pt 92 ½: METEORS

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 94: LA TRISTESSE DURERA TOUJOURS

Scampi: Do you think of yourself as the Executive Officer of this boat?

 

Peter: No. What boat?

 

Scampi: Very interesting.

 

Peter: To which boat are you referring?

 

Scampi: Stop being coy.

 

Peter: [FLUMMOXED.]

 

Scampi: Perhaps if you climbed up the mast, we could see where we were going.

 

Peter: Excuse me?

 

Scampi: You know, like a lookout. From the crow’s nest.

 

Peter: That is hardly necessary.

 

Scampi: That’s what you say now.

 

Peter: Yes. It is.

 

Scampi: There’s no need to be so terse with me.

 

Peter: Oh?

 

Scampi: That’s right. No need whatsoever.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Look at the sun on the water!

 

Peter: Ah.

 

Scampi: The coruscating wavelets!

 

Peter: Are you quite well?

 

Scampi: Of course I am.

 

Peter: I see.

 

Scampi: The brighter the sun gets, the fluffier the clouds.

 

Peter: Although I by no means give credence to the relationship inferred, I will agree that the sun is bright and the clouds are fluffy.

 

Scampi: Orotund.

 

Peter: Are you speaking about me?

 

Scampi: Of course not. Absurd!

 

Peter: Oh.

 

Scampi: The green trees are waving in a summer breeze. I could almost capitulate.

 

Peter: Figuratively?

 

Scampi: No, to the ice cream vendor.

 

Peter: Is the ice cream truck here?

 

Scampi: No.

 

Peter: Oh.

 

Scampi: If he were, you would have heard the song.

 

Peter: Is that a song?

 

Scampi: It’s a tune, anyway. On top of his van.

 

Peter: I know it well.

 

Scampi: Of course you do.   [SINGS] And when I die, there’ll be one child born…

 

Peter: I declare it a beautiful day for a stroll.

 

Scampi: I concur.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: You know what the sun reminds me of?

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: A giant black pit.

 

Peter: Black holes? Are you talking about space?

 

Scampi: No. I am saying that this brightness reminds me of the darkness.

 

Peter: That is the contrarian way.

 

Scampi: It is not!

 

PETER LAUGHS. SCAMPI HURLS HERSELF INTO THE VOID.

 

Peter: Are you all right?

 

Scampi: No, I am all wrong.

 

Peter: What was that?

 

Scampi: It was my attempt at a cartwheel.

 

Peter: Ah.

 

Scampi: “Are you all right?” Blah blah.

 

Peter: Please do not mimic me in this fashion. It is highly distasteful.

 

Scampi: Such a connoisseur, that’s our Peter.

 

Peter: I belong to no one.

 

Scampi: Don’t be so sure.

 

Peter: It looked more like you were attempting to give yourself a concussion. Or at any rate, a contusion.

 

Scampi: The latter object may have been a success, after all.

 

Peter: Are you bleeding?

 

Scampi: None of your beeswax.

 

Peter: This is very disquieting.

 

Scampi: What is?

 

Peter: I simply wished to go for a stroll.

 

Scampi: So? What else is new?

 

Peter: It was not an attempt at novelty.

 

Scampi: One of us has to step up to the plate on that score.

 

Peter: To what end?

 

Scampi: I can’t think.

 

Peter: Why is that?

 

Scampi: Who are you, Sigmund Freud?

 

Peter: No. I am Carl Jung.

 

Scampi: I can’t think any more today.

 

Peter: Might I aver that I would never refer to myself as Carl Jung?

 

Scampi: No.

 

Peter: It has grown rather noisy.

 

Scampi: Let’s run away.

 

Peter: I prefer to walk.

 

Scampi: Don’t I know it.

 

Peter: Are you limping?

 

Scampi: No.