Century Egg

Right. Back to the Nullarbor, says Baby Pierre. So where was I?

More than half way across, says the tinker.

With a bag full of rock samples, says Rosa.

Which Ouvert was carrying, says the tinker.

I remember, says Baby Pierre. 

The light is good in the see-through container, on Rosa's lap. 

He reads what he's written so far

Perfect. And he has not once used the rubber.

The flight attendant comes by.

How's the frog doing? asks the flight attendant.

Good, says Rosa. She ate some of my prawn.

Would she like something else? asks the flight attendant.

I'll ask her, says Rosa. 

She asks the tinker: Would you like another prawn?

Not a prawn, says the flight attendant. None left. I can offer a century egg. Do you think frogs eat those?

I'll ask her, says Rosa. She asks.

That depends, says the tinker. Is it a left-over?

Well yes, says the flight attendant, but only from lunch.

Okay, says the tinker. 

Good, says the flight attendant. I'll be back in a minute.

She walks away.

I'm having a century egg, says the tinker.

Woo-hoo! says Baby Pierre. A hundred year old egg! That'll be even more stinky than the prawn was.

Not necessarily, says the tinker. It's not really a hundred. It's only left over from lunch.

But before that, where was it? asks Baby Pierre.

I suppose I should ask, says the tinker.

Yes, but shut up for now, says Baby Pierre. I'm writing the next part.

He writes (very small): By this time, Ouvert and I were three quarters of the way across the Nullarbor, each thinking our own thoughts, mine were about Ouvert, was he really my cousin? the Ouvert who remembered the carrot wasn't my real cousin he just looked like him, same weird expression, two mouths, one open one always smiling, but he did not do that thing where he said everything twice. I decided to test him. Remember Lavender? I asked, and guess what, he couldn't remember.

Baby Pierre is pleased with what he has written. A mystery. Hey-ah! He breathes in.

And smells something bad.