Month: April 2014

pt 43: I HOPE THIS KNOWLEDGE OF CARTELS

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Scampi: Do you know where Dubrovnik is?

 

Peter: Of course.

 

Scampi: (I doubt that Peter knows.)

 

Peter: Pardon?

 

PAUSE.

 

Peter: What was that?

 

Scampi: Remember how I was telling you about Mexico?

 

Peter: Uh huh.

 

Scampi: Well, get a load of this. In Mexico, when you have three or more people who commit a crime, they count as a cartel. Amazing!

 

Peter: Uh.

 

Scampi: Eh? Don’t you think?

 

Peter: And how does this affect us?

 

Scampi: Oh, Peter, don’t be so coy. You must know that I am thinking of our future as Mexican criminals!

 

Peter: How so?

 

Scampi: Do you think we should give our cartel a name? Or do we angle for the subtle air of mystery?

 

Peter: I just don’t think we have a cartel.

 

Scampi: Please do not allow your cynicism to infest our glorious future.

 

Peter: I am not a cynic.

 

Scampi: Don’t be so negative. Grumble grumble.

 

Peter: You’re really asking for it today, aren’t you?

 

Scampi: Asking for what? A whirlwind tour of crime and romance?

 

Peter: Well, for starters, what’s so romantic about a life of crime anyhow?

 

Scampi: Oh, I don’t know, Peter. The way it’s spelled.

 

Peter: The etymological gesture to Crimea? Is that what you’re talking about?

 

Scampi: If you like.

 

Peter: Because I don’t think the Crimean War has anything to do with Mexican cartels.

 

Scampi: It could be fun. We could be cowboys.

 

Peter: I don’t think Mexico has cowboys.

 

Scampi: Ridiculous! Of course it does. They just call them gauchos.

 

Peter: Are you sure about that?

 

Scampi: Are we ever sure, Peter?

 

Peter: SIGHS.

 

Scampi: Maybe we can carry flintlock Napoleonic pistols. Like wild west pirates.

 

Peter: This historico-linguistical pastiche is causing me to experience some degree of nausea.

 

Scampi: No worries. That’s just wedding jitters. It happens to everyone.

 

Peter: Ah.

 

Scampi: Don’t sound so pained. People will start to think you’re backing out.

 

Peter: Of what?

 

Scampi: The grand adventure.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Not that I’m calling you a coward.

 

Peter: I resent these implications!

 

Scampi: What implications? I told you, I’m not calling you a coward.

 

Peter: Very well.

 

Scampi: I’m just a little excited, is all.

 

Peter: Might I pose what I feel is a rather relevant question?

 

Scampi: Of course! This is a participatory plutocracy.

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: Go ahead, go ahead.

 

Peter: What exactly is this, ah, cartel of ours going to do?

 

Scampi: What do you mean?

 

Peter: Well, in my experience (which, I would like to point out, is entirely theoretical, in this context)

 

Scampi: (and in every other context, too)

 

Peter (valiantly): it is the case that criminals commit crimes. Ergo, I was wondering what types of crimes you had planned to commit. In Mexico.

 

Scampi: Oh, the usual.

 

Peter: Please elaborate.

 

Scampi: Well, we’ll be on horseback. As we have already discussed. I think this implies a little horse-thievery. And cattle-rustling.

 

Peter: Okay.

 

Scampi: And you know what? Speaking of plutocracies, there is great economic disparity in Mexico. I think you know what that means.

 

Peter: An impossibly unbridgeable chasm between rich and poor?

 

Scampi: Robin Hood!

 

Peter: Oh. So we’re to commit felonies based on principles of social justice.

 

Scampi: Jeez, Peter. You make us sound like assholes.

 

Peter: I suspect, somehow, that this is rather your line of work.

 

Scampi: Now, now. If you don’t want to rob the rich to feed the poor, that’s fine. I’ll think of something else for us to do. After all, your happiness is paramount. It’s at the top of my social calendar, right next to Sunday.

 

Peter: Your generosity touches us all.

 

Scampi: Perhaps we can sell pears illegally. They will be outlawed because of their deliciousness. Furthermore, they will make an indelible dent in the Mexican national consciousness. What do you think?

 

Peter: Pears.

 

Scampi: Yes: delicious, juicy pears. What do you say?

