Short Sharp Purge

Roo-kai is perched on a tree branch.

He sees Terence feeding the pony.

Good. He does it the right way.

The pony does not bite his fingers.

He sees Terence talking to the pony.

And climbing the fence.

And the pony backing away.

And Terence teetering. 

Time for an intervention.

He flies down from the tree, to the fence.

Wah! says Terence. 

Steady, says Roo-kai. Climb down backwards, slowly.

Stupid pony, says Terence.

Perhaps it wasn't ready, says Roo-kai. 

It was, says Terence. It said it respected my offer.

That doesn't sound like what a pony would say, says Roo-kai.

You ask it, says Terence.

Roo-kai flutters over to the pony, a few metres away.

Has there been a misunderstanding? asks Roo-kai.

A series of them, says the pony. 

Perhaps I can clear them up, says Roo-kai.

Who are you? asks the pony.

His parrot, says Roo-kai.

Parrot? says the pony. I know an oystercatcher when I see one.

I see you are highly intelligent, says Roo-kai. What did Terence offer?

Sugar, says the pony. But then he said it wasn't real sugar. But as he had previously identified me as a potato, I thought nothing of it.

So what was the problem? asks Roo-kai.

A lingering aftertaste, says the pony. Unlike sugar. And worse, which you don't need to know.

Aspartame, says Roo-kai. It can give you the runs. Don't worry, a short sharp purge will not hurt you.

Madame Ponty won't like it, says the pony.

Why does she need to know? asks Rookai.

She picks up my manure every evening, says the pony. She sells it.

Then it's her problem, says Roo-kai. Not yours. However, I understand why you don't want Terence to ride you.

Yes but it wasn't why I retracted my offer, says the pony.

You retracted your offer? says Roo-kai. You didn't say you respected his offer?

He didn't offer, says the pony. I offered, but then....

I wonder if Terence needs his ears cleaned, says Roo-kai. 

Ha ha, laughes the pony. Ears cleaned! Isn't he made of cement? 

Is that the problem? says Roo-kai. Did it occur to you that if he can climb a fence, he can ride a pony?

No, says the pony. 

I agree it doesn't follow, says Roo-kai. But potentially?

Sorry, says the pony. I promise to think about it. 

But right now I must leave you, and run.

Bad For Ponies

Terence is at the back fence.

He can see a pony.

He waves.

The pony smells something like sugar, and trots over.

Hello, says Terence. Guess what?

What? asks the pony.

Everything's a potato, says Terence.

You're not a potato, says the pony. 

No, not me, says Terence. And not carrots. But you are.

If I'm a potato, says the pony, why bring me sugar?

It's my sugar, says Terence. And it's not even real sugar.

It smells like real sugar, says the pony. Give me a lick.

Okay, says Terence.

He tips some onto his hand and holds it out to the pony.

The pony licks it.

That was good, says the pony. Can I have the rest?

The rest? says Terence.,

The rest of the sugar, says the pony.

No, says Terence. It's bad for you.

Not if I'm a potato, says the pony.

Terence considers. 

Does he really believe the pony is a potato? What did Belle say? 'You are right'. But that was about carrots NOT being potatoes.

Looks like the pony has won.

Terence feeds him the rest of the Equal.

Let us hope that aspartame is not bad for ponies.

Thanks! says the pony. You're my friend now. Want a ride?

Yay! says Terence. Wait! I'm supposed to have a helmet!

Come on, says the pony. It's not like you're a potato. What are you made of?

Cement, says Terence.

I retract my offer, says the pony.

Thanks, says Terence. I'll just climb up on the fence and get on you.

But the pony, for some reason, backs away.

What About The Sky?

Sugar, says Arthur.

He plonks the glass jar on the table, next to the pie.

Spoilt for choice! says Saint Méen.

Let me see, says Saint Maclou. White or brown. What is this Equal?

Equal to sugar, says Belle. But not sugar.

Does anyone want to try it? asks Saint Mée

Me, says Terence.

Saint Maclou hands Terence a sachet.

Just one lick, says Belle. Don't eat the whole thing.

Who's having pie? asks Saint Méen. Everyone? You, Arthur? 

Yes, Arthur will try it. It might soak up the cidre breton and the apple brandy.

Saint Méen cuts Arthur a slice.

Is it just potato? asks Arthur.

Everything is just potato, says Pierre-Louis.

What about the sky? asks Arthur.

I refer to this dinner, says Pierre-Louis.

Yes, says Belle. It was all potatoes, done in different ways.

If everything is a potato, says Terence, licking his sugar, is my pony a potato?

Ha ha! laughs Saint Maclou. I hope not. Imagine riding around on a potato.

Easy-peasy, says Terence.

Arthur sprinkles white sugar over his pie.

The barman at La Java said to say hello, and he's still hoping, says Arthur.

Still hoping for what? asks Saint Méen.

The gift of speech for his poupées, says Arthur. The ones that hang from the ceiling, over the bar.

Long may he continue, says Saint Méen. 

Hope is life-affirming, says Saint Maclou.

Up to a point, says Pierre-Louis. 

Perhaps we were cruel, says Saint Méen.

What's this about? asks Belle, opening a sachet of raw sugar.

We gave him to understand that we had given the gift of speech to his dolls and puppets, says Saint Maclou.

But that the gift would need time to come to fruition, says Saint Méen.

But why would it? says Belle. It worked straight away when you gave it to the carrot.

It was a carrot, says Saint Méen. Not a tourist attraction.

Yes, says Saint Maclou. Now you see our dilemma. Imagine the outcry. He would have to have taken them down.

I see, says Belle. The poupées would demand to be taken down from the ceiling.

And then where would he be? asks Saint Méen.

You could have just told him, says Belle.

We could, says Saint Maclou, but at the time, we were a bit short of money.

What about a carrot? asks Terence. That's not a potato.

It's clear Terence has not yet deconstructed the statement that everything is a potato. 

You're quite right, says Belle.

Why don't you run outside and see if you can see Madame Ponty's pony in the next field? says Saint Maclou.

Can I? asks Terence.

Yes, says Belle. But don't try and feed it.

Terence runs outside, still clutching his sachet of Equal.

The Charmed Life

Pierre-Louis calls Arthur.

What is it? says Arthur.

It's me, says Pierre-Louis. Are you in a café?

Yes, says Arthur. It's crazy in here.

How would you like to come over to the saints' cottage for sweet potato pie? asks Pierre Louis.

Okay, says Arthur. 

Bring some sugar, says Pierre-Louis.

Arthur looks around for the sugar.

There must be some somewhere. For the coffee.

But no.

He goes up to the bar.

Are you leaving? asks the barman. That's eighty four euros you owe me.

Where's the sugar? asks Arthur.

Not here, says the barman. On the tables. Why, are you wanting a coffee?

No, says Arthur. I want it for a sweet potato pie.

A sweet potato pie should not need sugar, says the barman. Where is this pie?

At Saint Méen and Saint Maclou's cottage, says Arthur. I just got invited to eat it.

Alors! says the barman. I love those two saints! Let me give you some sugar.

Thanks, says Arthur.

The barman heads across to an empty table and picks up a glass jar which contains paper sachets of various types of sugar (white, raw and Equal).

He gives it to Arthur.

Watch out, says the barman. Some of them are not proper sugar.

Okay, says Arthur.

And give my regards to the saints, says the barman. Tell them I'm still hoping.

What for? asks arthur.

The gift of speech, says the barman.

You've already got it, says Arthur.

Not for me, says the barman. For my poupeés.

The dolls and puppets, hanging from the ceiling in various poses, turn their mouths down.

I'll tell them, says Arthur. Thanks for the sugar.

Will the barman remember he is owed eighty four euros?

