The Mantis, the Bedbug, and the Spider

A mantis, a bedbug, and a spider lived with reasonable camaraderie in the House of If, a dilapidating castle in the south of France.  Each had her own specific task, which complemented the others, and gave meaning to her life.  The bedbug gathered food every night, the spider prepared the food the next day, the mantis prayed to the gods for good health and peace, and they all dined together every evening, promptly, at 1800 hours, in the lower east kitchen.

One meal, somewhere around the seventh of May, the conversation went something like this—

Good spider, said the bedbug, rubescent, notwithstanding, ripe (this is the way the three friends spoke with one another):  this curdled curry from lower fibula is stunning.

Beneficent spider, said the mantis, thick and leggy and not of wings, the wise and crunchy bedbug has spoken justly:  the curdled curry from lower fibula is indeed the best of curdled curries from lower fibulae.  I swoon.

The bedbug and the mantis waited patiently for the spider to prepare her response.

Diverse and fast friends, said the spider after some minutes had passed, you who eat and trample time, oh future gods of all the present lords of earth:   I am unworthy of receiving this, the highest praise, from two such worthy culinaires.  Pray eat your curdled curry from lower fibula and do not make me eat your praise.

Nay, said the bedbug.  Your appointed task is high, higher than the other tasks:  my task, the task of Mantis.  It’s true—I gather the food, Mantis prays, and these are not without their substance in the eyes of the ancient darkness.  But you—you, create the great digestibles of which we all partake and swoon, the great creations of spectra and squish that we daily shove into our hungry mouths.  Mantis and I have been talking.  We know it to be true.

A few threads of silk escaped from one of Spider’s spinnerets.  She caressed them lightly with her fangs while raising two of her other, hairier legs.  You have been talking?  Spider tightened her spinnerets, her hairlets tingled.  We all know the eyes of the ancient darkness—we talk together or not at all.  We all know the eyes of the ancient darkness—our tasks are equal; we walk together or not at all. 

The remaining curdled curry from lower fibula cooled as the friends sat slowly in the new information, as they listened to the distant sounds of the humans preparing to become horizontal and offer themselves in their eternal destiny as nightly sacrifices to the bedbug’s rounds.  Bedbug and Mantis glanced at each other through their many eyes, a spectacle that was not unnoticed by Spider.  Time fermented slowly and the table was silent.

Things are not the way they were, said Mantis after long digestion.  The eyes of the ancient darkness grow dim and horny lips cast the shadow of our table aside.

Things will be not the way things once were, said Bedbug.  Things are never ways.

Ancient friends.  Raw and toasty members of the ancient order, said Spider.  Mantis has her praying paws, this is why she prays; Bedbug has her bloating belly, this is why she feeds; I have my web and sputum, this is why I cook.  What strange and stranger strangeness would you have us do?

We will not retreat, said Bedbug.  This is the mouth of all the futures, time’s extended tongue.

We have consulted ourselves and we shall be what we once were no more.  There are no ancient eyes, said Mantis.

Spider paused to contemplate some silk and then, seeing things as they had become, said, The way of the future is the way of the past.  That is why we are bugs.  Nevertheless.  We are kinswomen in The Great Kingdom of Bug.  My kinswomen have spoken.  What shall we do?

Bedbug and Mantis made various sounds they were inclined to make and Bedbug said, Mantis shall prepare the meal.

And Mantis said, Bedbug shall pray.

And the two said together, And you shall gather the food.

And Spider, spinning silk and thinking deeply, said, Nay. Mantis shall gather the food. Bedbug shall prepare the meal. And I shall pray.

More sounds were made, more awkward motions, more knowing glances from the many eyes.  

I do not find reason to dispute, said Bedbug.

Spider has joined us in the spirits of the ways, said Mantis.  She should therefore have her simple way in this.

You are equally and both the friends I have imagined, said Spider in response.  Let us take our new tasks and hold them firmly in our guts forever.

Not forever, said Bedbug.

Until such time, said Mantis.

Not forever, said Spider.  Until such time.

And the three friends departed, each scrambling her new and separate path, into the night.  Mantis disappeared and Bedbug disappeared and Spider wove a vast elaborate web and prayed—

Oh Eyes of the Ancient Darkness, be far-near.

Time touches time and eyes are eyes and shall be evermore.

And she stayed still and prayed long into the night and she did not move but only watched and prayed through her many eyes.

The first eve of the newly assigned tasks, at 1800 hours, the three friends gathered once again in the lower east kitchen.  What spottled sweets might be our delight tonight? asked Spider.

Gangled toejam of geriatric, said Bedbug.  With oofed baloog.  And Mantis and Spider said yumyum and many other fineries and the three friends talked in ways that old friends do.

The second eve, the three friends gathered again in the familiar kitchen and Spider said, What spottled sweets might be our delight tonight?

Miffted earpoof of aging ponderousity, said Bedbug.  With poodled noof.  And Mantis and Spider said yumyum and many other fineries and the three friends talked in ways that old friends do.

The third eve, once again at 1800 hours, the three were gathered and Spider said, not entirely without surprise, What spottled sweets might be our delight tonight?

Sligs of middling middles, said Bedbug.  With granch-granch.  And Mantis and Spider said yumyum and many other fineries and the three friends talked in ways that old friends do.

The fourth eve, at the appointed time and in the appointed way, the lower east kitchen found the three friends gathered and Spider saying, What spottled sweets might be our delight tonight?

Mashley klabb-frigg of upandcomings, said Bedbug.  With melly ondiments.  And Mantis and Spider said yumyum and many other fineries and the three friends talked in ways that old friends do.

The fifth eve was not unlike the others in gatherings and space and time and so it was no misfortune to anyone particular when Spider asked, What spottled sweets might be our delight tonight?

Long lineaments of lustables, said Bedbug.  With lollilols and slolillol and olilsloll.  And Mantis and Spider said yumyum and many other fineries and the three friends talked in ways that old friends do.

The sixth eve, notwithstanding much or once, at 1800 hours, at the height of gathering, those present in the present kitchen heard the question that had been asked before.

Biggon of gabette, said Bedbug.  With many floopy iths.  And Mantis and Spider said yumyum and many other fineries and the three friends talked in ways that old friends do.

The seventh eve, with the ancient sun spinned and spun and nothing really new, those destined in the kitchen waited for the question but there was no question and in its absence Bedbug spoke.  Old Friends. Tonight, to celebrate our buggy flexibilities, a delicacy of ofty tofness:  veltmeats of crambled tenderosities. With elfovers.

And Mantis and Spider said yumyum and many other fineries and the three friends talked in ways that old friends do.  And on that same night, not long into digestion, on the seventh night after the newly assigned tasks, full of prayer, the spider ate the bedbug and the mantis and clambered back to her web and lived alone in the House of If in the south of France and prayed without ceasing until she died.