 

Peter: You want us to form a fruit-selling Mexican cartel.

 

Scampi: Do I!

 

Peter: Whom do you intend to include in this cartel?

 

Scampi: What do you mean?

 

Peter: Well, according to the intelligence you were imparting to me earlier, we need a third member to qualify as a cartel.

 

Scampi: That’s true. But maybe we could be handicapped.

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: We would think of ourselves as having three members. Or even five, really. But in fact, it would just be us. Conceptually, we’d be a cartel, and the law would view us as such.

 

Peter: Right. To sum up: Peter and Scampi go to Mexico on horseback armed with Napoleonic dueling pistols to start up a fruit-based, understaffed, conceptual cartel. Did I get that straight?

 

Scampi: You did! That was really great.

 

Peter: And when does this charming adventure commence?

 

Scampi: We ride at sunset.

 

pt 42: LOVE, LOVE, LOVE

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Peter: I have never wanted to go to Mexico.

 

Scampi: But Mexico City is beautiful. It’s full of colonial buildings that are sinking.

 

Peter: Oh?

 

Scampi: It’s built on a lake, you know. The like, Aztecs sunk boats of dirt into it.

 

Peter: I didn’t know the Aztecs had boats.

 

Scampi: They were like, skiffs. As big as two cars.

 

Peter: Why would they do such a thing?

 

Scampi: They had a vision. Maybe, of a bird on a cactus.

 

Peter: But why would the Spanish choose to build their capital on a lake?

 

Scampi: Because they had a vision of Venus in bluejeans.

 

Peter: Pardon?

 

Scampi: They were like, Look at her, with that Botticelli face and those 501s hangin’ off her hips.

 

Peter: This is hardly credible. Firstly, I don’t believe Levi’s had been invented at that point.

 

Scampi: Says you.

 

Peter: They say the temperature’s on the rise.

 

Scampi: Oh yeah?

 

Peter: They say it’ll be plus seven by Friday.

 

Scampi: Ah. We must prepare ourselves for the neverending heartbreak of baseball season.

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: Baseball.

 

Peter: No, what kind of bird is that?

 

Scampi: It’s a hawk.

 

Peter: What’s it doing?

 

Scampi: Devouring that deeply lacerated pigeon.

 

Peter: Truly wondrous. Although I have sympathy for the pigeon as well.

 

Scampi: I know how you love your tetrachromats.

 

Peter: Yes. As I know how you hate inanity over brunch.

 

Scampi: Do you?

 

Peter: [DECLINES TO COMMENT.]

 

Scampi: Imagine if we wanted to play ball or hockey on this road.

 

Peter: Yes?

 

Scampi: That sign over there would prevent us.

 

Peter: Damn those municipal ordinances.

 

Scampi: [giggles.]

 

Peter (huffily): Well, that’s what they’re called.

 

Scampi: Yes, Peter.

 

Peter (scuffling up the stairs): But why do they call them ordinances, I wonder?

 

Scampi: Something about Latin people and orders.

 

Peter: Ah yes.

 

Scampi: Shall we have some tea?

 

Peter: That would be lovely.

 

Scampi: Wouldn’t it just.

 

Peter (skipping down the hallway): I am being carried about by a flock of angels.

 

Scampi: I have always known this about you.

 

Peter: Or perhaps a bevy of hawks, such as the one we saw today.

 

Scampi: Yes.

 

Peter: Although, as I mentioned previously, my sympathies also lie with the pigeon community.

 

Scampi (nodding sagely): This is no secret.

 

Peter: The angels are with me wherever I go.

 

Scampi: Hosanna in excelsis.

 

Peter: Hallelujah.

 

Scampi: Indeed.

pt 40: BLACK-EYED SUSAN

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Scampi: I smell trouble.

 

Peter: You are trouble.

 

Scampi: Me?

 

Peter: You.

 

Scampi: Humph. That was uncalled for.

 

Peter: How’d you get that black eye?

 

Scampi: Dunno.

 

Peter: Hm?

 

Scampi: Oh, well, you know.

 

Peter: Right.

 

Scampi: Let’s go have a snowball fight.

 

Peter: No.

 

Scampi: Do you know how to whistle using a blade of grass?

 

Peter: Theoretically.

 

Scampi: What?

 

Peter: No.

 

Scampi: I am fond of the sound the sun makes on snow.

