the lizard.

Why? asks Terence.

I'm not easily tricked, says Pa'u.

What about with difficulty? asks Terence.

Shut up, says Pa'u. The original Pa'u had a set of powerful teeth, just like I have.

Let's see, says Terence.

Pa'u opens his pink mouth, running his blue tongue proudly across his white teeth.

Good for crunching snail shells and invertebrates, says Pa'u.

How did he trick you? asks Terence.

He didn't give them back, says Pa'u.

But.... says Terence.

Now what? asks Pa'u. Don't tell me you don't believe it because I've got teeth. I told you I'm not the original.

So who's got them? asks Terence.

What? asks Pa'u.

The original teeth, says Terence.

Pa'u thinks it's time this nonsense ended.

He flicks Gloria, who is asleep in the hole.

Oh-ah, says Gloria. Was I sleeping? Have you finished your pots?

Terence looks at his clay lumps which have hardened.

Don't worry, says Gloria. What about the basket?

Not yet. says Pa'u.

He continues weaving grass in and out, in and out, until the basket is finished.

Terence drops the lumps into the basket.

Then he and Gloria make their way back to the cabin.

Pa'u watches them go.

He makes himself comfy, on a red rock in the sunshine.

And does not trouble himself with anomalies.

I Can't Help You

It's divine in the sun.

And the rocks are so colourful.

Gloria flits about, remembering.

The ochres were traditionally only for men.

But she got permission.

Terence is scooping red handfuls.

Pa'u has gone off and come back with a selection of grasses.

Scurvy grass, barbed wire grass, blady grass, yellow scented grass.

Lovely, says Gloria. Weave them into a basket. Naturally, I can't physically help you.

Tell us how to do it, says Pa'u.

Lay them crosswise in a circle, says Gloria. Then weave in and out, starting from the centre.

How clever, says Pa'u.

He begins weaving.

It's hard for a lizard.

This is hard for a lizard, says Pa'u.

I'll help you, says Terence.

That's the way! says Gloria. You help him, while I have forty winks.

She drops into a hole that Terence has made with his fingers.

So help me, says Pa'u.

Weave in and out, starting from the centre, says Terence.

I was, says Pa'u. Now it's your turn.

You're the parrot, says Terence. I'm the mentor. That's how I'm helping. Anyway, I don't need a basket.

He indicates his pockets, which are bulging with lumps of red clay.

Your shorts'll be stained. You'll never get that out, says the lizard.

Let's see, says Terence.

He pulls out the lumps of red clay.

They lie there. Three lumps. Soon to be story pots.

I'm starting NOW! says Terence. Where's my drawing? Bumhole! I lost it!

Is that it? asks Pa'u.

Yes! says Terence. You are quite a good parrot. Would you like to have lessons?

No, says Pa'u. I'm happy being myself.

You can be on a pot, wheedles Terence. In a story.

I've been on one already, says Pa'u. Gloria made it.

You can have feathers, says Terence.

On hers I had crocodile teeth, says Pa'u. And believe me, it didn't work out.

I know, says Terence. Crocodiles have bigger teeth.

Have you met one? asks Pa'u.

Yes, says Terence. He gave me a lift across a river and I granted him shoes.

That would make a good story pot, says Pa'u.

Yes! says Terence. I could be in a canoe!

On one side, says Pau. And on the other side, the crocodile with his shoes on.

I just need...... says Terence.

You do, agrees Pa'u.

To make the actual pot.

The Hands-Off Spirit Guide

Terence keeps walking.

Gloria floats above him.

Are you SURE you're not a parrot? asks Terence.

I'm not a parrot, says Gloria. I'm a spirit face guiding you to a special place.

Are we there yet? asks Terence.

Not yet, says Gloria. You'll know when you see it. There are all different colours of clay.

Red? asks Terence.

Yes, red is one of the colours, says Gloria. Also, black, white and ochre.

I'll make red pots, says Terence. I'll make three.

Why three? asks Gloria.

