Author: loutre78

pt 131: BREAKWATER

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Scampi: If you are searching for a safe harbour, let me give you some advice.

 

Peter: What could possibly entice you to believe that I am in need of a harbour?

 

Scampi: So, you don’t want my advice?

 

Peter: That is not what I said.

 

Scampi: So you do want my advice.

 

Peter: Well,

 

Scampi: I advise you, most firstly, to identify what it is you wish to be safe from, before you start ferreting around amongst the breakwaters.

 

Peter: Ahem. I would like to advise you, most firstly –

 

Scampi: What a strange way of putting things.

 

Peter: Pardon me?

 

Scampi: Not that we all couldn’t use a little shelter from the storm. This theme has been rigorously explored in popular song.

 

Peter: [SNIFFING ARISTOCRATICALLY.] Popular song?

 

Scampi: Don’t try hoaxing me. You know all about it.

 

PETER STROLLS THROUGH THE ENGLISH GARDEN IN HIS HEAD.

 

Scampi: Oh, are the robins out?

 

Peter: What’s that?

 

Scampi: Doctors have been known to do good work.

 

Peter: Well, yes.

 

Scampi: Doctor Grenfell, for example.

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: I know that you do not know who that is.

 

Peter: That is not the accurate statement it purports to be.

 

Scampi: Purports! What’s that, the noise a tortoise makes when it walks?

 

Peter: Absurd.

 

Scampi: Doctor Grenfell worked in Labrador. He was a helper, you know.

 

Peter: Helping is important.

 

Scampi: For those who take the Hippopotamus Oaf, it is.

 

Peter: Now, really.

 

Scampi: What? What?

 

Peter: I refuse to rise to this bait.

 

Scampi: I like how the Hypostatic Oak functions as bait, to you. Such a gulping carp, you are.

 

Peter: [Hippocratically] I am not a carp.

 

Scampi: And I am not a hypocrite. Tee hee.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Naturally, fish do not have legs.

 

Peter: Tadpoles do.

 

Scampi: Tadpoles are not fish. And neither are we, for that matter.

 

Peter: Fishy.

 

Scampi: Hee haw. How galvanising. Peter Punster’s back in action!

 

Peter: That is not my surname.

 

Scampi: Oh, really?

 

Peter: Really.

 

Scampi: What is your surname, then?

 

Peter: I decline to mention it.

 

Scampi: Got something to hide, have we?

 

Peter: No.

 

Scampi: Trying to be all incognito, I see. Are you looking for work as a private eye, perhaps?

 

Peter: I am not. Each pronoun is as private as the next, to my way of thinking.

 

Scampi: Such a clever detective.

 

Peter: I am not a detective.

 

Scampi: Agreed. No doubt you are simply looking for a place to rest.

 

Peter: I?

 

Scampi: Aye.

 

THE LAPPING OF WAVES IS VERY CALMING, TO SOME.

 

Peter: What’s that?

 

Scampi: Calm down. It’s just the sound of the water.

 

Peter: What water?

 

Scampi: Relax. Honestly.

 

Peter: There is nothing honest about an individual of my temperament engaging in relaxation.

 

Scampi: [CHORTLES.]

 

Peter: I do not see what is so terribly funny.

 

Scampi: This may well be the icing on the cake.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: You know when you have a thought, and a lightbulb illuminates above your head?

 

Peter: I am not a cartoon.

 

Scampi: Really?

 

Peter: [uncomfortably] Yes.

 

Scampi: You know, you should stop defining yourself in negative terms. It can’t be good for your constitution.

 

Peter: SIGHS.

 

Scampi: Always a-sighing, like a maiden on the seashore.

 

A WORDSWORTH-SHAPED LIGHTBULB ILLUMINES ABOVE PETER’S HEAD.

 

Peter: Eh? What?

 

Scampi: [reflectively] I suppose we have Nikola Tesla to thank for that.

 

Peter: Stop being so reflective. It hurts my eyes.

 

Scampi: Sorry.

 

Peter: Yes well.

 

Scampi: We can help each other, of course.

 

Peter: Theoretically.

 

Scampi: That’s what friends are for.

 

Peter: Who told you this?

 

Scampi: A little bird.

 

Peter: A bird?

 

Scampi: Right. Phylum: Chordata.

 

Peter: Ah ha.

 

Scampi: Backbone is important.

 

Peter: When classifying animals.

 

Scampi: Or when lost at sea.

 

Peter: Are we lost at sea? Is that what you’re saying?

 

Scampi: No, no.

 

Peter: Oh. Ok.

 

Scampi: Wouldn’t I tell you if we were?

 

Peter: Uh. Yes?

 

Scampi: This is a beautiful English word.

 

Peter: It is?

 

Scampi: Yes.

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.