His Phew

It's actually not very nice, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

It's better than nice, says Terence. He was the boldest among us.

Yes but the last line undermines his reputation, says Alexander-Red-Hook. "His deeds were few".

But it's true, says Alexander-Groovy. A eulogy should be truthful.

But not negative, says Alexander-Curly.

The small fish (unlucky) decides to venture an opinion.

It needs one more verse, says the small fish (unlucky).

What would be in it? asks Terence.

His few, says the small fish (unlucky).

His phew? says Terence. That would be a rubbish ending!

Did you mean his few deeds? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

I did, says the small fish (unlucky). He must have done some or they wouldn't be mentioned.

He didn't really do ANY, says Alexander-Groovy. None to speak of.

But you said it had to be true, says Terence. And it wasn't. So you're banned from doing the eulogy. I'll do it.

Terence thinks for a moment.

He remember his dog one.

My dog has died
I buried him in the garden
He's not going anywhere.

He recites it.

That's about a DOG, says Alexander-Groovy.

Dog equals crab, says Terence.

His name should be in it, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Put it in then, says Terence.

Did you have a dog? asks the small fish (unlucky)

What do you think? asks Terence.

Yes, says the small fish (unlucky). What was it's name?

Good question for the wrong answer, says Terence.

Meaning? asks the small fish (unlucky).

I didn't have one, says Terence.

So why write the poem? asks the small fish (unlucky).

Someone else had one, says Terence.

What was IT'S name? asks the small fish (unlucky).

It's persistent, this small fish (unlucky).

What's YOUR name? asks Terence.

I don't have one, says the small fish (unlucky).

Is that why you're sad? asks Terence.

Alexander-Red-Hook takes pity.

Small fish, says Alexander-Red-Hook. You must have seen a few crab deeds as you darted about in the ocean.

O yes, says the small fish (unlucky).

Sharp Thin And Celestial Blue

Kierkegaard feels in his pockets again.

Nothing. No, wait! It's still there.

As if it could fall through a hole made by bamboo sticks!

Found it? asks Lauren.

Yes, says Kierkegaard. It's here.

Lauren makes a mental note to find out what it is.

The door opens. Belle and Marie have arrived with the pizzas.

Six large ones.

Clear the table, says Belle.

That means you crabs, and you fish, says Terence.

Meaning us? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

Are you deaf? says Terence.

We crabs need a quiet place, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Why? asks Terence.

Hurry up! says Marie. Clear the table.

I'm doing it, says Terence.

But he isn't.

First he needs to find somewhere to put them.

This is a shop. There are knick knacks.

There are shelves that keep knick knacks in place.

There are gaps, between some of the knick knacks.

If he shoves the knick knacks along there'll be space on that shelf.

Easy peasy.

He transfers the crabs, the fish ( unlucky) and lastly the pickle jar containing Alexander-Yellowsun to the shelf.

Happy? says Terence.

They all look happy except for the fish (unlucky) whose mouth is still turned down in sadness,

So why did you need somewhere quiet? asks Terence.

We're composing a eulogy for Alexander-Retro, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

I'm doing it, says Alexander-Groovy, because he asked me.

We're all doing it, says Alexander-Curly.

But I'm the main one, says Alexander-Groovy.

Have you started? asks Terence.

Potentially, finished says Alexander-Groovy. Listen:

Alexander-Retro
The boldest among us
Lies in a bin
Near the general store
Pierced by glass shards
Sharp and thin
And celestial blue.
Alexander-Retro
The boldest among us
Though his deeds were few.

Woo! says Terence. That's the best poem ever!

But Alexander-Red-Hook, Alexander-Curly and the little fish (unlucky) have heard better.

Something Precious In One

No pizzas yet? says Sweezus.

Not yet, you've time for a shower, says Lauren.

Sweezus disappears out the back.

Lauren looks at the drips on the floor where Arthur is standing.

This has no effect on Arthur.

He continues to drip.

Hello, Arthur, says Kierkegaard.

My old shorts, says Arthur. Where were they?

Gaius lent them to me, says Kierkegaard. I hope you don't mind.

They were good shorts, says Arthur.

They still are, says Kierkegaard. Belle helped me get the stains out.

It wasn't the stains that stopped them being good, says Arthur.

Oh? says Kierkegaard. What was it?

Can't remember, says Arthur. Could have been holes.

Kierkgaard is sure that if there had been holes in the skull shorts, Belle would have found them, and said.

Nevertheless he checks the back, the zip and the pockets.

Look, says Terence, pointing at the jam jar on the table. My fish is surrounded!

By three crabs in a semi circle? asks Lauren.

We've got four, says Terence. But one's in a pickle jar.

Gaius produces the pickle jar, in which Alexander-Yellowsun floats amongst the dill and the traces of poetry.

The three crabs shuffle into different positions.

Now Terence's fish (unlucky) is surrounded by crabs. But one is a DEAD ONE!

Now it's sad, says Terence.

How can you tell? asks Gaius.

Its mouth is turned down, says Terence.

Gaius is too kind to point out that its mouth was turned down before.

Sweezus comes back in dry clothes but with wet hair still dripping.

Lauren looks at the drips on the floor.

This has no effect on Sweezus.

Still no pizzas? asks Sweezus.

Ah! says Kierkegaard.

What is it? asks Lauren.

Holes in both pockets, says Kierkegaard.

Lucky nothing was in them, says Lauren.

Now I remember, says Arthur. That's how I lost my bamboo sticks.

But Kierkegaard isn't concerned about Arthur's bamboo sticks.

There WAS something precious in one of the pockets.

No Lid No Problem

Gaius and Terence arrive at the shop with the bucket.

Lauren lets them in.

Gaius places the bucket on the table.

Terence has caught a fish, says Gaius.

Let's see, says Lauren. Oh, it's a small one.

The small fish (unlucky) stops swimming and looks at her face.

Tries to read her expression.

But can't.

We need something to put it in, says Gaius,

It wants to meet the crabs, says Terence.

How do you know that? asks Kierkegaard. Did it say so?

No, says Terence.

They might eat it, says Kierkegaard.

I heard that, says Alexander-Red-Hook. If it wants to meet us, it must have a reason. We won't eat it.

See, says Terence.

Put it in this, says Lauren.

She empties a jam jar filled with strings and laces onto the table.

It will need water, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Gaius tips the smallest amount of water he thinks the fish (unlucky) can survive in, from the bucket into the jam jar.

Let me put the fish in, says Terence.

It's already in, says Gaius. It flowed in with the water

Let me talk to it, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

How will you do that? asks Gaius. It's now in a jam jar.

I'm sure it could hear through a jam jar, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Leave the lid off.

There isn't a lid, says Lauren.

No lid. No problem.

Little fish, says Alexander-Red-Hook, I hear you wanted to meet us.

The fish (unlucky) makes a decision.

Yes, says the fish (unlucky). I wanted to meet you. I know you are grieving.

I've finished grieving, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

So have I, says the fish (unlucky).

What for? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

Myself, says the little fish (unlucky). I thought my life was over, but it isn't. Sea, bucket, jam jar.

My friend's in a pickle jar, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Alive? asks the small fish (unlucky).

Luckily, before Alexander-Red-Hook can answer, Sweezus and Arthur come in.

Kierkegaard remembers that he's wearing Arthur's old purple skull shorts.

Should he mention it first, or just wait?

Only The Sky

This is all I've got, says Terence.

He sets the bucket upright on the sand.

The transparent small fish (unlucky) swims around in circles.

You've caught a fish! says Gaius. Well done. I've never been able to catch such a small one.

Can we keep it? asks Terence.