One for Sweezus, one for Gaius and one for my next parrot, says Terence.

Presents, says Gloria. That's nice.

They have come to a rocky place, with rocks of different colours.

Here we are, says Gloria. Now don't be too greedy. Just collect what you need.

Me? says Terence.

Can I do it? asks Gloria. I don't think so.

This is where I need a good parrot, says Terence. A parrot would bring a spade and a bucket.

What sort of parrot would do that? asks Gloria.

Any parrot, says Terence. Except a spirit guide parrot.

Have you had many parrots? asks Gloria.

Yes, says Terence. And I've lost them. Like I lose everything.

What else have you lost? asks Gloria. Spirit guides are good at recovery.

My Peruvian hat with side flaps, says Terence. Where is it?

May I touch your head? asks Gloria.

No, says Terence.

Then I can't help you, says Gloria. What else?

All the parrots, says Terence. Even the balloon one. And DON'T touch my head!

There's a blue tongue lizard! says Gloria.

Terence looks. The blue tongue lizard comes up to greet them.

Hello Gloria!

Hello Pa'u.

Need a spade and a bucket?

Not me, but the little fellow does.

No I DON'T, says Terence.

He does, says Gloria. You don't happen to have a spare spade and a bucket?

I did but I lost them, says Pa'u.

Ha ha, laughs Terence.

It's not funny, says Gloria. All right. Just scoop up some handfuls. Drop them into your pocket.

It's ROCKS! says Terence.

It's a mineral aggregate, says Gloris. Rocks and clay.

I'll help you, says Pa'u, the blue tongue lizard.

You are the only nice person, says Terence.

Hum, says Gloria. Who's going to teach you to make story pots?

Terence considers. Gloria has no hands. She will have to do it by talking.

Talking and shouting.

Whacking!

No, maybe not whacking.

The Lost Canoe

I know! says Terence. The canoe floats away with their brother!

Whose brother? asks Gloria.

Kobo and Pinky's brother, says Terence.

But wait, says Gloria. Are they related?

Yes, says Terence. By their brother.

Okay, says Gloria. But how does it follow?

By floating away, says Terence. The wheels fall off the plum box, and the canoe floats away.

No. The plum box floats away, says Gloria. There's no canoe in the story.

That's because it floated away with their brother, says Terence. I know it can happen. It happened to Saint Roley.

Saint Roley? Is there a Saint Roley? asks Gloria.

Yes, he's my parrot, says Terence. Not a very good parrot.

Why is that? asks Gloria.

He says he isn't a parrot, says Terence. He didn't even come. I've got no parrot, at the moment.

So what happened to his brother? asks Gloria.

Floated away on a cardboard, says Terence. It was the bottom piece of a box of potatoes. There was a pointing finger.

It must have been the side of the box, says Gloria. Or the top. They wouldn't put a pointing finger on the bottom. No one would see it.

No one did see it, says Terence. Except Saint Roley and his brother.

Sorry, says Gloria. Just being rational. Was it the ocean? Was his brother lost at sea?

Yes, says Terence.

Good story, says Gloria. It would make a good story pot. One brother on one side of the pot. The other brother on the other.

In a canoe, says Terence.

I thought it was a piece of cardboard, says Gloria.

Saint Roley is in a canoe, says Terence. Looking for his brother.

I like it, says Gloria. It has artistic balance.

There's no canoe, says Terence. I made up that part of the story.

Never mind, says Gloria. A story pot has to start somewhere.

Up With A Wangle

I want to make a story pot, says Terence.

Of course you do, says Gloria.

What's first? asks Terence. The pot or the story?

You already have the story, says Gaius.

It's not finished, says Terence. It needs a canoe.

That's my story, says Gloria. Yours is out there on the clothes line.

Is it? asks Terence.

He runs outside.

Tea, Gloria? asks Gaius.

Thank you, says Gloria.

He sets the tea down in front of her face.

So you're an artist, says Humboldt. Do you have a portfolio?

Not on me, says Gloria. As a spirit, I carry very little.

