PART SEVENTEEN: A Narcissus Moment and the Arrival of a Newfangled Fish.
The Fly stood still in the reedy shadows and looked out over the pool.
–I must get a grip on myself, she said. There is no use getting frightened by little thoughts, especially when they are in my head and not in the bushes. As the Spider said, I need to keep my wits about me. That seems very good advice if I am to get out of this place in safety and not in some creepy-crawly.
She had recovered her breath a little and thinking of the Spider reminded her of the Gadfly. She smiled. All of a sudden she remembered the reason she was here.
She looked about her. There was no sign of the Gadfly’s armour and not a trace of his silly medals.
She moved to the edge of the water and sat down. A scene of frantic action only moments before, it was now motionless. The ripples of the fleeing audience had quite died away. The pool was as a looking glass. Across this placid surface the last rays of the setting sun spread a reddish tinge.
Above her head a tangled awning of leaves and ferns shielded her from anything that might still be going on up in the canopy. The breeze, fickle this close to sundown, had moved elsewhere. At the edge of the reeds the pond held its breath.
All of a sudden a movement caught her eye.
A flashing winking scattering of tiny stars shimmering blue like the phosphorescence on an ocean wave appeared in the dusk above her and spreading out gently like a net cast by some celestial fisherman drifted down and draped itself over her shoulders. It was the Gadfly’s cloak. Seconds later his star spangled neckerchief floated into view.
Quickly the Fly stood up and pulled the garment from the air. She held it close to her and sniffed.
-It smells of strength, she thought. It also smelled very strongly of sweat. Perhaps when it comes to heroes the two are the same. Still it was a very aristocratic piece of clothing, a fashion accessory for the extremely gentrified. She twisted it this way and that. The diamond pins sparkled in the dusk. She arranged it round her neck, and stood there in the mud blinking and shimmering like a lighthouse.
-This is nice, she thought. She felt a warm glow inside her.-I wonder if it suits me. She leaned forward and peered into the mirror surface of the pool.
A most horrible and disgusting Thing leered back at her. The Fly gave a scream and fell backwards. Instead of her own reflection in the water there was a shapeless brown pile grinning like a crocodile.
Summoning her courage she sat up and leaned forward. The Thing was still there and was now leaning up towards her. She screamed again. It had the head of a Giant Toad with a crimson palpitating bulging tongue coiled in its mouth and it seemed about to attack her. The Beast wobbled beneath the skin of the pond, bright and threatening. The Fly gasped. No wonder the bugs had fled in terror.
A flashing winking scattering of tiny stars shimmered blue like the phosphorescence on an ocean wave. She looked back into the water and noticed the glitter and the sparkle of a myriad diamonds. To her surprise she noticed that the Toad-Thing was wearing a star-spangled neckerchief. And then in a flash with a mixture of both horror and relief she realised she was looking at herself.
She sat down abruptly and continued to stare at the reflection for a long time. No Narcissus sprang up where she had been sitting. This reflection was not one to inspire admiration and certainly not self-love.
Her reverie was interrupted by a loud plop in the middle of the pool. It was followed immediately by a swirling of the water and a strange hollow snapping gurgling convulsive commotion beneath the surface.
The disturbance made her look up but nothing was to be seen. There was a lapping at the edge of the pool as ripples reached the shore. After that, silence. The Fly returned to what she had been thinking about. She could not remain where she was, and did not wish to anyway. Something had to be done.
-The only way I am to get out of here, she thought, is to fly out. If I remain I shall either be eaten by something nasty or starve to death. -Although, she considered, I still have the toad’s head and quite a lot of cream cake if they haven’t been spoiled by my fall into the mud.
She stood up, raised her arms and began to wiggle the toad’s head. She wiggled and wriggled and pulled and pushed and struggled and squirmed with all her strength but the head seemed to be glued into a cement of dried cream and mud just to the North of her eyebrows. She was on the point of giving up when suddenly the toad’s head parted company with hers, coming loose with a loud pop. It fell back into the mud at the edge of the pool and lay there looking up at her with a horrible grin on its dead features.
It seemed now somewhat less appetizing than it had been earlier when proudly displayed as the centre piece of the Spider’s banquet.
-Now, said the Fly, with commendable practicality, if I want my wings ever to work again I shall have to have a wash.
She stepped into the pool and waded out until the water was up to her neck and set to, briskly rubbing and scrubbing and splashing and scraping until she no longer looked like someone who has just lost a mud-pie throwing contest and could certainly no longer be mistaken for the Creature from the Black Lagoon in the horrible incarnation of a Toad.
She was making admirable progress when there was suddenly a great plunging rushing gurgling splurge of water in front, under and around her. The surface of the pond spun like the Icelandic Maelstrom, rose up like the tides of the Hellespont and parted rather like the waters of the Red Sea and she found herself face to face with a huge and glistering fishy personage clad in a turquoise breastplate from which jangled an array of strangely beribboned and loudly clanking medals.
The Carp rose resplendent before her with the aplomb of a killer whale taking the air and opened his mouth in a terrible smile. For a long moment the Fly found herself looking straight into a ferocious armoury of fangs all as beautifully enamelled and white as the tusks of the great trumpeting walrus.