No, he does not. Or he has waived it. 

So Arthur leaves with the sugar.

And arrives at the saints' cottage in time for the pie.

Sweet In Name

Pierre-Louis is still sitting under the tree. 

How long does it take to cook a few potatoes?

Potatoes are ready! calls Belle.

Just then his phone rings.

It's Arthur. But Pierre-Louis is not answering Arthur. Not now.

Let Arthur wait until after dinner.

Pierre-Louis enters the saints' kitchen.

We may have over-catered, says Saint Méen. 

Potato soup first, says Belle. Then roasted chunks of potato. Followed by potato fritters. And a sweet potato pie.

Sweet potato? says Pierre-Louis. I thought you only grew normal potatoes.

We do, says Saint Maclou. The sweet potato pie is sweet in name only.

I suppose you could sprinkle it with sugar, says Belle.

If we had any, says Saint Méen.

That would be a treat, says Saint Maclou. 

He places five soup bowls on the table.

Méen ladles out fragrant grey soup.

Yay! says Terence. Can my soup be red, like the last time?

Let me see, says Saint Maclou.

He goes into the pantry and comes out with a tiny red bottle.

One drop will do, says Saint Méen.

And it will. Terence's soup has a red blob in the middle. He stirs it with his finger.

Now his soup has a swirly red pattern.

Now it has zigzags.

Eventually, a uniform reddish-grey colour. 

The others have finished their soup and begun eating the roasted potatoes.

Salt, any one? asks Saint Méen.

Yes, please, says Pierre-Louis. What a shame Arthur is missing this wonderful dinner.

He'll be fine, says Belle. He's in some weird café.

Weird? Sounds like La Java, says Saint Maclou.

He's just tried to call me, says Pierre-Louis.

Call him, says Belle. Ask him to come, and bring sugar.

Yes!

How good would that be? 

If Arthur, having paid for his drinks, left La Java and cycled to the saint's cottage, arriving in time for the sweet potato pie, with some sugar.

Intermediary Connections

Belle is right.

Arthur has been in La Java for quite some time.

He has become well acquainted with the barman.

After three apple ciders he is now drinking apple brandy.

Wooden puppets hang from the ceiling . 

Their malevolent eyes ask: Do you remember?

He doesn't remember.

Then he does.

He only has 24 euros in his pocket.

But what did Belle say?

Pierre-Louis. Yes. Coming. He has money.

Arthur orders a plate of salami, and takes out his phone.

......

Terence is peeling potatoes. It's a job he's been given.

He is using his claw.

This must be the first time that claw has been useful, says Belle, as she cubes the peeled potatoes.

No, says Terence. It's always useful.

What for? asks Belle. 

Remembering Baby BB , says Terence.

That's sweet, says Belle. I wonder if he finds your broken finger as useful.

He wouldn't be peeling potatoes, says Terence.

No, he wouldn't , says Belle. I wonder if he regrets it.

What's regrexit? asks Terence.

Wishing he hadn't done it, says Belle. Could he fly, when he had your old finger?

Why wouldn't he? asks Terence. 

It would have been heavier than the claw he was used to, says Belle.

Terence has not thought of that ever.

Now he does. 

Baby BB flying lop-sided, weighed down by his finger.

Yes, he probably regrexit.

.......

Pierre-Louis is sitting outside under an oak tree.  

He smells the freshly turned earth, and potatoes cooking. 

Yes, thinks Pierre-Louis. Life is a series of connections. Earth potatoes dinner. 

(Note: he has missed a few intermediary connections)

Honk As A Warning

Bad luck, they're dead, says Terence.

We're not dead, says Quiet-tartus. 

They're not dead, says Terence.

Good, says Belle. Are they keeping still though?

Yes, says Terence. That's why I thought they were dead.

If we were dead we'd look different, says the knowlesi.

Different how? asks Terence.

Like this! says the knowlesi. 

He curls up as he imagines he would look with chytrid fungus.

Stop that! says Quiet-tartus. Lie flat

Sorry, says the knowlesi. 

What's the problem? asks Pierre-Louis.

The frogs don't like keeping still, says Belle.

They'll have to get used to it, says Pierre-Louis. There's a long trip ahead.

This reminds Belle that she ought to warn Arthur of  Pierre-Louis's plans.

She must call him when she gets to Saint Malo.

.....

The saints are in their back garden, digging up potatoes, when Belle and Pierre-Louis arrive.

Make yourselves at home, says Saint Méen. The whole cottage is ours now, not just the cellar.

Lovely, says Belle. I just need to make a phone call.

She dumps the frogs, and Terence, next to a pile of potatoes and hurries inside.

Calls Arthur.

Where are you? asks Belle. 

La Java, says Arthur. 

Where's that? asks Belle.

On the corner down the street from the end of the town, opposite the port, says Arthur. You should come, it's bizarre. There are puppets.

You don't say? says Belle. Maybe later.  But listen. How would you feel if Pierre-Louis went back with you to Adelaide?

What for? says Arthur.

An interview with Vello, says Belle. He wants me to organise it.

Okay, says Arthur.

Great, says Belle. Just thought I'd give you a warning.

Honk! says Arthur.

By which Belle assumes he's been in La Java for quite some time.

Lying Rigid

Saints Méen and Maclou and Pierre-Louis are already on their way to Saint Malo.

Belle and Terence are saying goodbye to Jeanne Jugan.

Goodbye Terence, says Jeanne Jugan. Thank you for the flowers.

Yes, says Terence. 

He means you're welcome, says Belle. Thanks for the afternoon tea.

Don't forget the frogs, says Jeanne Jugan, handing her the paper bag that they came in.

We can't go in that, says Quiet-tartus. It's got holes in the bottom.

Give it back to me, says Jeanne Jugan. 

She folds the paper bag at the bottom. 

And hands it back.

I don't suppose you have sticky tape? asks Belle.

No, says Jeanne Jugan.  But if they keep still, nothing should happen.

Hear that? says Belle. Get in, and don't move about too much.

The frogs are doubtful. They don't trust the bag's bottom.

But they get in. 

Belle shoves the paper bag into her panier velo, next to Terence, and sets off for Saint Malo.

Saints Méen and Maclou are out of sight. They are in a hurry.

They have invited Belle and Terence to stay at their cottage, but there is nothing for dinner.

We'll just dig up some potatoes, says Saint Méen.

Does she like potatoes? asks Saint Maclou.

Everyone likes potatoes, says Saint Méen. We would have served potatoes last time.

Yes we would, says Saint Maclou. And I don't remember her complaining.

She wouldn't, says Saint Méen. She's been well brought up.

Saint Maclou probably replies with a further comment, or perhaps a suggestion. But we do not hear it, as they are now out of earshot.

Belle soon catches up with Pierre-Louis, who has dropped back deliberately.

Heard anything from your father?

No, says Belle. He must be heaps busy. 

Busy? says Pierre-Louis. Interviewing philosophers?

Maybe, says Belle. Oh yes, I forgot. You asked me to put you forward.

Ahem, says Pierre-Louis, modestly. 

I will, says Belle. I'm sure he'd love to do you.

Wonderful, says Pierre-Louis. I've been thinking of travelling to Adelaide wih Arthur.

Have you told Arthur? asks Belle.

Not yet, says Pierre-Louis. I don't want to get his hopes up.

I wouldn't worry too much about that, says Belle.

I could help him with the frogs, says Pierre-Louis.

Good point, says Belle.

Is he going back with Arthur? asks Terence.

Maybe, says Belle. It depends. 

And the frogs? asks Terence.

It might be good, says Belle. Pierre-Louis could get them through customs.

Indeed I could, says Pierre-Louis. There are strings I could pull.

Terence wonders if the frogs have been listening.