Temporarily, says Gaius. But we need more sea water. And we don't need that sea grass, or sand.

I'll SCOOP it out, says Terence.

He scoops out the seagrass, that's easy.

He scoops out some sand.

He drops it in blobs next to Gaius's feet, not his actual feet, but his Crocs.

Wait, says Gaius. There are tiny beads in it. Are they plastic?

How do I know? asks Terence.

Gaius picks up a bead.

It could be wood or plastic, says Gaius. They can do wonderful things nowadays. But if it's wood the sand in the bucket has to go. I can't risk the crabs ingesting the wrong contaminant.

What about my FISH! wails Terence.

He or she may ingest what he or she likes, says Gaius.

Hear that? says Terence.

The transparent fish (unlucky) heard that. Ingest? What does that mean?

It swimming becomes frantic.

Can I take it back to the shop? asks Terence. It wants to meet the crabs.

All right, says Gaius. I'll just top up the water, we'll sort the sand out later, when we've dealt with the fish.

He scoops handfuls of water into the bucket until he has filled it.

The fish (unlucky) glimpses freedom.

So it thinks.

But it's only the sky.

Preventable Contaminations

Gaius is down on the beach, looking for small pieces of plastic.

If he finds any, they will have to go in his pocket,

Drat! Why did he not think ahead, and bring a container?

He picks up a black plastic straw, and an old piece of goggle strap, which could well be rubber.

Of course! Terence has a bucket!

He scans the beach. Yes, there is Terence, not too far away, with the bucket.

He walks along the beach towards Terence.

Two surfers ride in on a middling wave.

The wave dwindles to nothing.

They dismount, and stand in the shallows.

They spot Gaius.

Gaius! says Sweezus. Didn't know you were coming! Experiment over?

No, says Gaius. We've relocated. But there have been several glitches.

Too bad, says Sweezus. Maybe Arthur'll help.

I thought Kierkegaard was helping, says Arthur.

He is, says Gaius. He's in Lauren's shop, with the three remaining crabs, who are grieving.

Only three left? says Arthur.

Hum, says Gaius. Long story. Can't be helped though. I'm just chasing up Terence.

He's over there, says Sweezus. We're meant to be keeping an eye on him, while Belle and Marie get the pizzas.

I see you were taking it seriously, says Gaius.

He's a cool little dude, says Sweezus. He knows not to go in past his ankles.

He has a bucket, says Gaius. His task is to fill it with water.

Yeah, says Sweezus. So, now that you're here, Arthur and me'll just catch a couple more waves, then we'll call it it for this arvo.

Certainly, says Gaius. Will we all be eating together?

Yeah, why wouldn't we, says Sweezus.

Lauren has dots on her floor, says Gaius.

She's got everything, says Sweezus. Even face masks.

Well then, says Gaius. See you up there.

The surfers head back to the ocean.

Gaius continues to where Terence is dragging his bucket along on a string.

It's the string of the beaded string necklace.

The beads are in the bottom of the bucket.

Tiny beads, mixed with sand.

The bucket is horizontal.

So from left to right, it looks like this:

Terence, string, wire handle, bucket, low level of seawater, three strips of brown sea grass, one small transparent fish (unlucky), sand, little wooden beads mixed in it.

Yes, wooden. Lauren would not sell a necklace made with beads that were plastic.

(not that she ever sold that one)

Promising Less

Gaius is rummaging through his back pack.

Where is that small plastic bag?

What have you lost, Gaius? asks Lauren.

The microplastics, says Gaius. I was certain I packed them.

Never mind, says Lauren. You'll find more on the beach. Why don't you go down there?

Humph, says Gaius. I suppose I shall have to.

He goes.

Kierkegaard is now alone in the shop with Lauren, except for the crabs, who are getting on with their grieving.

This dear friend of yours...., says Kierkegaard.

Yes, says Lauren. What a man. I'll never forget him.

He spoke to you about me? says Kierkegaard.

Mmm, says Lauren. He had the FIERCEST moustache.

So it was Nietzsche? asks Kierkegaard.

Friedrich I called him, says Lauren. I healed him of board rash.

Due to surfing? asks Kierkegaard.

Yes, surfing, says Lauren. He was new to it, but he picked it up fast.

Doubtless, says Kierkegaard.

He borrowed my son's shorts, says Lauren. He had to.

If Kierkegaard asks why, she won't tell him.

He doesn't ask why.

You discussed philosophy? asks Kierkegaard.

Often, says Lauren. He was deeply interested in Reiki.

Kierkegaard is sceptical, but he doesn't let on.

And did it seem to you that he had read me? asks Kierkegaard.

Oh yes, says Lauren. He had one of those potted books on famous philosophers. You were in it.

What did he say about me? asks Kierkegaard.

That you ought to read him, says Lauren.

I have read him, but he wasn't to know that, says Kierkegaard,

Have you got the same book? asks Lauren.

Probably not, says Kierkegaard. Tell me, did he say anything specific?

God is dead, says Lauren. Sorry to have to say it.

Not at all, says Kierkegaard. But I meant, anything specific about ME.

He did say that was where you differed, says Lauren.

Anything positive? asks Kierkegaard.

Not that I remember, says Lauren.

Do try, says Kierkegaard.

You remind me a little of him, says Lauren.

This could be promising.

Those purple skull shorts, says Lauren. I feel I've seen them before.

This is less so.

Nothing Unnatural Happens

Where's the one in the pickle jar? asks Lauren.

Here, says Gaius.

He places the pickle jar containing Alexander-Yellowsun on the table next to her friends.

May I remove her? asks Lauren.

I don't see why not, says Gaius. But I must set about obtaining some sea water.

Use that bucket, says Lauren.

She points to a bucket in the corner.

We'll get some for you, says Belle, picking up the bucket. Marie and I are going down to the beach now. Want to come, Terence?

Yay! says Terence. Can I go in the water?

NO! says Gaius.

I shouldn't have asked, says Terence.

It's good that you did, says Belle. But I wouldn't have let you go in the water.

What about the bucket? asks Terence.

You could be the one who throws it in, says Marie. All you need is a rope attached to the handle, to pull it out with.

Yippee! says Terence. Where's a rope?

I don't have one, says Lauren. Not in the shop, but..... she looks around..... Here, take this beaded string necklace.

Are you sure, Lauren? asks Belle. It's so pretty.

Had it too long, says Lauren. Can't seem to sell it. It may as well make itself useful.

Terence departs with Belle, Marie and the bucket, clutching the beaded string necklace.

Gaius addresses the crabs.

I take it you're all willing to continue the experiment?

Yes, says Alexander-Curly.

Not so fast, says Alexander-Groovy.

It won't be fast, says Gaius. We'll have to wait for the water. And then I shall have to make up new solutions.

I meant, says Alexander-Groovy, that we need time to grieve.

Grieve away, says Gaius.

That was brusque, says Lauren, unscrewing the lid of the pickle jar and picking up some tweezers.

She lifts Alexander-Yellowsun out with the tweezers, and places her on the table.

Then she does something weird with her hands.

Making magical passes and so forth.

But Alexander-Yellowsun is dead, and has been for ages.

So nothing unnatural happens.

Crab Reiki

Don't worry about the crabs now, says Belle. Come to Lauren's.

Yes, of course, says Gaius. Does she still have the shop?

Yes, says Belle, but she had to close it. Which is good luck for you. She'll let you camp there.

That is kind, says Gaius.

 Yes, the nights have been chilly, says Belle.

They all head to Lauren's.

Who is Lauren? asks Kierkegaard.

