Coming On As Carry On

Arthur looks as though he has pulled an all-nighter.

Pale and greenish.

Good timing, says Gaius. Our flight's boarding.

Is it just you and me? asks Arthur. Where's P. krameri?

Here, says P. krameri.

He is perched on a seat, flicking through Gaius's abridged Penguin edition of his own works.

Found anything? asks Gaius.

Not yet, says P. krameri.

You can continue looking when we get on the plane, says Gaius. Perhaps Arthur will help you.

Is he coming on board with us? asks Arthur.

Yes, says Gaius. As carry-on. I have weighed him along with my back pack. They're well under seven kilos.

A carry-on parrot, says Arthur.

Don't laugh, says P. krameri.

I wasn't, says Arthur.

The queue moves. Gaius and Arthur show their boarding passes.

P krameri is carried on, under Gaius's arm.

Cute parrot, smiles the Jetstar attendant. Very realistic.

Indeed. Wonderful what they can do these days, says Gaius.

How did I do? asks P. krameri, when they have boarded the aircraft and found their seats.

Very well, says Gaius. You have saved me some money.

Lost his parrot passport? asks Arthur.

It was a French one, says Gaius. No use here.

I don't seem to have my own seat, says P. krameri.

That's the downside, says Gaius. Sit on Arthur. Here's the book. Keep on looking.

What are we looking for? asks Arthur.

Anything from the ancients about the animation of man-made parrots, says Gaius.

But this is your book, says Arthur. You wrote it.

It's full of gleanings, says Gaius. I forget all the things I put in it.

P. krameri has found the section on birds.

He keeps flicking.

There! says Arthur. Parrots, parakeets and magpies.

What do I say? enquires Gaius.

You describe me! squawks P krameri. The parakeet's body is green but distinguished by a red collar round the neck. That's me exactly!

But irrelevant to my purpose, says Gaius.

It greets its master and repeats words it hears, being full of fun, especially when given wine, reads Arthur.

That's illegal! says P. krameri.

Its head and beak are equally hard, and are beaten with an iron rod, when it is being taught to speak, for otherwise it does not feel the blows, reads Arthur.

What? What? cries P. krameri.

Apologies, says Gaius. It was no doubt just hearsay.

After flying it leans its weight on its beak to compensate for the weakness of its feet, concludes Arthur.

P. krameri is speechless.

There has never been anything wrong with his feet!