The Fly stood still in the reedy shadows and looked out over the pool.
–I must get a grip on myself, she said. There is no use getting frightened by little thoughts, especially when they are in my head and not in the bushes. As the Spider said, I need to keep my wits about me. That seems very good advice if I am to get out of this place in safety and not in some creepy-crawly.
She had recovered her breath a little and thinking of the Spider reminded her of the Gadfly. She smiled. All of a sudden she remembered the reason she was here.
She looked about her. There was no sign of the Gadfly’s armour and not a trace of his silly medals.
She moved to the edge of the water and sat down. A scene of frantic action only moments before, it was now motionless. The ripples of the fleeing audience had quite died away. The pool was as a looking glass. Across this placid surface the last rays of the setting sun spread a reddish tinge.
Above her head a tangled awning of leaves and ferns shielded her from anything that might still be going on up in the canopy. The breeze, fickle this close to sundown, had moved elsewhere. At the edge of the reeds the pond held its breath.
All of a sudden a movement caught her eye.
A flashing winking scattering of tiny stars shimmering blue like the phosphorescence on an ocean wave appeared in the dusk above her and spreading out gently like a net cast by some celestial fisherman drifted down and draped itself over her shoulders. It was the Gadfly’s cloak. Seconds later his star spangled neckerchief floated into view.
Quickly the Fly stood up and pulled the garment from the air. She held it close to her and sniffed.
-It smells of strength, she thought. It also smelled very strongly of sweat. Perhaps when it comes to heroes the two are the same. Still it was a very aristocratic piece of clothing, a fashion accessory for the extremely gentrified. She twisted it this way and that. The diamond pins sparkled in the dusk. She arranged it round her neck, and stood there in the mud blinking and shimmering like a lighthouse.
-This is nice, she thought. She felt a warm glow inside her.-I wonder if it suits me. She leaned forward and peered into the mirror surface of the pool.
A most horrible and disgusting Thing leered back at her. The Fly gave a scream and fell backwards. Instead of her own reflection in the water there was a shapeless brown pile grinning like a crocodile.
Summoning her courage she sat up and leaned forward. The Thing was still there and was now leaning up towards her. She screamed again. It had the head of a Giant Toad with a crimson palpitating bulging tongue coiled in its mouth and it seemed about to attack her. The Beast wobbled beneath the skin of the pond, bright and threatening. The Fly gasped. No wonder the bugs had fled in terror.
A flashing winking scattering of tiny stars shimmered blue like the phosphorescence on an ocean wave. She looked back into the water and noticed the glitter and the sparkle of a myriad diamonds. To her surprise she noticed that the Toad-Thing was wearing a star-spangled neckerchief. And then in a flash with a mixture of both horror and relief she realised she was looking at herself.
She sat down abruptly and continued to stare at the reflection for a long time. No Narcissus sprang up where she had been sitting. This reflection was not one to inspire admiration and certainly not self-love.
Her reverie was interrupted by a loud plop in the middle of the pool. It was followed immediately by a swirling of the water and a strange hollow snapping gurgling convulsive commotion beneath the surface.
The disturbance made her look up but nothing was to be seen. There was a lapping at the edge of the pool as ripples reached the shore. After that, silence. The Fly returned to what she had been thinking about. She could not remain where she was, and did not wish to anyway. Something had to be done.
-The only way I am to get out of here, she thought, is to fly out. If I remain I shall either be eaten by something nasty or starve to death. -Although, she considered, I still have the toad’s head and quite a lot of cream cake if they haven’t been spoiled by my fall into the mud.
She stood up, raised her arms and began to wiggle the toad’s head. She wiggled and wriggled and pulled and pushed and struggled and squirmed with all her strength but the head seemed to be glued into a cement of dried cream and mud just to the North of her eyebrows. She was on the point of giving up when suddenly the toad’s head parted company with hers, coming loose with a loud pop. It fell back into the mud at the edge of the pool and lay there looking up at her with a horrible grin on its dead features.
It seemed now somewhat less appetizing than it had been earlier when proudly displayed as the centre piece of the Spider’s banquet.
-Now, said the Fly, with commendable practicality, if I want my wings ever to work again I shall have to have a wash.
She stepped into the pool and waded out until the water was up to her neck and set to, briskly rubbing and scrubbing and splashing and scraping until she no longer looked like someone who has just lost a mud-pie throwing contest and could certainly no longer be mistaken for the Creature from the Black Lagoon in the horrible incarnation of a Toad.
She was making admirable progress when there was suddenly a great plunging rushing gurgling splurge of water in front, under and around her. The surface of the pond spun like the Icelandic Maelstrom, rose up like the tides of the Hellespont and parted rather like the waters of the Red Sea and she found herself face to face with a huge and glistering fishy personage clad in a turquoise breastplate from which jangled an array of strangely beribboned and loudly clanking medals.
The Carp rose resplendent before her with the aplomb of a killer whale taking the air and opened his mouth in a terrible smile. For a long moment the Fly found herself looking straight into a ferocious armoury of fangs all as beautifully enamelled and white as the tusks of the great trumpeting walrus.
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