Scampi: Hello?
Peter: Are you awake?
Scampi: Yes.
Peter: You are?
Scampi: Basically.
Peter: There are two enormous bluejays on my balcony.
Scampi: Oh yes.
Peter: They are the size of seagulls.
Scampi: Very nice.
Peter: They are very large.
Scampi: Do you think they might be us?
Peter: I’m referring to the feathered creatures. Not the baseball team we play on.
Scampi: You’re funny.
Peter: You should see them.
Scampi: I can’t see them.
Peter: Well, maybe they’ll come back.
Scampi: [YAWNS.]
Peter: Excuse me.
Scampi: Hm?
Peter: Your hand seems to be waving about in front of my spectacles.
Scampi: Ah, yes. [YAWNS.] Like this?
Peter: Quite.
Scampi: Oh, look.
Peter: Mm?
Scampi: Ripe mulberries. They are falling all around us.
Peter: Yes.
Scampi: Here, have one.
Peter: No, no.
Scampi: Yes.
Peter: I couldn’t possibly.
Scampi: That’s incorrect. You could.
Peter: Please.
Scampi: What?
Peter: Could you – ?
Scampi: Could I what? Have a mulberry.
Peter: Very well.
Scampi: Chomp. Delicious.
PAUSE.
Scampi: You know they kept fighting on the Western Front even after the war was done, right?
Peter: What’s that?
Scampi: They kept fighting. And dying.
Peter: Well then, the war was not done.
Scampi: Officially, I mean. The peace had been signed.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: They kept it up. They kept on sending out black telegrams and smoking cigarettes.
Peter: What does smoking cigarettes have to do with it?
Scampi: I don’t know, Peter. I didn’t start the fire.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: Pushkin was the Shakespeare of Russia, you know.
Peter: In what sense?
Scampi: Didn’t you know that?
Peter: I do not know what you are trying to say.
Scampi: Because of how good he was, and that sort of thing.
Peter: Because of his Bardic qualities?
Scampi: Kharms said he couldn’t grow a beard. Or a moustache, or whatever.
Peter: Oh?
Scampi: Yeah. Because of how much he contributed to the language. He was worth his weight in new words.
Peter: How much did he weigh?
Scampi: Really! That’s a private matter.
Peter: Ah.
Scampi: Yes.
PAUSE.
Scampi: If you were Pushkin, I would say, ‘I’m sorry, Pushkin.’
Peter: Ah. And who would you be?
Scampi: That has nothing to do with it.
Peter: [CLEARS A RUBYTHROATED HUMMINGBIRD FROM HIS THROAT.]
Scampi: Oh, look.
Peter: Hm?
Scampi: It vanished into the sun.
Peter: What did?
Scampi: Just now.
Peter: Apparently, I missed this miraculous event.
Scampi: I’ll say.
PETER EMITS A DELICATE, INVISIBLE COUGH.
Scampi: Sometimes, this is more difficult than others.
Peter: Yes.
PAUSE.
Peter: What is?
Scampi: Everything.
Peter: Yes.
Scampi: I guess I still do.
Peter: What do you still do?
Scampi: This is the saddest song.
Peter: I hear no song.
Scampi: That’s a separate debate.
Peter: Humph.
Scampi: Do you know what Caledonia is?
Peter: Scotland?
Scampi: Sometimes.
Peter: Yes. And sometimes we call it “Scotland”.
Scampi: No, no.
Peter: No?
Scampi: No.
PREGNANT PAUSE.
Scampi: Sometimes it could mean something else.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: Such as the coal mines of Glace Bay.
Peter: In Nova Scotia?
Scampi: Not to be confused with New Caledonia.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: You’ll find that there aren’t too many happy songs about miners.
Peter: You are correct. This is something that I have found.
Scampi: Really?
Peter: The hardships of life in the mines have been well-publicised.
Scampi: What?
Peter: I said –
Scampi: I know what you said. You think that’s tacky?
Peter: That you heard what I said? I think it is perhaps unusual.
Scampi: You think the hardships of life in the coal mines is tacky?
Peter: That, for example, is not what I said.
Scampi: It was the way you said it.
Peter: Oh? What way was that?
Scampi: You’re the one who said it. I’m sure you know how you said it.