She's Surfing-with-Whales's mother, says Gaius. She makes knick-knacks and practises Reiki.

Oh, yes, says Kierkegaard. Lauren Swales?

You know her? says Gaius.

Heard of her, says Kierkegaard.

Where's SWEEZUS? asks Terence.

Where do you think? says Marie. Out there, surfing.

She gestures towards the ocean, where surfers are bobbing.

They have now reached the shop.

Belle waves through the window.

Lauren opens the door.

Come in, I've painted dots on the floor. Find one and stand on it. Can I get you a coffee?

Water will be fine, says Gaius. This is kind of you, Lauren.

No worries, says Lauren. Hello Terence. What's that you've got there?

Crabs! says Terence. We've only got three left. We had six, but three died.

Good subtracting! says Lauren. I hope you disposed of them thoughtfully.

Belle threw two in the bin, says Terence. But Alexander-Yellowsun's in a pickle jar.

Along with her eggs, says Gaius

Hmm, says Lauren. Are you certain  she's dead? I could try out my Reiki.

Kierkegaard is intrigued. Crab Reiki?

This is Sören Kierkegaard, says Gaius.

I know, says Lauren. Hello Sören. A dear friend told me all about you.

Nothing bad I hope? says Kierkegaard.

No, no, says Lauren. Just a difference of ...er ...opinion.

She goes into her kitchen to get glasses of water.

She comes back.

Wonderful, says Gaius. Now we must deal with the crabs.

He takes them from their bowls and places them on Lauren's table.

Alexander-Curly, Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Red-Hook look wary.

They thought they were going to a beach.

Here they are in a knick-knack shop.

Now what?

Problem Is, The Solution

Hello guys, says Belle. Don't come any nearer.

Social distancing, says Marie.

Also the stink, says Belle. What is it?

Alexander-Times-Roman, says Terence. We brought him. We brought ALL the crabs. It's an experiment.

That part of the experiment goes straight in the bin, says Belle.

There is a bin outside the Middleton General Store.

She takes the newspaper containing Alexander-Times-Roman and drops him in it.

Gaius has no objection. But he wonders if the crabs might.

You must be Kierkegaard, says Marie. I'm Marie, Belle's cousin.

Pleased to meet you, says Kierkegaard, stepping forward, then stepping back.

Ha ha, laughs Marie. Isn't it awkward!

Kierkegaard is used to feeling awkward.

Gaius is looking with concern at the foil lined container.

He opens it up.

The stoneware salad bowl containing Alexander-Curly is lower than it should be.

He lifts it out and hands it to Marie.

Aw, says Marie. This crab doesn't look happy.

She rips off the cling wrap.

Alexander-Curly still doesn't look happy.

Nor does Gaius.

The blue glass bowl is in pieces, and Alexander-Groovy has fallen into the red bowl beneath, where his friend Alexander-Retro lies dead, pierced with sharp shards.

A disaster has occurred, says Gaius. It must have happened when the bus hit the pothole outside Victor Harbour.

Do you have travel insurance? asks Marie.

Of course not, says Gaius. Now let me think. What's the best thing to do?

Cut your losses. says Belle. This dead crab goes in the bin with the other one. And the one in the red bowl can bunk in with that crab while we clear the glass out.

Problem is, says Kierkegaard, the solution.

Is that one of your philosophical sayings? asks Marie. It needs some explaining.

Kierkegaard is taken aback. It was a practical observation.

Yes, the solutions will have mingled, says Gaius. And are also contaminated with glass. Question is, is it too late to restart the experiment?

YES! shouts Alexander-Red-Hook from the breakfast bowl which Terence is holding.

NO! shouts Alexander-Groovy. I have a promise to keep!

Ripped Shorts

Are we there yet? asks Terence.

Not yet, says Gaius. This is Port Elliot. Middleton is minutes away.

How many minutes? asks Terence.

Ask the driver, says Gaius.

Terence goes forward to ask the driver.

Five minutes, says the driver. And pick up your crab. She's leaking.

Terence looks under the seat that he recently vacated.

Alexander-Red-Hook isn't leaking.

It's not me, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But I have a bad feeling. Ask Gaius to check on my friends.

He hasn't got them, says Terence.

Ask Kierkegaard then, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Okay, says Terence.

TAKE THE CRAB! says the bus driver.

OKAY! says Terence.

He picks up the breakfast bowl and the tall paper bag with it's damp spot.

Don't put me in that! says Alexander-Red-Hook. I'll fall through the bottom.

Terence would dearly love to see if she would fall through the bottom.

But he has too many tasks already.

He goes back to where Kierkegaard is sitting.

(was sitting)

He is now standing up, and smoothing out his purple skull shorts.

They have creased and ballooned at the front.

Two hours of sitting!

What is it? asks Kierkegaard.

Check on your crabs, says Terence.

Too late now, says Kierkegaard. We're getting off. This is Middleton.

Yay! says Terence.

The bus stops.

Middleton General Store, announces the driver.

He gets off the bus first and opens the baggage compartment at the side of the bus.

Phooo!

A dead crab smell wafts out.

That will be Alexander-Times-Roman, wrapped in his newspaper.

Not Alexander-Yellowsun, floating in the pickle jar, with the dill fronds and dissolved poem settling after being disturbed by the rumbling of the bus.

Fortunately no other passengers are getting off in Middleton.

The bus pulls away.

Is anyone waiting to meet Gaius, Terence and Kierkegaard?

No.

Wait.

Yes. Here comes Belle, with her cousin Marie.

They are wearing ripped shorts, and white tee shirts.

Dead Under Glass

Let's see what's happening.

At least then, we won't get a surprise.

Inside the foil lined container, at Kierkegaard's feet, distressed cries are being emitted.

The situation is this:

Three salad bowls, sealed with cling wrap, placed one on top of another.

Alexander-Retro is in the red one, at the bottom.

Alexander-Groovy is in the blue one, in the middle.

Alexander-Curly is in the burnt sienna one, on the top.

If all the salad bowls were made of the same material, the results would be different.

But the salad bowls are different.

The red bowl is melamine, the blue one is glass and the burnt sienna is stoneware ceramic.

Over the years, Gaius has acquired them, having been left him by various kind-hearted ladies, saying I'll leave you the rest of this salad.....you can give the bowl back to me next time.

And there has not been a next time.

Now, to return to the situation:

Gaius has stacked the salad bowls with the highest microplastic concentration at the bottom and the lowest at the top.

And who is at the bottom? Alexander-Retro, in the melamine bowl.

It's solid enough, but the glass bowl above him is heavy. And who is in that? Alexander-Groovy.

But we must not forget that above Alexander-Groovy is a bowl made of stoneware ceramic,

The bus has gone over a few bumps on the way but there is a hole in the road near Victor Harbour.

Bonk. Crack.

The bonk has been felt by all passengers. The crack heard by no one outside the foil lined container.

The cling wrap on the melamine bowl has collapsed and broken glass from above has sliced its way downwards.

Alexander-Retro, pierced by a shard of blue glass, emits cries of distress.

He is undoubtedly dying.

Brother! says Alexander-Groovy. Let me help you!

Too late, says Alexander-Retro. I'm dying. And I have two regrets.

What are they? asks Alexander-Groovy, who we must remember is not in a good way himself, since his salad bowl is now broken.

That I won't see the end of the experiment, says Alexander-Retro. And that no one will remember me with a poem,

I promise I will remember you with a poem, says Alexander Groovy.

A Way Out Of Anything

An egress isn't a bird, if that's what you were thinking, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

That wasn't what I was thinking, says Terence.

What were you thinking? asks Alexander Red-Hook.