He opens the paper bag (at the top) and peers in.

Quiet-Tartus and the knowlesi lie on the bottom fold, rigid.

Enjoy Them And Die

The saints' beanies have dried.

The scorched wool smell has lingered.

The saints are discussing the filling.

Prune, says Saint Maclou, chewing his slice of gâteau Breton.

Salted caramel, says Saint Méen.

Prune, says Pierre-Louis.

It tastes mainly of butter, says Belle. 

A gâteau Breton must be at least twenty percent butter, says Jeanne Jugan. The trade guild is strict about that.

That's a hell of a lot of butter, says Belle.

Ha ha, laughs Saint Méen.

Sorry, says Belle. I meant a large proportion.

Your words don't offend us, says Saint Méen.

Certainly not, says Saint Maclou. How about we finish it off, Jeanne?

Jeanne Jugan cuts the remains of the gâteau into five equal slices.

And then we should be going, says Pierre-Louis.

Is your hat dry? asks Belle.

Not quite, says Pierre-Louis, but it will do. The side flaps will dry as we ride.

Okay, says Belle, I'll go and find Terence.

She goes outside. 

Terence is sitting on the grass with the frogs and a pile of tiny pink flowers with no stems.

What are you doing? asks Belle.

Fixing it, says Terence.

Is that the hydrangea you ruined? asks Belle. You can't really fix it.

That's what we said, says the knowlesi.

You're just a frog, says Terence. You don't know.

How about you bring the flowers inside and give them to Jeanne Jugan, says Belle. She might like to sit them in a saucer on her kitchen table.

And watch them die, says the knowlesi.

And enjoy them, says Belle. 

Yay! says Terence. Who's going to help me?

We all will, says Belle. 

The frogs can only manage two or three.

Terence has ten.

Belle has at least thirty.

They carry the flowers inside.

These are for you, says Terence. Enjoy them and die.

That's not it, says Belle.

Enjoy watching them die, says the knowlesi.

Nor is that, says Belle. The idea is that you may as well enjoy them in saucer on your kitchen table, for as long as they last, rather than letting them wither outside on the grass, unnoticed.

A lovely thought, says Jeanne Jugan. I'll just find a saucer.

She looks for a saucer.

With a tear in her eye.

Probably Prune

Terence, says Jeanne Jugan. Have you finished the watering?

No, says Terence. I haven't even started.

It looks to me like you've started, says Jeanne Jugan. The hydrangea on the end is in bits.

That was before Roo-kai turned the tap off, says Terence.

Not off, says Roo-kai. Pressure down.

A good thing too, says Pierre-Louis. As it is, were still soaked.

Yes, we are, says Belle. I hope the frogs are okay. 

She lifts the poem bag out of her panier velo.

The paper is wet. The frogs' legs poke out through the bottom.

Let me see! says Terence. 

See what's happened, says Belle. The paper bag with that lovely poem written on it is ruined.

Is that my fault? asks Terence.

Did I say it was? asks Belle.

It may not be ruined, says Jeanne Jugan. Bring it inside and I'll light a fire. We'll soon get it dry.

An excellent idea, says Saint Méen. We can dry out our beanies. 

Yes, you'd better, says Jeanne Jugan. Your haloes are giving out sparks.

Is that what the smell is? asks Pierre-Louis. 

What smell? asks Saint Maclou.

Scorched wool, says Pierre-Louis.

They all go inside,

There's a gâteau Breton for afternoon tea, says Jeanne Jugan. But I'll light the fire first.

She soon gets a fire going.

Belle sits on a stool near it, and extracts the frogs from the paper bag.

What happened? asks Quiet-tartus. 

Terence, says Belle. He's watering the flowers outside. Go and find him.

Quiet-tartus and the knowlesi hop out through the front door.

Soon the paper bag, the saints' red beanies and Pierre-Louis's lapland hat are drying in front of the fire.

Jeanne Jugan has made mugs of coffee and found a knife for the gâteau.

She saws through it. Ruh-uh-ruh-uh

Is it the one with the prune filling? asks Saint Maclou. Or the salted caramel?

Probably prune, says Jeanne Jugan. But I can't say for certain. I've had it a while.

 

Abnormal Sparks

Roo-kai is almost too late to save the hydrangeas.

Terence has turned on the tap. 

The coiled hose has come alive somehow.

It twists and writhes, shooting water all over the grass.

Terence runs to the spurtng end. Grabs it. 

And points it at a bank of frothy pink and blue flowers.

These are Jeanne Jugan's hydrangeas.

Whoof! One flower is exploded.

But only one, luckily. 

Roo-kai seizes the hose.

This is my job! says Terence.

So do it properly, says Roo-kai. Turn the pressure down.

Terence goes to the tap. Turns it. The water comes out even faster.

Woo! says Terence. This tap won't go down.

Hold the hose, I'll do it, says Roo-kai. But don't point it at anything.

Let's hope this goes well.

Meanwhile Jeanne Jugan has found an old gâteau Breton in her pantry.

She decides it will do. These gâteaux last for ages. Which is why sailors like them.

She places it on a plate, on her kitchen table.

Lovely.

She looks through the window. 

One moment she can see Terence with a hose in his hand, the next moment the window is hit by a heavy blast of water. 

She can't see anything.

She hurries outside.

In time to see her guests coming up the path, dripping.

First Belle, who is the wettest. 

Then Pierre-Louis, squeezing water from his side flaps.

And lastly Saints Méen and Maclou, whose beanies are sending out sparks.

Which is abnormal.

High Speed Blast

Are we there yet? asks Terence.

They are passing stone houses, close to the road.

Yes, says Jeanne Jugan. Look out for a bin.

What do they look like? asks Terence.

Like bins, says Jeanne Jugan. Surely there's no need to ask.

Some bins look like penguins, says Terence. My friend Baby Bin Penguin is one.

How nice, says Jeanne Jugan. Where does this friend live?

Tasmania, says Terence. With his parents.

You'll find the bins in Cancale are just normal, says Jeanne Jugan. There's one now!

It's a green wheelie, out on the footpath.

Jeanne Jugan stops.

Looks around. 

Opens the lid of the wheelie.

Throw the moules in, says Jeanne Jugan. 

Terence throws the whole bag in. 

Jeanne Jugan closes the lid, checks that Terence is still clamped to her panier, and pedals away.

Now we're free, says Terence. 

Free, says Jeanne Jugan. Free to go home and start preparations.

I'm watering the high rangers, says Terence.

Hydrangeas, says Jeanne Jugan. Yes that will be your job. I'll prepare afternoon tea.

She pulls up at her front gate. Roo-kai is waiting.

He has located a public bin outside an icecream shop.

Too late, says Terence. We already threw them away!

What in? asks Roo-kai. Not someone's private bin out on the footpath?

Yes, says Jeanne Jugan. I didn't think it would matter. It's bin day.

Maybe so, says Roo-kai. But the bins have already been emptied.

Holy marbles! says Jeanne Jugan. What time is it?

Four o'clock, says Roo-kai. Belle and the saints will be arriving in just a few minutes. 

I'd better go inside and look in the cupboard, says Jeanne Jugan. With luck there'll be an old gâteau Breton. Terence, stay out here and water the hydrangeas.

Yay! says Terence. That's my job.

He runs to an outside tap, with a coiled up hose fitted. 

Jeanne Jugan goes inside to look for a gâteau Breton.

Roo-kai wonders if he should go and find the bin that the moules have been wrongfully thrown in.

It ought to be easy.

But really, why should he?

Terence is likely to damage the hydrangeas with a high speed blast of water, if Roo-kai doesn't stay.

He Only Obeys Me

Jeanne Jugan is pedalling fast.

Terence is holding the moule bag, which the moules fell out of and are now back inside.

