Rage And Acceptance

Well, says Gaius. This is a setback.

What did she say? asks Kierkegaard.

It seems we've been using the wrong type of crab, says Gaius. Her study examined emerita analoga, the small sand burrowing decapod crustacean otherwise known as the mole crab.

I imagine that means our time spent on your study has been wasted, says Kierkegaard.

I fear so, says Gaius. We may as well abort now.

What a shame, says Lauren. What will you do with the crabs?

Terence will be pleased, says Gaius. He has obtained a new parrot.

Yay! says Terence. Where is it?

I refer to Alexander-Red-Hook, says Gaius. Did you not ask her?

He asked me, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Now he's forgotten.

I haven't, says Terence. But I nearly got two.

No you didn't, says Gaius. There's only one parrot.

Not even one, strictly speaking, says Kierkegaard.

Right! says Victor. This crab is to be returned to Henley with the other one in the salad bowl, and this dead one.

He drops the Monte Carlo packet onto the table.

I won't be returning to Henley for quite some time, says Gaius. Perhaps Arthur will take them. But no. I'll need Arthur.

Another project? asks Lauren.

Yes, says Gaius. While I'm here I intend to do some bird spotting.

How nice, says Lauren. I'm into birds. I could come with you.

Hum, says Gaius, trying to think of a reason why she shouldn't.

Luckily he is saved from an answer by the arrival of Sweezus and Belle.

What's up? asks Sweezus.

Wrong sort of crabs, says Gaius.

Bummer, says Sweezus.

Good! says Terence. I get to keep one. She's going to be my new parrot.

No kidding! says Sweezus. Is she the one that can juggle?

YES! says Terence.

What about Alexander-Groovy? asks Belle. What's his future?

Home to Henley, says Gaius. Perhaps you could take him. When are you returning?

Tomorrow, says Belle. Yes, we'll take him.

She goes over to the red salad bowl.

Alexander-Groovy looks up.

He has heard all that was said, and is torn between rage and acceptance.

Mole Or Two Dot

Gaius rummages through his notes.

There it is. Portland University, Oregon. Dorothy.

He calls the university.

Of course they won't give out her number.

But they will pass on a message.

Thank you, says Gaius. I am a natural historian currently working in the southern hemisphere ... err...hum....may as well talk myself up.... I am in fact Gaius Plinius Secundus, natural historian and oft-quoted writer. It's about her study of sand crabs and how microplastics affect their mortality. I've been trying to reproduce it, and would appreciate her advice re certain problems....

That's a long message, sir, says the person who answers the university's phone. I'll pass it on to her. Just leave your number.

Gaius leaves his number.

Now what? says Kierkegaard.

We wait, says Gaius.

How long for? asks Terence.

Yes, how long for? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

Are you trying to be a parrot? asks Terence.

No, just asking, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

YES! says Terence. That's what parrots do. They ask questions, and fly in the front.

I may need a balloon for the last thing, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

You may not, says Gaius. The experiment may well continue.

Ring Ring! It's Gaius's ringtone. Will it be Dorothy?

Hello, says Gaius. This is Gaius.

Hi there, says Dorothy. I mean, hello, Mr Secundus. I feel I know so much about you. You're kind of an icon.

Am I? says Gaius. Kind of you to say so.

How can I help you? asks Dorothy.

Did you get my full message? asks Gaius.

You're trying to reproduce my findings, and having certain problems. What are they?

Of six crabs, four have already died, says Gaius.

That seems normal, says Dorothy.

Of unnatural causes, says Gaius. Except perhaps one.

You only had six? says Dorthy. Why so few? Aren't they plentiful where you are?

I only had room for six, says Gaius. Two were in breakfast bowls, and four were in salad bowls. Wait, no. One was stepped on before he got in.

But sand crabs are so tiny, says Dorothy. I studied them in multiples. A salad bowl each seems...well...., like overdoing it.