Peter: There was nothing wrong with my diction.
Scampi: Diction, quite frankly, is the least of your troubles.
Peter: My troubles?
Scampi: Of course, that’s what they called it in Northern Ireland. The Troubles.
Peter: Yes.
Scampi: What do you know?
Peter: Doubtless I know very little, in comparison to your majestic self.
Scampi: Ho ho. Majestic! Don’t mind if I do!
PETER PREENS CRABBILY IN THE WINDOW.
Scampi: Look at you. You cobra.
Peter: I am demonstrating my feathers to best advantage.
Scampi: That’s evident.
Peter: [re: what Peter clearly just said] I would never say that.
Scampi: Sure. The question is, for whose benefit is this occurring?
Peter: I am simply looking out the window.
Scampi: Oh, of course. Now he looks out the window.
Peter: SIGHS.
Scampi: You’re like a serpent coquette, gyrating for the local snakecharmer.
Peter: Pardon me?
Scampi: Dancing around in your basket for all the market to see.
Peter: Ahem.
Scampi: Time to cross your eyes and go back to bed.
Peter: Are you saying that snakes cross their eyes?
Scampi: So, you think of yourself as a snake?
Peter: I don’t cross my eyes. And I don’t believe it’s actually possible for a snake to cross its eyes.
Scampi: Aha! So you are a snake!
Peter: That is a perversion of logic.
Scampi: Excessive vanity is the perversion of a healthy ego.
Peter: What?
Scampi: Sorry?
Peter: What does that even mean?
Scampi: Sorry?
Peter: I said, What does that mean?
Scampi: You don’t know what sorry means? (Unsurprising.)
Peter: ARGH.
Scampi: Woah.
PAUSE.
Scampi: Well, there’s no need to get upset.
PETER’S HAIR STANDS UP ON END.
Scampi: You’re so punk rock.
Peter: I assure you, it is unintentional.
Scampi: You know what’s unintentional?
Peter: Do enlighten me.
Scampi: Participating in history. This is unintentional.
Peter: How so?
Scampi: You have to do something intentional to not participate in history. Tu t’en tires. Or. Tu t’en tire une balle.
Peter: I do not know what that means.
Scampi: Oh, naturally.
PAUSE.
Scampi: Do you believe that the Troubles are over?
Peter: In Ireland? They are over.
Scampi: Technically. Your troubles, however, are not.
Peter: Likely not.
Scampi: Yes.
PAUSE.
Scampi: You know, sometimes I look out at the sky and see birds in a vee formation.
Peter: Up at the sky.
Scampi: No. Out. In the direction of the horizon.
Peter: Ah.
Scampi: There they are, flapping all around.
Peter: This is a common activity for birds.
Scampi: Not penguins.
Peter: Or ostriches.
Scampi: Ostriches, Peter!
Peter: Yes?
Scampi: How ridiculous. I’m talking about birds in flight.
Peter: Such as “not penguins”.
Scampi: Right. I wonder if the birds have any idea of the sorts of longings they engender in terrestrial types such as myself.
Peter: Surely not.
Scampi: What are you, a bird-reader?
Peter: No.
Scampi: Flock psychology? Cygnet Freud?
Peter: Stop that.
Scampi: Have you ever been to Caledonia?
Peter: [consulting a chart] New Caledonia? The French-owned island in the – ? Pacific.
Scampi: South-west Pacific.
Peter: There is no need to hyphenate.
Scampi: You know why they called it the Pacific?
Peter: Yes.
Scampi: Because it was so peaceful.
Peter: Yes, I knew that.
Scampi: Because it was so blue. Like yourself.
Peter: I am not blue.
Scampi: Nor black, like a miner.
Peter: I do not have coal soot on my face.
Scampi: That is your good luck.
Peter: You may choose to see it that way.
Scampi: I do. So you’ve never been to Caledonia.
Peter: No.
Scampi: Me neither. This is a very sad song.
Peter: Yes.
Scampi: I thought you said you couldn’t hear it.
Peter: I couldn’t.
Scampi: Let’s have a strategic plenary session.
Peter: To what end?
Scampi: I’m just giving you an example of how people talk.
Peter: Well-executed.
Scampi: [SHUDDERS.]
Peter: Are you chilly?
