pt 121: AS YOUR FATHER TILLED THE SOIL

Scampi: You look like a statue of yourself.

Peter: I regret to inform you that this is incorrect.

Scampi: I regret to inform you that a pigeon just shat on your head.

Peter: [alarmed] What?

Scampi: Ha ha, ho ho.  Just joking.

Peter: I see.

Scampi: A plaster of Paris.  A concrete imperialist.

Peter: Why must you do this?

Scampi: I’m not the one who annexed Scotland.

Peter: That doesn’t make any sense.

Scampi: Have you ever been plastered in Paris?  Or does that offend your Teutonic sensibilities?

Peter: I do not know how to respond to such a barrage.

Scampi: Nobody knows the trouble you’ve seen.

Peter: That is not what I said.

Scampi: Of course it isn’t.  What do you know about prehistoric Spain?

Peter: Prehistoric?

Scampi: Or like, paleo-something.

Peter: Paleolithic?

Scampi: Paleohispanic.  You know what that is?

Peter: Perhaps.

Scampi: No, you don’t.

PETER SIGHS.

Scampi: Nobawdy knooooows your sorrow.

PAUSE.

Scampi: It was the language they spoke on the Iberian Peninsula.  Before they spoke Spanish, obviously.

Peter: Yes, this is obvious.

Scampi: Like, imagine a map of Spain.  Like a big chunk.

Peter: I wish to lean against this tree.

Scampi: Is something wrong?

Peter: No.  I resent the inference.

Scampi: Was something inferred?

Peter: I prefer to rest myself against this tree.

Scampi: I resent the preference.

Peter: What’s that?

Scampi: Well, I’m sure the tree does.

Peter: Excuse me.  I must rifle through the pockets of my coat.

Scampi: What do you know about our paleo-historical Spanish friends?  Not much, that’s for sure.

Peter: No.  Not much.

Scampi: Me neither.  This isn’t some kind of etymological manhunt, you know.

Peter: Ah.  A great relief.

Scampi: No need to stutter.

PAUSE.

Scampi: NO NEED TO TALK ABOUT PROTO-INDO-EUROPEAN LANGUAGE BLAH BLAH.

Peter: Why are you shouting?

Scampi: I’m not shouting.

Peter: You were.

Scampi: You were.  I was minding my very own business, personally.

A SPRING RAIN FALLS.

Peter [observantly]: It is not springtime.

Scampi: No, it isn’t.  You’re becoming an old man in your boots.

Peter: What boots?

Scampi: Your feet on the earth.  You stand in one spot and grow older.

Peter: Are you trying to say I am stagnating?

Scampi: No.

Peter: Oh.  I see.

Scampi: You can just sit around all night buying tomatoes.

Peter: Where would I do this?

Scampi: I have no idea.  Right off the vine.  Who cares?  No one’s buying any tomatoes around here, that’s for sure.

Peter: Not at the present moment.

Scampi: The present moment.  The moment is a present.

Peter [acidly]: Yes.

Scampi: A gift, Peter.  Don’t you like gifts?

Peter: I am becoming damp in this rain.

Scampi: I’m noticing that.

Peter: What are your plans?

Scampi: “The great affair is to move.”

Peter: Hmph.

Scampi: Steady on.

Peter: Don’t touch me.

Scampi: Fine.  Sway all you want.  I don’t mind the hurricane.

Peter [above the wind]: What?

Scampi: Nothing!

Peter: Eh?

Scampi: Forget it!

PETER STRUGGLES WITH HIS COLLAR.

Scampi: Collard greens.

Peter: What was that?

Scampi: I can’t hear you.

Peter: I’ve been thinking about my father.

Scampi: Oh, great.

Peter: Pardon?

Scampi: Let’s get out of this rain.

Peter: I don’t want to get out of this rain.  I like it here.

Scampi: So what?  So do I.

Peter: What?

Scampi: Hm?

Peter: Do you want to go inside?

Scampi: What?

Peter: I’ve been thinking about my father.

Scampi: You’ve been thinking about yourself.

Peter: What?

Scampi: You have to keep up with yourself.

Peter: It’s raining.

Scampi: (I know.)

Peter [mumbling]: The rain is falling.

Scampi: So are we.

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