She inhales the steam from the tea.

Someone should check on Terence, says Gaius.

I'll do it, says Gloria. He's now my protegé.

Excellent! says Gaius. That leaves us to sort out what to do with these flip flops.

Gloria rises, hovers briefly and flits outside.

Terence is jumping at the wet tissue. He can't reach it.

Leave it, says Gloria. You're coming with me!

Where are we going? asks Terence.

To the Waypundun clay deposits, to get clay for your very first pot, says Gloria.

I'm not allowed to, says Terence.

How old are you? asks Gloria.

Yes, how old is he? How old was he when he went to Melbourne and Grandpa Marx lost him? So why isn't he allowed to?

I'm coming, says Terence. Can we bring my tissue?

Okay, says Gloria. I'll pull it off with my teeth. You can fold it.

Terence waits as she pulls the wet tissue with her teeth. It will tear, surely. That will be funny. But no! It doesn't! It's dry!

Now he has to fold it.

Lay it out flat, says Gloria. Now end-to-end it. Then end-to-end it again. Then once more and it should be small enough to fit into your pocket.

It's the hardest thing Terence has done in a long time. Folding something up, till it's small.

Very good, says Gloria. You have your blueprint. Let's go!

I'll just say goodbye to Sweezus, says Terence.

He sticks his head through the door.

Sweezus is frowning morosely at a big pile of flip flops.

Bye, says Terence. I'm going to get clay for my pot.

Uh, says Sweezus.

Uh you, says Terence.

He returns to the clothes line.

Did I hear you say Up You? says Gloria. I won't tolerate bad language.

He said it first, says Terence.

Never say it again, says Gloria. Especially to me. I'm your mentor.

I wouldn't say it to you, says Terence. You're up already. Is a mentor a parrot?

No, says Gloria, it's a person that's smarter than you. Come on, start walking. Shove that tissue into your pocket.

Terence obeys her. As he walks, he crackles.

What's that noise? asks Gloria.

You tell me, says Terence. You're the smart one.

It'll be the tissue, says Gloria. It'll stop soon.

Can I have a canoe on my pot? asks Terence. You had one.

If you want a canoe, you must wangle one into your story, says Gloria. Start thinking.

Terence plods along below Gloria, trying to come up with a wangle......

A Spirit Now

On a pot, says Arthur. This drawing?

Yes, this one, says the face. It reminds me of my own drawings. I usually do them on pots.

This isn't my drawing, says Arthur. 

Oh, says the face.

Would you like to meet the artist? asks Arthur. He's inside the cabin.

Okay, says the face. But I'm just a face at the moment. 

He won't care, says Arthur.

He might wonder, says the face.

He probably won't even wonder, says Arthur. Can you eat apples?

Apples, plums, anything, says the face. Are we going in or aren't we?

Going in now, says Arthur. Follow me.

He reenters the cabin. The face follows, hovering at face level.

Arthur tries to think of an introductory sentence:

I met this face outside at the clothes line. She's a potter, and would like to ......

But luckily, Roderick Coconut knows the face.

Gloria! says Roderick Coconut. You're back. Sit down. Have an apple. 

Roderick, says Gloria. You must see that I can't sit down.

She settles herself on the table. A cloud of sawdust flies up. She sneezes.

Not there, says Roderick. 

I can't choose where I sneeze, says Gloria.

I mean don't sit there, says Roderick. It's where I've been sanding. 

Sanding MY PICTURE! says Terence, who up to now has been staring.

So YOU are the artist, says Gloria. You have the beginnings of talent. You could go far.

Where? asks Terence.

East Sydney Technical College, says Gloria. That's where I learned to make pots.

You make pots? asks Sweezus. That's awesome. 

Anyone can learn to make pots, says Gloria.

But without hands, says Sweezus, lamely. Has he missed something?

I'm only a face now, says Gloria. A spirit.

Yeah, a spirit, says Roderick.

Gaius and Humboldt look at one another.

Put on the kettle, says Humboldt.

