Perhaps It's A Chemist

Are we WALKING? asks Terence.

It's not far, says Arthur.

Better not be, says Terence. Or you'd have to carry me. 

You don't have to come, says Arthur.

But I want a compass, says Terence. And you might forget.

Do you know what a compass is? asks Arthur.

Yes, says Terence. It was in one of the stories.

Baby-Glossy is not here to tell Arthur it wasn't.

What is it then? asks Arthur.

What if you were a swan? says Terence.

I wouldn't need one, says Arthur.

That's right, says Terence.

They are passing the tennis courts. It's hot already. No one is playing tennis.

After the tennis courts, a row of shops. The one on the end is the chemist.

The chemist is shut. They look through the window.

There is someone inside.

Perhaps it's a chemist. The door opens.

Not open yet, says the chemist. Oh! What happened to you?

Sharks, says Arthur. I need a new bandage.

Come in, says the chemist. Sit down.

And a thermometer, says Arthur.

Oops! says the chemist. A thermometer. What for?

A replacement, says Arthur. But first I need a waterproof bandage, so I can go surfing.

That's very sensible, says the chemist. Blood attracts sharks.

I know, says Arthur. 

Have you got a compass? asks Terence.

No, I don't, says the chemist. But I do have a thermometer. Just wait while I find a waterproof bandage.

The chemist goes behind the counter, and rummages through a box of wrapped bandages.

Comes back with a wrapped bandage.

Thanks, says Arthur, shoving it into his pocket.

Would you like me to get you some ointment? asks the chemist.

Here's some! says Terence. He picks a red tube from a shelf.

Pawpaw ointment.

That's good stuff, says the chemist. Will you have it? 

Yes, says Arthur. Now can I see your thermometers?

Sure, says the chemist. Digital? Non contact?

Let's see them all, says Arthur.

The chemist brings out a selection of thermometers.

NOW! says Terence. Let's look for a COMPASS!

We won't find one, says the chemist. But you can look round the shop if you like.

Yay! says Terence. Come with me. I don't know what one looks like.

They are usually round, says the chemist. With a north pointing pointer.

Terence and the chemist walk up and down the aisles, looking for something round with a north pointing pointer.

Arthur looks though the selection of thermometers.

One (small, digital) is about to go missing. 

Steamy Dream

Wait! says Saint Roley. What are you doing?

Louisa puts down the grater.

I guess I should wait, says Louisa.

What for exactly? says Saint Roley.

Sweezus to wake up, says Louisa.

If he ever wakes up, says Saint Roley. 

I'll wake him up! cries Terence, racing for the spare bedroom.

He pushes the door open. 

Sweezus is sleeping soundly. 

WAKE UP! shouts Terence.

Whah! says Sweezus. What's up little buddy?

Louisa's got a grater! says Terence. She's waiting for you to wake up.

She'll be waiting for Arthur, says Sweezus. 

He shakes Arthur. Wake up, bro!

Whah! says Arthur. What time is it?

Dunno, says Sweezus. But Louisa's got a grater. Could be for your scabs.

Merde! says Arthur. I'm not having her grate my scabs off. I'm going to the chemist.

Won't be open yet, says Sweezus. Come into the kitchen. She's probably kidding.

Sweezus enters the kitchen.

How are you feeling? asks Louisa. Stomach cramps, nausea, the runs?

Nice greeting, says Sweezus. I slept okay thanks. 

Good, says Louisa. I'm just going to add a magic ingredient to the sushi.

Awesome! says Sweezus. Like what, a hallucinogenic mushroom? 

Grated orange peel, says Louisa. I had this dream in the night.

It was a cool dream. Ending up rather steamy.

Excuse me, says the Ear. Is this ME you'll be grating?

Yes you, Ear, says Louisa. 

My Ear, says Baby-Glossy.

But I made it, says Louisa.

It became mine after HE ate my un, says Baby-Glossy. Now this Ear is my un.

I am his un, says the Ear. And furthermore, I am stuck to Peut-étre, who belongs to Terence.

I do not, says Peut-étre. 

What's this fuss? asks Gaius. I'm sure Louisa only wants a small grating.

Yes, a small grating, says Louisa. It's not like I haven't shaved Ear before.

True! Ear remembers!

Arthur comes out of the bedroom, blood dripping down his leg from from a knee scab, and blood on his toe.

You picked your scabs, man! says Sweezus. Too bad, you didn't need to. 

I'm on my way to the chemist, says Arthur. Anyone want anything?

A compass, says Terence.

A thermometer, says Sweezus. I owe it to Captain du Couedic.

Sure, says Arthur. Don't know about the compass.

I do, says Terence. I'll come with you.

Okay, says Arthur.

Terence will be a useful distraction.

The Grater Good

I agree with Baby-Glossy, says Saint Roley. Your story is cruel.

It is cruel to deprive the world of thirty thousand ortolans annually, says Gaius.

It is cruel to tell a baby bird that this happens, in the guise of a story, says Saint Roley. 

Without a compass, says Terence.

I didn't say compass, says Baby-Glossy. 

A moral compass, says Gaius. You did say that.

Because it wasn't un proper story, says Baby-Glossy. 

Did Ivan have a compass? asks Terence.

Who is Ivan? asks Gaius.

The merchant's son in the second story, says Saint Roley.

He had un kaftan, says Baby-Glossy. He put it over the baby birds in the storm.

Ah, I see, says Gaius. Yes, he had a moral compass.

But did his parents put the compass in the boat when they gave him the sleeping potion? asks Terence.

No, says Saint Roley. We can safely assume that they didn't have one.

Back to my story, says Gaius. I was simply attempting to raise awareness of an outdated practice.

And you did, says Saint Roley. Perhaps Baby-Glossy will grow up to become an activist.

NO! says Terence. He can't be an activist.

What is un activist? asks Baby-Glossy.

Doing tricks in a circus, says Terence. You wouldn't like it.

No I wouldn't, says Baby-Glossy.

I might like it, says the Ear, but I'm stuck to Peut-étre.

We're a team, says Peut-étre.

Bricks can't do tricks, says Terence.

Louisa enters the kitchen. Good morning, Gaius. Oh! What's happened?

We're stuck together, says the Ear, so we can't join the circus.

Never mind, says Louisa. You can still have an interesting future, if you're willing.

They're not! says Terence.

We are, says Peut-étre. We'd like a interesting future.

I knew you would, says Louisa. 

She opens a drawer and takes out out a grater.

Thirty Thousand

Gaius comes into the kitchen.

We had three stories, says Terence.

Very good, says Gaius, filling a kettle.

A cup of tea would be nice.

And look what happened to my Ear, says Baby-Glossy.

And my brick, says Terence.

Hm. Stuck together.

Gaius looks for the tea bags. 

Stuck together for nine hundred years, says Terence.

Nine hundred, says Gaius. Then what?

Gaius rinses a mug.

They sing, says Baby-Glossy, and walk around in chains behind someone ringing un bell

Then they die! says Terence. No wait, first they turn into people.

Your Ear and your brick won't turn into people, says Saint Roley. Because they weren't people before.

Gaius has dropped his tea bag into the mug and is adding hot water.

He sits down to wait for it to brew.

I gather this is an extrapolation of one of your stories, says Gaius.

Yes, says Saint Roley. The Children of Lir.

A sad story, says Gaius. I know it. 

All three stories were sad in their way, says Saint Roley.

All bird stories? asks Gaius.