 

Peter: Melting?

 

Scampi: No. Of course not.

 

Peter: What sound are you referring to?

 

Scampi: Sometimes, I think one shouldn’t end a sentence with a preposition.

 

Peter SIGHS.

 

Scampi: One could end it with a RE-position instead. Or with an onomatopoeia. Like, BLARG!

 

Peter: Blarg is not onomatopoeic.

 

Scampi: Don’t advertise the narrow breadth of your experience, Peter. Of course it is.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: The sound is like cut glass.

 

Peter: Blarg?

 

Scampi: What? No! How ridiculous.

 

Peter: Oh, excuse me.

 

Scampi: How foolish. I was referring to the sound of sunlight on snow. It’s like cutting glass. It’s like the tinkle of Waterford crystal on a shelf. Or on a table, I suppose.

 

Peter: I believe you are experiencing aural hallucinations.

 

Scampi: I believe I’m in love.

 

Peter: With what?

 

Scampi: The season.

 

Peter: Did you, uh, put some ice on that shiner?

 

Scampi: Sure I did.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Sure I did. I put some icing sugar on the tip of Kilimanjaro while I was at it.

 

Peter: The flesh is weak, but the spirit soars.

 

Scampi: Hell yeah.

 

Peter: Have you had lunch yet?

 

Scampi: No.

pt 41: HEGEMONY, BETONY, DAN

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Scampi: Do you remember that – uh – what was it again?

 

Peter: I have no idea what it is that you speak of.

 

Scampi: Yes yes.

 

Peter: I might suggest, however, that it is perhaps less than germane.

 

Scampi: But no less German for it. Didn’t we establish that you don’t know where Frankfurt is?

 

Peter: I know where Frankfut is.

 

Scampi: Oh, yeah, where is it?

 

Peter: That way.

 

Scampi: I dunno. I think it’s rather to port of that.

 

Peter: I know where Frankfurt is.

 

Scampi: Says you. Moving along, I am so tired. I am so tired I can’t think of what it is I wanted to ask you.

 

Peter: This is not an unprecedented occurrence.

 

Scampi: Humph. You are such a beetle.

 

Peter: Excuse me?

 

Scampi: No excuses, junebug. I am a budding entomologist.

 

Peter: Congratulations.

 

Scampi: Thank you. I have just been awarded a medal of honour for my work in taxonomies of the rich and belegged.

 

Peter: The what?

 

Scampi: You know, bugs. Shiny ones.

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: I won the metro-cum-national bug-athon.

 

Peter: Could I offer you a glass of water?

 

Scampi: I do believe you just did.

 

Peter: Ahem.

 

Scampi: My research has shown that bugs are often numerously legged.

 

Peter: As was previously established a lifetime ago, you have excellent research skills.

 

Scampi (graciously): Quite.

 

Peter: Do you think these trousers make me look distinguished?

 

Scampi: Ah. Certainly. You are a swinging bachelor! A regular fox on the run!

 

Peter: How distasteful. You must not clutter me with your vernacular in that fashion.

 

Scampi: Would I!

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: I said, Good day. I am practising my Australian accent.

 

Peter: Why?

 

Scampi (casually): For the school play.

 

Peter: The what?

 

Scampi: ‘Cause I feel like it.

 

Peter: Oh.

 

Scampi: Mate.

 

Peter: Are we playing chess?

 

Scampi: In Australia they are. Everyone over there wins at chess 78 times per day. Sensational.

 

Peter: Look how low my voice is.

 

Scampi: It is a treat.

 

Peter: It is.

 

Scampi: But you’re no Dan Dee. That’s all I’m saying.

 

Peter: I aim to bear this burden with dignity.

 

Scampi: You are a true stalwart.

 

Peter: I do my best.

 

Scampi: I know you do, Peter.

pt 92 ½: METEORS

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Scampi: But I get the feeling it is.  See?

Peter: I am absently thinking to myself.

Scampi: What?

Peter: I said nothing.

Scampi: Who said that then?

Peter: I don’t know.

Scampi: You are absently thinking to yourself.  I can tell.

Peter: Well, well.

Scampi: Change is in the air.

Peter: Oh?

Scampi: But what does it mean?  What does it mean?

Peter: You have had the occasion to repeat yourself excessively of late.

Scampi: So what?

Peter: A prime example.

