Lacertidae
Gabriel Rosenstock
“Don’t let there be any “suppose” there at all!” she said, assuming complete control of the situation. Her claws were out now. Spor ar an gcois agus gan an chos ann, is gan d’anam sa chorp ach ar nós cúr na habhann: ‘a spur on the foot but there’s no foot there, and the soul in your body is like foam, like air.’ Isn’t that what they say? “Complete and utter self-pity!” she said, her voice hard and merciless. “Do you think that the others – the rest of them who are outside these walls – have cowardly feelings such as anger? Or loneliness? Or joy? Why would you – or any of us – want to have any truck with – with that. . .with that stupidity? It’s a chimera! Get a grip on yourself. Calm. A self-control that is cold and clinical. These are the traits which are required to function effectively in the 21st century! Do you give yourself up to this complete mastery of the emotions – so that you may be cool-headed, smooth, and completely imperturbable?” Client X has a look on his face indicating that he had done so. “How could your family possibly miss a half-animal – the likes of you?” She consulted her mini-computer and accessesd his file. “You were somebody who used to have a banana for breakfast – every single morning! Isn’t this so?” “I’ve always had a weakness for bananas, I’m afraid,” admitted X. The counsellor has a glance at the wall where a plaque hangs in memory of a former client of the Irish Institute of Lizardry, Ltd. who fell in the War of the Bananas (a war which occurred with the full approval the United Nations). A nod is as good as a wink to a blind man. Isn’t that what they say? Just the mention of bananas and I am salivating. “A banana for breakfast!” she shouts out sarcastically. “And you have all the appearances of it too! And what’s wrong with flies anyway?” “Nothing. . .” said Client X in reply. Tadhg understands Little Tadhg and Little Tadhg understands nothing. Isn’t that what they say? 20
The second counsellor breaks in now and it occurs to me that they have been playing this game of good cop/bad cop for six or seven years now; the stream of conversation flows so smoothly from her. “Thanks to the flyologists, there’s no lack of food here; nor is there any lack of variety. You all understand what is suitable and responsible nutrition by now. The extinction of the frogs – as a consequence of the damage which was done to the ozone layer and other environmental factors – that meant a huge increase in the fly population; at the same time, thanks to the Institutes of Lizardry in America, in Japan, in Germany and even in green Ireland herself, the scientists discovered an enormous variety of ways to cook, process and package a range of flies and other insects. Could there be any of us at this stage who might still be unaware of the goodness and nourishment, both physical and spiritual, that is ensured by eating the Mayfly or the Greenfly, the Bedbug, the Water-Boatman, the luscious Leaf Hopper, the pretty Pond Skater…” The other counsellor added to the list: “The appetizing Alder Fly, the lovely Lacewing, the seductive Scorpion Fly, the winsome White Fly, the sweet Stone Fly, the Yellow Dung-Fly (what a dote!), the solid Stable-Fly, the HorseFly (hurrah for him), the curious Crane-Fly, not to mention the butterflies we eat on Sundays and on Lizard Day. Which butterflies do we eat on Sundays and on Lizard Day?” Each of us called out the names of the various butterflies, one after another: “The Clouded Yellow Butterfly.” “The Monarch Butterfly.” “The Small Mountain Ringlet Butterfly.” “The Holly Blue Butterfly.” “The Small Heath Butterfly.” “The Queen of Spain Fritillary Butterfly”. “The Camberwell Beauty Butterfly”, known in Irish as Bé na Fallainge, (the Cloaked Maiden). “The Red Admiral…”
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