They were, says Saint Roley. The Language of Birds, and The Crane Wife.

I hope, says Gaius, testing his tea with his finger, that Terence and Baby-Glossy showed empathy.

Yes and no, says Saint Roley. 

I have a bird story, says Gaius, taking a sip of his tea.

Tell it, says Saint Roley. 

The ortolan bunting, says Gaius, is a delicate songbird, but this does not prevent it from being eaten by humans.

Like a chicken, says Terence.

A chicken is not caught, fattened, drowned in armagnac, cooked and eaten whole, bones and all, except for the beak, says Gaius. Every year, thirty thousand ortolans are caught for this purpose.

Baby-Glossy can't believe it. 

I presume by the French, as you mentioned armagnac? says Saint Roley.

Indeed, says Gaius. The tradition is to eat the cooked ortolan feet first, in one mouthful, with a napkin placed over one's head. 

Shocking, says Saint Roley. I suppose that's because they're ashamed.

Either that or it helps to capture the aroma, says Gaius.

Is that the end of the story? asks Terence.

Yes, says Gaius. What have you learned from it?

Beaks are harder than bones, says Terence.

And you Baby-Glossy?

That is un cruel story, with no moral compass, says Baby-Glossy 

Un Curse

Terence, Baby-Glossy and Saint Roley go back inside.

No one is up yet.

Keep telling the story, says Terence. 

Wait, says Saint Roley. Something has happened.

What? asks Terence.

Look, says Saint Roley. Your Ear and your brick are stuck together.

It is true. The Ear and Peut-étre are stuck together.

Un curse, says Baby-Glossy.

Nine hundred years, says Terence.

Then what? asks the Ear.

You'll still be an Ear, says Terence. Bad luck.

It seems I must finish the story, says Saint Roley. Sit still and listen.

At some point in the nine hundred years, Saint Patrick had come to Ireland.

I know him! says Terence. He wears a green hat.

That's him, says Saint Roley. One day a monk arrived at the place where the swans were, and heard them singing. He asked if they were the Children of Lir. They allowed him to bind them with silver chains and lead them away. He was ringing a bell.

Why? asks Terence.

Why what? asks Saint Roley The bell, or the chains, or why they allowed it?

The bell, says Baby-Glossy.

To get their attention, says Saint Roley. 

The silver chains, says Terence. 

To keep them together, says Saint Roley.

Why they allowed it, says the Ear.

You can't ask, says Terence. You don't even know the first part of the story.

I don't need to, says the Ear.

That is so, says Saint Roley. Now the King of Connacht saw the swans and wanted to give them to his wife, but the monk refused to release them. So the King grabbed at them and their feathers came off.

Ha ha! laughs Terence.

It's no joke, says Saint Roley. Their feathers came off, revealing three old men and one old woman, thin and bony. They asked the monk to baptise them.

THAT'S funny, says Terence.

We can't expect them to make good decisions at this stage, says Saint Roley. They died soon after and were buried. The monk was sad.

Was the king sad? asks Baby-Glossy. 

That isn't recorded, says Saint Roley.

Time's Up

A curtain, says Terence.

Why would Ivan go hunting with a curtain? asks Saint Roley. 

To hide behind, says Terence.

I don't think so, says Saint Roley. In my mind a kaftan is some sort of coat.

What's un coat? asks Baby-Glossy.

A jacket, says Saint Roley. So Ivan took off his jacket and covered the baby birds with it.

I don't think it's un jacket, says Baby-Glossy. That would not please the parents.

How do you know? asks Terence.

Baby-Glossy looks sad. 

I don't know, says Baby-Glossy. But I think un kaftan is soft, warm and woolly.

It probably is, says Saint Roley. 

Did he get it back? asks Terence.

That is not specified in the story, says Saint Roley. I suppose so. 

Good, says Terence. Was he wearing it when he got pushed out to sea in a boat?

That again is not specified, says Saint Roley. And you were told not to interrupt the story.

But it's finished, says Terence, And it's still not morning. Tell us another one.

I'll start one, says Saint Roley, but it spans nine hundred years, so you may not hear the ending.

We don't care, says Terence.

This is the story of the Children of Lir, says Saint Roley. They were turned into swans by a jealous stepmother. 

Were they boys? asks Terence. 

Three boys and a girl, says Saint Roley. The girl was the smartest. She asked the stepmother to set a limit.

If she was so smart, says Terence, why didn't she ask the stepmother not to do it?

That's not how curses work, says Saint Roley. The stepmother agreed to the limit.

What is un limit? asks Baby-Glossy.

When time's up, says Saint Roley. So the limits she set were: three hundred years on Loch Dairbhreach, three hundred years on Sruth na Maoilé, and three hundred years on Iorrus Domnann. Each place was more frigid than the last. Their feet stuck to the ice. It was awful. They prayed to be protected.

Who to? asks Terence.

The King of Heaven, says Saint Roley. I don't know who that was, at the time. But the upshot was, they were protected.

With a kaftan? asks Baby-Glossy.

No way, says Terence. What they needed was shoes.

Neither, says Saint Roley. They just didn't die of the cold.

Woop, says Terence.

After nine hundred years they went back to where they had come from, continues Saint Roley. But Lir was long dead. and the place was deserted.

Were they swans then, or children? asks Terence.

Still swans, says Saint Roley. 

But you said...., says Terence.

Times up, says Saint Roley, as the first sunbeam turns the sky rosy.

The Kaftan

Is it morning yet? asks Baby-Glossy.

Almost, says Saint Roley. There's time for one more story. 

My story, says Baby-Glossy.

And mine, says Terence.

You had yours, says Baby-Glossy. 

But I can listen, says Terence. 

Of course you can listen, says Saint Roley. But no interrupting.

Can I interrupt? asks Baby-Glossy.

Only if you must, says Saint Roley. 

This story is about Ivan, the son of a merchant. Ivan was hunting in the forest when a storm arose, and he heard frantic squawking. In a branch above him was a nest with four baby birds and no parents.

I won't like this story, says Baby-Glossy.

You will, says Saint Roley.

Ivan placed his kaftan over the baby birds to protect them from the storm. The storm ended. The parent birds returned and were grateful. What can we give you? they asked Ivan. Ivan answered: Teach me the the language of birds. Stay with us three days, said the parents, and we will teach you.

Ivan went back to his own parents, who had a nightingale that they kept in a cage. Now you can tell us what her beautiful song is about, said Ivan's father. Not long after, the nightingale sang.

It's a sad song, said Ivan. But what are the words? asked his father. She sings that the day will come when Ivan the merchant's son will become Ivan the prince and he will be served by his father, said Ivan.

After that his parents no longer trusted Ivan. One night they gave him a sleeping potion and set him adrift in a small boat on the sea. 

I like to end the story here, says Saint Roley.

But we don't know if he turned into a prince, says Terence.

It's better that way, says Saint Roley. What do you think, Baby Glossy?

What's a kaftan? asks Baby-Glossy.

You Must Not Follow

Terence and Baby-Glossy sit on Louisa's front step with Saint Roley.

Now tell us a story, says Terence.

Okay, says Saint Roley. Would you like one with a winner?

Yes, says Terence.

No, says Baby-Glossy.

Perhaps we shall have time for both, says Saint Roley. 

Winner first, says Terence.

All right, says Saint Roley. You can tell me who wins in this story:

Once there was a poor fisherman, who found a crane, entangled in nets. He set the crane free. That night a beautiful girl appeared at his door and said she was his wife.