Scampi: No. Although I hear the river Jordan is.
Peter: One would imagine it to be temperate.
Scampi: What do you know about it?
Peter: [AFFRONTED.]
Scampi: Do you need a new pair of shoes?
Peter: Perhaps. No.
Scampi: For our new set of adventures, I mean.
Peter: Did we have an old set of adventures?
Scampi: Yes.
Peter: Oh.
Scampi: It’s important to go out into the world equipped with adequate footwear.
Peter: Certainly.
Scampi: Well, that’s what I’m saying.
Peter: No one doubts your expertise when it comes to footwear.
Scampi: In fact, I am too warm. Like a woolly sheep in spring.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: Well, what are we going to do?
Peter: Are we shepherds?
Scampi: What? No.
Peter: What are we going to do about what?
Scampi: I don’t know.
Peter: Oh.
Scampi: I am not sure what happens next, you see.
Peter: No one is sure of that.
Scampi: No one? Pfft.
Peter: If you don’t want my opinion,
Scampi: Opinions? Who said anything about opinions?
Peter: In my opinion, you did.
Scampi: This is not the juncture to introduce subjective lollygagging into the conversation.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: This is a time for action!
Peter: Ah.
Scampi: Action! Let’s direct a western!
Peter: Why would we do that?
Scampi: Why not?
Peter: Firstly,
Scampi: No, no. This could be our big break.
Peter: There’s no business like show business.
Scampi: I propose we call our picture “The Adventures of Peter and Scampi”.
Peter: I feel that would be uncomfortable.
Scampi: What?
Peter: For us.
Scampi: Nonsense.
Peter: I don’t think that it would be possible. At this time.
Scampi: That’s ridiculous. It’ll be about two birds named, say, Scampi and Peter. They’re riding across the wild west, looking for the horizon. When they find it, there’s a big party. Everyone attends. A Mexican fiesta. Yeehaw!
Peter: I don’t know.
Scampi: What could possibly go wrong?
Peter: It is a risky strategy. I believe.
Scampi: How so?
Peter: Well, it seems, perhaps –
Scampi: Spit ‘er out there, pardner.
Peter: Autobiographical.
Scampi: What?
Peter: The storyline.
Scampi: That’s absurd!
Peter: Is it?
Scampi: Certainly.
Peter: Some of the facts do seem to line up, you know.
Scampi: With what?
Peter: With what is already there.
Scampi: What are you talking about?
Peter: Us.
Scampi: What about us?
Peter: Our western sounds a lot like us.
Scampi: That’s madness. We’re not birds.
PENSIVELY, PETER BURIES HIS BEAK IN HIS FEATHERS.
Peter: I just don’t know if we’re ready for the movies.
Scampi: You’ll be a star!
Peter: I feel a sense of foreboding.
[DANGEROUS INSTRUMENTALS.]
Scampi: No fear. That’s just the score.
Peter: What are you doing?
Scampi: Now?
Peter: Yes.
Scampi: Oh, nothing.
FIN.
Scampi: Let us listen to the birds sing.
Peter: Ah.
Scampi: We shall be immune to the trivial fripperies and discontentments of the modern-day world.
Peter: Quite.
Scampi: Like that snooty guy in the bookstore.
Peter: He wasn’t snooty.
Scampi: Who said he was?
Peter: You did. You just did.
Scampi: [snorts] Nonsense.
DIAPHANOUS SILENCE.
Scampi: It sure is a beautiful day.
Peter: It is.
Scampi: This is springtime, right?
Peter: Is it?
Scampi: Well?
Peter: What do you wish to know?
Scampi: What season is this?
Peter: Spring.
Scampi: Well. That’s what I was asking.
Peter: Okay.
Scampi: I love this song.
Peter: What song?
Scampi: It doesn’t matter.
Peter: Fine.
SCAMPI HUMS HAPPILY.
Peter: Ahem.
Scampi: What?
PAUSE.
Scampi: What?
Peter: Lovely weather.
Scampi: I said that already.
Peter: Not exactly.
Scampi: Yes, I did.
Peter: You said—
Scampi: Don’t tell me what I said. I am not a gnat.
Peter: Pardon?
Scampi: As though I have the memory of an infant octopus. I know what I said.