Scampi: There you go again.  Obsessed with primacy.

Peter: This is untrue.

Scampi: And why should I take your word for it?

Peter: Because I’m right.

Scampi: Oh, sure.  The primate, that’s you.

Peter: We are all primates, of a sort.

Scampi: An orangutan in a fancy hat.  Some aspiration.

Peter: Excuse me?

Scampi: The clouds are tumbling in.  Like mats in a gymnasium.

Peter: The weather, I might point out, is not our fault.

Scampi: Heresy!

Peter: Meteorology.

Scampi: If the elements can turn, we can turn.

Peter: Around?

Scampi: Into something else.  We can become something new.

Peter: Are you suggesting we ought to be shiftier?

Scampi: I’m not suggesting anything.  Not a thing.

Peter: I see.

Scampi: Something new can be constructed.  Up from the ground.

Peter: As long as the appropriate architectural plans have been drawn up beforehand, of course.

Scampi: Oh, of course.

Peter: What is the cause of this bitterness?

Scampi: What bitterness?

Peter: You object to architecture?  Or to plans?

Scampi: What a question!  What questions!

Peter: SIGHS.

Scampi: I just want us to be ready.

Peter: For what?

Scampi: Precisely.

pt 56: BUILDINGS

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Scampi: Peter?

Peter: That is my name.  How may I help you?

Scampi: Oh, I don’t know.  I’m just wondering some stuff.

Peter: I see.

Scampi: I’m looking at this stunning view.

Peter: Are you?

Scampi: Well, I was two days ago.

Peter: Oh.

Scampi: I was looking at this stunning view.  A crane in a construction pit.

Peter: Okay.

Scampi: It was more than okay, boy.

Peter: If you say so.

Scampi: I do say so.  Don’t pretend you didn’t see the cumulus.  I know you did.  I have proof.

Peter: You’re right.  I saw the cumulus.

Scampi: I know you did.  Was that not the most beautiful thing?

Peter: It was very nice.

Scampi: It was freaking massive, my friend.

Peter: The clouds were large.

Scampi: The sky was the colour of a kindergartner’s coral necklace.  Come on, Peter.

Peter: What?

Scampi: Don’t what me.

Peter: Here.

Scampi: Oh, excellent.

PAUSE.

Scampi: Thanks for the coffee.

Peter: The pleasure is all mine.

Scampi: Okay.  So, to sum up, I was looking at the sky.

Peter: I have been getting that impression.

Scampi: It impressed itself upon me.

Peter: Quite.

Scampi: I will maybe remember that sky for the rest of my life.

Peter: Perhaps.

Scampi: What do you mean, perhaps?

Peter: It might blend itself in with other skies.  Possibly.

Scampi: Jesus.

PETER GENUFLECTS.

Scampi: Hee hee.

Peter: I did not genuflect.

Scampi: Sure, sure.

Peter: I don’t even know how.

Scampi: You heathen.

PAUSE.

Scampi: That sky was beautiful, and I’m in no mood to let it go.

Peter: You may have to, some day.

Scampi: I want it, though.  I want it forever.

Peter: There will be other skies.

Scampi: But only one forever.

pt 48: SMOKING BY THE WINDOW (or COTTON CANDY & RAIN)

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Peter: How am I breaking your heart?

 

Scampi: I dunno.

 

[SOUNDS OF SCHOOLKIDS IN THE ROAD.]

 

Peter: Sometimes we trade our dreams in for other more useful things. Like lunch vouchers.

 

Scampi: I know.

 

Peter: Sometimes we collect things for years, and other times we clean our houses.

 

Scampi: That’s true.

 

Peter: I am feeling emotionally fragile today.

 

Scampi: I can tell that.

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: The days are getting longer and longer, aren’t they?

 

Peter: They are.

 

Scampi: After we traverse the desert ahead, can we press on to the ocean?

 

Peter: I think that’s a good idea.

 

Scampi: Thanks, Peter.

 

Peter: The next town after this is Muncie.

 

Scampi: Or Carmel.

 

Peter: Yes. Or Carmel.

 

Scampi: Well, do you want to stop in Muncie?

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: We could have a bottle of wine in a park somewhere.

 

Peter: As long as that doesn’t contravene any, uh –

 

Scampi: Municipal ordinances?

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: Don’t worry.

 

Peter: It is in my nature.

