PART FIVE:
In which the Fly cannot decide which Instant Gratification is more instant: A Good Feed or a Good Snog?
Patiently the spider had begun to spread out a large silken table cloth in the centre of the sticky surface of his web. On it he was placing an array of succulent treats, each one of them dear to a fly’s heart and extravagant to a fly’s taste buds.
-Life, he said a little under his breath as he did so, -is short for us all. And as for you, sweet flibberty-gibbet, you may not know it, but in the best of circumstances you have only the briefest of spans in which to fulfil the promise of yours.
-Promise?
Although fascinated by He Himself, the Fly was beginning to find the Gadfly’s soliloquy a bit long.
-Less words and a little action, crossed her mind and as her thoughts wandered she became aware of a number of delightful odours wafting in her direction from the Spider’s web.
Up to this point her appetite had been roused by attractions far from culinary. All of a sudden she remembered hunger. That is the problem with instant gratifications. If there is a choice of two only one can be instant.
The Spider continued to fiddle with his display. He spoke in a low tone, which attracted the Fly’s attention but at the same time concealed the content of his words.
-The briefest of spans. Hardly worth it really, don’t you think? I on the other hand do have a contribution to make to the world. Logic commands that I go on for a while longer. We must know who we are. We must ask where we come from. We must find out where we are going. We must answer the Big Question. We must ask WHY? We are Thinkers after all.
He was aware that the Fly was listening. He raised his voice.
-Who are you, for example, he said to her, -Where did
you come from?
-I know the answer to that, said the Fly.
Behind her the Gadfly’s voice was becoming less and less distinct. His words were fading imperceptibly into the rhythmic rhubarb of rustling and rattling and rubbing that was the reed bed’s teatime conversation.
For the Fly the odour of food rose now and filled her horizon like a sudden summer thundercloud. With satisfaction the Spider noticed that she was becoming a little wet around the chops.
-A good dribbler shows a keen appetite, he muttered, his eyes flickering softly in the shadows. And hunger silences doubt.
The Fly interrupted his train of thought.
-I know the answer to your question, she said.
–Who am I? -I am a fly!
The smell of the banquet was drawing her irresistibly towards him.
-I am defined by my occupation.
She stopped suddenly, for the unfamiliar exertion of thinking this thought had left her quite out of breath. She wondered for a second if she might not choke on the volume of vocabulary required by her mouth to express it. Her mouth however had its own agenda. It hadn’t even missed a dribble. With relief she continued.
-I fly, Spider, she said, -therefore I am.
-Am what? Said the Spider.
-Am a fly! Amn’t I? If I crept I would be a creep.
The Spider smiled.
-Would you indeed? he muttered, and crept closer to the edge of the web.
-I suppose if you hopped you would be a hop. We could make beer out of you.
But this time the Fly’s appetite, in the food department at least, was rising on wings of delightful gluttony. Conversation, she now understood was a dinner invitation.
-And as for where I come from, Mr Spider, -I know that too. I come from Death.
-Death, indeed, said the Spider. –Now at least we are getting somewhere, for Death is always a good starting point when we wish to consider the Whats and the Wherefores and the Whys and the Whatevers!
In which the Fly cannot decide which Instant Gratification is more instant: A Good Feed or a Good Snog?
Patiently the spider had begun to spread out a large silken table cloth in the centre of the sticky surface of his web. On it he was placing an array of succulent treats, each one of them dear to a fly’s heart and extravagant to a fly’s taste buds.
-Life, he said a little under his breath as he did so, -is short for us all. And as for you, sweet flibberty-gibbet, you may not know it, but in the best of circumstances you have only the briefest of spans in which to fulfil the promise of yours.
-Promise?
Although fascinated by He Himself, the Fly was beginning to find the Gadfly’s soliloquy a bit long.
-Less words and a little action, crossed her mind and as her thoughts wandered she became aware of a number of delightful odours wafting in her direction from the Spider’s web.
Up to this point her appetite had been roused by attractions far from culinary. All of a sudden she remembered hunger. That is the problem with instant gratifications. If there is a choice of two only one can be instant.
The Spider continued to fiddle with his display. He spoke in a low tone, which attracted the Fly’s attention but at the same time concealed the content of his words.
-The briefest of spans. Hardly worth it really, don’t you think? I on the other hand do have a contribution to make to the world. Logic commands that I go on for a while longer. We must know who we are. We must ask where we come from. We must find out where we are going. We must answer the Big Question. We must ask WHY? We are Thinkers after all.
He was aware that the Fly was listening. He raised his voice.
-Who are you, for example, he said to her, -Where did
you come from?
-I know the answer to that, said the Fly.
Behind her the Gadfly’s voice was becoming less and less distinct. His words were fading imperceptibly into the rhythmic rhubarb of rustling and rattling and rubbing that was the reed bed’s teatime conversation.
For the Fly the odour of food rose now and filled her horizon like a sudden summer thundercloud. With satisfaction the Spider noticed that she was becoming a little wet around the chops.
-A good dribbler shows a keen appetite, he muttered, his eyes flickering softly in the shadows. And hunger silences doubt.
The Fly interrupted his train of thought.
-I know the answer to your question, she said.
–Who am I? -I am a fly!
The smell of the banquet was drawing her irresistibly towards him.
-I am defined by my occupation.
She stopped suddenly, for the unfamiliar exertion of thinking this thought had left her quite out of breath. She wondered for a second if she might not choke on the volume of vocabulary required by her mouth to express it. Her mouth however had its own agenda. It hadn’t even missed a dribble. With relief she continued.
-I fly, Spider, she said, -therefore I am.
-Am what? Said the Spider.
-Am a fly! Amn’t I? If I crept I would be a creep.
The Spider smiled.
-Would you indeed? he muttered, and crept closer to the edge of the web.
-I suppose if you hopped you would be a hop. We could make beer out of you.
But this time the Fly’s appetite, in the food department at least, was rising on wings of delightful gluttony. Conversation, she now understood was a dinner invitation.
-And as for where I come from, Mr Spider, -I know that too. I come from Death.
-Death, indeed, said the Spider. –Now at least we are getting somewhere, for Death is always a good starting point when we wish to consider the Whats and the Wherefores and the Whys and the Whatevers!
No comments:
Post a Comment