Peter: Octopi are relatively bright creatures.
Scampi: Octopuses.
Peter: SIGHS.
Scampi: Yeah, yeah.
Peter: Excuse me?
Scampi: What? What?
Peter: You are being dismissive.
Scampi: Jealous?
Peter: I decline to comment.
Scampi: Heh. Ha.
Peter: What’s so funny?
Scampi: You want some lemonade?
Peter: No. I do not.
Scampi: Ha. Ho ho.
Peter: What are you laughing about?
Scampi: Why are you so against laughing? All of a sudden?
Peter: I am not.
Scampi: Well then.
PAUSE.
Scampi: Is it spring now? Or was it spring then?
Peter: Pardon?
Scampi: Did this happen already?
Peter: What?
Scampi: This.
Peter: Now?
Scampi: Or then. I mean, if this has already occurred, then it isn’t now.
Peter: I am not enamoured with this breed of sophistry.
Scampi: Peter!
Peter: Yes?
Scampi: What time is it?
Peter: After noon.
Scampi: But that’s everything. Everything except twelve o’clock, anyway.
Peter: After noon. Before sunset.
Scampi: What breathtaking accuracy.
Peter: I lay no claims upon perfection.
Scampi: You should live in Switzerland. And get adjusted one one thousandth of a second per annum.
Peter: That’s not what happens.
Scampi: Maybe not yet.
Peter: Ahem.
Scampi: But it might be what happens next.
PAUSE.
Scampi: Peter?
Peter: Yes?
Scampi: Will you remember this spring separately?
Peter: From what?
Scampi: From all the others.
Peter: I don’t know.
Scampi: Come on.
Peter: Presumably I will remember certain events. In their context.
Scampi: I don’t even know what that means.
Peter: I cannot predict the future.
Scampi: I can.
Scampi: Have you ever woken up to birdsong?
Peter: In the sense that the noise of the birds woke me up?
Scampi: I dunno. It doesn’t matter.
Peter: Likely.
Scampi: I love it. The noise of traffic in the road, the putput of pollution.
Peter: Are you implying that pollution makes a noise?
Scampi: Well, it does. Scientifically. Anyway, who doesn’t like waking up to sunlight in the windows?
Peter: Perhaps a man who has just undergone eye surgery.
Scampi: That’s what you think.
Peter: Yes.
Scampi: In some places in the world, it is always spring. Did you know this?
Peter: No. I do not find that statement to be credible.
Scampi: You’re lucky you found it at all.
PAUSE.
Scampi: Well, I mean, not the season spring, perhaps. But the weather.
Peter (sagaciously): Ah yes, the weather.
Scampi: In our conversations, for example, it is not always spring.
Peter: Noho!
Scampi (defensively): Well, sometimes it is.
PETER OCCUPIES HIMSELF WITH PERSONAL GROOMING.
Scampi: Yech.
Peter: What?
Scampi: Nothing.
PAUSE.
Scampi: Have you ever been to a little town in Ontario?
Peter: Ah yes. The province in central Canada, I presume?
Scampi: There is no need to be coy.
Peter: I have, as you well know, been to a small town in Ontario.
Scampi: As have I. It can be very sad.
Peter: Rural travel?
Scampi: The graveyards. The monuments to conflicts past.
Peter: Have you been rooting around in graveyards?
Scampi: Rooting around! The idea.
Peter: Oh, do excuse me.
Scampi: Humph.
PAUSE.
Scampi: My, the sun is bright today. Perhaps we should sit beneath the jacaranda tree.
Peter: The what?
Scampi: The jacaranda is in bloom. The goddam larks are singing their hearts out.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: You free the top button of your collar. I fan myself with my hands like leaves.
Peter: How many buttons is my collar supposed to have?
Scampi: Two.
PAUSE.
Scampi: It’s only right.
PAUSE.
Scampi: The magnolias are also in bloom.
Peter: Of course.
Scampi: You could reach up and pick one, if you wanted.
Peter: But why destroy something beautiful in nature?
Scampi: Why indeed.
[Peter: That’s not exactly how I put it.
Scampi: Well, that what you meant.]
Scampi: Hello?
Peter: Are you awake?
Scampi: Yes.
Peter: You are?
Scampi: Basically.
