The Crocodile Part2 By Robert Fullarton Copyright Robert Fullarton 2016

The Crocodile Part2

By Robert Fullarton

Copyright Robert Fullarton 2016

II

Blomquist lay alone in his wooden abode, where his bed lay suspended on wooden beams, in an eccentric fashion in the shadows of his attic room. It was a sparsely furnished room, Spartan, bare and utterly unromantic to look upon, he was one of those good old fashioned misers! He had money, yet he did his utmost not to spend it but to hoard it. He if he did indeed spend money it was mainly for the utilities of “daily life” or for the “pursuits of making money”.

The climes of the now semi-redundant St.Sebastian Church played out, like an old fighter fighting on, still crying out, having been “put to death by the legislation of Gustavia” and yet it remained as a noble, sublime giant, which even its enemies marvelled in as a piece of the puzzle in their own confused identity. The dawn was like bleach blond ale poured out upon the amber, almost gingerbread like houses which were reflected like milk upon caramel coloured brown. It was beautiful, like a child’s dream in play, but Blomquist was stubborn to reside in the shadows, where only fingers of light could penetrate through the wooden panels above his bed.

Milkmaster Hummel reluctantly knocked on the door of Blomquist’s abode, promptly at the agreed time. Hummel handed him the specially designed steel cage with its four locks on either side, holding Iron grafts in place with Iron mesh and a muzzle over the crocodile’s mouth.

“Here, I hand you the keys to the locks. Feed him the raw meat I have left for you, don’t over feed him as they sometimes just like to heat themselves in the sun, to warm their blood and they often like to be left alone. Are you sure you still want to take him? I mean they are rather horrible creatures who show no affection and no personality,” said Hummel standing apprehensively in the great hall of Blomquists’home.

“I think they are like man. His instincts are rather simple to see, don’t we know man’s badness when we collectively observe it from the history books! He too is a killer! But oh how man is easily bribed like a crocodile with a piece of raw meat! I however want to tame the crocodile like man has been tamed by society. Hasn’t man been tamed from these times of peace?”

“How can man tame man and ultimately change the instincts and the motives that are encased inside his mind?”

Out of the cage glared the hypnotic eyes of the beast, a reptile whose existence was base, a creature who consumed without much thought whose institution was that of a killer.

“Personally I think your attempt is juvenile and the experiment will be a failure! To be honest any change will falter in time and these creatures will revert back to their old nature in time.” After voicing his objections, Hummel, bade farewell to his friend, leaving behind the keys, the equipment, the food and the cage itself and he hurried out through the garden gate.

The crocodile just stared into space as it sat in the corner of Blomquist’s dark brown mahogany kitchen, beside the long dining room table as Blomquist ate his supper of kippers and pickled cabbage soup in his dressing gown. Was the crocodile thinking to himself? Was he planning some sort of great escape, saving up precious energy so to make a run for the nearest chicken coup at the end of Blomquist’s long back garden?

“Hmmm..he does’nt say much!”

“He’s contemplating something, he’s rather different to say a parrot or a dog, he doesn’t vocalise, he thinks! Scientists have got it wrong! The crocodile is a pensive, introspective creature and if he is capable of thinking, then surely he has feelings too! He’s most likely upset that I never even offered him some of my kippers and pickled cabbage soup. It was impertinent of me to just leave him on the Persian rug while I drink claret, eat and sit in comfort.”

With a few pieces of raw chicken, he coaxed the creature step by step as it slowly crawled towards him out onto the back lawn where the crocodile was lured into a wooden outhouse, which had formerly been a toilet and a tool shed.

“There you go this shall be your living quarters and tomorrow at first light we will begin your training and then the experiment shall commence!”

The crocodile just about crawled into the outhouse, over the wooden steps enticed by the raw chicken thrown in his path, lured cunningly while Blomquist locked and bolted the animal in, ignoring milkmaster Hummel’s advice about “keeping the creature in his cage”.

Suddenly the sound of garden equipment could be heard crashing and tumbling, with sheer pandemonium as the crocodile swung his tail both left and right trying to find a spot to settle down in the poky outhouse. After leaving several large holes in the wooden circumference of the shack, the creature settled down and there was silence. It was an eerie silence and a warning against the eccentric delusion in which the poultry farmer entertained and in time his dreams were to be greatly disturbed!