by Rachael Long
erm...well, it’s two...”
“There are two!” exclaimed Eva and Adele.
“No, no,” said the stork. “It is two myths! You have confused two myths. The giant moth is a myth.” The stork grinned, “almost alliteration, that, you know. This is too; Moth, myth. Myth, moth. These words are easily confused. And the giant tree hugging bit? Well that was started by a lost explorer... There is definitely no giant moth – tree hugging or otherwise.”
Reginald looked at the stork. “The moth is a myth and the myth is a moth? Are you French, crane?” The stork shook his head.
“Have you,” continued Reginald, “ever seen the giant tree hugging moth, to know it is not real?”
The stork scratched his head, a little confused. “If I had seen it, I would know it was real and that it existed. As it is a myth and one doesn't usually see myths, I haven't...”
Reginald held up his hand. “So, Monsieur Le Stork, you really cannot say it is not real?” The stork shook his head. “All you have done,” said Reginald feeling he was doing quite well, “is invent your own myth that the myth of the moth really is only a myth. Very well then...” he said with a flourish. “Carson, your Pocket Collins English/French, French/English Dictionary if you will.”
Carson passed the dictionary to Reginald who flicked through the pages then announced; “if your moth is a myth but the myth that the moth is a myth is nothing but a myth made up by you, we will seek out La grande papillon de nuit!” Reginald waited for applause but there was none except for a shout of “encore, si vous plait!” from the tree monkeys.
Just then the post colonial travelling French ballet troupe known as Les Termites pirouetted into the clearing. They gathered around the stork and complained, “You, Monsieur Le Caretaker Stork of The Lost Forest did not tell us that this Lost Forest was full of nasty surprises! First the army ants carry away our stage and then the curtains to our dressing room come alive! You told us the giant moth was a myth”
“You saw the myth moth? It is really real!” Reginald asked.
“It is really scary, that’s what it is,” replied Les Termites who always spoke as one. “And it is angry. It did not like having its wings used as dressing room curtains...but oh, la, la they were so soft... But despite its gossamer softness, we quit!” The ballet troupe then formed a line and danced their way out of the Lost Forest.
“Well, Monsieur Le Stork, its seems your myth is real – a really big myth!”
“You mean moth,” replied a disgruntled stork.
“Exactement!” smiled Reginald, Prince of Baboons, “Right,! As you were, people. Carmel and Carson fetch the supplies. Eva and Adele follow me.” With that Reginald, Prince of Baboons ran out of the clearing and into the forest. A moment later he stopped and called back, “Eva and Adele, you better go first. Have either of you got a torch, a match, candle? It is dark, isn't it...”
The stork shrugged and followed on after Reginald and Eva and Adele, muttering to himself that it was all bound to end in tears. Myths were myths for a reason. Myths worth seeking out were called legends...
High up in the trees the tree monkeys yawned. One said to the other, “did you follow any of that?” The second tree monkey shrugged in a very Gallic sort of way then said,
“Did you know of this French Myth Moth?”
The first nodded and said, “It’s a funny thing but I heard it was really a sloth with theatrical ambitions.”
“A thespian sloth? What part was it playing that required it to dress as a myth moth?”
“Oh, a giant, tree-hugging moth, I believe,” said the first.
They both nodded thoughtfully. Then the first tree monkey suggested, “Perhaps it’s an allegory.”
“Yes,” agreed the second. “Or an extended metaphor...although, personally, I rather like similes. Nothing brings a smile to my face like a good simile.”
They sat silently for a moment or two...“I suppose it could all have been a literary conceit?” said the first, adding, “I should say that coconut was most probably a literary conceit...I mean, it could so easily been a pineapple...”
The second agreed and added that had it been a pineapple, it would have been a nice treat. Although coconuts were better than pineapples for throwing.
The first nodded in agreement and for a while they both listened to the leaves rustling in the warm breeze and enjoyed the gentle sway of the trees. Then the first said, “Come on, let’s follow that baboon.”
Some weeks later, somewhere in the deepest, darkest, dark part of the most lost bit of the Lost Forest, Reginald, Prince of Baboons called out,
“Carmel, don't eat that vine...it might be the giant moth's antennae!”
It was too late...
“My glasses, my blacked-out-glasses,” screamed Reginald, Prince of Baboons,
“its all too real to be true!”
The End
If you have enjoyed reading
Reginald, Prince of Baboons,
please let others know
and look out for more tales and stories by me such as
The Spotless Leopard
The Honey Elephant
and more
Thank you
Rachael Long