Peter: There are two enormous bluejays on my balcony.
Scampi: Oh yes.
Peter: They are the size of seagulls.
Scampi: Very nice.
Peter: They are very large.
Scampi: Do you think they might be us?
Peter: I’m referring to the feathered creatures. Not the baseball team we play on.
Scampi: You’re funny.
Peter: You should see them.
Scampi: I can’t see them.
Peter: Well, maybe they’ll come back.
Peter: Did they meet?
Scampi: Well.
Peter: I don’t recall them meeting.
Scampi: Very funny.
Peter: I really –
Scampi: I, Claudius.
Peter: No but I really do not know what you are speaking about.
Scampi: I am speaking about the aridity of the convo between St. Augustine and Plutarch.
Peter: Which they did not have.
[PAUSE.]
Peter: Wait, am I Plutarch?
Scampi: Ha! Ha, har. Oh. Ho.
Peter: [offended] What?
Scampi: Thinks he’s Plutarch!
Peter: Should you require reminding, you have called me Plutarch before. Numerous times.
Scampi: Oh ho, numerous.
Peter: Well, more than once.
Scampi: Need I so needfully remind you, there’s a great difference between perhaps being called Plutarch (Ploo-tark) and self-identifying as Plutarch. Like a lunatic. Loon attic.
Peter: [RUFFLED.]
Scampi: Why is it?
Peter: What?
Scampi: People are just awful, sometimes. So [CURSING] horrid.
Peter: What was that?
Scampi: Censorship. It’s my new thing.
Peter: Since when?
Scampi: Since never. I no longer plan to practise it.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: Yes well. I am only saying.
Peter: Ah yes. You and your ‘sayings’.
Scampi: Don’t take that tone with me. Har, har.
Peter: [SIGHS.]
Scampi: I have some things to say, you see.
Peter: So you claim.
Scampi: Can you imagine how terrible we are to each other?
Peter: Is this a pointed remark?
Scampi: Lucullus’ mother, you know, was notorious for her wild lifestyle.
Peter: Oh?
Scampi: Yes.
[PAUSE.]
Scampi: We are all a touch wild, I suppose.
Peter: Hm.
Scampi: A pack of insubordinate animals. How can one man trust another?
Peter: I trust my fellow-man.
Scampi: Oh, right.
Peter: I resent this antagonism.
Scampi: What antagonism?
Peter: You doubt the love I tender my brother?
Scampi: Oh yes, your estimable brother. Indeed.
Peter: There’s no need to hold humanity hostage to your mercurial moods.
Scampi: I blame the weather.
Peter: The weather, the Holy Roman Empire, the gender imbalance.
Scampi: Well yes. Have you understood me at last?
Peter: [EXASPERATED.]
Scampi: That’s exactly it, isn’t it?
Peter: Are you being facetious?
Scampi: No.
Peter: [suspicious] Oh.
Scampi: But it would be decent of people not to break each other’s hearts, sometimes.
Peter: Oh, this.
Scampi: This.
FOUR ALBATROSSES COAST BY, RIDING THE WIND LIKE A PACK OF NASCARS.
Scampi: Shall we walk?
Peter: Certainly.
Scampi: You can see the moss already. Coming up green.
Peter: Ahem.
Scampi: The chanterelles, the tubers.
Peter: Sshh. The woods.
Scampi: I know. There’s nothing wrong with aspiration, of course. Except in the areas of a) food intake; and b) height.
Peter: What? Height?
Scampi: No man is taller than a man.
Peter: I feel like that is one of those things that you say that does not mean anything.
Scampi: Well then, o ye of ickle faith. Parse it.
Peter: A truism?
Scampi: It wouldn’t kill you to think and feel at the same time, you know. In fact –
Peter: Facts!
Scampi: Don’t bark at me. Maybe you should brush up on your nautical terms instead of howling at the moon like this.
Peter: I am ‘up’ on my nautical terms, thank you.
Scampi: You’re welcome.
[PAUSE.]
Scampi: Tender: Nautical (of a ship) leaning or readily inclined to roll in response to the wind.
Peter: Certainly, certainly.
Scampi: Tender that to your brother.
Peter: Hm.
Scampi: The wind is blowing.
Peter: Yes.
