(Under Construction)PART TWENTY ONE: The Cuckoo Pint. The Gadfly is Accosted and Asked to Join the Dance. The Three Rhinestone Maidens.
The Gadfly was not in a thinking frame of mind. His main concern at this perilous hour was to crawl in somewhere safe and inconspicuous and lie low for a while. He was a being who was used to living by his wits but since only moments had passed since he had been frightened out of them entirely it seemed unwise to venture witless into the world of the quick-witted. It would clearly be premature just now to chance his luck at anything at all. He needed time to collect himself. And his wits.
The usual complicated machinations of self-interest that were prone to occupy the wide open spaces of his reason had been dulled by the shock of his recent terror. He wanted only peace and quiet and perhaps something thick and protective over his head. A pyramid would have been ideal.
Slowly he pulled himself together and picking himself up began to inch his way downwards, clinging carefully to the rubbery texture of the surface on which he had landed. It was a smooth but rather slippery slope and it led down at an uncomfortable angle. Soon he found himself at what appeared to be a lip of some sort, rather like a gutter at the edge of a roof. Clinging on with his rear legs he eased himself over this edge and peered down. There was not much to be seen. A light evening mist had risen from the pond and swirled in front of him and beneath him and all around the gently vibrating platform to which he clung the view was obscured as if in a dream. He reached down and groped around under the gutter and discovered what might have been the top of an arch or a narrow window opening. Balancing carefully on the edge he leaned over, bent down and swung himself inside. Immediately a heavenly smell of rotting meat filled his nostrils, so strong and delightful that it took away his breath. His head began to spin. Before he knew what was happening he had lost his balance and felt himself falling, brushed in flight it seemed to him by unseen hands, and guided here and there by countless gentle pushes.
The Gadfly lay draped and semi-conscious across an Ottoman which seemed to be composed of strange hexagonal red fruits arranged in patterns of delightful geometry. His feet were now tangled up in a thick net of green spikes and feathery hairs and it must have been these which had blocked his further tumble through what appeared to be from the present vantage point a huge living cathedral that spread out in all directions and towered above him until its space disappeared into an infinity of green flickering darkness.
Silk clad shapes seemed to gather about him and move off into thin air and then return, brushing his face as they peered down at him and then vanishing again.
The place was pulsating with tinkling music that rode lightly over a deeper bass rhythm and the air itself seemed to be involved in a process of dancing.
The smell of food flowed round him like a river and a ravenous hunger now came upon him. He opened his eyes. All around the red fruit filled the air with irresistible fragrance and before knowing what he was doing he had reached out and pulled one of the clump free and sunk his teeth deep into the perfumed flesh.
The Gadfly was not in a thinking frame of mind. His main concern at this perilous hour was to crawl in somewhere safe and inconspicuous and lie low for a while. He was a being who was used to living by his wits but since only moments had passed since he had been frightened out of them entirely it seemed unwise to venture witless into the world of the quick-witted. It would clearly be premature just now to chance his luck at anything at all. He needed time to collect himself. And his wits.
The usual complicated machinations of self-interest that were prone to occupy the wide open spaces of his reason had been dulled by the shock of his recent terror. He wanted only peace and quiet and perhaps something thick and protective over his head. A pyramid would have been ideal.
Slowly he pulled himself together and picking himself up began to inch his way downwards, clinging carefully to the rubbery texture of the surface on which he had landed. It was a smooth but rather slippery slope and it led down at an uncomfortable angle. Soon he found himself at what appeared to be a lip of some sort, rather like a gutter at the edge of a roof. Clinging on with his rear legs he eased himself over this edge and peered down. There was not much to be seen. A light evening mist had risen from the pond and swirled in front of him and beneath him and all around the gently vibrating platform to which he clung the view was obscured as if in a dream. He reached down and groped around under the gutter and discovered what might have been the top of an arch or a narrow window opening. Balancing carefully on the edge he leaned over, bent down and swung himself inside. Immediately a heavenly smell of rotting meat filled his nostrils, so strong and delightful that it took away his breath. His head began to spin. Before he knew what was happening he had lost his balance and felt himself falling, brushed in flight it seemed to him by unseen hands, and guided here and there by countless gentle pushes.
The Gadfly lay draped and semi-conscious across an Ottoman which seemed to be composed of strange hexagonal red fruits arranged in patterns of delightful geometry. His feet were now tangled up in a thick net of green spikes and feathery hairs and it must have been these which had blocked his further tumble through what appeared to be from the present vantage point a huge living cathedral that spread out in all directions and towered above him until its space disappeared into an infinity of green flickering darkness.
Silk clad shapes seemed to gather about him and move off into thin air and then return, brushing his face as they peered down at him and then vanishing again.
The place was pulsating with tinkling music that rode lightly over a deeper bass rhythm and the air itself seemed to be involved in a process of dancing.
The smell of food flowed round him like a river and a ravenous hunger now came upon him. He opened his eyes. All around the red fruit filled the air with irresistible fragrance and before knowing what he was doing he had reached out and pulled one of the clump free and sunk his teeth deep into the perfumed flesh.
It is inadvisable to eat parts of strange plants found in the forest until you are absolutely sure what it is you are eating and what are the effects you wish to experience after you have eaten them. It is always better to read the label first. And if there is no label, well, need I say more?
Although a womaniser of epic repute, the Gadfly knew nothing of most of the facts of life and certainly nothing of botany. He had actually quite a simplified if practical vision of the nature of the Universe as a whole. All considerations of procreation put tactfully to one side, his vision consisted mainly of ‘Can I eat it?’ or ‘Will it eat me?’ When it came to plants and the vegetable kingdom his knowledge scarcely stretched to the basic three dimensions, let alone to any more esoteric measurements which might have existed. A leaf for him was a place to sit down on or hide under. It might have been better for him if had restricted himself to what he understood and left it at that.
However we will have to give him that he had had an extremely stressful day.
He had confronted and been routed by any number of disgusting and life-threatening monsters, had utterly lost face in public in front of a lady, had been dropped from a great height and bounced from any number of sharp and prickly and slimy and stinking plants, and chased without his trousers on through crowded and public places to everybody’s mortification, not least his own. He was alone and naked in the world, and that was just for starters.
We can allow him that perhaps his wits were not at their usual razor sharp level of competence.
Otherwise he would not have bitten into the Cuckoo Pint’s enchanted apple.
For a while nothing seemed unusual. The heavenly smell of rotting meat filled his nostrils. He lay neither conscious nor unconscious in a dreamy world shaded even from the enchantment of the gathering twilight within the bell. He could smell the damp proximity of the pond. He realised he had not arrived there. That he was somehow suspended betwixt heaven and earth. He did not care. He wanted to sleep. At the same time he felt brightly awake inside. He opened his eyes and looked around lazily. He seemed to be sitting propped up against a tall pillar which vanished into the gloomy heights above him like a cathedral buttress. It was ringed around with purple flowers and a little higher up large red fruits he did not recognise hung ripely above his head. Suddenly he felt drunk with fear and for a moment remembered the terror that had propelled his swift passage through the air to these nether regions. He remembered falling, massaged and touched by unseen hands, perfumed, dusted with pollen and strange spices. He breathed in the perfume of the flowers. Slowly he felt purple through and through. He breathed purple out and sucked purple in. He was Mr Purple. He reached up and pulled down another of the red and yellow fruits, and crushed it into his face. He dreamed of Lords and Ladies dancing. A Voice spoke.It was tinged with purple and soft as velvet drawn across his face.
-Allow us to introduce ourselves.We are the Rheinstone Maidens.
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