My Authoritative Finger

Water? says Simone.

The Spanish policeman picks up the glass.

You're welcome to a goat's cheese and spinach pie, says Simone.

Not for me, says the policeman. Water is fine.

He drinks some.

Ahh, that better. Now where was I?

You were trying to determine whether the sword was obtained by consent, says Sartre.

And why should that matter? asks Simone.

Saint Elias claims he gave it up while in a state of delirium, says Sartre.

Like when he killed people, says Terence.

And whirled up into heaven, says Arthur. 

I see, says Simone. But hasn't the policeman been shown a receipt for the purchase?

He has, says Sartre.

Simone looks at the policeman.

And the saint would have been holding his sword at the time?

I assume so, says the policeman.

Therefore the icon including the sword is the legal property of my husband, says Simone. And he may do what he likes with it. Including what he did do.

He didn't do it, says Terence. I did.

Oho! says the policeman.

With my full consent, says Sartre. We realised that the saint's finger was much too small to replace the dead claw.

You had considered removing the finger? says the policaman.

But we did not remove it, says Sartre.

Saint Elias remembers it now. 

How it was when he thought he would lose his left pointing finger.

The finger is more important to him than the sword.

The finger makes him look like an authoritative figure. A knower of things. Such as where heaven is.

Upwards. 

After all, he has been there.

And is there still, in spirit form, ready to be asked things.

Such as: Please let my plane avoid turbulence, terrorists and high flying gulls.

I wish to announce I have no issue, says Saint Elias.

What did he say? asks the policeman.

What did you say? asks Bowl.

I have no issue with the loss of my sword, says Saint Elias. I don't need it nowadays. I am happy to have retained my authoritative finger.

I hope you heard what he said, says Bowl. Because it was too long for me to repeat it.

I heard what he said, says the policeman. Well then, case closed.

Bravo! says Simone. NOW perhaps you'll have a goat's cheese and spinach pie, before they all disappear.

They are not disappearing, says Sartre. Why didn't you order more meat ones?

I though you'd had enough meat ones, says Simone.

Prawn ones, then, says Sartre.

Simone thrusts the plate at the policeman.

The policeman accepts a small pie.