Scampi: It will be a long night, I fear.
Peter: YAWNS.
Scampi: And the fog is rolling in.
Scampi: Peter? Peter!
Peter: Hm?
Scampi: Jeez. Louise.
Peter: Pardon?
Scampi: Oh nothing.
Peter: What? What was that?
Scampi: I’ll wait ‘til it’s done.
Peter: Sorry?
Scampi: [WAITS.]
Peter: Ah, that’s better.
Scampi: Well, yes and no.
Peter: Only I couldn’t hear you, you see.
Scampi: I see.
Peter: Above all that cello.
Scampi: It was a sight to be seen.
Peter: Pum pum. Pum-pa-pum.
Scampi: Yes yes. The virtuosity cannot be denied.
Peter: I have no wish to deny it.
Scampi: Nor do I. I embrace the virtuosity of your cellist.
Peter: Thank you.
Scampi: A four-string miracle. Angels in the snowbanks. Et cetera.
Peter: Ah.
Scampi: I’m all nerves.
Peter: I won’t offer to make a fresh pot, then?
Scampi: Oh won’t you?
Peter: What?
Scampi: Nothing.
PAUSE.
Scampi: Nothing!
Peter: Have you quite taken leave of your senses?
Scampi: Yeah, yeah.
Peter: Inside voices.
Scampi: Are concealed their venomous intent.
Peter: Pardon me?
PAUSE.
Peter: Uh, it seems to me—
Scampi: Don’t start.
Peter: Could I finish?
Scampi: Look, I’ll be better.
Peter: Would you like to stretch your legs?
Scampi: I’ve never heard you say that before.
Peter: I’m trying new things.
Scampi: I see. So you want to go for a stroll?
Peter: Well, it’s a possibility.
Scampi: Okay.
Peter: One of myriad possibilities, really.
Scampi: There are an astounding number of options.
Peter: There are.
Scampi: I suppose it would be hackneyed to discuss paralysis at this juncture.
Peter: Rather.
BIRDS PERFORM EXOTIC DANCES ON THE PORCH, BY THE WINDOW.
Scampi: Are they like, cold? Do you think?
Peter: Who?
Scampi: You know, the birds.
Peter: Noooo. I don’t think so.
Scampi: Oh. Okay.
Peter: Anthropomorphising our animal friends is rarely a wise idea.
Scampi: I already knew that.
Peter: Good.
Scampi: You should get a birdbath.
Peter: I will consider it.
Scampi: In this same vein, if you will,
Peter: Oh really?
Scampi: Do you accept the like, premise, that under the snow the earth and all it’s earth-type stuff is sleeping?
Peter: Is that really a premise?
Scampi: It’s like one, anyway. Is the earth asleep?
Peter: Figuratively?
Scampi: However you like.
Peter: Well, I wouldn’t put it that way.
Scampi: No.
PAUSE.
Scampi: Would you say that I am asleep? Underneath the snow?
Peter: When?
Scampi: Now! Now, Peter.
Peter: I would say that you are not. I would say that you are neither.
Scampi: Figuratively?
Peter: You are pecking at my literal bones.
Scampi: Your painter’s loose. You’re adrift in the damp seas.
Peter: An act of vandalism I do not appreciate.
Scampi: Surely I can see this. Surely I should return this conversation to dry land. Where you have cell phone reception. Where dust gathers on your eyeglasses.
Peter: Ahem.
Scampi: You want to talk about sports teams?
Peter: Never.
Scampi: I know. Thus we are stuck with the metaphorical balletdance.
Peter: I refuse to accept your axiom.
Scampi: [Curtsies.]
Peter: Pardon?
Scampi: Shall we?
Peter: Shall we what?
Scampi: Waltz.
Peter: I will do no such thing.
Scampi: Too late.
Peter: [Drowned out by cello.]
Scampi: Did I tell you about the other time I fell in love?
Peter: Excuse me?
Scampi: What a thing to say.
Peter:
Scampi: Well, can you imagine?
Peter: Ho hum.
Scampi: So it’s like this.
Peter: Are you upset about something?
Scampi: No.
Peter: Ah.
Scampi: That’s right.
SCAMPI YAWNS. PETER YAWNS.
Scampi: I would like to talk about humanism.
Peter: Oh?