Not that tiny, says Gaius.

Yes, really tiny, says Dorothy.

A moment of silence while Dorothy thinks.

Are we talking of emerita analoga? says Dorothy. The mole crab?

No, says Gaius. Ovalipes australiensis, the two dot crab.

Well then, says Dorothy. No wonder.

Indeed. No wonder, says Gaius. Well thank you, Dorothy. You have been most helpful.

Have I? says Dorothy. I mean, you're welcome. Enjoy the rest of your day.

The Perfect Balloon

That was sudden, says Gaius.

It was, says Kierkegaard. I was splattered. And Lauren had not finished.

Perhaps I'd done enough, says Lauren. Your board rash is disappearing.

Kierkegaard looks down at his tummy.

I see what has happened, says Victor. The fish has jumped out of the  jam jar.

So it has, says Gaius.

My fish! says Terence. It wants to go home.

And where might that be? asks Victor.

The sea, says Terence.

Victor looks suspicious.

It's gasping, says Lauren, picking up the small fish (unlucky).

Don't put it back in! says Terence. It hates it.

The small fish (unlucky) speaks up.

That's right. I hate it. Let me go back to the sea.

Of course you must go back, says Gaius. I apologise for leaving you behind in the jam jar. I was preoccupied with my crabs.

Yes, says Kierkegaard. We were going to discuss the crabs further.

Indeed, says Gaius.

He places the red salad bowl on the table.

Here's Alexander-Groovy, our one remaining subject. Apart from Red-Hook, the control crab.

Where's my bowl? asks Alexander-Red-Hook. Did you bring it?

Gaius strikes his own forehead. Drat! No! It's still down on the beach.

I'll text Belle, says Lauren.

Don't bother, says Alexander-Red-Hook. My bowl holds bad memories.

How can a bowl hold bad memories? asks Terence.

Bad memories for ME, says Alexander Red Hook. Alexander-Yellowsun and I were happy in our breakfast bowls. Then poof! our happiness crumbled.

Like a biscuit, says Terence.

Sort of, agrees Alexander-Red-Hook.

Would you prefer to live in my jam jar? asks the small fish (unlucky). It's vacant. I'm going back to the sea.

She WOULDN'T! says Terence. She's going to be my new parrot.

It's the first Alexander-Red-Hook has heard of it.

Ha ha! laughs Gaius. She can no more be a parrot than a balloon!

Ha ha! laughs Kierkegaard, picturing a crab as a balloon. And then a parrot as a balloon. And then a balloon as a parrot. And a crab as.....there's no end to it, really.

I had a parrot balloon, says Terence. It was perfect until someone burst it.

Yourself, as I recall, says Gaius.

It was an accident, says Terence.

I suppose it couldn't fly, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

You suppose right, says Gaius.

Do you REALLY want me to be your new parrot? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

YES! cries Terence.

I like a challenge, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Wait! says Gaius. You are contracted to me!

But surely the experiment is over, says Alexander-Red-Hook. It's now down to just Groovy and me. He's bound to die first. Experiment over.

That is my opinion, says Kierkegaard.

I shall have to think further, says Gaius.

He thinks further. Perhaps a phone call to that PhD candidate in America whose report in Science News inspired him.

Yes, he will seek her opinion.

Live Life Forwards

Terence scoops up the knucklebones, and catches up to Alexander-Red-Hook.

Have you ever TRIED? asks Terence.

Tried what? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

To fly, says Terence.

No I haven't, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Not in the air, anyway.

What in? asks Terence.

Water, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

This is promising.

If water, why not the sky?

He fails to ask if she succeeded.

They arrive at Lauren's shop.

Gaius and Victor are standing outside.

Hello, says Terence. Is it over?

It's in progress, says Gaius. That's why we're standing outside.

Terence looks at Alexander-Red-Hook.

We're standing outside, says Terence.

Whatever for? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

You misunderstand, says Victor. But that's just as well.