There is a split in the moule bag.

Terence looks in.

The moules are huddled together, covered in road dust and smelling so bad. 

Terence decides that Roo-kai may not want them.

Where is he anyway?

Can I throw these moules out? asks Terence.

No, says Jeanne Jugan. That would be a waste.

Just one, says Terence. Then Roo-kai might come after it.

I hadn't thought of that, says Jeanne Jugan. Just one then.

Terence chooses a moule that looks super dirty and throws it.

Boing bounce!

Roo-kai appears out of nowhere.

Where were you? asks Terence.

Nowhere, says Roo-kai.

I found a beetle, says Terence. 

I know, says Roo-kai. 

So you weren't nowhere, says Jeanne Jugan. You must have seen me picking up moules from the road.

Why? asks Roo-kai.

If you know about the beetle, says Jeanne Jugan.

I was watching Terence, says Roo-kai. Not you.

It didn't want to come with me, says Terence.

It was probably busy, says Roo-kai.

It was, says Terence. Waiting to get cold.

Jeanne Jugan keeps pedalling. 

I threw out one of the moules, says Terence.

You threw them all out, says Roo-kai. And then got them back.

That was an accident, says Terence. The second time was on purpose.

As you see, says Roo-kai, I didn't want it.

Do you want these ones? asks Terence.

No thanks, says Roo-kai. In Cancale, I'll find some fresh oysters.

Perhaps that is wise, says Jeanne Jugan. We'll get rid of the moules when we go past a bin.

How long will that be? asks Terence. I've got to hold them.

Not far, says Jeanne Jugan. There's Cancale in the distance.

I'll fly ahead and look for a bin, says Roo-kai.

Take the moules with you, says Jeanne Jugan.

But too late. Roo-kai has gone.

He only obeys me, says Terence.

Jeanne Jugan tries to recall an example of that.

Life's Sweet Simplicity

Terence finds a beetle.

It is sitting on a prickle bush and does not run away.

Look! A beetle! says Terence.

Jeanne Jugan stops picking up moules.

So it is! A shieldbug! says Jeanne Jugan.

She resumes the retrieval.

Hello, shield beetle, says Terence. 

Bug, says the beetle.

Do you want to be my beetle? asks Terence.

No, says the beetle.

I'm going to have a ride on a pony, says Terence.

Good for you, says the beetle. I'm staying here till the weather gets colder. Then I'll hibernate. What colour am I right now?

A bit purple, says Terence. 

A bit? asks the beetle.

And a bit green, says Terence. What are you supposed to be?

Pale green in autumn, says the beetle. 

Are you talking to that shieldbug? asks Jeanne Jugan.

Yes, says Terence.

Do you want to collect it? asks Jeanne Jugan.

Say no! says the beetle.

No, says Terence. It's staying here to get colder.

Then say goodbye to it, says Jeanne Jugan.

Goodbye, bug, says Terence.

Jeanne Jugan lifts Terence onto her back panier.

Can I face the other way? asks Terence.

Why.... oh yes, all right, says Jeanne Jugan. 

She turns him and reclamps him to the panier. 

(with a clamp)

You may as well carry the moules too. They're getting quite smelly, says Jeanne Jugan.

Now Terence is not looking at Jeanne Jugan's bottom (a good thing), but holding a bag of stinky old moules (a bad).

The beetle watches Terence grow small in the distance,

And rejoices in life's sweet simplicity.

No Bees

Are we there yet? asks Terence.

No, of course not, says Belle. But we'll soon be at Mont Saint-Michel.

How soon? asks Terence.

Is Terence being a nuisance? asks Jeanne Jugan.

No more than usual, says Belle.

Would he like to come with me? asks Jeanne Jugan.

Are you going faster? asks Terence.

I'd like to, says Jeanne Jugan. I need to get home and water my hydrangeas.

Can I do it? asks Terence.

Yes, says Jeanne Jugan.

Okay, says Belle. It would be nice without Terence's weight in my panier velo.

They stop. 

Terence is transferred to Jeanne Jugan's flat back panier.

His face is directly opposite her bottom.

I'll see you at my cottage in Cancale, says Jeanne Jugan. I'll provide afternoon tea.

She remounts and cycles away. 

What did she say? asks Saint Maclou. 

Afternoon tea at her place, says Belle. She's taking Terence. We can go slower.

What a relief, says Saint Maclou. 

Jeanne Jugan speeds through Mont Saint-Michel without stopping.

Hey, says Terence. What was that castle?

I'm sure you've seen it before, says Jeanne Jugan. It's an abbey, built out in the sea.

Cannot but be, says Terence.

Huh? says Jeanne Jugan. 

Don't you know cannot but be? asks Terence.

I don't, says Jeanne Jugan. Is it a word game? 

What would it be if there were two beetles? asks Terence.

What would it be? asks Jeanne Jugan.

Two bees, says Terence.

What does that have to do with an abbey? asks Jeanne Jugan.

Nothing says Terence. Two beetles was an example. Now we'll play it. 

Okay, says Jeanne Jugan. Try me,

What would it be if it was an abbey? says Terence.

Two bees, says Jeanne Jugan. 

Yes! says Terence. How did you know?

Cannot but be, says Jeanne Jugan. Now let's play I spy.

Only if it's colours, says Terence.

Jeanne Jugan thinks Terence ought to be able to play it with letters, but then...just look at that glorious sky and that brilliant sea.

I spy with my little eye something sapphire, says Jeanne Jugan.

A beetle, says Terence.

I could not spot a beetle at this speed, says Jeanne Jugan.

Correct! says Terence.

That was fun, says Jeanne Jugan, but now I must concentrate on my cycling. 

What will I do? asks Terence.

Count the leftover moules, says Jeanne Jugan. 

She pulls the doggy bag out from under her tee shirt.

She hands it to Terence.

It is greasy and the paper is thin. His claw finger rips it, accidentally.

Moules tumble onto the road. 

Jeanne Jugan has to stop, to retrieve them.

Terence looks in the grass for a beetle.

Doing Away With The Devil

Are we going in the poem bag? asks the knowlesi.

What poem bag? asks Quiet-tartus.

Weren't you listening? says Terence. It's your bag for going in, and there's a poem on it.

No I wasn't, says Quiet-tartus. I was looking at these dead mosquitoes.

Too bad, says Terence. You missed a good poem.

I don't even like poems, says Quiet-tartus. 

You'd LOVE this one, says Terence. Saint Michael comes down and splits eveything in half. Including the devil. 

What with? asks Quiet-tartus.

A sword, says Terence. Even the lizards and flowers get splitted.

No they don't, says Belle. Only the devil. 

And he dies but not yet, says Terence. On the sand.

A great poem to be in the bag of, says Quiet-tartus. 

What if it's a metaphor? says the knowlesi. 

Quiet-tartus is prepared to consider that it might be.

The formation of the valley. The reason for Mont Saint Michel. The difficulty of doing away with the devil.

Okay, says Quiet-tartus. Let no one say I'm a philistine.

Great, says Belle. Let's get going. Who's got the moules for Roo-kai?

I have, says Jeanne Jugan.

They leave the café.

The frogs are in the poem bag, testing it. 

The sun filters through the paper. They can see a few words, inside out.

elbas el rus trom erocne sap

It does not say much about splitting. Maybe Terence was wrong.

The paper bag sits in Belle's panier velo, Arthur having gone on without it.

Terence is in the panier velo as well.

Stop jigging, says Belle.

I'm practicing riding my pony, says Terence.

It's not about jigging, says Belle. 

Indeed not, says Saint Méen, from behind them. It's sbout confidence.

Terence has confidence, says Belle. 

And a straight back, says Saint Méen.

I've got a straight back, says Terence.