Gaius starts making tea with the tea bags provided.

Gloria's famous, says Roderick. She exhibits all over. Her proper name's Thanakupi.

Thank you, Roderick, says Gloria. But I'm dead now. You oughn't...

Sorry, says Roderick. You talk for yourself.

I came in to talk to the artist, says Gloria. Come here little man. Tell me the story of your drawing.

It's Kobo and Pinky, running, says Terence. They can't run so they're inside a plum box with pasta wheels. It's night time. The tide turns and the wheels get wet and fall off.

Is a man chasing them? asks Gloria.

No, says Terence.

Pity, says Gloria. It reminds me of my own story pot, Man In Canoe. The man is in a bark canoe looking for the mother and son. She sees him coming and runs quickly away with her son, dropping shells as she runs.

That reminds me, says Terence.

What of? asks Gloria.

Everything! says Terence.

That's how it should be, says Gloria.

Artists! thinks Gaius, pouring the tea.

Fine Work But Ephemeral

Arthur has followed Sweezus inside.

Arthur, says Gaius. Good! I have tasks for you. But first, sit down. Have some breakfast.

What's for breakfast? asks Sweezus.

Excellent question. What is there? asks Gaius.

Apples, says Humboldt. We should finish them off.

Do I look like a GHOST? asks Terence, pressing bits of wet tissue back onto his legs, shorts and tee shirt.

More like a mummy, says Humboldt.

Or a zombie, says Arthur, biting into an apple.

Ha ha, laughs Roderick Coconut.

This is Roderick Coconut, says Gaius. He's an elder. He works for Land Management and Rehabilitation, at Rio Tinto.

No kidding? says Sweezus.

Yeah, says Roderick Coconut. It's a good job. Replanting. I can get you some plums.

Great, says Sweezus. Apples and plums.

Too much fibre? asks Gaius.

No, says Sweezus. We could do with a detox.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. He could not do with a detox. And what are these tasks Gaius mentioned?

He picks at the wet tissue on the table.

DON'T! cries Terence. It's not dry yet!

Arthur peels it all off, in one piece. It carries the faint outline of Terence's drawing.

What's this? asks Sweezus, seeing the drawing beneath.

It's about to be permanently removed, says Gaius. With a sander.

Okay, says Roderick Coconut. It's your decision.

He plugs in his sander, and starts sanding.

There goes my picture! says Terence.

What was it of? asks Sweezus.

Us, says Kobo. Running on a beach.

Who's us? asks Sweezus.

Pinky raises four rubber fingers,

Right. A pink rubber glove with a bird's beak, drawn on sideways.

Another of Terence's artworks.

Arthur doesn't know what to do with the peeled-off wet tissue he's holding.

 He could put it down, but there's not too much space in the cabin.

He remembers the clothes line outside.

He goes out to the clothes line, and hangs up the wet tissue.

It flaps wetly, the faint outline of Terence's drawing backlit by the early morning sun.

A face appears behind it.

Fine work, says the face. But ephemeral. How would you like to transfer that design to a pot?

Peeling Skin

There are two ways we can deal with this defacement, says Gaius.

Defacement! says Kobo. It's the best portrait ever.

Just how we imagined, says Pinky.

Thank you, says Terence. It's good because I was LISTENING!

Not to me, says Gaius. Now, we can either cover it permanently, or sand it back and use a clear varnish.

I've got a sander in the truck, says Roderick Coconut.

He goes out to get it.

Wah! says Terence. Can we cover it permanently?

Permanently means no one will be able to see it, says Gaius.

This is not what Terence thinks it means.

Put tissue paper on it, says Terence.

Useless, says Gaius. Tissue paper can be removed.

I thought you had glue, says Humboldt. We could do it in layers.

But how would that look? asks Gaius.

Roderick Coconut comes back with the sander.

What've you decided? asks Roderick.

Still debating, says Gaius.

The three men look at the drawing Terence has scratched on the table.

It's good, says Roderick Coconut. See those lines there? Reminds me of the early works of what's-er-name... Thanakupi.

