Part Two: Flight and Fear

When I burst through the theatre doors and found myself on the street I ran like a madman. My mind was unusually focused, and my only thought was to distance myself from the harridans who would strangle me. I hurtled along the street and away from the theatre, following the spiked green railings which separated the street from the park. And as I ran, terror goaded me, shouted at me...

"Run you bastard, run... Faster, faster..."

And my legs became a blur, like con rods on a flywheel revving at fantastic speeds. Yet running did not seem efficient enough. My gait extended into huge, leaping strides with my body leaning forward, as though every inch away from them would add to my escape. And to fuel me on were the children of the harridans, looking at me, oblivious to my plight, sitting in the park digging for tadpoles. They spurred me on. My leaps became longer; huge striding steps which distanced me even further, until, without realising it I noticed that I was pole-vaulting. For I was still carrying the killing pole, and in my haste, had neglected to drop it. For a few seconds I thought I was flying, and that I had done it, that nothing could catch me... In the distanced I heard a whistling swish.

I turned my head and saw Saphony. She was magnificent. She had stripped down to her athlete's garb and was vaulting after me with horrific efficiency. I arced my pole forward and vaulted again. I looked back again. Saphony was in mid flight, her legs together, toes pointed and accurate. My God, I thought, once we had been lovers!

I realised then that I could not escape. Saphony had been to long an athlete to allow that. Through the railings, the children sat in muddy pits and dug for their tadpoles. I knew then, that this was indeed a land of frogs and cats and kittens and toads.

My unguided flight took me into an alley and the alley was a dead end. I could go no further. I stopped my vaulting and waited. Saphony soared through the air in a beautiful arc, her hands gripping the top of her pole. She landed gracefully and seemed to bounce with fitness. Her face was stern and all her compassion was gone. She said nothing, but with deliberate theatre screwed a looping hook into the end of her pole.

I gasped. I panted for breath. Fear enveloped me. I hadn't realised how tired I'd become, how exhausted I was. Saphony gave a final twist and the hook was tight. She then came towards me, her face serious with a Bruce Lee snarl. My chest pumped with exhaustion.

At one time I suppose, I would have fought Saphony. But these days they were making women much stronger. Saphony had a physique which few could aspire too. Her arms were muscular and her torso was solid. Small, block-like, abdominal muscles were visible under the skin. It was obvious how strong she was. Once more the awful apathy enveloped me.

Just give in... surrender... stop fighting her...

I raised my chin and waited.

But this will kill you! The pain of strangulation... you'll cease to be...

Nobody could have predicted my escape; least of all myself. Yet there I was, on a ledge, up a building, and out Saphony's reach. Below me on the ground was my broken pole, sacrificed in my audacious attempt - and Saphony looking incredulous. Whether her incredulous look was due to my escaping once more, or whether it was due to my stupendous balancing feat, I do not know, but I wasted no time thinking about it and edged myself along the ledge towards the roof. Saphony looked up.

"He's done it again!" she said, then sprung her pole in readiness to launch herself after me.

The ledge led to a flat roof and the flat roof became girders. We ran along the steel-girders at fiery speeds, each foot accurately hitting the six inch flange of the girders. To miss would be death. Yet we traversed the heights with superb confidence, me the hunted, and she the hunter. For a while I was happy with the chase. My lungs pumped air at a ferocious rate and my body became a machine; and for a while I could almost forget her. Yet she was always there, always behind me and the suppressed fact came to me that I couldn't escape; and that if I wanted to live I would have to keep running, and that I couldn't rest, couldn't sleep...

My mind screamed at me to stop.

"It's only death for Christ's cake... Stop.. Stop!"

My legs faltered and I started to stumble.

"It comes to us all. Give in, let yourself go, you'll have to in the end..."

My breathing lost rhythm and exhaustion swamped me. I staggered like a drunk over the girders. Then I thought of the pain.

"Somebody will kill you! Squeeze the life from your brain... end you... finish you..!"

I managed to speed up a little.

"Agonising pain... your life fading... existence vanishing..."

My pace quickened again. Yet I knew it was hopeless. I could never hope to out run Saphony, or, when she caught me, out fight Saphony. The time would come when she would reach me, subdue me and then finish me. And I wondered why that time was not now? Why she seemed so content to stay behind me?

And as I ran, the girders became road. And the road went back to the green railings and the children looked at me from their mud holes - oblivious to my plight. In the distance was the theatre. I started to slow down. Saphony touched my shoulder and guided me towards it. The Harridans waited like a human corral. They stepped aside and allowed me to enter. My steps thumped to a halt and I started gasping again. The matron stepped forward and looked at me, her huge, dinner lady arms folded across her ample bosom.

Nothing was said. I dropped to my knees in exhaustion and waited. Saphony came and touched me and I surrendered my will.

"A land of frogs and cats and kitten and toads," she said, almost triumphantly.

Part Three: Execution

They led us into the green park, through the railings where the children played. I was still alive. I thought that the harridans would've throttled me instantly, but it seemed that others too had escaped, and that it was better to finish us off in a designated place.

