A middle-aged man lies prone on his back on a bed of straw in a sparse room where the undecorated brick walls are covered by a coating of moss. A small crowd of silently sombre people are huddled around his still body. A woman, presumably his wife or sister, bends over him and is tenderly holding his hand. An expectation of death hangs heavily in the air. Then a small boy pushes and shuffles his way through the mass of adults, emerges beside the bed and speaks to the disease-ridden patient.
“G’day mate.” he says in that strange American-Australian accent, and it is instantly apparent we are witnessing a glimpse of Larry as a young child. “Feeling a bit crook today are we?”
He takes the man's hand from the woman and rubs it with his own fingers. The man's weary eyes slowly half open.
“I'm rooted, young Larry.” he gently moans. “I tell yer, I'm more tired than a one-armed cabbie with the crabs”.
The boy Larry takes a flannel, rinses it in a bowl of water and gently mops the man's brow. Then he leans forward and whispers into his ear “I reckon you overdid the grog last evo, mate. I heard you talking to God on the porcelain telephone and chundering pavement pizza”.
The man remains motionless but his eyes widen as Larry soaks the cloth, starts to wipe his neck and continues to whisper. “Some folk would say it looks like you're just trying to chuck a sickie today...”
The man's moans move up an octave and now have a ring of a hollow surprise, and a reticence to acknowledge about them.
Larry quietly continues. “But I'd say if you don't come the raw prawn with me, then I'm not going to dob you in”.
He removes the cloth and places it back in the bowl. Then the man blinks three times, opens his eyes fully, sits upright and snorts at the assembled spectators. “What are you lot looking at? I'll be drinking with the flies before you see me in the marble orchard!”
Then he unsteadily rises to his feet, smiles thankfully and raises his hands heavenwards. The surrounding crowd spontaneously produce an ecstatic round of applause, although it sounds suspiciously as though there are only three people celebrating.
The woman, who was mourning her partner’s loss but a moment ago, grabs the young Larry, hugs him and sobs. “Good on yer Larry. I thought we’d never get the lazy bastard out of bed, but now, thanks to you, he’s off like a bucket of prawns in the sun!”
The boy Larry smiles and saunters out of the room.