That's a good story, says Terence. 

It's not finished, says Saint Roley.

I don't get it, says Baby-Glossy.

It's not finished, says Terence.

Saint Roley continues:

The fisherman said he was too poor to keep a wife. But I have a big bag of rice, said his wife. And it never runs out. They ate rice and were happy. Then one day the wife said she was going into a room and he must not follow.

The toilet! says Terence.

NO! says Saint Roley. 

Woop, says Terence. Sorr-ee!

She stayed in the room for seven days and then came out, looking skinny, holding a shining bolt of woven cloth, says Saint Roley. She asked her husband to sell it, which he did, for a great deal of money. Now they were rich.

Two winners! says Terence.

I bet it's not finished, says Baby-Glossy.

Not yet, says Saint Roley.

One day the wife disappeared into the room again. This time the fisherman was so curious, he peeped in. He saw a crane, plucking out its own feathers and weaving them into a beautiful cloth on a loom. Why are you doing that? he cried. For love, answered the crane. But now you have seen me, I must leave you. And the crane flew away.

One winner, says Terence.

And who was it? asks Saint Roley.

The fisherman! cries Terence. Wait, no! He lost his parrot.

Did she leave the cloth behind when she flew away? asks Baby-Glossy.

No, she took it with her, says Saint Roley. 

Comparatively Immortal

Talk about what? asks Terence.

Options, says Peut-être.

I know what they are, says Terence.

This is not about you, says Peut-être.

But you're my brick, says Terence.

I am A brick, says Peut-être. 

And he wants to talk to ME, says the Ear. Can we have some privacy?

I suggest Terence, Baby-Glossy and I go outside and wait for the sun to come up, says Saint Roley. 

Why can't we all go? asks Terence.

Come, says Saint Roley. We'll sit on the step and I'll tell you a story.

Yay! says Terence.

Out they go.

Leaving the Ear and Peut-être in the kitchen.

So you think I'm immortal, says Peut-être.

Compared to me, says the Ear.

One can't be comparatively immortal, says Peut-être. One either is or one isn't. Tell me about your origins.

I once was an orange, says the Ear.

The whole orange? asks Peut-être.

The peel, says the Ear. Actually, a long strip of peel. I came out of a bag of oranges belonging to Gaius.

No need to go back that far, says Peut-être. What happened next?

I was carved into an Ear by Louisa. My fellow Ear was smaller, created by Baby-Glossy. We were to be in a competition. It was: Who would speak first?

Who won? asks Peut-être.

It was never determined, says the Ear. At that point we both realised we had a gift. I have forgotten what it was though.

Never mind, says Peut-être. How did you get soggy?

Water, says the Ear, followed by a trip in a cellophane packet.

It seems to me, says Peut-être, we have much in common. I was a frond of red seaweed, wafting about on an undersea rope. Until I was unexpectedly ripped off by two thuggish sharks, and delivered through various channels to Louisa who ignorantly boiled me in water after which I hardened into the brick you see before you today.

Meaning? asks the Ear.

Human intervention, says Peut-être. The cause of our current woes. You're too soft, I'm too hard. That's the difference.

And you aren't disintegrating, says the Ear.

True, says Peut-être. How about we team up? 

If you are disintegrating you have little to lose.

The Ear accepts the brick's offer.

We Need To Talk

 How could I have eaten it? asks Sweezus. It's not even here.

Saint Roley brought both Ears, explains Gaius. It appears you have eaten the smaller one.

My un! cries Baby-Glossy.

Don't worry, says Terence. It's not even them. And you've still got the other one.

Me, says the larger Ear, from half way out of the cellophane packet.

Shit-a-brick! says Sweezus. It was probably full of bacteria.

Time will tell, says Gaius. Why don't you lie down.

Yeah, says Sweezus. I am pretty knackered.

Me too, says Arthur. How's the sushi going?

Good, says Louisa. It just needs rolling up.

I'll do it, says Victor. I've been offered a taste test.

Great, says Louisa. Roll it up  like this, and then chop it into three pieces,

Doesn't anyone care that my fellow Ear has been eaten? asks the Ear which hasn't been eaten.

I do! says Baby-Glossy. It was my un. Would YOU like to be my un?

I will gladly be your un, says the Ear. Don't let them eat me.

Sweezus is about to go and lie down, but he thinks it's worth pointing out that the chocolate tapenade flavoured with the orange peel ear tasted awesome.

He tells Louisa, who looks doubtful.

Just saying, says Sweezus.

He goes into the spare bedroom, followed by Arthur.

Those guys, says Louisa. They're not the only ones that pulled an all-nighter.

Victor looks smug. He takes a bite of the hairy red sushi.

What do you think? asks Louisa.

May I have a drink of water? asks Victor.

That bad? asks Louisa. Well, stuff it. I'm going to bed too.

So am I, says Gaius. 

I'll be off, says Victor. He leaves, coughing and harrumping.

Only Terence, Baby-Glossy, the Ear and Saint Roley are left in the kitchen.

What's that? asks Saint Roley.

My brick, says Terence. I'm the owner.

You are fickle, says Saint Roley. You loved those Ears. Now you ignore them.

Now he loves the brick, says Baby-Glossy. He calls it Peut-être.

It's understandable, moans the Ear. A brick is a brick. Whereas, look at me.

Everyone looks at the Ear, including Peut-être.

We need to talk, says Peut-être.

You Ate My Ear!

Saint Roley lands in Louisa's front garden.

He taps on the door.

Gaius opens.

Terence! calls Gaius. Saint Roley is here!

Terence comes thundering down the hallway.

Guess what?

Guess what yourself, says Saint Roley.

I know already, says Terence. I've got my own brick!

Very nice, says Saint Roley. But now, guess what I have, in this packet.

Terence looks at the packet, attached to Saint Roley with string.

String! And a cellophane packet! And a gooey orange mess inside the packet.

I was wondering what that was, says Gaius. Some sort of fungus?

The EARS! says Saint Roley. An unfortunate event occurred at the lighthouse, after which the Ears' only desire was to return to their makers.

It's not them, says Terence. 

Dear me, says Gaius, to Saint Roley. You'd better come in.

Saint Roley follows Gaius into the kitchen where Louisa is spreading rice onto hairy red pseudo-nori.

Baby-Glossy is stirring the chocolate tapenade with a spoon gripped in his beak.

Saint Roley hops onto the table, with the packet.

Baby-Glossy drops the spoon into the tapenade.

Ears! squawks Baby-Glossy. 

The Ears stare out through the cellophane. At least Baby-Glossy is pleased to see them.

Will someone please let them out?

Louisa meanwhile has found the tongs and lifted the spoon from the tapenade.

She places it on the table.

Baby-Glossy doesn't hesitate. He picks up the chocolatey spoon with his beak, opens the cellophane packet with one wing, and scoops the mushy Ears out.

Which un is mine? cries Baby-Glossy.

Me! cries the small one. I have missed you!

It would be a lovely reunion but for what happens next.....

Arthur, Sweezus and Victor come in through the open front door.

They smell chocolate. 

Arthur picks up the spoon. Licks off the chocolate mixed with olives and capers and whatnot.

Sweezus sees a chocolate-covered blob on the table.

He picks it up and eats it. 

Mm, delicious. What's that orangey flavour?

Hey! cries Baby-Glossy. You just ate my EAR!

Zero Is Low

Very late at night.

Sweezus, Arthur and Victor are cycling back to the Flinders Chase entrance, with the ladder between them.

