The Bad Nihilist

No, Sweezus hasn't lost the plot, but his characters have taken on a life of their own:

Mephisto rode doggedly on, towards Mount Compass. A nihilist, he was examining his philosphical position. He had offered to take the blame for Nunghausen's crime, or misdemeanour. Then, having been apprehended, with Nunghausen, he had brazenly escaped, without Nunghausen. Was that consistent behaviour? No, it was not. Perhaps he should go back.

Yes, he would go back. He turned around.

Soon he was in the main street of Victor Harbor. There was the Camus family promenading on the foreshore.

Hey! called out Mephisto. Have you guys seen Nunghausen?

Who's Nunghausen? asked Camus.

You know, said Mephisto. Our friend. He was apprehended for eating a penguin pie on Granite Island.

Oh, NUNGhausen, said Camus, always quick on the uptake. I believe he's in the lockup, where he should be.

Steady on, said Mephisto. He hasn't done anything wrong and you know it.

We heard you escaped, said Francine. How come you came back?

I came back to rescue my friend, said Mephisto.

Some nihilist you turned out to be, said Camus, with a sniff.

The Imaginary Fish

We're Fairy Penguins! said Catherine. Let's catch fish!

Alright! said Sweezus, in a penguin voice.

Catherine, Jean and Sweezus waddled into the bathroom.

There's one! said Jean. I caught it!

Let's cook it! said Catherine.

They waddled into a bedroom.

Where's the oven? asked Penguin Sweezus.

Here it is, said Catherine, and shoved the imaginary fish between two pillows.

....

Meanwhile Gaius, Camus and Francine were still sitting at the table.

Your friend is good with children, said Francine. Would you two like to stay with us tonight? We have spare rooms.

Thank you for the offer, said Gaius, but this place is too luxurious. We have booked a cabin at the local caravan park which will be perfectly adequate for our needs.

As you like, said Camus. But will you come with us to Granite Island in the morning? We're going to look for Fairy Penguins.

We would love to, said Gaius. Wouldn't we? he added, seeing Penguin Sweezus who had poked his head around the door to look for sharks.

Ooh! A shark! squeaked Sweezus. Stay inside, you two!

Sea eagles and seals are far more dangerous to penguins, said Gaius. In case you didn't know.

The fish is burning! cried Catherine, from the bedroom.

And they don't cook fish! said Gaius crossly.

Chill out, said Sweezus. It's just a game.

He came back to the table and sat down.

I've been thinking, he said to Camus. What you said about the weather being irrelevant. You wrote The Stranger, right?

Right, said Camus.

About a guy who kills an Arab with a gun, Sweezus continued. And why does he kill the Arab?

He doesn't ever give an explanation, said Camus. Other than being bothered by the heat and glaring sunlight on the beach.

That's weather! said Sweezus. I rest my case.

Ha ha! said Francine. Albert, you've been outsmarted by a penguin!

Francine, don't be absurd, said Camus.

On Granite

Following a series of events, I found myself on Granite Island yesterday, much in the same way that one finds onself in a recurring dream, that is different every time.

Here we are, having walked ahead of the Horse Drawn Tram, having passed the Penguin Interpretive Centre, and the surrounding penguin habitat, having climbed over several large granites beyond the kiosk and restaurant to observe the spray, having eaten icecreams with our friends, having left them to wait for the tram to return, here we are, having climbed the steep wooden steps to the first platform and the first grand ocean view, where I want to begin.

I look down. I see an old Ngarringeri man standing on the rocks below. He is looking out for whales and penguins and seals. I don't see the old man. I am reading this on an interpretive sign. I think about the old man.

It is hot. We walk the dirt trail on the ocean side of the Island. Below us, the ocean is blue and green, smashing and swirling white spray over the rocks like a washing machine. But we are hot and sweaty. We drink some warm bottled tap water, and keep walking. The vegetation is low. Waxy green shrubs, salt bush and feathery rabbit tail grasses, low broken pines, their scent mingled with that of invisible penguins.

At the far end of the island a man sits on Umbrella Rock, arms outstretched. A bi-plane flies overhead. His companion takes a photograph.

On the lee side of the island it's even warmer, and the scent of pines is strong. There used to be kangaroos here. We have seen them. We have walked the Kaiki trail many times before, even at night, with torches.

Now we can see the Causeway, and the mainland. The path turns down towards the rocky beach. It becomes a bridge, made of concrete beams, that rattle. I'm glad I do not feel obliged to speak, and break the spell of memory.