Cat and Crab on the Beach

Knock Knock

Who's there?

Pablo Picasso.

Oh, come in! Pliny and I were just wondering about your Cat and Crab on the Beach painting, which is blue.

What were you wondering, my friends?

Pliny has made a study of your Blue Period yet he doesn't remember seeing this one.

Aha! That is because I painted it long after my Blue Period which was from 1900 to 1904. In fact I painted Cat and Crab on the Beach in 1965.

Then why did you paint it in various shades of blue?

Oh, it was 1965. I was into post modernism. Referencing my own Blue Period. For fun, you know.

I see. Well it's a very fine painting, I think.

Do you? Muchas gracias. Tell me why you like it.

I like the way the shapes of the crab, the shells and the rocks mirror one another, I like how the crab's claw and the cat's tail are in balance. I like how they are eyeballing one another. And I like the fact that it's blue. I like how you've painted the crab's antennules, too.

I have? What in heaven's name are those?

Its smelling organs.

Glad you noticed, my dear. Glad you noticed. Where did you see my painting, by the way? I didn't think it was all that well known today.

Oh, I found it through google on a site called Cat Lovers Gift Guide.

Cat Lovers Gift Guide! My painting! Ay Caramba!

Don't worry, they were only selling it as a poster. Pliny was almost going to buy one.

Dios! What stopped him?

He's not a Cat Lover.

The Crab Nose Mystery.

Pliny thinks he has come up with the answer to the crab nose mystery.

In the case of the crab, he says, it seems there is a nose, and then there is a nose.

What do you mean? I ask, confused.

I mean, he says, that there is the sensory appendage, or smelling organ, located in the antennules, and then there is the rostrum, or pointy end of the carapace, which is also referrred to as the crab's nose.

Well, well, I say. That explains the Longnose and the Sharpnose Crab. Whoever would have thought crabs had two noses ?

Three noses, says Pliny. Two antennules and a rostrum. I must make a note of that for future reference.

Do you suppose it might turn out to be a useful piece of knowledge?

It is always useful to clear up a confusion.

So it is. By the way Pliny, remember how I said that my crab looked like something by Picasso?

I do. And I said I only knew Picasso's Blue Period.

You did. Now take a look at this. It's by Picasso, and entitled Cat and Crab on the Beach.

Good heavens! It's painted all in different shades of blue! But I've never set eyes on it before!

Do you suppose we have another mystery?

Crab on the Beach

You are bluffing, said Pliny. I can tell. You don't know whether crabs have noses or not.

Alright, Pliny. I don't. But what if I meant the crab had a nose in the sense that a fine wine has a nose?

Sophistry again, sniffed Pliny. I do not believe that a crab has a nose. But I am willing to put that belief to the test. Let us google it, and settle the question.

Let's, I agreed. You start.

Hmmm, hmmm c...r...a...b........n...o...s...e......enter, mumbled Pliny, typing it in. Oh look at this! They do have noses. Robber Crabs have smelling organs called aesthetascs, mounted on antennae or antennules.

How fascinating, I said, but Robber Crabs live on the land, and steal pots and silverware from tents, or so it says here. What about crabs that live in rock pools ?

Yes, said Pliny, your ordinary crab has these antennules too. They are chemoreceptors that enable it to taste and smell.

Well, that is not the sort of nose I imagined, I said, disappointed. What about the Longnose Spider Crab and the Sharpnose Crab? Surely their noses are not antennules?

Their names do seem to indicate a larger type of nose, agreed Pliny. We shall have to continue our googling.

Wholeness

That dead crab, said Pliny the Elder.

What about it? I asked.

The one you wrote about at Aldinga reef that was tastefully arranged inside a hole, he added helpfully.

Yes, I know which crab you mean, I said patiently. Do you have a question about it?

I do, said Pliny. Was it all in one piece or was it in pieces?

Didn't I make it clear? I asked.

No you didn't, said Pliny. You said most of the crabs were dead and in pieces. Was the one in the hole whole or in pieces?

The one in the hole wasn't whole I said, trying not to laugh. It was in pieces.

And how big was the hole ? asked Pliny.

The whole crab?

The hole the crab was in.

It was, I said grandly, the exact size of the crab.

But you said that the crab was in pieces.

The pieces fitted perfectly into the hole.

How then, did you know that the crab was in pieces?

Pliny, I said, do you not know the works of Picasso?