That was weird, says Sweezus. We went there to see if the Ears needed to be rescued and they didn't.

Until they were immersed in water, says Victor. That's when things changed.

Yeah, whose idea was that? asks Sweezus.

Baudin's, says Arthur. 

Maybe he planned the whole thing, says Sweezus. Get rid of the Ears, take their place. 

Where are they? asks Victor.

Haven't you got them? asks Sweezus.

You said you'd bring them, says Victor.

Yeah but then I dropped the thermometer, says Sweezus. I forgot about them, after that.

Did you see what your temperature was? asks Arthur.

Zero, says Sweezus. 

At least it was low, says Arthur.

It was broken, says Victor. And don't forget you owe Captain du Couedic a new one.

Sure, says Sweezus. Remind me to buy one in the morning.

I'll get you one, says Arthur. I need to go to the chemist.

They have now reached the locked gate. They wheel their bikes and drag the ladder to the place in the fence where the wire sags, and exit through it.

No need to split up yet, says Victor. Did you say Louisa was making sushi? 

Yeah, wanna try it? asks Sweezus. We need the feedback.

Don't mind if I do, says Victor.

They continue, sharing the load of the ladder.

At a certain point, Saint Roley flies overhead, with the Ears in a cellophane packet, provided by Captain du Couedic. 

The cellophane packet once contained a brioche, which the Ears can smell faintly.

The packet is attached to Saint Roley with string, also provided by Captain du Couedic.

It's a pleasant trip for the Ears, who can see though the packet.

Without Gifts

The Ears have swelled considerably.

They seem different as well.

They're quivering, says Captain Baudin.

Reconstituted orange peel is never the same, observes Victor

Speak, Ears, says Captain du Couedic. Do you still have your gifts? 

What gifts? asks the larger Ear.

We have no gifts, says the smaller Ear. Where is Terence? Where is Baby-Glossy?

Merde! cries Captain du Couedic. The Ears are no longer gifted.

Wait, says Captain Baudin. Give them a chance. Ask a specific question.

Bonne idée! says Captain du Couedic. Ears, explain the method of mail delivery to the lighthouse in the old days.

As if we would know anything about that, says the larger Ear. 

As if, says the smaller. All we want is to meet our creator.

Creators, says the larger. We had two different ones.

Tut! says Captain du Couedic. Not only have they lost their gifts, but they have turned heretical.

If you don't want them, says Sweezus, that's cool. We'll take them back to Louisa's. 

Will Terence be there? asks the larger Ear.

Yeah and Gaius, and Baby-Glossy, says Sweezus. They're all making sushi.

We'll join in, says the larger Ear. 

We'll enjoy it, says the smaller.

Turncoats, mutters Captain du Couedic.

We'd better be going, says Victor. 

Yeah, we'd better, says Sweezus. He stands, hitching up his board shorts.

The thermometer drops from his armpit.

Shit, says Sweezus. Forgot that was there.

Let me see! says Captain du Couedic. Alors! It is fracassé!

Sorry, says Sweezus. I'll get you another one.

A more modern one, perhaps, suggests Captain Baudin.

No way, says Sweezus. They're heaps expensive.

A traditional thermometer will suffice, says Captain du Couedic. Au revoir, mes amis. I can't say it was wholly a pleasure. But it seems the Ears would not have lasted much longer.

Arthur is already half way down the stairs.

Sweezus is not far behind.

Victor hurries after them, to avoid being left to transport the ladder. 

They forgot us! say the Ears.

I'm still here, says Saint Roley. I'll fly you back to Louisa's.

What about me? asks Captain Baudin. No compass. 

Stay with me, mon ami, says Captain du Couedic.

Very kind, says Captain Baudin.

How are you at rope swinging? asks Captain du Couedic.

Rope swinging? Mon dieu! Let's leave them to it.

French Crumbs

Captain du Couedic gathers up the Ears and drops them into the water.

They float there.

Now for YOU, says Captain du Couedic, to Sweezus. 

I'm good, says Sweezus.

We'll soon see, says Captain du Couedic. Stick this under your arm and keep it there for sixty seconds.

I prefer contactless, says Sweezus.

What does that mean? asks Captain du Couedic. 

Your modern thermometers, says Baudin. You point them at the person's head like a gun.

Is that so? says Captain du Couedic. 

Boom boom boom**!!! dadadadadadadada da da daaa!!! **.

The 1812 Overture is reaching a crescendo.

Terrible music! says Captain du Couedic, switching it off.

One of the Ears begs to differ.

We LOVE it!

It is easy to see you're not French, says Captain du Couedic. Do you realise how insulting this tune is to Napoleon?

It's just music, says the Ear.

Ho! says Captain du Couedic.

Music can be political, says Captain Baudin, poking an anchovy.

Too right, says Sweezus. What about, you know, that band? 

Midnight Oil? says Arthur. 

That's them, says Sweezus. Beds Are Burning. 

Never heard of them, says Captain du Couedic.

I should point out that your Ears are swelling, says Victor. 

Pardon? says Captain du Couedic. Oui, c'est ça! 

He lifts his Ears from the water and places them on a plate of French crumbs.

Don't Worry Ears

Don't worry, Ears, says Captain du Couedic. There must be a limit to shrinkage.

The Ears brighten.

Maybe you could put them in water, suggests Captain Baudin.

The Ears look apprehensive.

Sweezus and Arthur have eaten all the French pastries.

Are those anchovies? asks Sweezus, pointing at the plate.

Yes, says Saint Roley. Intended for me. But you're welcome to try them.

Nah, says Sweezus, just thinking, they might be good in the sushi.

In the tapenade, says Arthur. With the olives and capers and chocolate.

What is this? cries Captain du Couedic.

A project we're doing, says Sweezus. 

He explains the arrangement with Great White Teacher, the seaweed, and the chocolate tapenade.

I've heard that anchovies add flavour to almost anything, says Captain Baudin.

Really? says Captain du Couedic. 

A meat stew for example, or a tomato sauce, or a diced orange and red pepper salad, says Captain Baudin.

But chocolate? asks Captain du Couedic.

It's not unthinkable, says Captain Baudin. One must embrace life! Turn up the music!

Captain du Couedic turns up the music.

The 1812 Overture. 

That's loud, says Victor.

You a philosopher? asks Sweezus.

No, says Victor. Although, at times, I indulge....

I meant Baudin, says Sweezus. I need a second one.

I am of a philosophical nature, says Captain Baudin. What do you need two for?

A rash promise, says Sweezus. My boss and me changed places. I was in quarantine...

What! cries Captain du Couedic. You are supposed to be in quarantine? Get out of my lighthouse!

Calm down du Couedic, says Baudin. Take his temperature, before you erupt in a panic.

Du Couedic scurries away to the bathroom, to find a thermometer.

Two philosophers, says Baudin. Who is the other one?

Kierkegaard, says Sweezus.

Count me in, says Baudin. 

Du Couedic returns with a thermometer, and a dish of cold water.

The Ears freeze. Is the water for them?

The Truth Ineluctable

Hey! says Sweezus. The door's open.

So we don't need the ladder, says Arthur.

Caution! says Victor. It may be a ruse.

It wasn't open when we got here, says Sweezus. 

Someone must've opened it, says Arthur. 

He goes in. No one.

He closes the door.

The Ears are dangling from the inside handle, by means of a long knotted string.

Trying to escape? asks Arthur. 

