An Invitation to Dinner

Belle et Bonne and Marie sent us here to find you, said Sweezus.

There is the matter of the unfinished article, said Gaius.

What are you talking about? I've got till the end of the week, said Camus. I'm just having a little break here with my family.

Your family? said Sweezus. I didn't know you had one.

My wife Francine and the twins, Jean and Catherine, said Camus. They are at present in the swimming pool. Perhaps you would care to join us later for dinner? We are having Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Sweezus looked hopefully at Gaius.

Thank you, said Gaius. We'd love to.

By the way, said Sweezus, Belle et Bonne and Marie said you might help us with our....OUCH!

They suggested you might help Sweezus with his article, said Gaius smoothly.

Did you just kick him? asked Camus.

No, he must have got cramp, said Gaius. I have no need of anyone's help in the writing department.

I should say not, said Camus. You are a well-respected writer.

As are you, said Gaius.

It's not my fault I've got writer's block, said Sweezus. I wish Farky was here. He used to be my mentor. But he's in hospital.

Is he? said Gaius. No one told me. What's the matter with him?

He's having knee reconstructions, said Sweezus. Riding in the Tour de France did him no good at all.

Brave little fellow, said Gaius.

Who is this Farky? said Camus.

A Scottish dog, said Gaius.

Whooo! Camus whistled admiringly. And I thought I was the one who dealt in life's absurdities.

Red Team, Yellow Team

You, Herr Wittgenstein, said Professor Freud, can be on Irma's team. Irma will tell you what to do. Her team is the yellow team. Here are your overalls, here is your paintgun, and here are your paintballs. As you see, they are yellow. And this is Irma, he added, pointing to a little girl of about eleven.

Wittgenstein looked down at Irma. Irma looked up at him.

And you, Saint Nicholas, continued Professor Freud, will be on Emma's team. Emma is Irma's sister. Her team is the red team. Here are your things.

So it's two on two, is it? said Saint Nicholas. Hello Emma. You look rather like your sister.

We're twins, said Emma. And we're both really good, she added.

I like good children, said Saint Nicholas.

At Paintball, I mean, said Emma.

I shall of course be the referee, said Professor Freud. Now is everybody ready? Armbands on? Then go to your bunkers!

There were makeshift bunkers at either end of the meatworks yard, and piles of bones dotted about the middle. Wittgenstein and Irma withdrew to the far end and crouched behind their bunker.

What happens now? asked Wittgenstein.

Watch this, said Irma. She ran out from behind the bunker. Wittgenstein saw her dodge from bone pile to bone pile until she was directly behind the bunker of Saint Nicholas and her twin.

Ouch! he heard, and then Ouch! Ouch!

Saint Nicholas emerged from behind his bunker, covered in yellow paint. You're bunkered! yelled Irma.

Her sister leapt out from behind another pile of bones and shot three red paintballs at her in quick succession.

Ouch! Ouch! squawked Irma. Ouch! She looked down at herself. None of the paintballs had burst. She ran back to Wittgenstein.

That was brilliant! she said. I'm still in, but your friend's out. We're bound to win now, even though you're useless, she added.

No, I'm not, said Wittgenstein. I think I'm getting the hang of it. Sit tight. I'm going to shoot your sister.