Hear that Terence? says Humboldt.

No, says Terence. I'm sticking tissue paper over my drawing. I'm not listening to you guys.

He upturns a half filled water bottle, onto the table.

Drip drip.

He unwraps a pair of green Crocs and places the tissue paper over the drawing.

He unwraps another pair.

That won't do anything, says Roderick Coconut. It'll dry like paper maché, and then....

The pattern of the drawing will be on it, says Terence. Underneath.

Which is pointless, says Gaius. If we lift it, we'll be back where we started

Why don't you draw your picture again, says Humboldt. Now we've got paper. It will save a great deal of trouble.

Not to me, says Terence. He unwraps another pair of Crocs. Hey! These ones are different.

Crocodiles'll hate those, observes Roderick Coconut. Flip flops won't stay on in the water.

Dear me, says Gaius. I must phone Sweezus. Perhaps it's a mix up.

He phones Sweezus, who answers immediately.

Sweezus! says Gaius. Were you aware that some of the Crocs you ordered were flip flops?

Fuck no, says Sweezus. They won't stay on in the water.

What do you suggest we do? asks Gaius.

Wait till I get there, says Sweezus.

How long will that be? asks Gaius. I need you here, almost as much as Arthur.

Yeah, both of us are coming, says Sweezus. Get ready.

What does that mean, get ready? says Gaius.

It means we're outside, says Sweezus. Funny yeah?

He says he's outside, says Gaius, to Humboldt and Roderick Coconut.

Terence runs to the door of the cabin with a wet sheet of tissue,

The door opens.

Terence leaps at Sweezus. Little cement arms wrap round Sweezus's knees.

Hey little buddy!

Sweezus pats the hard curls.

Wet tissue sticks to his legs, and the lower edge of his boardshorts.

And to Terence's body.

Like peeling skin.

Three Practical Men

The postal van rumbles past the wet trousers, and stops at the post office.

It unloads two large packages, which sit there till dawn.

The packages are addressed to Gaius Plinius Secundus, care of Weipa.

The postmaster calls Roderick Coconut, who knows everyone.

I know that fellow, says Roderick Coconut. Leave it to me.

.......

Early morning, at the campsite.

Humboldt has woken early. He has crept out to rescue his trousers.

Morning! says someone.

Morning, says Humboldt, unpegging his trousers.

The trousers are dry.

Been swimming? asks Roderick Coconut.

No, says Humboldt.

Wise, says Roderick Coconut. How's the new bandies?

They seem to have abandoned us, says Humboldt.

Probably for the best, says Roderick Coconut.

Is this a social call? asks Humboldt. You're welcome to come in for breakfast.

Don't mind if I do, says Roderick. I'm delivering these packages to your mate. You can help me.

They lift the two packages from Roderick's truck and carry them into the cabin.

Presents! cries Terence.

What are these? asks Gaius. Oh, I know. They'll be from Sweezus.

........

They are from Sweezus. Two hundred pairs of green Crocs.

You setting up shop here? asks Roderick Coconut.

No, says Gaius. It's ridiculous, but these Crocs have been crowd funded and are to be  distributed amongst the local crocodiles. Obviously, they'll get two pairs each.

Very thoughtful, says Roderick Coconut. Did you consult them?

One of them, says Gaius. Terence did.

Hmm, says Roderick Coconut.

He goes over to Terence, who is scratching lines on the table.

What's this? says Roderick.

A drawing of the plum box, says Terence. This is Kobo and this is Pinky. This is their hair.

I didn't think they had hair, says Roderick, remembering Kobo and Pinky from earlier.

And this is their fist, says Terence. And these are their bosoms.

Do you know about this? asks Roderick Coconut.

What? asks Gaius.

The bosoms, on the table, says Roderick Coconut.

It's all right, says Gaius. It's a fantasy.

Not the scratchings, says Roderick. They're real enough. You'll be up for a new table.

Terence! says Gaius. You should have used paper!