 

Scampi: I know it is. How far off are we?

 

Peter: An hour. Maybe two.

 

Scampi: Okay.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Look at those clouds shot through with sunlight.

 

Peter: I noticed them.

 

Scampi: Maybe it’s not you after all. Maybe it’s the clouds.

pt 74: THE LONESOME DOVE (THE LOAN), THE VIEW

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Peter: [RUBS HIS EYES.]

 

Scampi: Tired?

 

Peter: [STRETCHES.]

 

Scampi: Did you just wake up?

 

Peter: No, no. I am merely enjoying a little midmorning constitutional.

 

Scampi: Like a walk?

 

Peter: I am facilitating blood flow.

 

Scampi: Is it working?

 

Peter: I feel a surge of renewed vigour.

 

Scampi: Can you touch your toes?

 

Peter: That’s private.

 

Scampi: It isn’t.

 

Peter: [SHOCKED.]

 

Scampi: What?

 

Peter: A man’s body is his—

 

Scampi: Corpus?

 

Peter: Porpoise?

 

Scampi: Christi?

 

Peter: None of that, now.

 

Scampi: Heh. Har.

 

Peter: You are up to no good.

 

Scampi: Says who?

 

Peter: That is my opinion.

 

Scampi: Based on what?

 

Peter: Based on the diabolical noises you were just making.

 

Scampi: Always something.

 

Peter: Ahem.

 

Scampi: There’s a hole in your sock.

 

Peter: Perhaps.

 

Scampi: Your stocking.

 

Peter: I do not wear stockings.

 

Scampi: Your stocking feet. That’s how they said it.

 

Peter: Who did?

 

Scampi: You know. The people.

 

Peter: Oh, naturally.

 

Scampi: Maybe the floor isn’t smooth enough.

 

Peter: Or the peanut butter.

 

Scampi: Are you lonely, Peter?

 

Peter: You have an issue with peanut butter?

 

Scampi: We can overlook that for the moment. Are you lonelier?

 

Peter: Than I was when last you asked?

 

Scampi: No.

 

Peter: No.

 

Scampi: It’s kind of wistful. How you’re staring out the window.

 

Peter: [PICKS AT DEBRIS ENCRUSTED ON HIS NECKTIE.]

 

Scampi: Your cravat is less than laundered.

 

Peter: [taking umbrage] My cravat is composed of the finest silk. It does not get laundered.

 

Scampi: Chinese silk?

 

Peter: Well.

 

Scampi: Is it?

 

Peter: I do not know.

 

Scampi: Doesn’t even know the provenance of his filthy necktie.

 

Peter: Uncalled for.

 

Scampi: I’ll call for it. Seres! Cerebus! Here, boy.

 

Peter: Are you speaking to my garments?

 

Scampi: No less. Your silks, I am.

 

Peter: Is that a riddle?

 

Scampi: Are you an equestrian?

 

Peter: I am not.

 

Scampi: Did you know something?

 

Peter: I did. I continue to know it.

 

Scampi: Jockeys wear silks. Did you know that?

 

Peter: Perhaps. Most likely.

 

Scampi: Didn’t think so. That’s what what they wear’s called, their outfit.

 

Peter: Ah.

 

Scampi: Their costume. Silks.

 

Peter: A light, attractive, yet durable fabric.

 

Scampi: I could wash your tie.

 

Peter: I don’t doubt it.

 

Scampi: Tell me what you see right now.

 

Peter: Where?

 

Scampi: Now.

 

Peter: Which direction am I looking in?

 

Scampi: I don’t know. What do you see?

 

Peter: Immediately? Or in the distance?

 

Scampi: Have you ever been to Spain?

 

Peter: I have not.

 

Scampi: Oh.

 

Peter: Why do you ask?

 

Scampi: Just curious.

 

Peter: I can see the view. And the pores in my nose.

 

Scampi: Ew!

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: Pores. Yech.

 

Peter: Have you been to Spain?

 

Scampi: Who hasn’t?

 

PETER REMOVES HIS EYEGLASSES AND POLISHES THEM ON HIS THOROUGHLY-WORN NECKTIE OF FINEST INDIAN SILK.

 

Peter: I like the view from this window (of course),

 

Scampi: (of course)

 

Peter: but the sky is rather overcast.