Not at all, says the larger of the Ears. We are opening the door to let you know all is well here.

Doesn't look that way, says Arthur. He opens the door.

Sweezus and Victor come in.

Arthur shuts it.

The Ears drop to the floor.

So this is them, says Sweezus. They're smaller than I imagined.

They are, says Victor. Hardly worth all this kerfuffle.

They were bigger, last time I saw them, says Arthur. 

Are you being starved? asks Victor, kneeling down to Ear level.

No, says the smaller Ear. There are French pastries, anchovies and crackers upstairs.

Let's go up, says Sweezus.

You can't just go up, says the larger Ear. You need clearance.

I have a warrant, says Victor.

They all go up the stairs.

Bonsoir, says Captain du Couedic. I see you have bypassed security.

Victor waves the warrant.

Saint Roley flies over to inspect it.

What are you doing here? asks Victor.

Visiting, says Saint Roley.

A nice coincidence, says Victor.

All right if I have a pastry? asks Sweezus.

Go ahead, says Captain du Couedic. I recommend the cannelés.

What are those chocolate ones? asks Sweezus.

Rose des sables, says Captain du Couedic.

Sweezus takes a macaron, which he had his eye on.

Arthur takes a rose des sables.

Victor continues to fulfil his duty.

Captain, I have reason to believe that the Ears are being starved, due to a witness statement that they have grown smaller.

Hélas, says Captain du Couedic. I have noted this too. It is not due to starvation, but the fact that they are fashioned from orange peel which tends to shrink and harden, ineluctably. 

The Ears look at one another in anguish.

They had believed they would live a fine life in the lighthouse with Captain du Couedic forever. 

The Bringer Of War

Saint Roley is not eating.

You don't like French pastries? asks Captain du Couedic.

I prefer molluscs, says Saint Roley. Failing that, anything fishy.

I may have some anchovies, says Captain du Couedic. 

He goes to look in his pantry.

Saint Roley looks out of the window. 

The old fashioned radio is now playing The Planets.

DER...der-DER....Mars the Bringer of War.

I like this one, says Captain Baudin. 

It doesn't work for me somehow, says Saint Roley. Perhaps because I'm looking out of the window, at the peaceful night sky.

Peaceful, is it? asks Captain Baudin, going to the window.

By chance he looks down.

Alors! A policeman on a bicycle, with a ladder! 

It's Victor, says Saint Roley. And look! Sweezus and Arthur. They must have got here first, without the ladder, and been waiting.

A cunning plan, says Captain Baudin.

Not necessarily, says Saint Roley. Do you think I should go down and warn them?

Warn who of what? asks Captain du Couedic, returning with anchovies and crackers.

They have arrived, says Saint Roley. They are outside with a ladder. They will soon climb up the ladder and look in through this window. 

Probably only one of them will do it, says Captain du Couedic.

You seem calm, says Baudin.

Toutours calme, mon ami, says Captain du Couedic. After all, it is you who are compromised.

And me, says Saint Roley. Perhaps we should hide.

I'll send the Ears down, says Captain du Couedic. Defuse the situation. Ears, will you go down and speak to the prowlers? Let them know all is well and their intervention is not required.

Can we wait till the music is finished? asks the larger Ear.

Non, but I shall turn it up louder, says Captain du Couedic. You will hear it all the way down the stairs.

The Ears stand reluctantly, and go down the stairs.

Captain du Couedic turns the volume up louder.

Saint Roley chews on an anchovy.

Ugh. So salty! Anchovies were never his favourite.

Creak! The door opens, downstairs.....

Tinkling Dreams

Captain du Couedic leans back in his chair.

Shall we have music? asks Captain du Couedic.

The Ears nod.

They like music.

Captain du Couedic twiddles a knob on an old fashioned radio.

Classical music blasts out. L'Après-midi d'une Faune.

Just let it wash over you, says Captain du Couedic.

The langourous music washes over the Ears. They fall into a trance.

Three floors below, there is a knock on the door. 

And another and another. Captain du Couedic hears the third knock, which coincides with a lull in the music.

He scrapes his way down the stairs. 

Opens the door of the lighthouse.

Baudin! cries Captain du Couedic. You're wet! Come inside.

Captain Baudin enters, with Saint Roley.

This is my my good friend Saint Roley, says Captain Baudin. He kindly helped me with the directions.

You needed directions! cries Captain du Couedic.

Sadly yes, says Captain Baudin. I had forgotten my compass.

Never mind, says Captain du Couedic. Come up, both of you. The kettle is on, and there is music.

And the Ears? asks Captain Baudin.

You've heard about them? says Captain du Couedic.

That's why we're here, says Saint Roley.

To warn you, says Captain Baudin. 

Come upstairs first, says Captain du Couedic.

They all go upstairs.

The Ears are still swooning.

What's this? says Saint Roley. Have you drugged them?

The somniferous music continues.

Captain du Couedic switches it off.

The Ears prick up. Was it finished?

We have visitors, says Captain du Couedic. I'll fetch some pastries.

He fetches French pastries.

You're being checked up on, says Captain Baudin, taking a pastry. There are those who suspect that the Ears are not here by choice.

Ha ha, laugh the Ears. As you see, we're enjoying a fine life. At night there is music.

Captain du Couedic switches the music back on.

Laa-lalallah-lalalalalaah.....

Arthur will be coming soon with a ladder, says Captain Baudin. Either alone or with a companion.

Let him come, says Captain du Couedic.

Down below, Arthur and Sweezus have arrived at the lighthouse, without the ladder.

I guess we wait for Victor, says Sweezus.

I guess so, says Arthur. Can you hear music?

Yeah, says Sweezus. Debussy. 

They sit on the step listening to surf crashing on nearby rocks, sheoaks susurrating softly and the tinkling dreams of the faun......

Rules Of Apprehension

Just a sec, says Sweezus. Why do you need a ladder if you've got a warrant?

To serve the warrant, says Victor. If they're lurking upstairs.

So you climb up the ladder, look through the window, see Captain du Couedic sitting in an armchair with the two Ears tied up in a corner, and you tap on the window, he comes to the window, sees you holding the warrant, and then he goes down to open the door, says Sweezus.

Very imaginative, says Victor. 

They arrive at the entrance to the Flinders Chase National Park.

No one is there, because it is night. The park closes at five.

Pity, says Victor. 

Why? asks Arthur.

It's closed, says Victor. I hadn't factored that into the equation.

What about your warrant? says Arthur.

No one to show it to, says Victor.

Show it to us, says Arthur. 

Yeah, says Sweezus. We'll be witnesses.

That's not how it works, says Victor.

What if you wait here? says Sweezus. And Arthur and I go over the gate with the ladder. 

I can't allow that, says Victor.

So we do it, says Arthur. Then you'll have to apprehend us.

Nothing wrong with that, thinks Victor, recalling the rules of apprehension.

So the ladder is placed against the gate.

Sweezus climbs up and drops over.

Then Arthur. 

Now chuck us our bikes.

Victor realises that this could be seen as collusion.

You'll need to come back and get them yourselves, says Victor.

Can't, no ladder, says Sweezus.

But Arthur has scouted along the fence line, and found an exit point, where the wire is sagging.

He lifts the wire and steps through.

I'm not seeing this, says Victor.

Arthur takes the three bikes one by one and shoves them through the gap sideways.

What about the ladder? says Victor.

Too late. Sweezus and Arthur have pedalled away towards Cape du Coeudic.