I was thinking.... if it isn't a bird what is it? says Terence.

A way out, says  Alexander-Red-Hook. A way out of anything.

Good, says Terence.

It seemed to me that you thought it was a living creature, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Like what? asks Terence.

An eagle, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Not an eagle, says Terence. Maybe a parrot.

A parrot is not a way out of anything, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Wrong, says Terence. Parrots are a way out of anything. I usually have one.

So you say, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But you're doing quite well without one.

Am I? asks Terence.

Yes, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Perhaps you'll be scientist one day. Or a natural historian like Gaius.

Terence imagines himself being like Gaius.

Reading notes, losing pencils. Wearing green Crocs. Feeding microplastics to crabs till they die.

No thanks, says Terence. When I grow up I'm going to be like Sweezus.

What's he like? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

He calls me little dude, says Terence.

Think about that for a minute, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Terence doesn't.

Up on your seat please, says the driver. Otherwise, you'll have to sit with an adult.

I'm going to, anyway, says Terence.

He makes his way past two seats, and climbs up next to Kierkegaard.

Hello, says Kierkegaard. Recovered from your incident with the apple?

C-hah! coughs Terence. I think there's still one piece inside me.

Keep coughing, says Kierkegaard. Maybe it will find its way out.

Like a parrot, says Terence.

Kierkegaard nods. Of course. Like a parrot.

Terence coughs many times loudly.

Drowning out distressed cries from the foil lined container.

More Choking To Go

Terence is choking.

C-hah! c-hah...

Drat, says Gaius. I never should have given him that apple.

All right back there? calls the driver. Want me to stop?

Not necessary, says Gaius. We'll deal with it.

He grasps Terence and squeezes him firmly.

Uh! says Terence. Uh-chuh!

Isn't he made of cement? asks Kierkegaard. How will squeezing do anything?

Worth a try, says Gaius. But no go. I'll try something more drastic.

He upends Terence.

Several pieces of apple fall out.

Th-at's better, says Terence. Can I have the rest of the apple?

Certainly not, says Gaius. I'll finish it myself. Here drink some water.

Terence doesn't like water.

That was the worst snack ever, says Terence. Now I'm going to help Alexander-Red-Hook finish her poem.

He goes back to the front seat, behind the driver.

Feeling better? asks the driver.

I just need to talk to my crab, says Terence.

Seat! says the driver.

I might vomit, says Terence.

Talk to the crab then, says the driver. Better vomit on the floor than the upholstery.

Terence is pleased with his ruse. He doesn't really think he will vomit.

I'm back, says Terence, to Alexander-Red-Hook.

I heard you choking, says Alexander-Red-Hook. It was awful.

There's still some more choking to go, says Terence.  But don't worry. I won't vomit.

I heard that, says the driver.

But the route needs attention. They are passing through Mount Compass.

Good about the vomit, says Alexander-Red-Hook. 

Did you finish the poem? asks Terence.

Second verse finished, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Say it, says Terence.

She recites:

why a fence?
it's a fence sieve
giving small creatures
ingress and egress
so says the infant
who gave me the rhyme.

Is that me? asks Terence.

Yes, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I hope you don't mind.

I don't mind, says Terence. But what about the egress?

It's Called An Entanglement

Terence gets down from his seat again.

Where are you going? asks the bus driver.

To get my snack, says Terence.

Leave the crab on the floor, says the driver.

I am, says Terence.

He goes round to the seat behind him and taps Gaius on the leg.

Gaius starts. He was miles away reading an article in Cosmos.

It seems the universe is expanding at two different rates.

It's called the Hubble tension.

Gaius returns to earth. What is it?

Snack time, says Terence. You said fifteen minutes.

It's less than fifteen minutes, says Gaius.

It's more, says Terence.

Well, here is an apple, says Gaius. Don't drop the core when you've finished.

Yay! says Terence. A whole apple!

 How is Alexander-Red-Hook? asks Gaius.

She's making a poem, says Terence. The second verse is a hard one. But I helped her.

Really? says Gaius. How so?

She wanted a word that rhymed with fence, says Terence. So I said a fence sieve.

Offensive? says Gaius. That isn't a rhyme, but an entanglement.

Gaius is so pleased with his comment that he twists in his seat and half rises.

Listen to this, Kierkegaard, says Gaius. What is it when instead of a rhyme you incorporate the word you wish to find a rhyme for inside another word, for example, fence and offensive?

I don't know, says Kierkegaard who has been pondering the enigma of Schroedinger's cat, as it applies to three crabs in the foil lined container.

An entanglement, says Gaius. Clever, isn't it. I just came up with it.

YOU didn't. I came up with it, says Terence.

Not the entanglement, says Gaius.

Terence bites into his apple.

Alexander-Red-Hook is writing a poem, says Gaius.

I know, says Kierkegaard. I promised to write it out for her when it's done.

It appears to be about fencing, says Gaius. A funny topic.

No, it was more.... begins Kierkegaard.

But he is interrupted by the sounds of Terence choking.

C-hah c-hah chrr-hah c-hah-hah...hurrrrr, c-hah

He should not have been given an apple.

Worse Than A Fence Sieve

Terence remembers something Saint Joseph yelled frequently.

Stop being a fence sieve!

Did it have holes in it? asks Terence.

What? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

The FENCE! says Terence.

I suppose so, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

It was a fence sieve, says Terence.

Alexander-Red-Hook is silent, taking this in.

If it was a fence sieve, what was its function?

It only lets small people in, says Terence. Or animals. Even crabs, if they cross their legs over their bodies.

Or under, says Alexander-Red-Hook, imagining this.

Or out, says Terence.

If it was the afterlife, says Alexander-Red-Hook, no one would get out.

You would if you were small enough to get in, says Terence.

You wouldn't, says Alexander-Red-Hook. There'd be rules about it.

Terence knows all about rules.

I......begins Terence.

She interrupts him.

Anyway, these are  good ideas.

Yes, says Terence. I just remembered the fence sieve.

The concept is useful, says Alexander-Red-Hook. So is the phrase for practical reasons. So many words rhyme with sieve.

 Like give, says Terence. Or div. Hey! It must be my snack time.

He puts his hand up.

But he is on the floor of the bus, where Gaius won't see him.

I'm just getting up on my seat, says Terence.

He clambers up.

There you are, says the bus driver. Don't let me see you down there again.

Terence puts his hand up.

Nothing comes through from the seat behind him.

A bus seat is worse than a fence sieve.

Good King Wence

Terence has put Alexander-Red-Hook on the floor.

The bus driver said he had to.

He did not say: But YOU mustn't sit on the floor.

If someone doesn't say you mustn't do something, you can at least try to do  it.

When they're not looking.

The driver is looking through the bus's front window. Driving through traffic on busy South Road.

Terence slithers down to the floor.

Alexander-Red-Hook has ripped the cling wrap even further, and is half way out of her bowl.

Get back in, says Terence.

No, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I'm getting out now.

You're not allowed to, says Terence. The bus driver SAID.

He didn't, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Why does everyone think that I'm deaf?

I don't, says Terence.

Yes, you do. says Alexander-Red-Hook. But thank you for coming. What rhymes with fence?

Good-king-wence, says Terence.

That SO wouldn't fit in my poem, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Invence, says Terence.

What does that mean? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

When you invence something, says Terence.

Maybe I won't bother with a rhyme, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Here's a harder question.

I don't want a harder question, says Terence.

It might be easy for you, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Okay, what is it? asks Terence.

Remember when we were on the first bus and we went past a fence covered in posters? says Alexander-Red-Hook.

No, says Terence.

Then I can't ask the question, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

I thought that was the question, says Terence.