 

Scampi: And that’s not something you like. Not something you’re a big fan of.

 

Peter: A fan? Am I a fan?

 

Scampi: You sound like a cockatoo, at present.

 

PETER SMOOTHES HIS FEATHERS WITH DIGNITY.

 

Peter: Say what you will.

 

Scampi: I shall.

 

Peter: Indeed.

 

Scampi: I shell. Shell on a shore. You know that whole thing about shells, right? Peter?

 

Peter: Are we discussing military history?

 

Scampi: No, please. I mean a shell on a beach.

 

Peter: An army could locate—

 

Scampi: It could be any beach, one of those hollow type shells.

 

Peter: A conch.

 

Scampi: Or whatever. Have you ever put one up to your ear?

 

Peter: In order to aurally witness “the sea”?

 

Scampi: Sure.

 

Peter: No.

 

Scampi: You haven’t?

 

Peter: Well, I don’t think so.

 

Scampi: You don’t know? You don’t even know if you did or if you didn’t?

 

Peter: I am unsure.

 

Scampi: Yes. I thought maybe you were lonely.

 

Peter: You are entitled to your thoughts.

 

Scampi: I entitle my thought regularly. As you well know.

 

Peter: I’m not sure when I was last on a beach.

 

Scampi: You don’t have to be on the beach to hear the shell. You can be at home.

 

Peter: With a shell.

 

Scampi: Yes. You bring it home, and then the sound of the sea is only an arm’s length away.

 

Peter: I see.

 

Scampi: You hear. That’s how it works.

 

Peter: I don’t believe it does work, in fact.

 

Scampi: No, I know. I was just curious.

 

Peter: To know whether I had tried it?

 

Scampi: That’s right.

 

Peter: Have you tried this? With the shell?

 

Scampi: Nonsense. I can hear the sea right now.

 

Scampi:

 

Peter:

 

Scampi: I am up to my ankles.

 

Peter: It looks like rain.

 

Scampi: It certainly doesn’t taste that way.

pt 28: SAND IN OUR SHOES

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Scampi: We have all swept the sand from our hair at the end of the long day.

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: I could shake the sand out of my hair. I could even shake your hand.

 

Peter: I reserve judgement.

 

Scampi: You certainly do. You are nothing if not judgemental, and reserved.

 

Peter: [sighs.]

 

Scampi: We could say something like: the water is this blue.

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: Let x be equal to the blueness of the water.

 

Peter: This is acceptable to me.

 

Scampi: Let y be equal to the violence we do to our neighbour.

 

Peter: Perhaps we can dispense with y.

 

Scampi: Y not?

 

Peter: Ah.

 

Scampi: Har, har.

 

Peter: My skin is fitting my face better, these days.

 

Scampi: As well it should. We all need a goddam vacation.

 

Peter: The bombast of your rhetoric never fails to put me on edge.

 

Scampi: Go fill this basket with fruit from the garden.

 

Peter: Why?

 

Scampi: We’re having a party.

 

Peter: We are?

 

Scampi: We are.

 

Peter: What’s to celebrate?

 

Scampi: Our great good luck.

 

Peter: Oh?

 

Scampi: The bruised and verdant earth. The worms oozing forth from the early apples of our smallest-handed selves.

 

Peter: I don’t want to eat worms.

 

Scampi: But you can swallow August whole and come up clean.

 

Peter: Your abstractions still make me wince.

 

Scampi: Go on out to the garden, Peter.

 

Peter: What are we meant to be celebrating again?

 

Scampi: The sublime coincidence.

 

Peter: Of what?

 

Scampi: Our great good luck.

pt 130: ESSE QUAM VIDERI

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Scampi: But I can’t sleep.

 

Peter: Oh? Why?

 

Scampi: I don’t like American history.

 

Peter: What it is about American history that you dislike?

 

Scampi: It’s just so mean.

 

Peter: Who do you think did a better job? Of history?

 

Scampi: I don’t know. It’s the way they say things, so sly.

 

Peter: Who?

 

Scampi: Like Andrew Jackson.

 

Peter: Can you give me an example of Andrew Jackson speaking in a sly way?

 

Scampi: Oh, Peter. The way you phrase things.

 

Peter: I am simply repeating what you’ve said.

 

Scampi: No, no. Anyway.

 

Peter: [YAWNS.]