Heels down, says Saint Méen, and knees gripping.

Terence tries out the instructions. 

At least he's stopped jigging.

Violence Of Flowers

Here, says Arthur. Two doggy bags.

This one's got writing, says Terence.

Let me see it, says Belle. Hey, it's a poem!

The waiter wrote it, says Arthur. He thinks he's a poet.

If he thinks he's a poet, he is, says Saint Méen.

Read it out! says Saint Maclou. I do like a bit of poetry.

You read it out, says Arthur. And I'll start filling the other one.

He picks up a greasy cold moule.

Wait! says Belle.  Before you put it in the bag, wipe the sauce off with a tissue.

Yes do, says Roo-kai That sauce is too spicy.

As if I would have a tissue, says Arthur.

He wipes the moule on his shorts.

Read! says Terence.

Saint Méen reads the poem:

Dans une vallée crevassée, depouillée d'arbres/ Les rochers dorment comme des lézards

What does that mean? asks Terence.

In a cracked open valley, stripped of trees / Rocks sleep like lizards, says Arthur.

That's a good one! says Terence.

It's not finished, says Saint Méen:

La violence jaune des fleurs/ Les yeux brisés

Crikey! says Belle. That sounds like you, Arthur.

It's not me, says Arthur, wiping a second  moule on his shorts, the other leg this time.

What? asks Terence. 

Yellow violence of flowers, the eyes broken, says Arthur.

Flowers don't have eyes! says Terence. That's stupid.

I imagine there's more, says Jeanne Jugan. Go on Méen.

Où saint Michel s'est déversée/ furieux contre le diable/ et le fendit en deux, reads Saint Méen.

How exciting! says Jeanne Jugan. A battle!

Who's winning? asks Terence. Wait! Who's fighting?

Saint Michael and the devil, says Jeanne Jugan. This poem is based on a true story.

Why is this der-brain poem in French? asks Terence. Tell me properly.

Where Saint Michael pours down his fury on the devil, and splits him in two, says Jeanne Jugan.

Yay! says Terence. Saint Michael is the winner!

Not quite, says Saint Méen. This is the last line: Le voila pas encore mort sur le sable.

There he lies, not yet dead, on the sand, says Belle. 

Who? asks Terence.

The devil, says Arthur. Okay this bag is full, give me that one.

It doesn't seem right to fill it with leftover moules, says Roo-kai. The poem does not deserve it.

Your choice, says Arthur. What shall we do with it?

It would be perfect to carry the frogs in, says Roo-kai. 

Everyone, except Arthur, agrees that it would be perfect

You Think Too Much

The waiter has sprayed all the windows, and around the front door.

The only mosquitoes are dead ones.

Great! says Belle. Now the place smells of Fast Knockdown.

Rather spoiling the taste of the moules, says Jeanne Jugan. This is your doing, Maupi.

He was only trying to stop me being evicted, says Roo-kai.

Thank you, Roo-kai, says Pierre-Louis.

If you're not going to eat the rest of your moules....? says Roo-kai.

Go for it, says Pierre-Louis. 

Mine too, says Jeanne Jugan.

Belle looks at Arthur, who is scoffing his burger.

We could ask the waiter for a doggy bag, says Belle. 

What for? asks Arthur.

For the moules, says Belle. We're not going to eat them, but Roo-kai is.

Good idea, says Arthur.

Yes, but will you ask him? asks Belle. I think he likes you.

It's true that the waiter seemed to like Arthur.

Perhaps he too is a poet.

Arthur gets up and goes across to the waiter.

Hello? says the waiter. What is wrong for you now?

Nothing, says Arthur. My friends want a doggy bag.

What for? asks the waiter.

The moules, says Arthur. They can't finish them.

Doggies are not fond of moules, says the waiter.

They don't have a doggy, says Arthur. 

I knew it! says the waiter. The moules are for the oiseau, which is alive!

All right, says Arthur. But the good news is, when we get the doggy bag, were leaving.

There is the problem of the sauce, says the waiter. 

You can keep the sauce, says Arthur. 

But that involves a separation, says the waiter. Of the moules from the sauce.

You think too much, says Arthur.

I know, says the waiter. I suppose you don't.

I'm a poet, says Arthur. I think all the time.

I'm a poet also, says the waiter. I have written a poem about Jullouville. Would you like to hear it?

No thanks , says Arthur. Just give me a doggy bag. Or two would be better.

Okay, says the waiter. 

After five minutes he returns. with two doggy bags.

What took you so long? asks Arthur.

I have scribbled my poem on one of them, says the waiter. 

I'll read it, says Arthur. 

Before you put the moules in, says the waiter. Promise?

Sure, says Arthur.

Fast Knockdown

That oiseau must be removed, says the waiter, placing the moules on the table.

I'll put it on the floor, says Belle. Will that be okay?

On the floor? says the waiter. There it will hop about disturbing the customers.

Doe he mean Roo-kai? asks Terence.

Yes, says Belle. Our harmless stuffed oiseau.

It's my toy parrot, says Terence. It goes everywhere.

I heard it say something, says the waiter. 

We pressed its talking button, says Terence. Watch this!

He presses Roo-kai's belly. 

A garlic and butter sauce burp issues out.

A burping toy, says the waiter. What next will they think of?  Okay. It must stay on the floor.

But now the waiter has noticed the frogs, who are sitting on the table, thin mosquito legs sticking out of their mouths, like tiny moustaches.

Grenouilles! says the waiter. These too are not allowed in the café.

I'll put them back in their box, says Jeanne Jugan.

She opens her box.

No! cry the frogs. We do not want to go in!

There, you see! says the waiter. They must go outside.

Can we at least eat our moules first? asks Saint Méen.

And my burger? says Arthur. Where is it?

Coming, says the waiter. But only after.

We could legitimately complain about the service, says Pierre-Louis.

Please do not, says the waiter. 

Not only the service, says Pierre-Louis, but your café is full of mosquitoes. To wit: the mosquito legs protruding from the mouths of our frogs. How would it look if I should write a review of your café on Trip Advisor?

 All right, says the waiter. I shall turn a blind eye.

He goes off to get Arthur's burger, and a can of Fast Knockdown. 

Celebratory Mosquito

Roo-kai swallows the moule.

He burps, in a birdlike manner.

That tasted funny!

That's because of where it's been, says Terence.

In a garlic and butter sauce, says Belle.

Oh, says Roo-kai. That will explain it.

That won't explain it, says Terence. You don't know where else it's been.

Never mind, says Belle. Roo-kai's eaten it.

Where else has it been? asks Roo-kai.

About this far, says Terence, patting his chest. On the inside. 

Could be worse, says Roo-kai. It could have gone further.

Down or out? says Terence. 

Down or out, says Roo-kai. 

Into my digestion, says Terence.

You don't have a digestion, says Belle. That's why you coughed up the moule. 

Can I have a red drink? asks Terence. And can Roo-kai come into the café?

Yes to both, says Belle. But we don't want any trouble. 

Because I'm a bird? says Roo-kai. Dont worry. I'll pretend I'm a stuffed one.

You are a stuffed one, says Terence.

Ha ha, says Roo-kai.

They go back into the café.

Oh, here you are, says Jeanne Jugan. Is Terence okay?

Fine, says Belle. What's everyone having?

Moules, says Jeanne Jugan. Except Arthur. He's having a burger Armand.

What about the frogs? asks Terence.

They're having a celebratory mosquito, says Saint Méen.

Each? says Terence.

Each, says Saint Méen.

What's the celebration? asks Belle.

Arthur has just told them that the amphibian chytrid fungus has been beaten, says Saint Maclou.

That's good news, says Belle.

It certainly is! says Roo-kai, forgetting to pretend he's a stuffed one.