No, says Alexander-Red-Hook. It was this. On the other side of the fence I thought I glimpsed the afterlife. The question is, if it was, why did it have a fence around it?

It's a REALLY GOOD question, says Terence.

Is it? says Alexander-Red-Hook, feeling pleased. Any thoughts on an answer?

No, Terence hasn't. Not yet.

But it won't take him long to invence one.

Ends In Disaster

They get off the bus in the city, and walk to the Central Bus station.

Terence was well behaved, remarks Gaius.

Pleased to hear it, says Kierkegaard. In what way?

Following my strict instructions not to talk to the crabs, says Gaius.

Not to talk to the crabs? says Kierkegaard. I'm afraid I failed in that regard.

You talked to our control crab? says Gaius. No matter. What did she say?

She is composing a poem, says Kierkegaard. An obituary. She is stuck on a fence at the moment.

There is no time for Gaius to ask what this means.

They are at the Bus Station.

It's five minutes to three.

The Link SA bus departs in five minutes, and Terence, who has run on ahead, is missing.

Not to worry, says Gaius. He'll be looking at the buses.

It's true. He is. Not everything ends in disaster.

I'm sitting at the FRONT! says Terence. Near the driver.

All right, says Gaius. I'll sit right behind you. Put your hand up if you want a snack. But try to wait for at least fifteen minutes.

Three o'clock. The bus pulls out of the Bus Station heading for Goolwa.

Kierkegaard has the three crabs in the salad bowls under his feet.

They are still in their foil-lined container. Neither Gaius nor Kierkegaard has checked them.

They could all have died.

No one will know until later.

It's like that famous experiment.

But Terence has the tall paper bag, containing Alexander-Red-Hook in the breakfast bowl, beside him.

And no strict instructions this time.

Going on holiday? asks the driver.

Yes and no, says Terence.

That's a good answer, says the driver.

I'm not allowed in the water, says Terence.

Bad luck, says the driver. Can't you swim?

How do I know? asks Terence. Can you tell me when it's fifteen minutes?

From when? asks the driver. Now or when we left the Bus Station?

When we left, says Terence. I'm allowed a snack then.

That your snack in the paper bag? asks the driver.

No, it's a crab, says Terence.

No way! says the driver.

Terence reaches into the tall paper bag to prove he's not lying.

His claw finger rips the cling wrap which Kierkegaard had tightened.

OOPS! says Terence, pulling the breakfast bowl out.

The driver sees that it IS a crab.  Terence wasn't lying.

Sorry mate, that goes on the floor, says the driver.

The floor. It's worst outcome for Alexander-Red-Hook, who had been hoping for poetic inspiration.

A Glimpse Of The Afterlife

From the passenger's shoulder, Alexander-Red-Hook sees posters roll by.

The posters are attached to a fence by the footpath.

Above the fence she sees colourful rides.

Some have lights on them and twist and whirl rapidly.

And then ..... a road, ordinary buildings. People walk by.

Have I had a glimpse of the afterlife? wonders Alexander-Red-Hook.

If so what does the fence mean?

She has muttered her questions aloud.

The passenger on whose shoulder she sits lifts her down gently and returns her to Kierkegaard.

I hope I haven't upset your crab, says the passenger. She seems troubled with questions.

Not at all, says Kierkegaard. Very kind of you to bother. I hope you didn't think I was ......

But the passenger has stood up and walked to the door of the bus and got off.

Cruel.... ends Kierkegaard, pointlessly.

She wouldn't have, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I acted normal.

But troubled with questions? says Kierkegaard. What were they?

Not troubled, says Alexander-Red-Hook. We crabs seldom get a glimpse of the afterlife. That's all. Well not quite all. If that's what it was, I was wondering why it needed a fence.

What a delightful question, says Kierkegaard.

I shall incorporate it into my poem, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

I await it's completion, says Kierkegaard. And if you would like me to write it out for you when it's done, I shall be only too pleased to oblige you.

You're quite nice, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Thank you, says Kierkegaard.

You should get married, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

There you are wrong, says Kierkegaard.

Alexander-Red-Hook settles into the breakfast bowl and starts composing:

there I was acting normal
peering through a window
of a bus.
I had a glimpse of the afterlife
it was hectic
twisting and turning
it even had lights
in the daytime
but why a fence?

Alexander-Red-Hook is pleased with this verse, which is the first one.

The second one will deal with the fence.

But she will leave it for now, not yet knowing the answer.

The Cruel Passenger

Everyone is ready.

Kierkegaard has packed a few borrowed items (polo shirt, sunscreen, hat). And his good trousers.

Gaius has done the cling wrap himself, since Terence failed to do it.

Three salad bowls are now stacked in a foil-lined container.

A breakfast bowl, also covered with cling wrap, has been placed in a tall paper bag.

Terence has been ready for ages.

Ready? says Gaius.

Yes. What about you? asks Kierkegaard.

Gaius picks up his back pack.

Ready.

They cross the road to the bus stop. The bus comes. They get on the bus.

Going on holiday? asks the driver.

No, says Terence. We're going to get off this bus and get on another bus. Then go on holiday.

Good one, says the driver.

Terence sits down next to the foil lined container, with strict instructions.

The Strict Instructions:

1. Don't open the container.

2. Or try to talk to the crabs.

Gaius is sitting right behind Terence and will know if he disobeys the instructions.

Kierkegaard is sitting behind Gaius, with the paper bag containing Alexander-Red-Hook on his lap.

He feels a wetness.

He opens the paper bag and peers in.

The breakfast bowl has leaked, what a nuisance. He takes it out. Removes the cling wrap with the intention of replacing it tightly.

Are we there already? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

No, says Kierkegaard. You have leaked, that's why this is happening.

I have leaked? says Alexander-Red-Hook. I think you'll find it's the cling wrap. There's a hole in it.

So there is. Now what?

Kierkegaard has that feeling he feels when events do not proceed as expected.

You can't do much about it, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Not on the bus. Can I get out and sit on your shoulder?

Whatever for? asks Kierkegaard.

To see better, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I like to know where I am.

I'd rather you didn't, says Kierkegaard. Just sit quietly.

Okay, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Then help me compose my obituary.

The woman who is sitting beside Kierkegaard can no longer pretend that nothing is happening.

She reaches over and takes Alexander-Red-Hook out of the breakfast bowl and sits her on her left shoulder (on the window side).

Not many commuters would do this.

Kierkegaard is surprised. And also embarrassed.

She probably thinks he is cruel.

That You Ever Existed

Terence has found the eggs, wrapped in the poem.

He knew where they were all the time.

In his shorts pocket.

In case they got ruined, says Terence.

Well done, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Is that something you know from experience?

Yes, says Terence. I nearly ruined Saint Roley.

A saint? says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Not when I nearly ruined him, says Terence. He was an egg at the time.

IN an egg? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

Yes, in it, says Terence. So was his brother.

In the same egg? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

No, another one, silly, says Terence.

Don't call me silly, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I wasn't to know. May I see the poem?

Terence unwraps it.

The eggs are exposed, a lump of small blobs stuck together.

Aah, sighs Alexander-Red-Hook. Read me the poem.

Can't, says Terence. You read it.

So she reads it.

It's an emotional moment. Her dead friend's eggs, her memory.

My love is like a red red rose

sniff sniff.

That's newly sprung in June

My love is like the melodie

sniff sniff

That's sweetly played in tune.

The other crabs climb out of their salad bowls to listen.

So it's lucky that Terence had forgotten his task.

Otherwise, they would not have the freedom to listen to this moving elegy to Alexander Yellowsun and her sticky posterity.