 

Scampi: Do you know the machines that window-washers use?

 

Peter: I have seen them.

 

Scampi: Of course you have.

 

Peter: You asked.

 

Scampi: “I have seen them.” You say that like it’s some kind of state secret.

 

Peter: SIGHS.

 

Scampi: Well, have you ever been on one?

 

Peter: Ah. No.

 

Scampi: Are you sure?

 

Peter: I believe so.

 

Scampi: It’s all about belief of course, window-washing. Keeping our sightlines clear, and such.

 

Peter: Ah, sight.

 

Scampi: You use your glasses to see.

 

Peter: I do.

 

Scampi: This is pretty funny.

 

Peter: How so?

 

Scampi: I dunno. Like a lady with a snuffbox.

 

Peter: Pardon me?

 

Scampi: You know. You hold something up to your face to improve your outlook.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Anyway, you’re aware of the Bessemer process, naturally?

 

Peter: Hm?

 

Scampi: The Bessemer Process. Named after Henry Bessemer, you know.

 

Peter: Yes, what of it?

 

Scampi: Here.

 

Peter: What is this?

 

Scampi: Can’t you read?

 

Peter: I can.

 

Scampi: It’s Bessemer’s autobiography. In which you can learn that he was born in Hertfordshire.

 

Peter: Oh. I was not aware of this.

 

Scampi: How about this?

 

Peter: Oomph.

 

Scampi: What?

 

Peter: Please do not hurl books at me.

 

Scampi: Hurl! As if.

 

Peter: “Father of the Steel Industry”.

 

Scampi: That’s right.

 

Peter: I did not realise you were such an avid aficionado of the steel industry.

 

Scampi: Pff! What sort of thing to say is that? And, speaking of things to say, listen to this: “I had an immense advantage over many others dealing with the problem inasmuch as I had no fixed ideas derived from long-established practice to control and bias my mind, and did not suffer from the general belief that whatever is, is right.”

 

Peter: Yes, ignorance is a great boon to the inventor.

 

Scampi: What do you know about it?

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: If we were in a tall building, it would need its windows washed, of course.

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: And if we were in America, history would be prickling our skin all the time.

 

Peter: Are we in America?

 

Scampi: We might have been. When we were cowboys.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Or farmers.

 

Peter: I don’t remember being farmers.

 

Scampi: You and your memory. Do you remember the name of the hoisty thing that window washers use?

 

Peter: Remember it?

 

Scampi: Precisely. Do you know, the Bessemer Process helped to make artillery, 16-pounder guns. That sort of thing.

 

Peter: That would make sense.

 

Scampi: What?

 

Peter: That would make sense.

 

Scampi: No it would not. There is nothing sensible about artillery.

 

Peter: Doesn’t this depend on the context of the discussion?

 

Scampi: What discussion? How vile.

 

Peter: I believe it was your choice of topic.

 

Scampi: Sensible.

 

Peter: Saw-see-bluh?

 

Scampi: This is a French word.

 

Peter: Ah.

 

Scampi: And béchamel is a French sauce. But what does that have to do with anything?

 

Peter: I like sauces.

 

Scampi: Oh, naturally.

 

Peter: What do you have against sauces?

 

Scampi: Nothing, nothing. I have something against the sixteen-pounder gun, though.

 

Peter: What is that?

 

Scampi: It is the tender heart of history.

 

Peter: I see.

 

Scampi: Yes. It’s being held against the pride of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces as we speak.

 

Peter: It is?

 

Scampi: Or whatever. I certainly can’t convert anything to steel, myself.

 

Peter: Perhaps you should start with the tender heart of history.

 

Scampi: Oh, Peter. You clownfish.

 

PETER BURNS AN ORANGE STRIPED BLUSH.

 

Scampi: I suppose it’s just a simple pulley system, really.

 

Peter: What is?

 

Scampi: The window-washing platform. What holds it up, et cetera.

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: A system of pulleys and cables. It’s a dangerous job, of course.

 

Peter: Compared to floor washing?

 

Scampi: That’s right. It’s important to see where we are, in a building.

 

Peter: I suppose it is.

 

Scampi: Rather than where we’re going.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: We aren’t going anywhere.

 

Peter: At present.

 

Scampi: But we can see for miles.

 

Peter: Can we?

 

Scampi: I can. Mind you, don’t look down.