– 73 –

ii

The bird, the bun, the horse and the box picnic by a river.

Portia flits around, opening wine and unwrapping sandwiches.

Mark sits silently on a tree stump checking his mobile for deals. His eyes are hidden behind his Dirty Dogs. There are three kinds of people in the world, announces Hamish. He masticates on a sandwich. Martyrs, farters and starters. He spaces out each word as though he is dropping three stones into the river. Hamish is a psychology lecturer. He prides himself on his enunciation and his honesty.

That's silly, Portia says. It may be silly, but it's true, replies Hamish. Think about it. There is a long silence. The trees whisper.

And, of course, people can be a mix of all three, explains Hamish.

What am I? asks Trina. She leans forward. She is wearing a simple white strapless dress. Her brown bun-face, glazed with sunscreen, glows wholesomely. Trina works with special needs children.

You're a martyr, replies Hamish.

There is another long silence. The cicadas click.

Want to hear a joke? asks Portia. A horse walks into a bar and the barman says—why the long face? The bird and the bun roll around on the picnic rug. The river chuckles. The horse and the box look on, glumly.