Scampi: It should be remembered of course that nothing is certain.
Peter: Certainly!
Scampi: Oh, look who’s decided to go all jocular all of a sudden.
Peter: Ahem.
Scampi: I, of course, am busy feeling up the grooves of history with my anthropologic tongue.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: It’s a textured approach.
Peter: Would you like some tea?
Scampi: Damn right.
PETER WRINKLES HIS NOSE IN DISTASTE LIKE AN ADOLESCENT SKUNK.
Scampi: Whatsa matter?
Peter: There is no matter.
Scampi: Except for the matter at hand, which is that you entertain the delicacy of a gourmand. Nobody knows why, mind you.
Peter: What’s that?
Scampi: It would be entirely possible to doze off in the shade of these reeds.
Peter: What reeds?
Scampi: The ones on the riverbank, of course.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: What I’m trying to explain, you know.
Peter: Yes?
Scampi: Well, it’s all very here and there. That’s all I’m saying.
Peter: Ah.
Scampi: There’s no need to emit such a noise. I am not a dentist.
Peter: [huffily] I have never accused you of dentistry.
Scampi: Humph.
PAUSE.
Scampi: Sometimes I feel so completely surrounded by history. As though it’s in my living room.
Peter: From my well-stuffed and starched perception of the universe, I can tell you that history is behind you. And the future is ahead, and no one is in your living room.
Scampi: I’ll believe that when I see it.
Peter: Time proceeds in a linear fashion.
Scampi: You have no way of knowing what’s going on in my living room while you loll about on a riverbank.
Peter: [peevishly] Nobody said we were on a riverbank.
Scampi: False! History cuddles you from all sides, like the words of your grandmothers.
Peter: Mm.
Scampi: You just have to run through it.
Peter: Run through what?
Scampi: I don’t know.
PAUSE.
Scampi: To get to the other side?
Peter: Pardon?
Scampi: I can’t think straight.
Peter: Yes. This is readily apparent.
SCAMPI TOSSES SPINY DARTS AT PETER’S HEAD, PLAYFULLY.
Peter: Stop that.
Scampi: Indeed. The people loved their maize. And eagles and snakes, and jaguars and frogs and human blood and sunshine.
Peter: People like many things.
Scampi: Yes. But we don’t build so many statues any more, do we?
Peter: I do not build statues.
Scampi: No. I could almost just drift off, in this dappled shade.
Peter: What time is it?
Scampi: I’m not sure. It’s either an hour earlier or an hour later.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: One can almost hear the gulls.
Peter: What gulls?
Scampi: From the nineteen-thirties. Calling out on an English beach.
Peter: Nonsense.
Scampi: The noises of the past are one simple eyelash away.
PETER SIGHS.
Scampi: See? That sigh wasn’t even yours. It was taken directly from the Regency Period.
Peter: You do natter on.
Scampi: Who are you, René Descartes?
Peter: I am not.
Scampi: Therefore you don’t think? Har har.
Peter: I admit the reeds are pleasant.
Scampi: I admit I don’t know what time it is. Luckily, you’re Peter and I’m Scampi.
Peter: Mm.
Scampi: Oh, look!
Peter: What’s that?
Scampi: A coracle.
Peter: How suspicious.
Scampi: Quick, let’s climb in.
Peter: Erm.
Scampi: How else are we supposed to find out which way the river flows?
Peter: By standing in it?
Scampi: We aren’t statues, Peter.
Peter: No. We are not statues.
Scampi: Right.
Peter: What are we then?
Scampi: Sailors, apparently.
Radiofree Scampytail 