The Bird Belongs To No One

Quarter to four. The ferry departs for Kangaroo Island in fifteen minutes.

Arthur and Gaius coast down to the terminal.

Fifteen minutes to spare, says Gaius. I'll buy the tickets, you wait here with Terence and the bikes.

Gaius goes off to buy tickets.

How much for two adults and two bikes?

How old's your child? asks the ticket woman. I know you have one. I can see him, chasing after a bird.

His age is irrelevant, says Gaius.

No it isn't, says the ticket woman. And is it your bird? The bird will be extra.

The child is an infant, says Gaius And the bird belongs to no one.

All right, says the ticket woman. I'll take your word for it. That will be two hundred and forty dollars.

That seems excessive, says Gaius.

Are you a senior? asks the ticket woman.

No! says Gaius.

And the other adult, is he a student?

No, says Gaius. A poet.

How unusual, says the ticket woman. We had a philosopher on the three o'clock. What a special day this is.

It wasn't Kierkegaard, by any chance? says Gaius.

Yes, do you know him? asks the ticket woman.

He's a  colleague, says Gaius.

So you're a philosopher too? asks the ticket woman.

No, says Gaius. A natural historian. 

That's nice, says the ticket woman, who does not seem to think that a natural historian is as special as a philosopher, or a poet. Here are your tickets.

Thank you, says Gaius. By the way, did Kierkegaard say where on KI he was going?

No, says the ticket woman. Why are you asking?

I'm supposed to avoid him, says Gaius.

It's a big island, says the ticket woman.

Indeed, says Gaius.

He returns to where Terence, minutes earlier, was pursuing a bird.

The bird was Saint Roley, who has decided to use the last ten minutes before departure to search for molluscs.

He pecks in the sand, amongst dead seaweed and unattractive boulders.

Discoloured sea water washes up.....washes back again. Shee....shurrrr.

It's a ferry terminal.

The molluscs here may well taste quite nasty.