Victor is left outside the gate with the ladder. His bike lies inside the park, near the gap where the wire sags.

He has little choice now.

He'll have to chase them. AND transport the ladder.

Astonished Possums

How do we get in? asks Sweezus.

Over the gate, using the ladder, says Arthur. 

Yeah, says Sweezus. Good thinking.

They cycle along in the dark, the ladder between them.

This is like social distancing, says Sweezus.

Not really, says Arthur. 

How come? asks Sweezus.

The ladder, says Arthur.

Yeah but it's keeping us at the right distance, says Sweezus.

You're an idiot, says Arthur. Sure you want to do this? 

Yep, says Sweezus. I have to. It was part of my agreement with the boss. He takes my place in the quarantine hotel, I get him a story.

A rescue story? says Arthur.

It doesn't have to be, says Sweezus. But it has to feature two minor philosophers. And bikes.

Bikes we've got, says Arthur. Who are the minor philosophers?

Dunno yet, says Sweezus.

Kierkegaard might be still here, says Arthur. He was staying at a motel with Angelina.

Cool, says Sweezus, I'll look him up later. 

A bicycle comes up behind them.

A policeman is on it.

Victor!

Hello-ello-ello, says Victor. What's this ladder?

Social distance keeper, says Sweezus.

Very funny, says Victor. You know why I'm here?

The Ear kidnapping, says Sweezus. You said you'd look into it.

Correct, says Victor. But why are YOU here? Aren't you supposed to be in hotel quarantine?

It's over, says Sweezus.

And now you're out here on the road to Finders Chase in the dark with a ladder, says Victor.

Is there a law against it? asks Sweezus.

Not at present, says Victor. And I see you have lights. That's commendable.

You don't, says Sweezus.

I do, says Victor. I turned my light off as I came up behind you.  Didn't want you to scarper.

Why would we? asks Arthur.

Guilty conscience, says Victor. I bet you're going to the lighthouse to check on the Ears. And that constitutes trespass. Whereas I have a warrant.

Sweezus and Arthur remain silent, in case anything they say might be used against them.

Victor goes on.

But I don't have a ladder, for obvious reasons.

The silence continues.

So I'm prepared to overlook the misdemeanour, if you lend me the ladder.

Done, says Sweezus.

Done.

So the three of them continue cycling towards the entrance of Flinders Chase National Park, with the ladder held up in three places.

Several brush-tailed possums are astonished.

Wotami?

The pizzas are demolished.

It grows dark.

Sweezus and Arthur have cycled away with a ladder between them.

The red seaweed concoction is cooling, and forming a brick.

Perhaps there was no need to boil it, says Gaius.

I should have looked up how they make nori, says Louisa. 

Can I have the brick? asks Terence.

No, says Louisa. It may be recoverable.

If it isn't, says Terence.

Okay, says Louisa. 

We get the brick! says Terence, to Baby-Glossy.

Peut-être, says Baby Glossy.

Is that French for potato? asks Terence.

No, says Louisa. Perhaps. 

Make your mind up, says Terence.

Louisa looks up how to make nori.

You're right, Gaius. They don't boil the seaweed, they chop it and mix it with water to form a slurry. Then they spread it inside a wooden frame with a mat underneath. Then they lift the mat to let the water drain off. It's like making paper.

Is there any more seaweed? asks Gaius. 

Yes, heaps, says Louisa. Let's try it.

She starts chopping what's left of the asparagopsis armata.

Looks like you get the brick, Terence, says Louisa.

Yippee! says Terence. Hello, brick.

Wotami? says the brick, through one of its bubble holes, which has set open.

My brick, says Terence.

Notwotami, says the brick.

It does not wish to be comme un brick, peut-être, says Baby-Glossy.

Peut-être, says the brick.

Ask it what it wants, says Terence.

It wishes to be un peut-être, says Baby-Glossy.

Yes I wish to be un peut-être, says the brick. And I have further questions regarding my state.

He has un list de questions, says Baby-Glossy.

Ask one, says Terence.

Working backwards from here, says Peut-être, what is my future? 

Woo! says Terence. Why working backwards?

Because that's my LAST question, says Peut-être. Second to last is, why did you boil me?

You were too hairy, says Terence.

But to what end? pursues Peut-être.

To both ends, says Terence.

I was growing on a rope, says Peut-être. Floating, peaceful, in pristine waters, undulating softly, in situ...

And now, says Terence, you're not recoverable.

Full marks to Terence for remembering this.

Malevolent Eyes

Later that afternoon.

They are back at Louisa's.

Sweezus is cutting up seaweed. Louisa is boiling the water. 

Arthur is examining his toe.

Dump it in? asks Sweezus.

Dump it in, says Louisa.

The water bubbles over. Bright red gloopy bubbles.

There is a knock on the door.

It's Gaius with Terence and Baby-Glossy.

Ah! says Gaius. You're back. We popped by, on the off chance.

Terence runs towards Sweezus. Guess what!

What? asks Sweezus. 

Baby-Glossy knows FRENCH, says Terence.

Wee, says Baby Glossy. Qu'est-ce que c'est?

Awesome says Sweezus. 

Non, says Baby-Glossy. That was un question.

He means A QUESTION, says Terence.

What's the question? asks Sweezus.

What is it? says Gaius. Even my French extends that far. What is that smell and what is that bubbling substance?

It's seaweed, says Louisa. Sweezus and Arthur are going to make sushi.

Let me see, says Gaius. Show me a strand. Ah! Asparagopsis armata. I know it. It isn't the type generally used for making sushi. The Japanese use pyropia, or nori, a red algae genus.

At least it's red, says Sweezus.  

That may be the only similarity, says Gaius. 

Will you stay for dinner? asks Louisa. We're ordering pizza.

Thank you, says Gaius. And then I imagine you men will be off to the lighthouse with the ladder.

If there is a ladder, says Arthur.

There's one out the back, says Louisa.  

Yay! says Terence. Can we come to the lighthouse?

No, says Arthur. It'll be hard enough for us cycling back to the other end of the island in the dark, with a ladder.

Frig! says Sweezus. How'll we do it? And what about the seaweed?

I'll look after it, says Louisa.

It will be a challenge, says Gaius looking into the pot.

The red pulpy substance stares back with malevolent eyes.

Do You Eat It?

Arthur returns to the shore, with the seaweed.

That it? says Sweezus. 

Yes, says Arthur. 

Would you eat it? asks Sweezus.

IF it was wrapped around chocolate, says Arthur.

Come on, says Louisa. It won't be that simple. For a start there's the rice.

Yeah, the rice, says Sweezus. 

Let me check out some recipes, says Louisa.

She takes out her phone. Presses some buttons.

Here's one. says Louisa. Chocolate sushi. Spread out the nori seaweed, shiny side down.

We're stuffed already, says Sweezus. Ours is red and hairy.

I guess we cook it, says Louisa. Roll it out, let it dry. 

No worries, says Sweezus. 

Spread with rice, chocolate tapenade, anchovies, strips of cucumber, and umeboshi plums. Roll it up and cut into three.

Easy, says Sweezus.

What's in the chocolate tapenade? asks Arthur.

Black olives, garlic, capers and melted dark chocolate, says Louisa. That's SO not yummy! And wait. You serve it with salt and pepper chocolate, wasabi and dipping sauce.

Ditch that, says Sweezus. I reckon ditch everything but the chocolate.

And the plums, says Arthur.

But we've still got the hairy seaweed problem, says Louisa. Tell you what, why don't we go back to my place and boil it up. See how it comes out.

