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.