So fair art thou my bonnie lass...

O it's too much!

We should all have one, says Alexander-Curly.

What? asks Alexander-Retro.

A moving elegy, for after, says Alexander-Curly. Imagine. You die. And what is there left behind to remind others you ever existed?

Remains, says Terence. They rot and smell. Alexander-Red-Hook said so.

In another context, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

That's exactly why we should have our own poem, says Alexander-Curly. Rot and smell..... newspaper..... rubbish. The alternative future.

That's right, Alexander-Curly.

Each crab should have his or her own poem.

Perhaps Terence will help you.

Too Many Nots And Don'ts

Gaius has found the cling wrap.

He shows it to the crabs.

I won't cover you yet, says Gaius.

Why not? asks Alexander-Groovy. We crabs can breathe underwater.

I know, says Gaius. But I thought you might appreciate the freedom.

What freedom is that? asks Alexander-Retro.

To get in and out of the salad bowls, says Gaius. As you did just now for the photos.

We were told to, says Alexander-Curly. Like before, when we asked for bigger bowls.

And you got them, says Gaius. That was freedom.

That was not freedom, says Alexander-Red-Hook. That was logistics.

Very well, says Gaius. Are you saying you'd like me to seal you in with cling wrap, even though we're not leaving the house until two?

It seems the crabs have talked themselves into a corner.

Okay, says Alexander-Groovy.

Okay, says Alexander-Curly.

Yes, says Alexander-Retro.

No, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I'll wait until two. I have things to organise.

As do I, says Gaius. Notebooks, pencils, spare shorts, clean socks, and sunscreen. And a hat.

Kierkegaard realises that he is lacking in some of these items.

May I borrow a few essentials? asks Kierkegaard.

Certainly, says Gaius. Come with me to the bedroom, and we'll pack.

They go.

Gaius calls out to Terence. Terence! Will you cover the salad bowls with cling wrap? Just the salad bowls. Not the breakfast bowl. And don't do anything to the pickle jar. That has a lid.

Okay, says Terence. I'm doing it.

I'll help you, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I heard the instructions.

So did I, says Terence. But there were too many nots and don'ts.

Nots and don'ts are confusing, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But I have the advantage of knowing the reasons for the nots and don'ts.

Good, says Terence. What's the first not?

Not the breakfast bowl, says Alexander-Red-Hook. The reason being, I'm in it and I have things to do.

What are they? asks Terence, forgetting his task in an instant.

Find Alex's eggs which were wrapped in the poem, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Then what? asks Terence.

Place them in the pickle jar with her, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

They'll get ruined, says Terence.

Not the eggs, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But you're right about the poem. However, it will be beautiful when it dissolves around her and mingles with her remains.

Remains? says Terence.

What is left of her, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Everything, says Terence.

But eventually, says Alexander-Red-Hook, she will return to the sea.

Woop, says Terence. What if I wrap her and the poem in cling wrap?

No! cries Alexander-Red-Hook. They would soon rot and smell.

Rot and smell.

Terence is learning a few more things about death than he needs to.

What Comes After You

Posterity is what comes after, says Gaius.

What comes after, says Terence. Is that like behind?

No, it refers to future generations says Gaius.

So, in front, says Terence. But you said after.

The people who come after you, says Gaius.

No one's coming after me, says Terence. Are they?

Your children and grandchildren, says Gaius.

I'm a kid, says Terence.

And you'll stay one, says Gaius. Because you are made of cement. But normally one might expect family continuance.

Saint Joseph came after me, says Terence. So was he a posterity?

That's quite different, says Gaius. Now I must phone the bus station. We're all going to Middleton.

Yay! says Terence. I wasn't allowed to. And now I am.

Just stay out of the water, says Gaius.

He calls the bus station.

Hello. I want to go from Adelaide to Middleton tomorrow. Two adults, one infant and six crabs, four needing special arrangements. They are in salad bowls.... yes with cling wrap.... no they cannot go in the baggage compartment.... no I don't wish to pay for their seats....yes, the floor will have to do I suppose.... What time is departure?.... Where? from Marion? How are we meant to get there? Are we supposed to use bicycles? And then pay you to transport the bicycles? Oh very nice! Why not the city?  Three o'clock today? Oh all right then. Yes. Yes. No, I'm NOT a senior.

You're not a senior? says Kierkegaard.

No, says Gaius. Well, it looks like we're going this afternoon, at three o'clock, from the city. Would you believe that the morning bus leaves from a suburb?

Tch! says Kierkegaard. That would never happen in Denmark.

Doubtless, says Gaius. But we must work with what we have. Now, first things first. Find some cling wrap.

Shouldn't we first tell the crabs? says Kierkegaard. It does concern them.

You do it, says Gaius.

Kierkegaard addresses the crabs.

Attention crabs, perhaps you have heard a little of ......

We've heard all of it, says Alexander-Red-Hook. We're not deaf.

What do you think of going to Middleton? asks Kierkegaard.

We are joyful, says Alexander-Red-Hook. We had thought we would never again see our glorious sea or our fine dark damp sand.

It warms my heart to hear that, says Kierkegaard.

Will we be bringing our dead companions? asks Alexander-Curly.

Of course, says Kierkegaard. But they will travel as baggage. Only live crabs may ride in the bus.

Fortunately, no crab seems to mind this.

Red Dots For Posterity

Who was that on the phone? asks Gaius.

Sweezus, says Kierkegaard. Asking how things were going.

Nice of him, says Gaius.

Yes, says Kierkegaard. I thought so. He invited me to join him and his friends, surfing.

You should go, says Gaius. You already look the part in those shorts.

I don't want to leave you in the lurch, says Kierkegaard.

Nothing much to do now, but wait, says Gaius.

Any thoughts on a time frame? asks Kierkegaard.

A week should see the end of it, says Gaius. Although the control crab could last longer.

What about the pickle? asks Kierkegaard. That may have altered the equation.

Not the equation, says Gaius. They all had some. But you're right, it may lengthen or shorten the time frame.

Perhaps we were wrong to let them eat the pickle, says Kierkegaard. We could easily have thrown it away.

Or you could have eaten it, says Gaius.

Or you could, says Kierkegaard.

True, says Gaius. You know, you and I work well together.

We do, says Kierkegaard.

But I don't want you to miss out on some fun, says Gaius. Belle is there, isn't she.

She is, says Kierkegaard. Along with her cousin.

Marie! says Gaius. She's a sensible young lady. You'll like her.

They're only there for a week, says Kierkegaard.

Gaius looks at his experimental set up. Would it be transportable? Of course it would. They could go.

We'll pick up sticks and we'll all go, says Gaius.

What about all the salad bowls? asks Kierkegaard.

Cling wrap, says Gaius. Right! I need to book seats on a bus. Where's my phone?

I gave it back to Terence, says Kierkegaard.

Terence! says Gaius. I need my phone!

Here, says Terence. Look at my photos.

Gaius looks at the photos. The aerial ones from the ladder, and the side view of Alexander-Yellowsun in the pickle jar.

Face on, with a dill frond moustache.

Very good, says Gaius. But wasn't the idea to show the red dots on her back for posterity?

What's posterity? asks Terence.

Gaius regrets using that word.

All That See Ya Implies

Terence hands the phone to Kierkegaard.

Hello, says Kierkegaard. How's the surfing?

Pretty good, says Sweezus. You should come.

Is Belle there? asks Kierkegaard.

Yeah, says Sweezus, And Arthur. And Philip Norgaard. And Belle's cousin, Marie.

There's nothing I'd like better, says Kierkegaard. But I'm helping Gaius with the crabs.