Only his Blue period, said Pliny.

Aha. Picasso painted people with their parts unusually arranged. Their noses on their foreheads, both arms on the same side, I said, inventing wildly.

I see, said Pliny. I see. But crabs have no noses.

This one did, I said.

Aldinga Reef

this is what we did on New Year's Day.

we drove an hour down the coast to Aldinga parked at the top of a cliff near a bin. the bin smelled of old crayfish we climbed down the sixty wooden steps to the beach.

the beach was half sand half heaps of dry brown seaweed, not the place for a picnic. broken concrete steps at the bottom of the wooden steps not the place either, near an outlet too, not the place.

we walked out onto the yellow sandstone reef it was hard. we walked a long way out it was windy. we sat down on a rocky platform with the sea gurgling behind us an expanse of reef in front and in the distance frothy spume. at the edge of the reef many metres away stood the seagulls and skuas and cormorants or whatever it was that they were. they were looking out to sea oblivious.

we ate the food we had brought.

this was a zuccini fritata, leek and gruyere tart, green salad and some cherries. these were rich and soaked up admirably the Cockatoo Ridge sparkling wine which was pink. some wine spilled on the sandstone where it fizzed loudly. five people appeared in the distance far away under the high blue sky and climbed the steps.

we stood up walked around peered into rockpools poked around in them with a stick looking for signs of life. most of the crabs were dead in pieces one dead crab arranged tastefully as by Picasso in a tiny hole, cheese and rhubarb coloured pieces of crab, circular.

we squelched through polypy pools of tepid water to the edge where stood the birds facing out to sea looking for what birds look for there. one of us approached them carefully until getting too close they flew away and floated in the water some way off except for one which did not care enough to leave. when we moved off they came back except the one who was already there.

we turned squelching back towards the steps, different steps that did not look so steep. but sixty steps is sixty steps and it was a long way to the top.

from the top, you see the fault lines in the reef.

New Year's Eve in Adelaide

By the time we reached Veale Gardens the temperature had dropped to 35 degrees and the sun was behind a cloud. We picnicked at a wooden table near the yellow concrete creek which hasn't seen water for quite some time. There seemed to be no one around until two men emerged from a hollow near the waterlessfall and went off in opposite directions.

We walked across town to Elder Park, for the family entertainment, and sat down on the scratchy grass, amongst the multitudes of families. It was 8.30 pm, the sun had set, the River Torrens darkened, water from the fountain drifted towards the bridge, and The Fairies were on stage. In their pretty pink dresses, dancing, Slide! Wiggle! Star! We had not thought the family entertainment would be supernatural. We left and found a little pub off Hindley Street where not many people were, but you could get a beer. It will pick up later, said the barmaid to the man setting up the music, and he looked as though he hoped that this was so.

Back to Elder Park where magically The Fairies were still dancing. Slide! Wiggle! Star! Would you like to see some fireworks? they cried! Yes, came a low positive hum. The fireworks went off beautifully for ten whole minutes, illuminating the sky and trees on the opposite bank of the river. Don't go away! said someone from the stage. There's more to come!

But we had had enough, and walked across town to Victoria Square. Once, this used to be the hub of New Year fun, the town hall clock would strike the New Year in, to cheers and toots and whistles and kisses, but not this year. A few tourists snapped the lonely Christmas tree.

We walked back to our car, passing three homeless people on an otherwise empty street. Happy New Year, mumbled one, without turning her head. Happy New Year, I said to another. He gave me two thumbs up, and grinned. We got through Christmas! he called, to our receding backs.

We drove to Skye to see the city lights and parked outside a large house on a salubrious street. The lights were out in all the houses, and no one was home up there.

At home we cracked open a bottle of Sparkling Shiraz. Sat in the darkened lounge looking through the window at the moonlit garden. A pool of light spilled onto the grass and lit up half the lavender bush. We spoke of the past year, the coming one, and many other things.

Our daughter came home, at quarter to one, and sighed. What is wrong with this town? she said.

Consulte deverto

So your motto is........? enquired Pliny.

My motto is, none of the above, I replied.

That's quite good, said Pliny, contemplatively scratching his nose.

No, not 'none of the above', I said scathingly.

What then? he asked, looking startled.

Consulte deverto, I said proudly.

You turn away deliberately? choked Pliny

No, not diverto, DEVERTO, I diverge, or digress.

Deliberately?

On purpose.

That suits you.

I know.