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.