Which would not matter, had a waiter, bringing moules, not been approaching.

What Lovely Manners

Bistrot Armand.

Belle is first to arrive, with Terence.

Arthur has almost finished his moules marinière.

They look yummy, says Belle. Can I try one?

There are two moules left in the bowl, swimming in aromatic sauce.

Go for it, says Arthur.

Guess what? says Terence. I'm allowed to have whatever I like!

Did I say that? asks Belle.

Yes, says Terence. You said it.

I meant within reason, says Belle. 

Try a moule, says Arthur.

He shouldn't, says Belle.

Too late! Terence has tried one. The last in the bowl.

He swallows it down.

And guess what else? says Terence. Jeanne Jugan has the frogs in her underpants.

Merde! says Arthur. I'm not having them back.

She doesn't have them in her underpants, says Belle. That's just Terence.

Me! says Terence.

Thinking too much about the frogs, says Belle. And where they might be.

They were under her singlet, says Terence. 

In a box, says Belle.

And the singlet was tucked into her underpants, says Terence.

Her shorts, says Belle.

Her baggy old shorts, says Terence. The elastic was probably loose

It probably wasn't, says Belle. Anyway even if it was....

Jeanne Jugan and Pierre-Louis enter the café.

Something smells good! says Jeanne Jugan.

Moules marinière, says Belle. I've just tried one. They're really yum.

Jeanne Jugan sits down next to Terence.

Are you comfy? asks Terence.

Yes, thank you, dear, says Jeanne Jugan. What lovely manners.

Yes he does have lovely manners, says Belle. Terence why don't you go to the door and wait for the saints.

I will when she gets the frogs out, says Terence.

Dear me, yes, the frogs! says Jeanne Jugan.

She reaches under her tshirt and pulls out a small box.

She places it on the table and takes the lid off.

Terence looks in.

Quiet-tartus and the knowlesi look out, wearing hard-to-read expressions.

Are you okay? asks Terence.

Are you okay? asks the knowlesi.

Are you copying me? asks Terence.

No, you look pale, says the knowlesi. Are you okay?

NO! says Terence. I've eaten a moule!

All of a sudden he wishes he hadn't.

I knew it! says Belle. Come outside with me, Terence, before you vomit.

She rushes Terence to the door.

Terence is coughing.

Cuh! Cuh! 

Out flies the moule, landing on the pavement.

Yuck, says Terence. 

The saints arrive, looking apologetic.

Sorry we're late, says Saint Méen. We noticed Roo-kai on the sand. Maclou thought we should tell him where we were meeting.

He would already know, says Terence.

He didn't, says Saint Méen. He does now.

And in fact, Roo-kai is above them. He spots the moule on the pavement

A moule!

They must have brought it out for him. How thoughtful.

He drops down and spears it.

Goodbye Deadly Fungus

Arthur has reached Jullouville, and found a café.

Le Bistrot Armand.

He orders an espresso.

He looks at the menu.

Moules marinière, burger Armand?

His phone rings.

It's Gaius.

Arthur, is that you?

Who else? says Arthur. 

On your way home yet? asks Gaius.

Not yet, says Arthur. I'm in Jullouville.

With the frogs, I assume? says Gaius. 

Not exactly, says Arthur. They were in my pocket but...

Jumping Jupiter! says Gaius. You lost them!

No, says Arthur. They're in a first aid kit. Remember Jeanne Jugan?

Yes I do, says Gaius. A fine woman. Ex nun. With a bicycle covered in cobwebs. 

That's her, says Arthur. 

Wonderful, says Gaius. But why does she have them?

It's only temporary, says Arthur. I'll be getting them back. 

When? asks Gaius.

As soon as she gets here, says Arthur. We're having lunch in a café.

Very well, says Gaius. By the way, excellent news. You know that deadly fungus?

I've probably had it, says Arthur.

Ha ha! laughs Gaius. I mean the amphibian chytrid fungus.

The one that frogs die of, says Arthur

Yes that one, says Gaius. Well, the good news is, that Fleay's barred frogs have been fighting it off! It seems that over time they have developed a natural immune response to the fungus.

Why tell me? asks Arthur.

Are you eating? asks Gaius.

Not yet, says Arthur. I'm thinking of ordering moules marinière.

Then why shouldn't I tell you? says Gaius. I thought the news would bolster Quiet-tartus and the knowlesi.

It might, says Arthur. 

Goodbye then. See you soon, says Gaius. Wait! Are you all right for money?

 I've got 24 euros, says Arthur. 

Is that all? says Gaius.

And my plane ticket, says Arthur.

Good man, says Gaius. 

The call ends.

Gaius wonders if Arthur will order moules marinière.

Arthur wonders why he didn't ask for more money

Who Doesn't Like Mathematics?

Jeanne Jugan and the saints are approaching the stationary point where Belle and Pierre-Louis are waiting.

Which reminds Pierre-Louis that he is a respected mathematician.

Does Belle know this?

What do you know of me? asks Pierre-Louis.

Only what papa has told me, says Belle. 

And what has he told you? asks Pierre-Louis. 

You went to Lapland, says Belle.  Oh, and you missed out on a battle because you had a slow donkey.

The battle was not in Lapland, says Pierre-Louis.

I didn't say it was, says Belle, 

I went to Lapland to make observations, says Pierre-Louis.

And got a hat, says Terence. 

Yes, this hat, says Pierre-Louis.

Which I'm borrowing, says Terence.

Later, says Pierre-Louis.

Observations, says Belle. That must have been nice.

Mathematical observations, says Pierre-Louis.

Great, says Belle. Who doesn't like mathematics?

Me, says Terence. What is it?

Calculations, says Pierre-Louis. I'm glad that you asked. 

Me too, says Terence. 

I'll give you an example, says Pierre-Louis. Take any system.

Okay, says Terence. Which one?

The path of a planetary orbit, says Pierre-Louis.

Not that one, says Terence.

Perhaps something closer to home, says Belle.

Pierre-Louis has a brain wave.

Take the path between us and Jeanne Jugan, says Pierre-Louis. She is in one state we are in another. The true path between us is composed of stationary points of abbreviated action.

Wow! says Belle. That sounds kind of .....obvious.

Even the obvious must be mathematically proven, says Pierre-Louis. It's my principle of least action. 

Jeanne Jugan and the saints pull up beside Belle and Pierre-Louis.

Bless you for waiting, puffs Saint Méen. 

No worries, says Belle. Pierre-Louis has been giving us a lesson in mathematics.

And you were in it, says Terence. Have you still got my frogs?

Jeanne Jugan pats her t shirt just below where her shorts' waistband should be.

Snug as bugs, says Jeanne Jugan.

Their position seems lower to Terence than it should be.

Her Baggy Shorts

Belle and Pierre-Louis do not know the others are a long way behind them.

They are discussing Vello.

He doesn't make a lot of money, says Belle. But enough.

Enough to put a team in the Tour de France, says Pierre-Louis. That must cost a pretty penny.

He's subsidised by the French government, says Belle. Being kind of an icon.

And has he ever won? asks Pierre-Louis.

No, says Belle. Not even a stage. 

At least that's some consolation.

And his online magazine? asks Pierre-Louis. How does that work?

He interviews fellow philosophers, says Belle. But they must have an interest in cycling.

As I have, says Pierre-Louis. Strange that he's never asked me.

You could put yourself forward, says Belle.

Or you could, says Pierre-Louis.

I guess I could, says Belle.

She looks over her shoulder.

Where are the others?

She stops. Pierre-Louis stops too. 

Why did we stop? asks Terence. 

To wait for the others to catch up, says Belle. 

She has turned her bike round. Now Terence can see where he's been.

As he thought. Just the same as where he is going.

