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.