Hum. What? Yes, says Gaius. That is just as well.

We don't think so, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Is something happening in there?

Yes, says Gaius. We're waiting for the all clear.

Terence isn't waiting. He stands on tiptoes and looks through the shop window.

Beyond the knick knacks he sees Lauren making funny hand movements.

He sees Kierkegaard's feet. And Kierkegaard's board shorts, which have been tossed to the floor.

He also sees, in a jam jar, on the table, the small fish ( unlucky).

It's eyes goggle.

You shouldn't have looked in, says Gaius. But as you have, you now understand why we're waiting.

Terence doesn't. Grown ups are weird.

What did you see? whispers Alexander-Red-Hook.

Our fish! says Terence. Remember?

I do, says Alexander-Red-Hook. It came in with the sea water.

It's still there, says Terence. And it looks really SCARED.

It might not be scared, says Alexander-Red-Hook. It might just be hungry.

No, it wants to go home, says Terence.

Let me see, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Terence lifts her, so she can see for herself the small fish (unlucky).

The small fish (unlucky) sees Alexander-Red-Hook, through the window.

Her!

He must let her see that he no longer wants to live in the jam jar.

He leaps out of the jam jar, which is (as he knows) lidless.

He lands on the table. Water drops splatter.

Kierkegaard scrambles to his feet.

Assesses the situation.

Pulls on his board shorts.

You know I hadn't quite finished, says Lauren.

Life must be lived forwards, says Kierkegaard.

He opens the door.

You Have Cement Fingers

Your pen? No idea, says Gaius.

I lent it to Arthur, says Victor. He claims to have lost it.

Then he has lost it, says Gaius. You may borrow mine if you undertake to return it.

I can't undertake that until I see it, says Victor.

Gaius thinks this is strange.

But Victor is a policeman. He must be reliable.

Gaius feels in his pocket, but the pen isn't there.

Where did he put it?

Never mind, says Victor. Are we going?

Yes, says Gaius. I'll bring the salad bowl and Alexander-Groovy, if you'll bring the dead one.

In what? asks Victor.

Are you squeamish? asks Gaius. I imagined you carrying him by his good claw. Failing that, the packet of Monte Carlos is empty.

Victor scoops dead Alexander-Curly into the empty Monte-Carlo packet, and folds down the top.

Am I coming? asks Terence.

You may come, says Gaius. But first, let Belle know you're coming.

Terence runs down the beach to Belle, who is talking to Sweezus.

I'm going back to Lauren's shop with Gaius, says Terence.

Is he taking the crabs? asks Belle.

Yes, says Terence. Even the dead one. Victor says he has to.

How awful, says Belle.

Bye! says Terence.

Don't lose that medal, says Sweezus. It's Kierkegaard's. And hey! What happened to the knucklebones?

Don't worry! says Terence. I'll find them!

He runs back to the fold-up table, under which the knucklebones are airborne.

Woohoo! says Terence. Can you teach ME?

Probably not, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I am ideally formed to juggle, but you have cement fingers.

Not all of them, says Terence.

That's even worse, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But look. Gaius and Victor have gone back to Lauren's without me. Is the experiment over?

He probably forgot you, says Terence. Come with me.

On foot? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

Yes, on foot, says Terence. Unless you can fly.

Bring the knucklebones, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

She starts walking, crabwise.

Terence is thinking how good it would be if Alexander-Red-Hook could fly.

Because he needs a new parrot.

Old Knee Bleeds

Victor waits for Arthur to come out of the sea.

Here he comes now, with dead Curly. Blood trickles down from his knee.

Injured yourself? asks Victor.

The usual, says Arthur. It dried when I ran the potato race, but it got wet again just now.

Victor loses interest.

There are more pressing concerns than old knee bleeds.

Two things, says Victor.

One thing, says Arthur.

Victor is taken aback.

You don't contradict a policeman.