How long's that going to take? asks Sweezus.

Until the last one dies, says Kierkgaard.

Sheesh! says Sweezus. That's grim.

Not really, says Kierkegaard. There's not been a dull moment. And two have already expired.

From the microplastics? says Sweezus. Yeah, plastic's really bad. Arthur and me once had a business going, selling sea salt, in bags made of recycled plastic that washed up on the beach.

Enterprising, says Kierkegaard. And good for the planet.

Yeah, says Sweezus. But we ran out of sea salt.

Surely that's impossible, says Kierkegaard.

Unreliable supplier, says Sweezus. Anyway, I called to see how Terence is going.

He's being extremely helpful, says Kierkegaard. Even taking photos, as you no doubt heard.

Cool, says Sweezus. Send me the photos. I'd like to see them.

Certainly, says Kierkegaard. How do I do that?

Go to photos, says Sweezus. Then go to mail, then find me in contacts, select me, then select the photos and the size you want, attach them, and press send.

Fortunately Kierkegaard has a good memory for lists of instructions.

All right, says Kierkegaard.

And try and hurry up the experiment, says Sweezus.

That wouldn't be right, says Kierkegaard.

We're here for another week, says Sweezus. Then we all have to go home and earn money.

I'll see what I can do, without compromising scientific integrity, says Kierkegaard.

No worries, says Sweezus. See ya.

See ya, says Kierkegaard.

He feels elated, having used the vernacular.

See ya. And all it implies.

Photograph Of The Future

I need a ladder, says Terence. I'm not high enough.

No ladder, says Gaius. You might drop my phone.

I WOULD'NT, says Terence.

I'll hoist him up on my shoulders, says Kierkegaard.

Terence is overjoyed when this happens.

Now Terence is perched on Kierkegaard's shoulders, near the kitchen table, where the crabs are arranging Alexander-Times-Roman into one piece.

Ready? shouts Terence.

No, says Alexander-Red-Hook. There's still a gap in Alexander-Times-Roman. Push, boys!

The boy crabs push the two pieces even closer together.

Alexander-Times-Roman begins to look lifelike.

Ready? shouts Terence.

They must be, says Kierkegaard. They've stopped pushing, and Alexander-Times-Roman looks lifelike.

Wait, says Alexander-Curly. Shouldn't the dead be in order?

They are in order, says Terence.

No, he died first, says Alexander-Curly. He should be at the end. Then Alexander-Yellowsun in her pickle jar, then whoever's supposed to die next, and so on.

I'm staying next to dear Alex, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Even though I'll die last.

It doesn't matter, says Kierkegaard. Any order will do for this photo. When you've all died, we'll take another.

The crabs are quiet, picturing the photograph of the future.

Terence presses the white circle on Gaius's camera. Ker-lick. A photo.

He takes a few more.

The phone rings, Terence answers.

Hello.

Terence, hey little dude, how come you've got Gaius's phone?

It's Sweezus!

Guess what, says Terence. I'm up a ladder, taking photos of crabs.

Cool, says Sweezus. How many crabs are in the photo?

Six, says Terence. Two dead ones and four alive ones.

Awesome, says Sweezus. Why are you up a ladder?

He's not up a ladder, says Kierkegaard. He's on my shoulders.

Was that Kierkegaard's voice? asks Sweezus.

No, says Terence. It was my ladder.

It was Kierkegaard, says Sweezus. Can I talk to him?

You can't talk to a ladder, says Terence.

Have you finished taking the photos? asks Sweezus.

Yes, says Terence.

Well, get down off the ladder, says Sweezus. You don't want to accidentally drop the phone and ruin the photos.

Put me down, says Terence.

I thought you couldn't talk to a ladder, says Sweezus.

I was talking to one of the crabs, says Terence. It's pinching my toe.

(This is what happens when you lie. You have to keep going).

Okay, says Sweezus. I get that. How did the photo turn out?

How do I know? says Terence.

Look at it, says Sweezus.

Yikes! says Terence. One of the crabs has turned into a lid!

Was it in a jar? asks Sweezus.

Yes, says Terence.

That would explain it, says Sweezus. You might have to take the photo from eye level. Why are you up a ladder anyway?

So we don't see their bottoms, says Terence.

That's a good reason, says Sweezus. Okay, little buddy, can I speak to Gaius?

No, says Terence. He's busy. But now you can speak to the ladder.

Time Wasting Holdups

The pickle jar has been emptied of pickles.

It now contains a quantity of vinegary water, some fronds of limp dill and Alexander-Yellowsun, who has died in the service of science.

Now that's done, says Gaius. You crabs can all get back into your respective bowls. And no mix-ups!

What about her eggs? says Alexander-Curly.

I'll look for them later, says Gaius.

What about the photo? asks Terence.

What photo? asks Gaius. Remind me.

The girl crabs wanted a photo, says Terence.

It was my idea, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I wanted to prove to dear Alex that she had two red dots on her carapace, just like me.

Surely she knew that, says Gaius. And anyway. It's now too late to prove anything.

To her, says Kierkegaard.

Of course, to her, says Gaius.

A photo would be a nice touch, says Alexander-Retro. We could all be in it.

The other crabs agree. It would be a nice touch. They could all be in it.

All right, says Gaius. A  job for you, Terence. Use my phone.

Yippee! says Terence. Line up, crabs. And show me your bottoms.

The red dots are not on our bottoms, says Alexander-Red-Hook. They are simply to the rear of our carapaces.

Rear, says Terence. What does that mean?

The back end, says Kierkegaard.

My back end is my bottom, says Terence.

The soles of your feet are your bottom, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

That means I've got two bottoms, says Terence. No, three!

I suggest you take the photo from above, says Kierkegaard. That will avoid further controversy.

Terence likes this suggestion. It will be like Jinjing took the photo.

Line up, says Terence. Face anyway you like.

Wait, says Alexander-Groovy. What about Alexander-Times-Roman?

HE can't be in it, says Terence.

He should be in it if Alexander-Yellowsun is in it, says Alexander Red Hook. Where is he?

I'll find him, says Kierkegaard. You do recall he's in two pieces?

We'll rearrange him, says Alexander-Groovy.

How's it going? asks Gaius.

The usual time-wasting holdups, says Kierkegaard. Now they want Alexander-Times-Roman to be in it. You don't happen to know where he is?

Hmm..... says Gaius. Yes. He is wrapped up in newspaper.

Newspaper, says Kierkegaard. I thought you no longer took a newspaper.

I don't, says Gaius. But I do save the free local rag. It comes in useful for cleaning windows and wrapping up seafood leftovers.

Are you calling Alexander-Times-Roman a seafood leftover? asks Alexander-Groovy.

Certainly not, he represents a third category, says Gaius. I shall unwrap him for the photo, if you wish it.

They do wish it.

No Actual Teeth Marks

She wants a share of the pickle, says Terence. She says it's not fair.

I'm not saying it's not fair, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I'm saying the control crab, which is me, should eat the same amount of pickle as the remaining experimental subjects, which is them.

I totally agree, says Alexander-Groovy.

It's too late, says Gaius. I've cut the pickle into three.

Cut each third into four, says Alexander-Red-Hook. We'll eat three slices each.

How does that work? asks Terence.

Why don't we try it and see, says Gaius. It will be a lesson in the mathematics of sets.

Can I do the cutting? asks Terence.

Yes, says Gaius. Here is the knife. Try to make all the slices equal.

Terence now has the knife. It's a real one!

The three pieces of pickle lie on a plate.

Cut the middle one first, suggests Alexander-Red-Hook. It's the easiest, because it doesn't have a round end.

