A Plague of Hearts
Page 20
Before the March Hare could begin to explain, the cocoon shuddered. A hand-sized piece of it came loose and fell to the ground. Then began an insistent crunching like an army of marching ants.
The Duchess put her hand to her mouth. Her eyes widened even further.
Part of the cocoon fell in on itself, exposing something damp and moving. The crunching became frantic, increasing its tempo from a march to a mad gallop. The March Hare had to resist an impulse to run forward, to break up the cocoon with his paws. This was something he felt he could not intrude upon.
With unbearable slowness, the hole grew, revealed more and more of the creature inside. A black antenna inched its way out and probed the night air.
Then a head appeared.
Multi-faceted eyes blinked in the faint light, then described an arc as if slowly taking in the glory of their surroundings. A smile revealed satisfaction.
The creature gave a sudden convulsion and pushed itself free of the cocoon. As it lay on the grass, it slowly unfurled wings that were six feet across and filled with rainbows. Moisture ran through the gullies between the scales.
The Duchess gasped. ‘You’re a butterfly!’
‘You got it in one, sister,’ said the Butterfly.
‘You’re beautiful.’
‘Baby, we’re all beautiful. It’s just that most of us keep it hidden.’
‘How wonderfully, wonderfully delicious!’
‘You wouldn’t happen to have seen my shades, would you?’
The March Hare picked them up from the grass. ‘Here they are.’
The Butterfly smacked his lips. ‘That’s cool. Now if you’d care to assist a dude with no hands by putting them on my face, that would be just dandy.’
‘Of course.’
The sunglasses still fitted. They seemed as much a part of the Butterfly as his wings.
‘Hey,’ said the Butterfly. ‘That’s much better. Without my shades, I feel naked.’
‘Do you want your beret?’
‘Thanks, man - but no. I guess I’ve outgrown it.’
‘My dear Butterfly,’ said the Duchess, regaining her composure. ‘I ought to be extremely cross with you for giving me such a fright. However, under the circumstances, I can only say that you’ve made me a happy woman. You’re magnificent, my dear sir. Quite magnificent!’
‘You’re not so bad yourself, sweetheart.’
The Duchess blushed. Great continents of fat, fired by flattery, glowed like the setting sun. ‘How terribly kind. I feel as if I have just been blessed by the heavens themselves.’
‘Cool,’ said the Butterfly. ‘You have some real mellow vibes there.’
The March Hare came to a decision. ‘I really have to go now.’
‘Go?’
‘I’m pretty exhausted. And I have things to do.’
The Butterfly looked up at the moon. ‘To be is to do. And the more we do, the more we become. Until one day we’re finally everything we were always meant to be.’
‘You think so?’
‘Absolutely. Why doubt it?’
‘Because most people never seem to get that far.’
‘We all get there. That’s the easy part. The trick is knowing that you’re there.’
The March Hare wasn’t sure that he agreed. His head was spinning and for all he knew the Butterfly might have said something truly profound. On the other hand, it could all be bullshit. ‘I really do have to go now.’
‘Same here,’ said the Butterfly.
‘You’re leaving?’
‘When God gives you wings, you fly! I’m off to the moon.’
‘Gosh,’ said the Duchess of Langerhans. ‘How wonderful!’
‘You said it, lady!’
With a joy that only the truly free can know, the Butterfly launched himself into the mysteries of the night sky. The stars drew him on.
A Plague of Hearts
© Patrick Whittaker 1986
The right of Patrick Whittaker to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988
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