Cannot-but-be Explained

It's late at night.

Everyone who sleeps is asleep.

Crabs don't. Terence doesn't.

Terence is explaining a game to the crabs.

The game is Cannot-but-be.

And why Cannot-but-be?

Because earlier, Terence introduced the word BE.

( If we remember, it went like this:

 You can't SPEND a day. What then? How about BE?

Alexander-Red-Hook has taken this as a piece of existential wisdom and suggested to Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly that they should ask to go to the beach and just be.

Terence has been pleased that Alexander-Red-Hook has approved the word BE.

Perhaps they could play Cannot-but-be.

Alexander-Red-Hook has asked how to play it.)

Someone asks a question, says Terence. But it has to be the right question.

Give an example, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

What if you were a BEE? says Terence.

I don't know, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Would I then know the right question?

Terence is delighted.

Yes, you would! Cannot-but BEE! You're good already!

The other crabs aren't sure that they've got it.

But Terence's excitement has woken Marie.

She lies awake thinking.

Potato eating races. Where did that idea come from?

She pokes Belle, in the sleeping bag beside her.

What is it? mumbles Belle.

We need to buy some potatoes, says Marie.

Sweezus stirs.

He had been dreaming of racing barefoot through sand hills, clutching hot potatoes.

Yeouch!

Arthur stirs. Uuh. Wassamatter?

Dream, mutters Sweezus. Hot potatoes.

He goes back to sleep, having turned over.

Arthur is wide awake now. What time is it? Four in the morning.

He sees something weird. It's his shorts moving across his line of vision. Not the ones he is wearing. The old ones, that Kierkegaard borrowed.

They are heading towards Lauren's laundry.

Arthur stands up, intending to follow.

Bad Outcome Friday

It's late in the evening.

Lauren brings out the white wine.

There are several intellectual discussions proceeding.

......

Gaius and Arthur

Gaius: Just one day, is all I'm asking.

Arthur: What will Kierkegaard do?

Gaius: Surf with the young ones.

Arthur: I'm a young one, remember.

Gaius: I remember that you're dependable.

Arthur: Kierkegaard knows what he's doing.

Gaius: Not always. He forgot to bring pencils.

Arthur: You mean you forgot to bring pencils. Don't worry. Lauren's got some.

Gaius: There, now you see what I mean..

.....

Sweezus, Belle and Marie

Sweezus: Huuuuh!

Belle: Buck up, Sweezie! It's only Tuesday.

Sweezus: Followed by Wednesday, Thursday and freaking Bad Outcome Friday.

Marie: We'll think of something nice to do on Friday.

Belle: Yes, how about a picnic?

Marie: And races.

Sweezus: What sort of races.

Marie: I don't know. Any races.

Belle: Potato eating races?

Sweezus: Potato eating races?

Marie: What fun. With cooked potatoes?

Belle. Yes. Cooked. With the skins on.

Sweezus: Awesome. Count me in.


....


Kierkegaard and Lauren

Kierkegaard: I call it the recollection and repetition dichotomy.

Lauren: And that is?

Kierkegaard: When ideality and reality collide, that's when repetition appears.

Lauren: Would you like a top up?

Kierkegaard: Thank you. Oh wait, I hope you haven't misunderstood me.

Lauren: No dear, I haven't.

Kierkegaard (alarmed): That's enough!

Lauren: So you have problems with reality.

Kierkegaard: It's not actually me. These are intellectual musings. In my writings I use a false name.

Lauren: How sweet. What is it?

Kierkegaard: Constantine Constantius.

Lauren: I see. Very clever.

Kierkegaard: So you're beginning to understand me?

Lauren: Yes. It's exactly like Reiki.


.......

Terence and Alexander-Red-Hook

Alexander-Red-Hook: About tomorrow.

Terence: What about tomorrow?

Alexander-Red-Hook: We'd like to spend the day by the sea.

Terence: You can't SPEND a day.

Alexander-Red-Hook: Another word then.

Terence: How about BE?

No Easter This Year

Lauren and Kierkegaard return to the table.

All the pizza is gone.

Anyone for fruit? asks Lauren. I have apples.

Not me, says Terence. I had one on the bus.

Yes and choked, says Gaius.

I still am choking, says Terence,

He coughs.

Are you sure that's caused by an apple? asks Belle.