Okay, says Sweezus. We'll catch a couple more waves, then we'll head back there.

I think you've forgotten you're using my board, says Louisa. And it's my turn.

Sorry. My bad, says Sweezus. You and Arthur go in and I'll talk to those guys.

Those guys are a couple of surfers, coming in for the day.

Reedy and Spogg.

G'day, says Reedy. Surf's turned rubbish this arvo.

Yeah, says Sweezus. Okay till the wind changed.

Yup, says Spogg. What's that you got there?

Seaweed, says Sweezus. Part of a new project to save the planet.

No way! says Reedy. Whatya do, eat it?

Ha ha! laughs Spogg. No one'd eat that stuff.

What if it was flat and shiny and filled with chocolate? asks Sweezus.

Now you're talking, says Reedy.

This is good. At least he would try it.

Sweezus goes further. Chocolate and plum?

Plum jam? asks Spogg.

Umeboshi, says Sweezus. 

Cool, says Reedy. Is it kind of like sushi?

It is sushi, says Sweezus. If you wanna be adventurous you can have chocolate mixed with olives, and cucumber. And sprinkle the whole thing with flaky sea salt.

Dipping sauce? asks Reedy.

Yeah, says Sweezus. And wasabi.

I don't like cucumber, says Spogg.

It's like, optional, says Sweezus. You back here tomorrow?

They say that they are.

And that they are willing to taste test the sushi.

Sweezus is stoked.

Two customers! And he hadn't even got round to mentioning the planet-saving properties of the seaweed.

Red And Hairy

The Great White Teacher is gesticulating, says Louisa.

You go, says Sweezus, to Arthur.

Arthur paddles out to where the Great White Teacher is waiting.

Seaweed, says Great White Teacher. As promised.

Great, says Arthur. Where is it?

Fishfingers-me! says Great White Teacher. Must've dropped it!

Looks like it, says Arthur. 

No! There it is! says Great White Teacher.

The seaweed is floating away.

Arthur grabs it.

It's red and hairy.

Hope it tastes good, says Arthur. It doesn't look great.

Well obviously you have to make it flat and shiny, says Great White Teacher. I'll leave that to you.

Okay, says Arthur. We'll do some research. And not right away. We've got another job on.

No more time for surfing, grins Great White Teacher.

Can't start yet, says Arthur. So we'll be surfing until it gets dark.

Why can't you start yet? asks Great White Teacher. You have the seaweed and the tuna.

We lost the tuna, says Arthur. It protested about its role in the enterprise.

It wasn't dead? asks Great White Teacher.

No, says Arthur. And it suggested we use alternative fillings.

It WOULD, says Great White Teacher.

True, says Arthur. But then we got thinking. Maybe the tuna was right.

What fillings did it suggest? ask Great White Teacher.

Chocolate, says Arthur. So we thought we'd look into it.

Great White Teacher looks dubious.

You look dubious, says Arthur. We thought we'd ask other surfers what they thought.

Did you? says Great White Teacher. I suppose that makes sense. I hear chocolate is popular with humans.

Yes it is, says Arthur. We were surprised the tuna knew it. 

The tuna! says Great White Teacher. Which way did it go?

That way, says Arthur, pointing towards the horizon.

Great White Teacher shoots off like a rocket.

Not Dead, Stunned

Great White Teacher has landed a tuna.

It is tempting to eat it, but no.

He drags it to where Sweezus and Arthur are expecting a wave.

Here you are lads, says Great White Teacher. Filling for the sushi.

That was quick, says Sweezus.

I am quick, sys Great White Teacher. So are my boys. They're on their way back with the seaweed.

Cool, says Sweezus. Mind if we catch this?

(A good wave is coming).

Not at all, says Great White Teacher. Take the tuna in with you.

Too late, Sweezus and Arthur are moving shorewards, with the wave.

The tuna moves with them.

This could be dangerous.

Louisa is waiting.

Watch out! says Louisa, as the wave crashes prematurely.

Sweezus is knocked off his board by the flying tuna.

Arthur remains upright, 

He leads a charmed life.

A tuna! says Louisa. Is this the one for the sushi?

I guess so, says Arthur.

Sweezus stands up, retrieves his board and splashes in.

This tuna needs to be refrigerated, says Louisa.

Is it dead? asks Sweezus.

Of course it.... wait! says Louisa. No it might just be stunned.

The tuna spasms, flips sideways and stares at the sky.

Never mind, says Louisa. It's a silly idea anyway. We'd never go through with it.

What was it? asks the tuna.

You were supposed to be the filling for a new type of sushi, says Arthur. But you'd have to be dead.

Dead? says the tuna. You people eat the dead? That's disgusting.

It is when you think about it, says Louisa. There are other fillings for sushi. 

Like what? asks the tuna.

Asparagus, avocado, papaya, says Louisa. Spring onions. 

Chocolate? asks the tuna.

I don't think so, says Louisa. But you're free to go. Want a shove?

Yes thanks, says the tuna. 

Sweezus isn't happy.

He sees his safe surfing window disappearing.

Who Owns The Sea?

Good news and bad news, says Arthur.

It's the wrong sort of seaweed? says Louisa. 

It's being grown as cow fodder, says Arthur. And someone else owns it.

Then we're stuffed says Sweezus.

Not necessarily, says Arthur. Who owns the sea?

Yeah, fair enough, says Sweezus, but who wants to eat cow-fodder-wrapped sushi?

People who want to save the planet, says Arthur. Turns out it reduces burping and farting.

In cows, says Louisa.

Yeah but maybe in humans as well, says Sweezus. We might be onto something.

Cows have completely different stomachs, says Louisa.

A technicality, says Sweezus. This might be a goer. Is Great White Teacher still there?

I think so, says Arthur. 

Sweezus picks up his surfboard.

Is it safe out there? asks Louisa.

Yes, says Arthur. He's called off his boys.

He and Sweezus head down to the water, and paddle out a short distance.

Decision? says Great White Teacher.

Not yet, says Sweezus. We'd like a sample of the seaweed, Then we'll make prototype sushi, taste test it, and work out how we proceed from there.

Excellent, says Great White Teacher. I'll send the boys to grab a sample and bring it back.

Where is it growing? asks Sweezus.

Kingscote, says Great White Teacher.

Okay, says Sweezus. So, you won't mind if we surf while we're waiting?

Go ahead, says Great White Teacher. I'll catch us a tuna.

This is great! Surfing without harassment. Great White Teacher is off catching tuna, The boys are on their way to Kingscote, to obtain seaweed. Because who owns the sea?

Sweezus and Arthur sit waiting for a wave, dangling their toes in the water.

Remember Farky, says Sweezus.

Sure do says Arthur. 

Great White Teacher asked me how he was, says Sweezus.

What'd you say? asks Arthur.

I said he was history, says Sweezus. 

Well, he either is or he isn't, says Arthur. 

I can't help thinking about him, says Sweezus. Like, remember how everyone thought he was omniscient.

Yes, says Arthur. That was after he got the teeth implants.

Yeah, says Sweezus. That dog loved me.

You've got a knack, says Arthur. 

Except with birds, says Sweezus. 

A wave builds behind them, rises, folds over itself, breaks and leaves them bobbing.

Better pay attention, says Arthur.

Good advice, We should all pay attention. 

Even the tuna.

End To Worldwide Flatulence

Seaweed? says Louisa.

She has finished her bun.

