The Pond Part 8

"The pond's blossoming!" sneered the rushes.

"There's a horrid smell here," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

"I think, considering all things, that it's delightful here," said the carp.

The carp swam a little way in among the reeds. He had made a friend there, in the shape of the fresh-water mussel, who waded ever so slowly through the mud, or else settled on the bottom and yawned.

They suited each other, these two, for they were quiet and sedate people, who led the same sort of life.

"I don't care to go hunting wildly for food," said the carp. "I open my mouth where the water is moderately thick and let whatever there is run in. Something always sticks. Then one needn't kill people and one doesn't see all that misery."

"It's just so with us," said the fresh-water mussel. "I employ exactly the same methods. It's more gentlemanly and I have grown stout on it."

Then the two sat and talked and yawned all the time and amused themselves capitally notwithstanding.

"Mind you don't go too near them," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler to the May-fly grub.

"Yes, I will; thanks very much," said the grub.

"The carp and the mussel are nicer than the others, I think," said Mrs.

Reed-Warbler to her husband.

"Really? And why, pray, madam?" asked the eel, who was always where he was least expected. "Surely they do just the same as all of us ... only the animals which they eat are smaller."

"There is a difference, my good fellow," said the reed-warbler. "It's only your lack of refinement that prevents your seeing it."

"Yes, wriggle and twist!" said the eel.

The reed-warbler did not condescend to answer him, but turned to the carp and the mussel, struck up a little trill and said politely:

"My wife and I have the honour to bid you good-morning, gentlemen. We are delighted to observe that you lead your lives in a more mannerly way than most of the other inhabitants of the pond. We have suffered greatly at the sight of the extraordinary cruelty ..." he paused, caught a blue-bottle, and tossed it to his children in the nest ... "of the extraordinary cruelty that prevails in society here. It cannot but be extremely unpleasant for well-bred people to witness the cynical and unveiled brutality with which every one satisfies his app-- ..." Here he seized a caddis-fly, ate it, wiped his mouth, and continued, "satisfies his appet.i.te. You, gentlemen, are different. If you had wings, I should be inclined to believe that originally you did not belong to this company at all."

"Your presumption is absolutely correct," replied the carp, waving his fins complacently.

"You are quite right," said the mussel, yawning politely.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"I was born in another pond," said the carp, "but I must confess that I have no distinct recollection of it. I only know that they did not lead such a wild, brigand's life there as here. For instance, I don't think there were any fish but carp in the pond, which, of course, improved the tone, you know. No doubt it was a n.o.bleman's carp-pond. We were fed five times a day and everything was removed that could inconvenience us in any way. Until I came here, I had never set eyes on such things as pikes, water-spiders or that horrible bladder-wort."

"It must have been idyllic there," said the reed-warbler. "May I ask, were there no reed-warblers?"

"Oh, yes!" said the carp, "I think they had permission to build in the reeds. And then there were a good many frogs, probably to cheer us up with their croaking."

"Then how did you come here?"

"A-ah," said the carp, "that's not an easy question for me to answer.

You see, we came in a basket, I and a large number of my friends. And then we were tilted out into the pond. I can't think of any other reason than that they wished to improve the tone here. We had nothing to complain of where we were before. Did you hear anything about well-bred people in this place expressing such a wish?"

"No," said the reed-warbler. "It didn't happen in my time. But I have only been here since the spring."

"Oh, I see," said the carp. "Yes, I've been here four years. I wish I were anywhere else. One lives in everlasting terror of the pike. A number of my friends have disappeared in an utterly incomprehensible manner and, I believe, saving your presence, that the pike has eaten them. And then, as you very properly observed, the prevailing tone here is rather ill-bred. But it doesn't matter much to you. I presume you go away in the autumn?"

"A little trip to Italy," said the reed-warbler, "with my family."

The carp waited and thought for a while. He yawned once or twice, then said:

"You might be able to do me a service ... it occurred to me when I saw that nice, pointed beak of yours."

"Delighted, I'm sure," said the reed-warbler.

"You see, every one has his cross to bear and mine is in my gills. Would you care to see?..."

He opened one of his gill-lids and the reed-warbler ran down the reed and peeped in:

"Yes, upon my word," he said, "there's a cross there."

"That's the double-animal," said the carp with a deep sigh.

"The what?..."

"The double-animal. Unfortunately, I have to admit that I brought him with me from the otherwise first-rate, high-cla.s.s carp-pond which I was telling you about. The pain he caused me even then was great, but lately it has become almost unendurable. You must know, the animal consists originally of two worms ... of the kind, you know, that don't care to work for themselves, but take up their quarters with respectable people and suck at them. I have a couple of dozen of those in my stomach, but they don't inconvenience me anything like so much as the double-animal.

You see, to increase the meanness of the proceeding, these scoundrels have a trick of fastening together in pairs, cross-wise. They suck themselves firmly on to each other, until they grow into one, and then they suck at me with united strength."

"I never heard anything like it!" said the reed-warbler.

"I have one like it on the other side of my head, in my other gill,"

said the carp. "We can talk about him later. Meanwhile, may I ask you if you would kindly try to remove the brute with your beak? I should be exceedingly grateful to you. I am in such pain that I would rather die than go on living like this."

At that moment, it was as though the world were coming to an end.

The reed-bank heaved and swayed, the reeds snapped. The reed-warblers screamed, all the seven of them; the water spurted up; the mussel rolled over; the spider's parlour was smashed.

"At last!... At last!..."

It was the pike's voice.

"Spare my life! Spare my life!" yelled the carp.

What happened next no one was ever able properly to describe.

The carp cracked and crunched between the pike's teeth, and all who were near thought their last day had come. But, a little after, it grew still and, when the reed-warblers had recovered themselves, the pike was gone, and the carp's tail-fin lay and floated on the water.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ]

The reed-warblers' nest had dropped down on one side and they had to work for some time before they got it right. However, all the children were safe and sound and gradually they recovered from their alarm. The water grew clear again and the mussel sat down below and yawned.

"That was a n.o.ble character, that friend of yours who has been taken from us," said the reed-warbler.