Can we take his temperature? asks Marie.

Sure, says Lauren. I've got one of those contactless ones.

She goes to the bathroom to get it.

Did you get the crabs sorted out? asks Gaius.

Yes, says Kierkegaard. Seawater in, crabs in, microplastics added, in medium and low doses.

That's nice of you, says Marie. No high doses.

The two crabs with the highest concentrations have died already, says Gaius.

There's nothing nice about that, says Belle.

They did volunteer, says Gaius.

They complied, says Kierkegaard.

May as well be honest.

Lauren comes back with the contactless thermometer. She points it at Terence's head.

Twenty degrees. That can't be right.

She places her hand on his forehead.

Terence coughs. C-hah!

He feels cold, says Lauren.

I DON'T! says Terence.

Don't worry little buddy, says Sweezus. That's probably your normal. Let me check out the normal temperature range for cement.

He taps on his smart phone.

Between ten and thirty four degrees, says Sweezus.

Wah! says Terence.

It's cool. You're right in the middle, says Sweezus.

Cheer up, says Lauren. Would you like me to find you a chocolate?

Yeah thanks, says Sweezus.

I meant Terence, says Lauren.

He's not allowed chocolate, says Belle.

I am if I don't eat it, says Terence.

I'll eat it, says Arthur.

So Lauren gets out a milk chocolate bunny she was planning to sell before Easter, but can't now she's closed.

May as well eat it, says Lauren. No proper Easter this year.

Sweezus, who had been scowling at the milk chocolate bunny, brightens up.

Meant As A Sign

Lauren returns with the two salad bowls. One red, one burnt sienna.

Now I must get this right, says Kierkegaard. Which crab goes in which?

I was in the blue one, says Alexander-Groovy. It's broken.

Of course, says Kierkegaard. Will you mind being in the red one?

He might, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Our friend died in it, remember.

I don't mind at all, says Alexander-Groovy.

Good, says Kierkegaard. Mind over matter.

Water first? asks Lauren.

Crab first, says Kierkegaard.

He finds he likes making scientific decisions.

Alexander-Groovy gets in.

Kierkegaard covers him with water.

O that feels nice.

Lovely sea water, with only the usual amount of pollution.

But then he remembers. Microplastics have not yet been added.

Kierkegaard is fiddling about in his pocket.

Lauren is watching.

Kierkegaard pulls out a bag of tiny plastic bits and pieces.

Teaspoon? says Kierkegaard.

Was that the precious thing in your pocket? asks Lauren.

No, says Kierkegaard. I mean yes.

It wasn't, but he hopes to mislead her.

No, I mean yes. Lauren has heard that before. There must be something else in his pocket.

She fetches a teaspoon.

Wait, says Kierkegaard. I just need to confirm that I'm giving the right dose to this crab.

Alexander-Groovy had the medium concentration, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

And I had the lowest, says Alexander-Curly.

So the one with the highest concentration of microplastics in the water died first, says Lauren.

Yes, says Kierkegaard. What a pity he died of something else entirely.

The glass shard, says Lauren. Yes, I see that was a pity. But perhaps it was meant as a sign.

A sign was not required, says Kierkegaard. A simple death from toxic ingestion would have been sufficient.

Nevertheless, it happened, says Lauren.

Can we get on with it? asks Alexander-Curly. If there's too much time lag between me and him getting into our seawater, the experiment will have no significance.

It may have no significance already, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

But Kierkegaard, proud of the scientific rigour he has just demonstrated to Lauren, is not having that.

Imagine Yourself

Lauren looks into the bucket of sea water.

There are beads at the bottom, mixed with sand. 

Should we pick them out first? asks Lauren.

No need , says Kierkegaard. I'll decant the sea water into the ....um.... where are the salad bowls?

Draining by the sink, says Lauren. I'll get them.

She goes to get them.

Kierkegaard waits near the crabs.

Not long now, says Kierkegaard. You'll be back in your bowls in a minute.

But they are not listening. They are debating a question.

The small fish (unlucky) has remembered some more of his tale.

The Golden Crab married a king's daughter. A princess! 

His listeners did not expect that.

Alexander-Red-Hook asks why the king would allow it.

The small fish (unlucky) replies that these things happen.

But he knows that's not right.