Okay, says Terence.

He cuts the middle piece of the pickle in half.

Now cut each of those halves in half again, says Alexander-Groovy.

Alexander-Curly has not been paying attention. He has been thinking about the lost eggs.

They were wrapped in a paper with a poem on. It would be nice if they could go in the pickle jar with their dead mother.

He idly picks up one piece of pickle and bites off a chunk.

Hey! cries Terence. Look what you did!

What? says Alexander-Curly, startled. I thought we were having one each!

Not yet, says Terence. I have to cut each piece into more pieces, so SHE can have three.

Three ! cries Alexander-Curly. How does that work?

I don't know yet, says Terence, and you've made it HARDER!

What's he done? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

He's eaten a chunk of one of the pieces of pickle before it was cut into four pieces, says Alexander-Retro.

Was it a middle piece? asks Alexander-Red-Hook. Or an end piece?

Everyone looks. There is only one end piece. And three middle pieces that look almost the same. Except that one has crab teeth marks. (Not actual teeth marks)

Look, says Terence. Four pieces. And only one is bigger. So all I have to do is cut the end off this one and throw it away.

He wields the knife boldly. Shoom!

The round end piece shoots off in a downward trajectory.

It lands under the fridge, where no one is likely to find it.

And so ends Terence's lesson on set theory.

We Are All Touched

The three male crabs clamber out of their salad bowls.

Terence can't stop them.

They must see their dead sister.

What's going on here? asks Gaius, who is sitting nearby, updating his notes on the top up proportions.

Where's our dead sister? asks Alexander-Groovy.

Ah, says Gaius. Terence has told you. I had hoped to spare you the knowledge.

That's unacceptable, says Alexander-Groovy. We're part of this experiment and we need to be kept informed of developments.

Indeed, says Gaius. I can understand that. I'm glad to see you're not weeping.

They WERE weeping , says Terence. But they stopped when I told them Alexander-Yellowsun could go in the pickle jar.

But there's a pickle still in it, says Gaius. Kierkegaard replaced it, having lost his appetite due to the death.

We have a proposal, says Alexander-Groovy. WE eat the pickle.

Gaius is touched to hear that they are willing to eat the pickle.

We probably all are.

Let me think about it, says Gaius. I don't wish to compromise the experiment further.

Is it to be compromised further? asks Kierkegaard. He stops sniffing his fingers which still smell of pickle in spite of the soap.

We must decide, says Gaius. The crabs wish to eat the pickle, so that there will be room in the pickle jar for their dead sister.

Do crabs normally eat pickles? asks Kierkegaard.

No, of course not, says Gaius. But they eat plankton and algae, which are similar. It's the vinegar component that worries me.

I assume they'd eat one third each, says Kierkegaard.

Yes, I assume so, says Gaius.

That's right, says Alexander-Groovy. One third each. It shouldn't interfere with the experiment.

All right, I shall note it, says Gaius. And meanwhile Kierkegaard will prepare your top up solution, in accordance with these proportions (he hands Kierkegaard his notes) and I'll fetch a knife to divide up the pickle.

What will I do? asks Terence.

Um... go and tell Alexander-Red-Hook what's happening, says Gaius. She was close to her sister. She may want to say a few words at the pickling.

Ha ha, the pickling, laughs Kierkegaard, as he looks at the notes.

Terence knocks on the control bowl.

She can go in the pickle jar! says Terence.

Alexander-Red-Hook looks out. Who can?

Alexander-Yellowsun, says Terence. As soon as the boy crabs eat the last pickle.

Shouldn't the control crab get a share of that pickle? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

Until Someone Eats The Last Pickle

Terence goes over to the three Alexanders.

What’s going on? asks Alexander-Groovy.

 You’re getting a top up, says Terence. And I have to ask you.

Ask us what? asks Alexander-Retro. If we want one?

Yes, says Terence. Do you want one?

No, says Alexander Groovy. I don’t want one. Do you want to know why?

I want one! says Alexander-Curly.

You ALL have to have one, says Terence.

That’s what I mean, says Alexander-Groovy. Why ask us, if we all have to have one?

Terence can’t remember why. It’s probably good manners.

It’s good manners, says Terence. Now let's see what happens.

The crabs wait, to see what happens.

You're all quiet, says Terence. That proves you all have good manners.

But YOU don’t! says Alexander-Groovy. The situation is this. If I don’t want a top up, and they do, but we all have to have one, then where are YOUR good manners?

That wasn’t the question, says Terence.

What was the question? asks Alexander-Curly.

You’re not meant to ask it, says Terence.

How can we not ask it if we don’t know what it is? says Alexander-Retro.

Okay smarty-bottom, says Terence. The question is why?

Why? asks Alexander-Retro.

Evaporation, says Terence.

What’s that? asks Alexander-Retro.

The answer to why you need a top up, says Terence

This makes good sense. The three crabs examine their water levels. Yes, they have gone down slightly.

Even Alexander-Groovy is now willing to accept a top up.

I suppose the girls have already had a top up, says Alexander-Groovy.

Only Alexander-Red-Hook, says Terence. The other one died.

She DIED? Alexander-Yellowsun? Their sister? The mother of their children?

Where is she?

Not in the pickle jar, says Terence. She can't go in it until someone eats the last pickle.

The crabs stop wailing.

Knowing this helps, for some reason.

Evaporation Of The Fittest

A development! says Kierkegaard, waving the pickle.

My best friend has died, says Alexander-Red-Hook. And you call it a development, and wave a pickle.

Kierkegaard puts the pickle down.

Gaius comes over.

This is sudden, says Gaius. I expected her to last several days.

Perhaps you should not have let Terence move her near to the window, says Kierkegaard. By the way, is this your last pickle?

Yes, says Gaius. Are you planning to eat it?

I was, says Kierkegaard. Now, with this death, I think not.

Put it back in the jar, says Gaius. I shouldn't like to waste it.

Kierkegaard puts the lone pickle back in the jar. It is not entirely alone. Thin strands of dill float limply in the vinegary water.

You may be right, says Gaius, after Kierkegaard has washed his fingers, having dealt with the pickle.

Not to eat the pickle? says Kierkegaard.

About the window, says Gaius. The extra light may have been a factor.

I believe it was, says Alexander-Red-Hook. She looked straight at it, with a beatific expression.

Hum, says Gaius. The question is, what to do now?

Alexander-Curly, Alexander-Retro and Alexander-Groovy could step up, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Gaius considers.

Yes, he still has four crabs. One a control crab, and a smart one at that. Her idea has merit. The question is, are four crabs enough for statistical significance?

What do you think, Kierkegaard? asks Gaius. Give up or continue?

Kierkegaard would like to give up. Then he could join Belle at the place down the coast (or up the coast, which was it?) wearing his purple skull shorts, and forget about science.

Continue, says Kierkegaard.

So much for self interest.

Or is it? One's image as serious person must be considered.

Very well, says Gaius. I shall ask them.

No, says Alexander-Red-Hook. They may be more self centred than my dear friend. Just do it.

They will wonder, says Gaius. I know! Where is Terence? Terence!

What? says Terence.

I have a task for you, says Gaius. Alexander-Yellowsun has died.

Shall I put her in this pickle jar? asks Terence.

Certainly not, says Gaius. Not while there's a pickle in it. No, I want you to tell the three male Alexanders that they're about to receive a top up. Behave as though it's a normal event. If they ask why, say....errm...

Evaporation, suggests Kierkegaard.

Of course! said Gaius. Evaporation. But only if they ask.

Yay! Terence gets to do something important!

He hopes they do ask.