TWO things, says Victor. One: how do you intend to dispose of this crab?

Bin it, says Arthur.

Not in Middleton, says Victor.

Okay, says Arthur. If not here, where?

Henley, says Victor. I have reason to believe that's where it came from.

Fine, says Arthur. But I'll be here till the end of the week.

Have you a suitable container? asks Victor.

No, says Arthur. Ask Gaius.

I shall, says Victor. But first, where is my pen?

Where's my poem? counters Arthur.

Here in my notebook, where it's staying until I regain my pen, says Victor.

I must've lost it, says Arthur. Sorry.

Victor gives up, or appears to.

He heads back to Gaius, who has picked up the salad bowl containing Alexander-Groovy.

Where are you off to with that? asks Victor.

Back to Lauren's, says Gaius. I promised to reattach his claw with some fish glue.

I remember your fish glue, says Victor. It stinks.

Lucky Alexander-Groovy isn't listening.

He is miles away, imagining a rosy future.

The rosy future: He has his old claw back. He is whole. Alexander-Red-Hook, feeling lonely, approaches him for comfort. He encircles her fondly and surreptitiously inserts.....

We'll leave it there. And it's NOT going to happen.

I'll accompany you, says Victor. I have two questions.

Ask away, says Gaius.

In what do you intend to place the dead crab, while it's being transported to Henley?

I had not thought. Newspaper?

No, says Victor. Try again.

A biodegradable bag, says Gaius. Lauren will have one.

I could be pedantic, says Victor.

Go on, says Gaius.

Strictly speaking, it should be a bio-bag from Henley, says Victor. Not Middleton.

That IS pedantic, says Gaius.

I know, says Victor. By the way, where is my pen?

Ripped Into Science

Victor is now eye to eye with Alexander-Red-Hook.

How did you come by those knucklebones? asks Victor.

I picked them up, says Alexander-Red-Hook. They had been put down.

Put down, eh? Where might that be exactly? asks Victor.

On the table, says Alexander-Red-Hook. When Lauren was offered a biscuit. She put them down.

All right, says Victor. So they were Lauren's.

Not at the time, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Ho! A complication.

Victor will need his notebook.

He turns to see Arthur showing the notebook around.

Belle and Marie are admiring The Short and Tempestuous Life.

It's beautiful, says Belle.

It's not meant to be, says Arthur.

She means the font, says Marie. You used Curly.

Yes, the font, says Belle. It's nice. But the poem is dark and regretful.

That's what I was going for, says Arthur. And an undertone of natural violence.

Let's see, says Sweezus, coming over.

He reads the The Short and Tempestuous Life.

Sheez! How does Arthur do it? He's captured the pathos of Curly's life and casually ripped into science.

Cool one, bro, says Sweezus.

Thanks, bro, says Arthur.

Is this Victor's police notebook? asks Marie, noting the blue cover, which is visible.

It is! says Victor, appearing behind them. And I need it back immediately.

He wrests it from Arthur's hand.

This is not proper procedure, but Victor is in a hurry.

He dashes back to the table under which Alexander-Red-Hook is already rearranging the evidence.

Terence is down there as well.

Look! says Terence. She can juggle.

It's true. She has learned it from memory.

She can juggle with five.

Now then, says Victor. Why did you claim they were not Lauren's knucklebones AT THE TIME?

I know! says Terence. Ask me!

I'm not asking you, says Victor. I'm asking the crab.

See this medal? says Terence. It's mine AT THE TIME. We both won them!

Victor is almost glad that he does not have the pen that he left with Arthur.

And can not write this nonsense down.

What would he write, anyway?

But he should get his pen back.

He turns to find Arthur.

But Arthur has waded into the sea to retrieve the sad little body of Alexander-Curly.

Before which, he has handed Victor's pen to Gaius.

Who has been delighted. A pen!

Which he has pocketed.

He can always rely on the providence of Arthur.