PART NINE: Bungee Jumping. The Descent into the Spider’s Web.
When it happened it did not happen at all. It was a terrible anti-climax. She heard it happen, of course. A great chomp as the black jaws came together; a sharp exhalation as teeth clamped tightly down on something. But whatever it clamped down on it was not on her. She had heard that in cases of serious injury no pain is felt until afterwards. She waited, expecting the shock to dissipate and the agony to begin. Nothing happened. There had been not the slightest hint of a horrible splintering crunch as her back was broken. Indeed, her back did not seem to be broken at all. More than anything it was the noise of it all that had frightened her. The pain, agonising in its anticipation, simply failed to arrive. A surplus of preparatory adrenalin left her feeling quite disappointed. He had made his move but she felt nothing. Nothing at all.
This was not surprising. The Dragonfly’s jaws, far from sinking themselves into the Fly’s unprotected midriff had taken a mouth-sized bite of the trailing ectoplasm attached to her leg. I say of, but a more accurate description would be into. For there they stuck and he now found it impossible to open them again, or detach in himself in any way from the falling Fly. 210
The Dragonfly spread his four mighty wings and, with all the force available in their girder like structure, hovered. He hovered with might and with main. He hovered as if he wished to lift the World and transport it by main force to another location. If you have seen industrial helicopters transporting large slabs of prefabricated concrete across the skyline of a growing city you will know what I mean. And hovering thus, he remained fixed to the one spot in the sky where he happened to be, as if fastened to the air with superglue.
The Fly however continued her fluttering and rather passive tumble with the whatever-the-something-was still attached to her leg, linking her with the Dragonfly like a spacewalker in a safety harness.
And now she felt herself slowing down. But that was nothing new. Then with surprise she noticed that she continued to slow. She had entered into a gentle rallentando. She felt herself slowing, slowing, slowing almost to the point of stop. And then to a definite stop. She was not moving at all. She was balanced. She was weightless. She floated. She was astronautical. After the rush of falling it was a very strange sensation indeed. She began to bob up and down. She rather enjoyed the feeling. It was a kind of aerial pogo-stickery.
This new phenomenon did not last long. Now she felt herself going into reverse. It was the bungee effect. Before she had had time to adjust to the new rocking-chair movement there came a violent shoulder wrenching snap and quite unexpectedly the indefinable something let go its grip on her leg. The bungee had disintegrated and her attachment to the Dragonfly ended abruptly. From the corner of an eye she saw him jerk upwards as suddenly as a parachutist who has just pulled his ripcord. Spinning like a leaf he was sucked into the sky, all four wings and six legs going round and round in circles as he tumbled and turned and flailed off into the distance. The Fly thought he looked like a windmill whose sails, after years of fruitless trying, have miraculously achieved lift-off, and who now really had no idea what to do next.
Released from the elastic pull of the sticky unmentionable she was fired like a bullet towards the ground. Brambles and bulrushes and a forest of reeds flew up to meet her and in the centre of everything the sticky threads of the Spider’s web loomed, shimmering like a silver wreath across the yellow stems, and beckoned her in.
When it happened it did not happen at all. It was a terrible anti-climax. She heard it happen, of course. A great chomp as the black jaws came together; a sharp exhalation as teeth clamped tightly down on something. But whatever it clamped down on it was not on her. She had heard that in cases of serious injury no pain is felt until afterwards. She waited, expecting the shock to dissipate and the agony to begin. Nothing happened. There had been not the slightest hint of a horrible splintering crunch as her back was broken. Indeed, her back did not seem to be broken at all. More than anything it was the noise of it all that had frightened her. The pain, agonising in its anticipation, simply failed to arrive. A surplus of preparatory adrenalin left her feeling quite disappointed. He had made his move but she felt nothing. Nothing at all.
This was not surprising. The Dragonfly’s jaws, far from sinking themselves into the Fly’s unprotected midriff had taken a mouth-sized bite of the trailing ectoplasm attached to her leg. I say of, but a more accurate description would be into. For there they stuck and he now found it impossible to open them again, or detach in himself in any way from the falling Fly. 210
The Dragonfly spread his four mighty wings and, with all the force available in their girder like structure, hovered. He hovered with might and with main. He hovered as if he wished to lift the World and transport it by main force to another location. If you have seen industrial helicopters transporting large slabs of prefabricated concrete across the skyline of a growing city you will know what I mean. And hovering thus, he remained fixed to the one spot in the sky where he happened to be, as if fastened to the air with superglue.
The Fly however continued her fluttering and rather passive tumble with the whatever-the-something-was still attached to her leg, linking her with the Dragonfly like a spacewalker in a safety harness.
And now she felt herself slowing down. But that was nothing new. Then with surprise she noticed that she continued to slow. She had entered into a gentle rallentando. She felt herself slowing, slowing, slowing almost to the point of stop. And then to a definite stop. She was not moving at all. She was balanced. She was weightless. She floated. She was astronautical. After the rush of falling it was a very strange sensation indeed. She began to bob up and down. She rather enjoyed the feeling. It was a kind of aerial pogo-stickery.
This new phenomenon did not last long. Now she felt herself going into reverse. It was the bungee effect. Before she had had time to adjust to the new rocking-chair movement there came a violent shoulder wrenching snap and quite unexpectedly the indefinable something let go its grip on her leg. The bungee had disintegrated and her attachment to the Dragonfly ended abruptly. From the corner of an eye she saw him jerk upwards as suddenly as a parachutist who has just pulled his ripcord. Spinning like a leaf he was sucked into the sky, all four wings and six legs going round and round in circles as he tumbled and turned and flailed off into the distance. The Fly thought he looked like a windmill whose sails, after years of fruitless trying, have miraculously achieved lift-off, and who now really had no idea what to do next.
Released from the elastic pull of the sticky unmentionable she was fired like a bullet towards the ground. Brambles and bulrushes and a forest of reeds flew up to meet her and in the centre of everything the sticky threads of the Spider’s web loomed, shimmering like a silver wreath across the yellow stems, and beckoned her in.
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