There isn't any paper, says Terence.

There is now, says Humboldt. Each pair of Crocs is wrapped in white tissue.

Too late. The table is ruined.

But there are three practical men in the cabin.

Someone'll fix it.

This Must End

Humboldt looms out of the dark, with the plum box.

Here we are, says Humboldt. What are you writing?

The comb crested jacana's account of the journey, says Gaius.

In the SAND, with his finger! says Terence.

OUR journey? squeaks Pinky. O what does it say?

No one can see them, says Humboldt, reading from the middle.

I don't like it, says Kobo.

Sounds of rasping pebbles. The softening of pasta, reads Humboldt. Is that a thing one can hear?

A bird can, apparently, says Gaius.

Ageless cries out to the heavens. But the heavens are stony. I like that, says Humboldt. But there is more to the story.

Of course, says Gaius. The rescue. Continue.

I arrive. The waves have taken control of the plum box, all three are floating away.

Ageless too? asks Terence.

Even I, says Ageless, from the depths of the plum box. We are all three much chastened.

Speak for yourself, says Kobo. Pinky and I aren't much chastened.

I roll up my trousers, wade in and retrieve them. My trousers are wet in spite of the rolling. I expostulate, says Humboldt.

Understandable, says Gaius. What was the nature of the expostulation?

THIS MUST END! says Humboldt. And why are you writing in sand?

No pencils! says Gaius. Have you a better suggestion?

The tide's coming in, says Humboldt. Your work will be lost.

What a pity, says Kobo.

But she does not think it's a pity.

I know! says Terence. Take a photo!

Clever infant, says Humboldt. Gaius, take a photo.

Gaius writes the last sentence. THIS MUST END!

Stands up. Pulls his phone out.

Flash! Takes a photo.

.........

Back at the cabin.

At least I've recovered my pencils, says Gaius, drawing them out of the plum box.

Humboldt takes off his wet trousers, and drapes them over a chair.

There's a clothes line outside, says Gaius. Why not use it? They'll dry faster.

Humboldt tiptoes out with his wet trousers.

The camp site is quiet.

He gently pegs up the trousers, pulling the legs straight.

A postal van rumbles by.

We Reject Option Three

Have we stopped? asks Pinky?

Not only stopped, says Kobo. The heavens are higher.

Does that mean we've sunk? asks Pinky.

Let us ask Ageless, says Kobo. Ageless! Why are we lower?

Because the tide turned, says Ageless. Don't fret now. 

But I don't see..... says Kobo.

And the pasta wheels have softened, says Ageless, if you must know.

Then you should drag us, says Kobo.

That is option four, says Ageless. First I shall try option three. 

What is option three? asks Pinky. 

Wait here for assistance, says Ageless. Do you hear vibrations?

I certainly feel them, says Kobo. They emanate from me.

You excite me, my beloved, says Ageless. Move over. We'll vibrate together in the plum box.

He clambers into the plum box.

You won't like my vibrations, says Kobo. 

I like them, says Pinky. I'm vibrating too.

Ageless is in no mood for subtext. 

He squeezes between them.

Feel the anger? says Kobo.

The disdain? adds Pinky.

I'm not insensitive, says Ageless. I know that you ladies are disappointed. But who bought the pasta wheels? Not me. Not you either. We are the victims.

We are not victims! says Kobo. We simply reject option three.

One iota of encouragement, says Ageless, and I'll pull you.

Harassment, says Kobo.

Oh! Do something! cries Pinky.

They are floating. The waves have lapped up and surrounded the plum box. The pasta wheels have dropped away to be eaten in the morning by seagulls. It's the last gasp of option three.

But ah!

Humboldt is racing towards them.

Rolling up his trousers.

Wading in.

Retrieving the plum box.

Really! says Humboldt. This has to stop.

What has to? asks Kobo.

This whole absurd interlude! says Humboldt. Gaius is far too indulgent. The bandy bandies have fled. This was their plum box. And my trousers are wet.

Silently they return to the point of departure.