I was surprised that 'others' had even seen through the conspiracy, but that was a common arrogance of mine, and I always thought that it was only me who understood; when in reality I understood nothing. There were women amongst us, and that was not how I saw things. I'd always assumed that it was women who beckoned into danger, it hadn't occurred to me that they too could be beckoned. But regardless of my delusions, the fact was that we were there to die. And the only comfort I could glean, was that I alone did not come from a land of frogs and cats and kittens and toads.

Eventually, we came to the execution sheds. We had walked for miles, through bog and marshland to a place by the river. None of us were hopeful and we all expected to die. I tried to raise some memories from my life. Apathy swamped me. The sons of the harridans looked at us from their cubicles. We marched passed them towards the stockyards where more of them waited. Then, without speech or taunt, the sons of the harridans fitted their hooks. I wondered if they cared that one day, this would happen to them. I raised my chin and allow the hook to bite me. This time I would die. This time I would accept it.

"No! I will not!"

I listened with disbelief.

"I will not put on your hook!"

We all listened with disbelief.

"I will not die in this place of yours!"

A tiny woman stood with anger.

"You think I'm mad, a blithering fool, to die in jumped up market stall..."

She leapt from the grip of a son of a harridan.

"Your conspiracy stinks, I see it all, your shed of death is a market stall...

And what is more, my blood is pure, and of this land I have a cure

Of frogs and cats and kittens and toads, I strike at you and your secret codes

And though I know I cannot win, I never, never, will give in

So come on harpies, snarl and hiss, and as you come, remember this

It isn't easy to strangle me, for I am French, and believe in liberty!"

And the small woman leapt into a mud hole where the children had been digging. She reached deep into the squelching mud and pulled out a handful of wriggling tadpoles. They clung to her fingers in a disgusting gel.

"These are your frogs and cats and kittens and toads," she hissed, and in a gesture of defiance, crushed the tadpoles in her worker's hand.

At first I thought she was mad. Didn't she know that nothing could be done? But something was honourable about her. And as I looked at her in the pit, with the crushed tadpoles seeping between her fingers, I saw that she was right. The execution shed was a market stall. It was nothing special... It could be dismantled!

Once again I wrenched the hook from my throat and cuffed the son who carried it, then leapt to pit and grasped the lady's hand. I pulled her from the putrid mud.

"To battle," I cried!

For a single second there was silence, then uproar, as we who were to be done away with, joined forces to defend our souls.

We fought like Spartans; a few defenders against outrageous odds. Our heroism was unquestionable, but I wondered how a tribunal would view the murder we had done. Broken bodies lay at our feet, smashed with the weapons that came to hand, and I freely admit, I enjoyed smashing the skulls of the sons of the harridans. And a camaraderie grew between us, as we the condemned, fought like Spartans.

But like Spartans, we were doomed. And if we killed a hundred harridans, a thousand took their place.

Once more I prepared to die, once more I waited for the hook of steel to crush my jugular... Then heard the cry of the fiery French woman.

"The roof comrades... the roof... climb to the roof...!

Once more she had shown me the way. Her plan to victory was obvious. We could survive.

"You there," I cried, to the last of our defenders, "hold this corner, I can see a way out!"

I lifted the small French woman onto the corrugated roof, then pulled myself up after her. Below us the battle raged, and I hoped that our band could continue without us. But this time I could see salvation, this time I dared to hope.

The harridans and their sons swarmed onto the roof like a plague of locusts. I stood alone with my makeshift weapon and battered them into oblivion. I swung at them from all sides whilst the tiny French woman worked furiously behind her screen. The harridans and their sons attacked even harder, and I knew by the ferocity of their attack that we were close to defeating them. Then the French woman started ripping up the sheets of the corrugated roof. The harridans gasped. For once it was they who might loose this battle and a new strength surged through my body. I started to rip the corrugated sheets from their holdings.

The harridans fell back, as though vaporising at the loss of their shed.

This is it, I thought, we have won, we've destroyed your evil.

We threw the sheets to the ground in a noisy pile.

"Yes... yes!"

Then as the shed collapsed about us, and I wrenched the final sheet from its holding, I saw a harridan holding up their symbolic card. It's meaning was obvious; you may have destroyed our shed. But in your haste you forgot your compatriots.

I felt myself slump. Without leadership the rebellion had crumbled. The harridans had taken them and held them as hostages. Then smirking in a horrible way, she closed the door of the harridan's house.

Our victory was hollow.

"So," I said to the French woman. "This really is a land of frogs and cats and kittens and toads"

The French woman fell to her knees and gripped the mud. Tadpoles slipped through her fingers. She looked upwards towards the grey sky.

"OF FROGS!." She shouted it loud.

".... AND CATS... AND KITTENS... "

Her voice quietened to a whisper.

" ...and toads..."

Then bowed her head and waited.

Part Four: Epilogue

The Harridans door remained closed. The two defenders eventually walked away, and escaped with their lives.

Of the house, a gang of car-ringers, sickened by what had happened, broke in and freed the remaining defenders. The harridans and their sons were scattered far away. When this work was done, a ringer was heard to remark.

"How can I continue my hatred of foreign motors, when that place was filled up with those weirdoes and their cars!"

I think I know what he means.

Passive observer.