She hands one to Sweezus.

Yeah, growing on ropes, says Sweezus. He reckons it's a cinch to get hold of.

You need to ask more questions, says Louisa. Like is it the right sort of seaweed? And who owns the ropes?

Probably just old ropes, says Sweezus, pulling the icing from the top of his bun.

He eats it.

You eat the icing first? says Arthur.

Yeah, says Sweezus. Then I eat the bun.

He eats the bun.

Uh. No butter.

No butter, says Arthur. Regretting it now?

A bit, says Sweezus. Anyway, what do you reckon?

Keep him talking, says Arthur. He won't send his boys in if we're in negotiation.

Cool, says Sweezus. Why don't you head down to the water and ask him some questions.

Sure, says Arthur. He gets up and goes.

Guess what I heard? says Louisa.

What? asks Sweezus.

The Tour Down Under's been cancelled, says Louisa.

Bummer, says Sweezus.

He licks his sticky fingers while he thinks what that means.

Arthur stands in the shallows. Great White Teacher beckons him to come in deeper.

How's the toe? asks Great White Teacher.

Blue, says Arthur. Not that you'd know.

Quite the opposite, says Great White Teacher. Everything's blue out here. 

This is not the answer Arthur expected.

About the sushi-making venture, says Arthur. We're interested, but we have a few questions.

Go ahead, says Great White Teacher. Is it about the seaweed? Don't worry, I've done my research.

Who owns the ropes? asks Arthur.

Technically, an American company, CH4 Global, says Great White Teacher. But CH4 SA is in charge of it here.

And you're an investor? asks Arthur.

Hey hey! laughs Great White Teacher. Who owns the sea?

I get you, says Arthur. Next question, what are they growing it for?

This might constitute a slight problem, says Great White Teacher.

Then we need to know what it is, says Arthur.

For cow fodder, says Great White Teacher. The idea is to reduce burping and flatulence world wide.

Okay, says Arthur. Thanks for your honesty. I'll consult with my colleague. I assume we won't be harassed in the meantime?

Of course not, says Great White Teacher.

He swims off, impressed with Arthur's negotiating skills, and confident they will reach an agreement.

Artisanal Sushi

Louisa waves at Arthur from the sand.

Come out! I've got antiseptic.

I don't really need it, says Arthur.

Come on, says Sweezus. I bet she's bought snacks.

They make their way out of the water.

Lucky you came out, says Louisa. There was a shark behind you.

Sweezus turns. 

The shark is now in the shallows.

Great White Teacher, says Sweezus.

You know him? asks Louisa.

Yeah, says Sweezus. Did you buy any snacks?

Three finger buns, says Louisa. 

Awesome, says Sweezus, sitting down on the sand.

Now you're all sandy, says Louisa. How're you going to eat it?

Shiz, says Sweezus. I hate eating sand.

Go and wash it off , says Louisa. You might find out what the shark wants.

I know what he wants, says Sweezus, walking off, still dripping.

Here, Arthur, says Louisa. Stick your toe up. Ooh, it's gone blue.

That's a good thing, says Arthur.

I don't think so, says Louisa. And look, teeth marks.

Where's my bun? asks Arthur.

She gives him a bun even though he too is sandy.

Down at the shore Sweezus is rinsing his hands.

How's your dog? asks Great White Teacher.

History, says Sweezus. 

Great White Teacher starts again.

About our old Sea Salt venture.....?

More history, says Sweezus. The market collapsed.

I thought as much, says Great White Teacher. You still owe me money. So I have a new proposition.

What? asks Sweezus.

This is hush-hush, says Great White Teacher, but I've located an easy source of seaweed. It's growing on ropes. So, I provide the seaweed and the tuna, you provide the rice, and boom, we have a business.

Freakin' labour intensive, says Sweezus.. 

What! No it isn't, says Great White Teacher. You just roll it up.

I've got to go and eat a bun, says Sweezus. 

You do that, says Great White Teacher. And while you're eating, think about this. My boys can make surfing very unpleasant.

Brilliant, says Sweezus. Artisanal sushi. Sounds like a winner. 

Sharks Don't See Blue

 Sweezus and Arthur wait for a big wave.

One is coming.

It's at least thirty seconds away.

How's the toe? asks Sweezus.

Arthur lifts one leg out of the water.

I can't feel it, says Arthur.

At least it's stopped bleeding, says Sweezus. 

It's blue, says Arthur. Is that good or bad?

Good, says Sweezus. Sharks don't see blue.

The wave comes, they catch it.

Two sharks surface behind them.

I saw it, says the first one. 

Me too, says the second. 

It looked familiar, says the first one.

The toe? So did the other guy's, says the second. 

Farky! says the first one. Remember when I took a bite out of Farky?

I'll never forget it, says the other.

That was his dog, says the first one. 

Let's alert Great White Teacher! says the second one.

They swim off.

Great White Teacher is not far away. 

They approach him.

Greetings, boys, says he. What news, if any?

Sweezus is back at Stokes Bay, Great Teacher, says the first one.

Good, says Great White Teacher. There was something I wanted to ask him. 

How his dog is? asks the second.

Not that, says Great Teacher. A business matter. What's this about his dog though?

Nothing! say the two sharks together.

Until You Lose It

 Sweezus arrives at Stokes Bay, having wheeled his bike through the gully.

Yes! He sees a couple of surfboards, and two figures, down there on the sand

He ditches the bike, and heads towards them.

Arthur is bleeding, from the toe.

Louisa is wrapping something round it.

What happened? asks Sweezus.

Shark, says Arthur. Don't worry. I've still got my toe.

Man! says Sweezus. You should've waited.

What for? asks Louisa.

Me, says Sweezus.

You're here now, says Arthur. Let's go back in.

Did you hire me a surfboard? asks Sweezus.

No we didn't says Louisa. You can borrow mine. I'm going to get some antiseptic from the café.

Cool, says Sweezus. Let's go.

Aren't you going to take off the hi viz vest and those trousers? asks Louisa.

Sure am, says Sweezus.

He rips off the vest, no worries, now for the pants. Better be cautious. He unzips and looks in.

Awesome, he's still wearing the boardies he wore in hotel quarantine.

The old tiger ones. With the egg stains.

Arthur stands up. Blood drips to the sand from his toe.

That'll bring the sharks back, says Louisa. So will those egg stains. You guys are nuts.

She heads off to find antiseptic.

Sweezus and Arthur pick up their boards and head for the surf, where sharks are lurking.

......

Meanwhile out to sea, somewhere due west, Captain Baudin and Saint Roley have become closer.

It has happened like this.

Captain Baudin started singing a song of Saint Malo.

De Saint-Malo j'avons parti, sur une frégate bien joli, pour aller attaquer les Anglais!

O! cries Saint Roley. That is the song of my brother!

He attacked the English? Baudin is astonished.

No, he sailed out from Saint-Malo on a vessel bien joli, says Saint Roley. And was never seen after.

What was the name of the vessel? asks Captain Baudin.

This Way Up, says Saint-Roley. Or a pointing finger, to that effect.

Don't tell me he relied on the finger! says Captain Baudin.

I believe so, says Saint Roley. He was inexperienced.

It's a hard life, says Captain Baudin. But it can be rewarding.

Until you lose it, says Saint Roley.

Until then, agrees Captain Baudin. That reminds me, should we be turning southward?

We should, says Saint Roley. 

If only your brother had had your sense of direction, says Captain Baudin.

He did, says Saint Roley.