PART EIGHTEEN: Fangs For Nothing. Arachnid Arraigned by Self Doubt. Further Pensées. A Weeping and a Wailing and a Gnashing of Teeth. Re-enter the Gadfly Re-invented.
The Spider surveyed the Dragonfly lying athwart the dismal ruins of what was once his elegantly crafted web with a strange mixture of frustration and equanimity. No use crying over spilt silk, he thought. There is a lot more where that came from.
-Although, why bother either way, after all?
He pursed his lips. The purse seemed unaccustomedly empty. It occurred to him that when it came to fangs, there would never be any more where these had come from. He sucked in his gums and made a noise like an aphid blowing bubbles. He found that in his new circumstances he could do it quite ferociously. He did it again, loudly, twice.
At the unusual sound the Dragonfly began to struggle violently. The more he struggled the more he became entangled in the web. Very shortly he had taken on the appearance of a silkworm about to hibernate. From within this cocoon he continued to make strange and desperate noises. There was the muffled clatter of teeth being gnashed followed by what appeared to be a police siren in full pursuit of a gang of armed robbers. Pieces of silk flew about in all directions and floated away gently on the evening breeze, which had returned now like a charlady who feels she must clean up after a raucous Saturday night party.
-Be quiet you, growled the Spider, this is not a burping competition. He looked down at the Dragonfly.
-One moment you come here as a dastardly murdering marauder. The next you are all trussed up like a parcel of sausages. So weep and gnash your teeth. Certainly be aware that after the frying pan there is the fire, but please spare me the wailing or I might be tempted to take you to the pond right now and let you feed the fishes.
But the Spider said this in a sad and dispirited tone of voice, as if his heart were not really in it. The glitter seemed gone from his eye.
-It must be admitted that I feel closer to Socrates than to Napoleon at the moment, he said under his breath. Not that I have ever felt really close to Napoleon. As a spider after all, I am a professional sedentenarian with an armchair generality to my complexion. Power is an excellent fortifier, a real tonic, as long as it is not given to the people. But I prefer it when it is nicely concentrated. Within an eight inch circumference is best. I suppose that makes me a monarchist. The overthrow of nations and dynasties has never really tickled my fancy.
He gave a sad socio-political sigh.
-I might be better off seeking a chair of comparative blarnology in some flea-bitten university no one has ever heard of in a town that nobody has ever thought important enough to put on a map Somewhere in Canada perhaps?
He paused. Reeds rustled around him. It was getting quite dark, although there was some light left at the end of the leafy tunnel that marked the horizon.
-Yes, he thought, perhaps a teaching post might be the best place for me. Better than a whipping post, anyway, Dragonfly. Yes?
-As a feisty action hero, he thought, my days are numbered. And the number can be counted on the fingers of one fist. He felt also a little sad for the Dragonfly. They both seemed in a way to have arrived at the same point in their lives. -I wonder, mused the Spider, if there is somewhere a home for spent heroes?
At that moment there was a crashing and smashing in the leaves above him and without a word of warning, (although it could be argued that the screams of terror that issued from the falling bundle provided more than a modicum of the latter) a strange silken personage wearing a transparent veil that appeared to have been cobbled together in haste out of web-tatters fell into view, bounced once twice and then three times and came to an awkward stop on a leaf protruding from the closest other rush stem. Apart from this skimpy and somewhat inadequate veil he appeared to be quite naked.
-Toad! Toad! Toad! cried the personage, throwing itself to its knees in the pose of a religious penitent or someone who has just purchased a pair of second hand artificial legs which on testing did not stand up to scrutiny, let alone to being stood on.
-Well, said the Spider, recognising the Gadfly immediately in spite of his disguise, perhaps I’m not ready for the hemlock yet.
His eyes were once again aglitter.
The Spider surveyed the Dragonfly lying athwart the dismal ruins of what was once his elegantly crafted web with a strange mixture of frustration and equanimity. No use crying over spilt silk, he thought. There is a lot more where that came from.
-Although, why bother either way, after all?
He pursed his lips. The purse seemed unaccustomedly empty. It occurred to him that when it came to fangs, there would never be any more where these had come from. He sucked in his gums and made a noise like an aphid blowing bubbles. He found that in his new circumstances he could do it quite ferociously. He did it again, loudly, twice.
At the unusual sound the Dragonfly began to struggle violently. The more he struggled the more he became entangled in the web. Very shortly he had taken on the appearance of a silkworm about to hibernate. From within this cocoon he continued to make strange and desperate noises. There was the muffled clatter of teeth being gnashed followed by what appeared to be a police siren in full pursuit of a gang of armed robbers. Pieces of silk flew about in all directions and floated away gently on the evening breeze, which had returned now like a charlady who feels she must clean up after a raucous Saturday night party.
-Be quiet you, growled the Spider, this is not a burping competition. He looked down at the Dragonfly.
-One moment you come here as a dastardly murdering marauder. The next you are all trussed up like a parcel of sausages. So weep and gnash your teeth. Certainly be aware that after the frying pan there is the fire, but please spare me the wailing or I might be tempted to take you to the pond right now and let you feed the fishes.
But the Spider said this in a sad and dispirited tone of voice, as if his heart were not really in it. The glitter seemed gone from his eye.
-It must be admitted that I feel closer to Socrates than to Napoleon at the moment, he said under his breath. Not that I have ever felt really close to Napoleon. As a spider after all, I am a professional sedentenarian with an armchair generality to my complexion. Power is an excellent fortifier, a real tonic, as long as it is not given to the people. But I prefer it when it is nicely concentrated. Within an eight inch circumference is best. I suppose that makes me a monarchist. The overthrow of nations and dynasties has never really tickled my fancy.
He gave a sad socio-political sigh.
-I might be better off seeking a chair of comparative blarnology in some flea-bitten university no one has ever heard of in a town that nobody has ever thought important enough to put on a map Somewhere in Canada perhaps?
He paused. Reeds rustled around him. It was getting quite dark, although there was some light left at the end of the leafy tunnel that marked the horizon.
-Yes, he thought, perhaps a teaching post might be the best place for me. Better than a whipping post, anyway, Dragonfly. Yes?
-As a feisty action hero, he thought, my days are numbered. And the number can be counted on the fingers of one fist. He felt also a little sad for the Dragonfly. They both seemed in a way to have arrived at the same point in their lives. -I wonder, mused the Spider, if there is somewhere a home for spent heroes?
At that moment there was a crashing and smashing in the leaves above him and without a word of warning, (although it could be argued that the screams of terror that issued from the falling bundle provided more than a modicum of the latter) a strange silken personage wearing a transparent veil that appeared to have been cobbled together in haste out of web-tatters fell into view, bounced once twice and then three times and came to an awkward stop on a leaf protruding from the closest other rush stem. Apart from this skimpy and somewhat inadequate veil he appeared to be quite naked.
-Toad! Toad! Toad! cried the personage, throwing itself to its knees in the pose of a religious penitent or someone who has just purchased a pair of second hand artificial legs which on testing did not stand up to scrutiny, let alone to being stood on.
-Well, said the Spider, recognising the Gadfly immediately in spite of his disguise, perhaps I’m not ready for the hemlock yet.
His eyes were once again aglitter.
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