The sun was already hot and it was only mid-day as Sue
started to deadhead the bountiful display of rhododendron. It was while she was
thinking she had never seen them more strikingly beautiful, when her eye caught
sight of something in the centre of the shrub. Parting the branches she could
see a delicate paper pulped lantern that had been carefully constructed by its
now angry inhabitants. Immediately realizing her danger she withdrew, and
speedily headed for shelter of the house some distance away while under attack
from the disturbed wasp warriors.
How her face had swollen after dunking it several
times in a bowl of cold water and smothering the many stings in bicarbonate of
soda, but it wasn’t until the early evening that the painful stings began to
subside. When her husband returned he remarked on the swellings and said he
would have to get rid of the nest at the weekend. Several times over the next
few weeks Sue reminded him, and each time he said he would when he had time
destroy it.
One day later that summer Sue having been shopping
came home to find her husband George very red and swollen in the face. He too
had been gardening near to the wasps’ domain and as a result had received their
war like reception.
“Tomorrow I will put paid to them!” he said amongst
language he only normally used when enraged by a situation. Then he spent some
time making serious plans on paper, for as he vocally put it, this was full
scale war and the next day’s victory would provide him, George, with much
needed revenge.
The next morning when Sue arose and realized George
had slept on the sofa and had she suspected, spent much of his sleeping time
considering the extermination and the preparation of defences needed to carry
out this operation. George was taking no chances; he had suffered enough from
their venom and was not prepared to allow those vicious varmints’ even the
slightest chance to attack him again.
Meticulously he dressed in his armour, which consisted
of a black bin bag with open seams for the waterproof jacket arms to protrude.
This he tied at the waist over a pair of waterproof trousers tucked firmly into
green wellington boots coordinating with his balaclava. Hanging on his arm was
a pair of ancient motor cycle goggles that had once belonged to his
Granddad. Apart from his hands which he
explained would be inside the rubber gloves he had borrowed from the kitchen,
he was well protected from their bombarding wrath should he not succeed with
what he considered a perfect plan.
Feeling pleased with himself at this stage in the
manoeuvre, he then gathered the weapons needed for the massacre which consisted
of; a large reinforced but flexible plastic bag, cigarette lighter, penknife,
diesel he kept in a can for the lawn mower, and a length of frayed rope he had
prepared in advance. Then checking the windows in case he needed to retreat in
a hurry strode determinedly the hundred yards to the chosen cremation area.
His next task seemed to Sue watching from the window
with both amusement and concern, to be rather time consuming, as he proceeded
to loosely screw newspaper into balls of paper around a fire lighter and
placing shaven wooden sticks on top. She knew he had carefully selected them
the previous night after destroying Grannies old chair, and now as far as she
could tell was arranging them respectfully on the garden incinerator.
As she watched she saw that George was threading the
frayed rope into the diesel can allowing it time to absorb the liquid. After a
few seconds he withdrew it and positioned one end deep beneath the paper and
wood, then trailed the remainder with care down the lawn and closer to the
house.
Giving his wife the thumbs up sign he cautiously
approached the enemies territory with the plastic bag and penknife at the
ready, having dropped the lighter at the end of the rope. In slow motion he put
first one foot and then the other just below the rhododendron bush, and then
waited a moment mentally assessing the nest’s exact location, before he could
take them by surprise. To Sue the scene in front of her eyes was like a TV
comedy with George her husband playing the lead role.
Later he proudly explained the procedure performed
inside the bush and the difficulties of wearing rubber gloves while struggling
to cut through the cemented pulp securing the nest. How it was a race against
time while he forced the bag beneath the sculptured master piece to ensure he
captured it whole, as it dropped directly into the bin bag. George then had
drifted in thought, before quietly adding, “I think maybe half a dozen got away”. All that was
required of Sue was a few sympathetic grunts of acknowledgement for his heroic
act, then to stifle her mischievous smile.
But all Sue had seen was George running like never
before while tying the bag of buzzing occupants securely and jamming them
ruthlessly into the well prepared incinerator. She saw him turning with clumsy
speed as he headed towards the house, disrobing on route. The adrenalin was
flowing through his veins as he had breathlessly covered the ground between
murder and survival, with a face inflated like a boiled beetroot.
Sue laughed out loud at the spectacle taking place, it
was good to see the funny side, although it was at George’s expense. She did experience a smattering of guilt,
which had soon disappeared as she witnessed the smile of self-satisfaction he
gave her, before igniting the rope, and the crematorium became a raging
inferno.
No comments:
Post a Comment