Whistling for the Elephants by Sandi Toksvig Read Free Book Online Page A

windows overlooking the terrace, was entirely white. Well, ex—
white. Ghost white. The carpets, the curtains, the walls and all the furniture
had once been polar. Now they had a grey sheen of cobwebs. Despite the dust, I
could see the river flowing purple through the rose-colored glass of the
windows. A real moth fluttered from the grey curtains and made me jump. The
insect woman nodded at it. What did I know, maybe they were family.
    ‘They
say the first primitive moths fluttered over giant dinosaurs a hundred and
forty million years ago. Imagine that. The butterflies came much later. Forty
million years. Really they are the new kids on the block. The moth is
beautiful. Here, look.’ From inside her folds of brown clothing she removed a
large black-rimmed magnifying glass, which she held up to the moth near my
head. ‘Look. See how it has a tiny kind of hook-and-bristle thing linking its
fore and hind wings? It can fly better than an airplane. Land more accurately
than a helicopter. Of course some female moths can’t fly at all.’ She put down
the magnifying glass and looked at me.
    ‘Did
you know that there are more species of beetle than any other type of insect?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Butterflies
and moths are unique. Almost every part of their body from their wings to their
feet is covered by thousands of delicate scales. That’s what gives them colour
and pattern, but we don’t see them. Do you like insects?’
    ‘I don’t
know. I don’t like spiders.’
    ‘A
spider could catch this moth. Some spiders can make a smell like a female moth
and attract the male.’ She nodded at me confidentially. ‘Attraction is all
about chemicals.’
    ‘Whose
house is this?’ I asked.
    ‘It is
mine.’ She gently touched a cobweb which glistened against the tinted glass. ‘My
father built it for my mother. John, big John. It was the house of love. He
wanted to marry her before they even met.’ The house of love stood silent as
the woman sighed.
    After a
moment she pointed to the spider’s work. ‘See this web? See how it is shaped
like the sun and its rays? Spiders always spin them in the morning to remind
people of their divine ancestor. It was Grandmother Spider who brought the sun.’
Behind her the tinted glass made ripples of palest crimson, aubergine, blue,
yellow and green on the river. ‘Do you think spiders feel?’ she asked. I had
never thought about it. I was sure my family had never thought about it. We
were English.
    ‘I don’t
know.’
    ‘Do you
know why people hate spiders? Because they aren’t cute. I like trapdoor
spiders. They live in the ground and make silk-lined tubes. Sometimes they have
silk trapdoors and they can shoot out from them to capture passing insects. I
put one in alcohol once.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘A
trapdoor spider. They twitch awhile if you put them in alcohol but after that
you can keep them for ever. She had babies on her back. I took them off with
tweezers and put her in alcohol. After a while I thought she was dead so I
dropped the babies in. The babies floated down in the jar and as they passed
their mother, the spider reached out her legs, folded her babies beneath her
and clasped them to her till she died. I think it was a reflex. I figure she
would have seized anything floating near. Of course it wouldn’t have happened
if I had used chloroform instead of alcohol. That kills them stone dead.’ The
insect woman clutched herself smaller. ‘Then I thought about it. The spider’s
web is very complicated. If they can do that, why can’t they love their kids as
well? You don’t know what’s in the mind of a spider, do you?’
    The
light was fading but we sat there on the floor, trying to imagine the silent
spinning spider with the potentially rich inner life harbouring a riot of
emotions. Had I known what it meant I think I would have felt almost philosophical.
Until a single word cut through the silence.
    ‘Cunt.’
    Even in
the richness of the English language there are