But the sea is on the other side. At least that's different.

Roo-kai flutters down.

They stopped to reposition the frogs, says Roo-kai.

But Arthur's meant to have them, says Belle.

Jeanne Jugan put them under her t shirt, says Roo-kai.

Yuck ! says Terence. 

In a box, says Roo-kai.

Arthur's not sloping off is he? asks Belle.

Not that I know of, says Roo-kai. Here he comes now.

Arthur has sped up since divesting his pockets of frogs.

Their bodies had been mildly restrictive.

He skids to a halt.

Where are you going in a hurry? asks Pierre-Louis.

I like to ride on my own, says Arthur. I'll stop in Jullouvile.

Great! says Belle. Meet you there. We'll get lunch in a café.

Arthur is about to take off again.

Wait! says Terence. Are my frogs okay?

Yes, says Arthur. Or no. They're in a first aid kit under Jeanne Jugan's t shirt. 

How are they joined on? asks Terence. 

She didn't explain, says Arthur. She said it was warm though.

She probably tucked the box inside her.... umm .... singlet, says Belle. 

It might fall out! says Terence. At the bottom.

The singlet will be tucked into the top of her shorts, says Belle. Stop worrying.

But Terence remembers how baggy Jeanne Jugan's shorts were, and doesn't stop worrying.

Curly Questions

The collision does not happen.

The saints stop in time.

That was a close one, says Jeanne Jugan. Lucky you two were paying attention.

But we weren't, says Saint Méen. 

No we weren't, says Saint Maclou. It could only have been a divine intervention.

Or good brakes, says Arthur.

Were your minds on heavenly things? asks Jeanne Jugan.

In a way, says Saint Méen. We were discussing the knees of Pope Francis.

O yes! His poor knees! says Jeanne Jugan. It's the ligaments. I hear he has tried an injection.

Really? says Saint Maclou. Do we know if it helped?

Not a lot, says Jeanne Jugan.

We were discussing whether or not he should pray, says Saint Méen.

Isn't that his job? says Arthur.

For himself, says Saint Maclou. I imagine he would consider it inappropriate.

Would you? asks Jeanne Jugan.

Pray for myself? asks Saint Maclou. Never.

Wouldn't it depend how you put it? asks Arthur. 

Here, says Jeanne Jugan. Give me those frogs.

Arthur has been thinking about the curly question, and forgetting the frogs.

He hands them to Jeanne Jugan.

Doing a swap? asks Saint Méen.

Arthur doesn't have a container, says Jeanne Jugan. 

And you do? says Saint Méen.

First aid kit, says Jeanne Jugan.

She whips it out from under her loose black t shirt.

The frogs are aghast.

A first aid kit. Smelling of ointment with a use by date of two thousand and seven!

Get in, says Jeanne Jugan. You frogs are lucky. It's nice and warm.

The frogs hop in, feeling anything but lucky.

The first aid kit is returned to the place under Jeanne Jugan's black t shirt. 

A mysterious place. No one can quite picture where it is, or from what the first aid kit is suspended.

Holy Knees

Jeane Jugan is now level with Arthur.

Mind if I ride alongside you? asks Jeanne.

No, says Arthur. 

Where are the frogs? asks Jeanne Jugan.

I've got them, says Arthur.

Yes, but where? asks Jeanne Jugan. You don't have a panier velo.

In my pocket, says Arthur. I chucked out the rest of the apples.

Those frogs had been injured! says Jeanne Jugan.

I know, says Arthur.

Imagine you had been injured, says Jeanne Jugan.

I was, says Arthur. Remember?

In a serious way, says Jeanne Jugan. Split open. By cement feet. However holy.

Terence's feet, says Arthur. They're not holy.

They represent holy feet, says Jeanne Jugan. You must admit that.

All right, says Arthur. I'm split open. 

He utters a sharp moan of anguish.

What's happened! cries Belle.

A lesson in empathy! shouts Jeanne Jugan. 

Now what? says Arthur.

You've been patched up, and you're feeling quite lively, says Jeanne Jugan

Until someone shoves me in their pocket and gets on a bike, says Arthur. 

Exactly, says Jeanne Jugan. Now take a look at the motion of your pockets.

Arthur is cycling quite fast. So is Jeanne Jugan.

If he watches his pockets, he can't watch the road.

He watches his pockets.

The pockets go up and down hypnotically.

Arthur swerves, knocking the front wheel of Jeanne Jugan.

She wobbles.

Watch the road! cries Jeanne Jugan.

Yes, watch the road! croaks Quiet-tartus, his eyes just visible above the hem of Arthur's pocket.

We almost had an accident, says Jeanne Jugan. 

We know, says Quiet-tartus. We were wondering if we could ....

Come to me, says Jeanne Jugan. At least till we get to Saint Malo. Then we'll find you a comfy container.

Arthur stops suddenly, intending to take the frogs out of his pocket.

The saints are behind him, not paying attention.

Discussing the knees of Pope Francis.

A collision seems imminent.

Hat Under Helmet

So it's back to Saint Malo.

Belle and Jeanne Jugan are cycling side by side.

It's so nice to see you again, says Jeanne Jugan. 

And you, says Belle. What have you been up to?

I've taken up gardening, says Jeanne Jugan. 

I'd love to see your garden, says Belle. Do you grow flowers?

O yes, says Jeanne Jugan. Hydrangeas. 

Lovely, says Belle.

Any carrots? asks Terence.

No, says Jeanne Jugan. Potatoes.

The saints grow potatoes, says Belle. 

Potatoes are easy, says Jeanne Jugan.

I'm getting a ride on a pony, says Terence.

The saints don't have a pony, says Jeanne Jugan.

Their neighbour's pony, says Belle. Someone called Madame Ponty.

THAT pony! says Jeanne Jugan.

What about it? asks Belle. Is it a handful?

You'll see, says Jeanne Jugan. Make sure Terence is wearing a helmet.

Can I have yours? asks Terence. 

Too big, says Jeanne Jugan.

What if I borrow Pierre-Louis's hat? asks Terence.

It's not a helmet, says Jeanne Jugan. 

Under your helmet, says Terence. The hat would fill in the spaces.

Jeanne Jugan and Belle both imagine what Terence would look like in a Lapland type hat under Jeanne's yellow-eyed helmet.

I think we can do better, says Belle.

Did I hear someone mention my hat? asks Pierre-Louis, drawing level.

Jeanne Jugan drops back.

Three abreast is too many.

Terence was thinking of asking if he could borrow it, says Belle.

Any time, says Pierre-Louis.

Yay! says Terence. Now?

Not now, says Pierre-Louis.

That means you lied, says Terence. 

Any time I'm not using it, says Pierre-Louis.

You're not using it, says Terence.

I am, says Pierre-Louis. How does one use a hat but by wearing it?

That's what I'd be doing , says Terence.

Stop it, Terence, says Belle. Stop talking and look at the scenery.

Terence stops talking and looks at the scenery. 

Road: long and boring

Roadside: boring

Rocks: grey and brown

Sand: boring

Sea: a bad place in which carrots decompose and become one with the universe

Sky: a white cloud that looks like the head of a pony

The Expanding

Arthur is far from the shore.

If he kept going he would end up in England.

He imagines it happening.

He wades onto the cold English sand.

English people are walking there with their shoes on.

Crunch crunch.

He turns and swims back towards France.

Midway, he passes a flat crimson fronted parrot.

He resolves to remember this thing.

On the shore, Belle is waiting.

Arthur! I asked you to stay on the road!

I left clues, says Arthur.

We found the clues, says Belle. I guess this is your bike wheel, and your phone?

 And my apples, says Arthur.

They look sour, says Belle.

Out there, says Arthur, I passed a flat crimson fronted parrot.