I bet he was called Golden Crab for a reason, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Like because he was golden? says Alexander-Groovy.

No, more significant, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Perhaps he could produce gold, somehow?

That's it, says the small fish (unlucky). The Golden Crab made the king a garden with three fountains that played gold, diamonds and brilliants.

In return for the daughter, says Alexander-Groovy. Good deal, that.

Depends on the crab's personality, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

What was he like? asks Alexander-Curly.

I don't know, says the small fish (unlucky).

A story can return to you backwards.

The small fish (unlucky) remembers the initial incident, before all the excitement.

A fisherman catches a crab, brings it home for his wife to cook for dinner. Her skirt is tucked up, because she's been busy. Let your skirt down, says the crab. I can see your feet.

This changes everything. It was that kind of crab.

Imagine yourself the poor princess.

Even Kierkegaard (who is listening) can.

They'll All Be Dead Shortly

Arthur leaves the crabs, and goes back to the table, for more pizza.

How're they doing? asks Sweezus.

Good, says Arthur. I gave them a last line for their poem.

What's this? asks Gaius. What poem?

He ought to know. But he hasn't been listening.

Eulogy for one of the dead ones, says Arthur.

Dear me, says Gaius. They'll all be dead shortly, and all at the same time, ruining the experiment. Where's that sea water?

Still in the bucket, says Lauren.

I'll do it, says Kierkegaard.

He stands up.

I'll help you, says Lauren.

How nice is Lauren?

Not so nice that she's given up trying to pry into his pocket.

They leave the table and head for the bucket.

What was it? asks Sweezus, wiping his tee shirt, which he's dripped pizza sauce on.

What was what? asks Arthur.

Come on, Arthur! says Belle. The last line of the poem you gave them.

A crab by day, with Golden intentions, says Arthur.

That's beautiful, says Marie. It reminds me of an ancient Greek story, the Golden Crab.

Apparently the fish told it to them, says Arthur. Crab by day, man by night, eagle whenever it wanted.

Heavy, says Sweezus.

Not heavy, says Marie. Erotic.

No way! says Sweezus.

It marries a king's daughter, says Marie.

The crab does? says Sweezus. How's that work?

Man by night, says Marie.

What did it do in the day time? asks Belle.

Went in tournaments, says Marie. I don't know what it dressed up as, but one day the princess's mother burned its shell when it was out jousting.

That should've fixed everything, says Sweezus. It would have had to keep being a man.

But it was crab in the daytime! shouts Terence.

We're upsetting Terence, says Belle.

Maybe it was jousting at night, says Arthur. Did they do that?

I'm sure they did, says Belle, looking at Terence.

But Terence has remembered the eagle that the crab could turn into whenever it wanted.

So he is quite happy.

Golden Intentions

Terence goes back to the table.

What's going on with the crabs? asks Belle.

They're waiting for the fish to remember some crab deeds, says Terence.

Then what? asks Sweezus, taking his third slice of pizza.

The fish will tell the crabs what the deeds are, says Terence.

Then what will they do? asks Marie.

The last verse of the poem, says Terence.

What poem? asks Arthur, playing with a string of mozzarella.

Go and ask them, say Terence.

Arthur goes over.

Who are you? asks the small fish (unlucky).

A poet who's given up poetry, says Arthur.

You've got a cheese whisker, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Arthur runs his hand over his chin.So he has. He eats it.

You may as well go, says Alexander-Groovy. We've got this.

I only came over to listen, says Arthur.

Listen, then, says Alexander-Red-Hook. This fish knows a story about crab deeds.

I do, says the small fish (unlucky). There was this Golden Crab once. He was a crab by day and a man by night, and he turned into an eagle whenever he wanted.

How about that? says Alexander-Red-Hook. Now all we have to do is make it the last verse of the poem.

What's the rest of it? asks Arthur.

Alexander-Groovy (the author) recites a short version:

Alexander-Retro the boldest among us
Lies in a bin
Pierced with glass shards
Sharp and celestial blue
blah blah blah the boldest among us
Though his deeds were few.

I see, says Arthur. You want to make the Golden Crab connection.

Right, says Alexander-Groovy. But how? He didn't do any of that stuff.

A crab by day, with Golden intentions, says Arthur.

All three living crabs love this. So does the small fish (unlucky).

Who doesn't have Golden intentions?