The Crocodile Part 5, Copyright Robert Fullarton 2017
The Crocodile Part 5, Copyright Robert Fullarton 2017
IV
Minister
Daschund and his beloved Beagles were out walking on a Sunday morning stroll
through the arches of the old weaver’s quarter when the sight of a large,
fierce crocodile had been spotted “sunbathing” on Lady Forrester’s tin roof
shed. The enormous tail protruded outward, the tough leathery, armoured like
skin glowed in the gleaming light and the intrigued neighbours began to gather
creating a kerfuffle. As the wealthy denizens of Gustavia gathered round the
spectacle, some discussed how one should “kill such a creature” and others on
how “one should see him as a greatly misunderstood victim of human hysteria and
fantasy.” Ultimately however, life was “too comfortable” and the plethora of
luxury could “not be disturbed.” So many
simply gazed and gossiped but did nothing, in hope that somebody else would do
confront the strange beast.
Peace had
made them lazy, this animal was a war like creature whose ancient nature, and
instincts made killing a necessity, it was all about the feeding of an
insatiable appetite that devoured the slow witted, that devoured the
complacency of a sleeping society and a people unwilling to accept the facts
for what they were! Peace, their peace would be devoured up too, unless they
recognised all that they lacked and how such emptiness was to break, like a
bulging barrel, swollen, exploding, with the contents of its noxious poison.
Meanwhile
the plump, pompous, self-serving Burgmaster Krauss, spoke to a cautious crowd
of chicken farmers, concerned elderly ladies of the Gustavian Tea society, the
Musket appreciation society (who fired their muskets and accidently blew in the
windows of the local bakery. Such was their clumsy aim!) boys of the Leibnitz
Gymnasium and the old bachelors Brewers Lane.
Krauss
despite being as blind as a bat, had been declared the Burgmaster, because of
the “great service and honour” his father had brought before him in his days as
the town’s mayor. But the mayor had often mistaken his guests at Homely Hall
when wandering blindly through the vast confines of the manor, with pet
spaniels, his touch and senselessness were beyond all patience. Nothing in the
world made Krauss happier than the touch and call of his pet Spaniels that led
him often in the wrong direction (including the one time when they led him over
the edge and into the river, the mayor had to be retrieved by the deputy mayor
and his assistants with a fisherman’s net! Krauss could see the shadows of men
and just about distinguish between man and beast! Yet the old “sophisticated
ladies” of Gustavia swooned and swayed, “oohed” and “aahed” at the sight of the
mayor with tear filled handkerchiefs waving and “cooeeing” the blind mayor from
his course, from stepping on the right pavement stone and stumbling into the
arms of his “adoring” ladies.
Krauss did
not know what a crocodile was, he had never seen a crocodile before, and never
even been to the Zoological scientist Jan Steiner’s exhibits in Lotharville.
His days of opening farmer’s markets, kissing pretty maidens and shaking old
ladies hands, had come to its end, as he had to deal with the hysteria and
confusion of a people whose pressing demand was a front for their own emptiness
of meaning and purpose.
The local
“village idiot” Rumpledaen smoch Outen was throwing his pfennigs into the
fountain making a wish.
“Lord make
me into a strong man, so men will respect me. Why must I be an invalid? What
purpose have I to live for, when I like Cinderella am left behind so the others
can attend the ballroom events. Am I to wait and let others live their life,
while I lie down until I disappear? I am seen and yet at the same time I remain
unseen. I am invisible to their eyes, they throw their coins, and day upon day
they wear their great coats, but their most precious item is the mask they wear
and will not lose, the day the mask comes off is the day their world ends, coming
spinning down from the sky to the dust below!”
Rumpledean
was the one man in Gustavia, in the midst of the trades people, the silent
workers and the unknown faces of the crowd who protested against making the
crocodile the mascot of Gustavia, to be presented at every grand official
opening, for the farmers market, at the pageants of beautiful maidens and the
opening of the brand new shipyard, the crocodile would be the grand marshal of
each parade, the feted hero of the hour, the pet of the people, the aspiring
creature to be beyond what God made it be. Or so they thought! When all the
crowds cheered at the sight of the mayor and the quiet creature on the wooden
podium, through the hurricane of the moment, the pomp of the “hurrahs” the
crocodile was hungry and food was his one and only concern, if indeed he had
any at all.
Labels: Extract
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