He thinks Belle will be surprised. 

She isn't.

They gather the wheel and the phone and the apples, and walk up to the road.

You found him! says Jeanne Jugan.

Guess what? says Terence. 

What? says Arthur. 

I split open the frogs, says Terence. 

So much for my mission, says Arthur.

They're not dead, says Saint Méen. They've been patched together with plasters.

Okay, says Arthur. Give them to me and I'll get going.

No you won't, says Belle. We'll all ride back to Saint Malo together. It will be lovely. 

We didn't think this through, says Arthur. Why didn't I stay in Saint Malo?

You'd have got bored, says Belle. 

It's true, Arthur would have. Instead...

Guess what? says Arthur to Terence.

What? says Terence.

I saw a flat crimson fronted parrot, says Arthur. When I was swimming.

Holy-moly! says Terence. Was it with a carrot?

No, says Arthur. 

Terence wails.

This means that Roo-kai was right. The carrot's box has decomposed.

Never mind Terence, says Belle. It was only a carrot. It's becoming one with the universe.

Terence imagines the carrot expanding.

What's Wrong With Eek?

Two people are cycling towards them 

Neither one of them is Arthur.

They get nearer.

Isn't that Jeanne Jugan? says Saint Méen.

With the yellow eyes? says Saint Maclou. It could only be Jeanne.

Terence remembers Jeanne Jugan from last time. So does Belle.

But not the yellow eyes.

Who's that with her? asks Saint Maclou. Her new boyfriend?

Ha ha! laughs Saint Méen. 

Hello Jeanne! says Belle.

Belle! says Jeanne Jugan. Isn't Arthur with you?

Not yet, says Belle. 

But we were behind him, says Jeanne Jugan. At least until Port-bail-sur-mer.

He must have stopped there, says Belle. But why were you following him? He wouldn't like that.

No, says Terence. He wouldn't.

He had an injury, says Jeanne Jugan.

So did I, says Pierre-Louis.

Oh sorry, says Jeanne Jugan. I haven't introduced you. This is Pierre-Louis Maupertuis. Pierre-Louis, this is Belle, and these are saints Méen and Maclou. And this is dear little Terence. Hello Terence, have you learned to read maps yet?

Yes, says Terence. And I've learned to read plasters.

He holds up his green plastered claw-finger.

This one says Argh!

Eek, says Belle. The orange ones say Argh.

Eek? says Terence. Get it off me!

What's wrong with Eek? asks Pierre-Louis Maupertuis. 

Eek is for scaredy-cats, says Terence.

The frogs snigger.

The famous frogs! says Jeanne Jugan. How exotic! And why the plasters? Did they split open? Which reminds me about Arthur. How can he be missing?

Yes how? says Belle. I texted him and told him to stay on the road.

Let's retrace our route, says Jeanne Jugan.

We can do that ourselves, says Saint Maclou. We're going that way. You are heading for Flamanville.

No, no! says Jeanne Jugan. Our main object in following Arthur was to meet you.

Us? says Saint Méen.

Not you, says Jeanne Jugan. Belle. And Pierre-Louis was also keen to meet her.

Indeed, Belle, says Pierre-Louis. I knew your father.

Maupertuis, says Belle. Hmm yes. You guys didn't get on well.

That was many moons ago, says Pierre-Louis. How is the old scribbler?

Would you mind if we kept going? asks Belle. I'm worried about Arthur.

Of course, says Jeanne Jugan. So am I.

They need not worry about Arthur. 

He has gone for a swim at Port-bail-sur-mer, having leaned his bike up against a tree

So Belle might see it.

He has even removed the front wheel, so no one can steal it.

The front wheel lies on the flat sand, along with Arthur's phone, and three sour apples, while Arthur swims far out to sea.

 

Coming Towards You

Nuclear power plant, says Saint Méen. There are two reactors in Flamanville.

And a third on the way, says Sain Maclou.

Although I hear there has been a delay, says Saint Méen.

Yikes! says Belle. Is that what set your haloes buzzing?

O yes, says Saint Maclou. It happens. But you needn't worry.

Of course not, says Saint Méen. We won't be here long.

Is that because we'll die? asks Terence.

No, says Saint Maclou. What gave you that idea?

We won't be here long, says Terence.

I meant we'll be leaving as soon as we meet Arthur, says Saint Méen.

But you said radi....ator, says Terence

....ation! says the knowlesi. And we're smaller!

Yes, we're smaller, says Quiet-tartus. We're already affected! I feel symptoms.

Me too, says the knowlesi.

What are they? asks Terence.

We're turning green, says the knowlesi.

Do you want to switch to green plasters? asks Terence. 

No thanks, says the knowlesi. But let's go!

We should wait for Arthur, says Belle.

NO! says Quiet-tartus. If we go towards him, we'll save him from coming here.

He would love it, says Belle. But I guess we don't need to tell him.

All this fuss, says Saint Méen. People who live here only receive .01 millirems of radiation per year.

Millirems, says Terence. What...

Don't ask me, says Saint Maclou. I read it somewhere.

Are we going or what? asks the knowlesi.

Okay, says Belle. I'll just send a message to Arthur.

She messages: Coming towards you. Stay on the road.

Arthur receives the message, but does not think of replying.

However, he stays on the road.

Soon he is approaching Port-bail-sur-mer.

A small village with dunes on one side and grazing grass on the other, all inhabitants receiving the .01 millirems per year. Should this change, the inhabitants will be receiving a letter, so there is no need to worry.

It is 37 ks from Flamanville to Portbail.

Arthur, Belle and the saints should meet up in fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes later.

They haven't.

Radiation What Radiation?

Belle returns, having found a pharmacy on Rte de Dielette.

Here, says Belle. These are kids' ones. 

She hands the packet to Saint Méen. 

The frogs will like these, says Saint Méen.

He opens the packet, pulls out a few plasters.

Choose your plaster, says Saint Méen.

Let me see! says Terence. They're my frogs, so I get to choose.

The plasters have monster faces and open mouths with alarmed ejaculations in speech bubbles.

Terence chooses a green one, going Eek!, and an orange one, going Argh!

What am I getting? mutters the knowlesi. 

The orange one, says Terence. What does it say?

Argh! says Belle. Cool, isn't it? It's what someone says when they get injured.

It's not what I say, says Terence.

Who cares what you say? says the knowlesi. Put it on me before it's too late.

Saint Méen starts unwrapping the plaster.

Give me the green one, says Saint Maclou. 

But first, Quiet-tartus wants to see it.

What colour am I? asks Quiet-tartus.

Light brown, says Saint Maclou. 

So why do I get a green one? asks Quiet-tartus.

Because I picked it, says Terence. And there's no light brown one.

But there's an orange one! says Quiet-tartus. 

I've got the orange one, says the knowlesi.

He sounds perky.

The knowlesi is cured!

 He stands up and hops gingerly.

Yes! Everything stays in!

There's another orange one in the packet, says Belle.

Let me have it, says Quiet-tartus. 

Okay, says Terence.

What a waste of the green one, says Saint Maclou.

I'll have it, says Terence. My claw's coming loose.

I doubt that, says Belle. It's stuck on with Gaius's fish glue.

It IS! says Terence, wiggling it hopefully.

Hold still, says Saint Maclou.

He wraps the green plaster around Terence 's claw (which once belonged to Baby-BB, the baby bristlebird).

Quiet-tartus stands up. Hops gently. 

Hops vigorously. 

Hops fast.

Excellent work, Maclou, says Saint Méen.

Likewise, Méen, says Saint Maclou. And none too soon! After all we're in Flamanville. I feel my halo buzzing.

Me too, says Saint Méen. It'll be the radiation.

Radiation? What radiation? asks Belle.