Exhausting The Subject

Gaius and Terence have moved further into the dark forest.

Wittgenstein and Haruki trail far behind them.

Still talking about parallels between cars and oysters.

Minerals, says Haruki, such as copper, zinc, magnesium, iron.

Point taken, says Wittgenstein.

A mantle, says Haruki. Which is a covering.

The hood, says Wittgenstein. And the windows.

Not windows, says Haruki. Not in an oyster.

I should not have extrapolated, says Wittgenstein.

And finally, says Haruki, the Nissan logo.

Wittgenstein cannot immediately bring to mind the Nissan logo.

It's shaped like an oyster, says Haruki. Stop, I'll show you.

He finds a twig and draws the Nissan logo in the dirt.

It could just as well be a hamburger, says Wittgenstein.

The over-simplification of graphics, says Haruki. Did you hear screaming?

Yes, nearby, says Wittgenstein. 

They stop in their tracks, and listen.

Nothing doing, says Haruki.

Are you the same fellows? asks a croaky frog voice.

Who else might we be? asks Wittgenstein.

Different fellows, says the Screaming Tree Frog.

That frog speaks, says Wittgenstein.

I know, says Haruki. It's not normal.

I know it's not normal, says the Screaming Tree Frog. I'm looking for a man and an infant.

So are we, says Wittgenstein. I suppose this means you haven't seen them.

Quite the opposite, says the Screaming Tree Frog. I have seen them, been insulted, gone off in a huff, bethought myself, and now I can't find them.

Come with us, says Wittgenstein. They are our colleagues.

All right, says the Screaming Tree Frog. I have something to ask them.

They continue.

Keep talking, if you like, says the Screaming Tree Frog. I'm easy.

We had exhausted the subject, says Haruki. I think I proved my point though.

What was it? asks the Screaming Tree Frog.

There exist parallels between a car and an oyster, says Haruki.

Are you from that Nissan dealership in Taree? asks the Screaming Tree Frog. Under the giant oyster?

I am, says Haruki.

Small world, says the Screaming Tree Frog.

And yet we cannot locate our colleagues, says Wittgenstein.

Grimly, they plod (and hop) onward.