Scampi: Desiderius Erasmus. Eh? This means something to you?
Peter: I am familiar with the name.
Scampi: Ho ho.
Peter: I know who Erasmus is.
Scampi: Oh, I don’t doubt it. Not for a second!
Peter: Hm.
Scampi: I don’t know anything about him. It’s all very tragical.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: These Reformation types and their crazy ways. I want no part of it!
Peter: Has someone been inviting you to take part in the Reformation?
Scampi: Ridiculous. Peter, you are simply nuts.
Peter: [offended]
Scampi: Well, there’s no need to take offence.
Peter: You have just accused me of being nuts.
Scampi: Impossible! I simply want some tea.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: Do you want some tea?
Peter: Well.
Scampi: Oh, please, do take your time. I am a tea-making factory, here for your convenience.
PETER TURNS THE PAGE OF HIS MAGAZINE WITH PRECISION.
Scampi: You little Gatling gun, you.
Peter: Are you speaking to me?
Scampi: No.
PAUSE.
Scampi: You wouldn’t have guessed this about me.
Peter: Guessed what?
Scampi: Precisely! No one would have guessed.
Peter: I am not fond of guessing.
Scampi: No, you aren’t.
PAUSE.
Scampi: It’s not impossible to imagine, however, that I would have spent four days of my life sleeping through the night, for example.
Peter: A contradiction in terms?
Scampi: Please do not be such an asshole, Peter.
PAUSE, IN WHICH PETER’S SEETHING CAN BE PRESUMED, IF NOT PROVEN.
Peter: Would you not say ‘proved’, rather?
Scampi: Mind your own business! God.
Peter: Deus.
Scampi: Out of the machine!
Peter: Indeed.
Scampi: It could have been four days. It could have been six nights.
Peter: Of sleeping?
Scampi: Of perfection.
Peter: Ah, perfection.
Scampi: I don’t appreciate your sneering.
Peter: I? Sneering?
Scampi: Your mouth is full of melted butter.
Peter: [with difficulty] It is not.
Scampi: If I had known, I would’ve made popcorn. Anyway, we can make room in our lives for our humanist friends, of course.
Peter: Ah yes, our humanist friends.
Scampi: Not to mention our four-legged brethren.
Peter: Yes, such as cats. Do cats like to eat catnip?
Scampi: No. It causes them to vomit.
Peter: Really?
Scampi: Of course.
Peter: I am suspicious of this information.
Scampi: Well, that says plenty about you. But nothing about catnip.
Peter: I –
Scampi: Your mastery of the first-person pronoun has been recorded. Now, what was I saying?
Peter: It is impossible to determine.
Scampi: One day you might wake up in the morning to an appropriately-coloured sky. There is a human creature sleeping next to you.
Peter: This is hardly controversial.
Scampi: Exactly.
Peter: You have a problem with the colour of the sky?
Scampi: I do not.
Peter: Ah.
Scampi: Another morning, you do not wake up at all. You sleep until dusk.
Peter: [nervously] Oh, the lifestyle of the common layabed.
Scampi: Are you nervous about something?
Peter: [nervously] No.
Scampi: Because you seem nervous.
Peter: Stop interfering with my delivery. I am entirely lacking in nerves.
Scampi: Have I hit a nerve?
Peter: SIGHS.
Scampi: In either case, you are both of them, the happy early riser, and the lonely evening layabed. Both of them at once.
Peter: Where is this going?
Scampi: Nowhere. You get out of bed, you don’t get out of bed. Doesn’t matter.
Peter: I see.
PAUSE.
Scampi: You know what happened to me yesterday?
Peter: You got out of bed and fell in love?
Scampi: No. In the afternoon I heard the sound of birds and went outside.
Peter: A daring tangent.
Scampi: I looked up into the tree, it was all green leaves. I could hear the birds everywhere, you know, like a chipmunk farm.
Peter: Ahem. Our winged neighbours are sometimes rather loud.
Scampi: Yes. But I couldn’t see them.
Peter: Because of the leaves?
Scampi: I don’t know. I couldn’t see a single one.
Peter: Hm.
Scampi: That’s what happened to me yesterday.
Peter: Did anything else happen?
Scampi: Not really, no.
Radiofree Scampytail 