陳廉方
Shakespeare: The Comedy
B90102097
14 January, 2005
外文四
Creative Writing: The Birth of Puck
On a tranquil mid-summer night’s eve, by a translucent lake, a tremulous birth
befell. A fairy hand rose to a fairy mouth to cover a fairy hiccup. A centaur hoof
plowed the ground as the centaur eyes faced the centaur-lover.
“My love, any more?” the centaur asked the fairy.
“Alas, I think, no more.” she hiccupped again. No more creatures in its infancy
fell from the hiccup.
The conception had been instant, the pregnancy short, and the birth sweet. It was
a match made in Elysium. Three little bundles of glitter sparkled under the radiant
moon.
An owl hooted in the far distance.
“O my brethrens of the wood are messaging me. The calls are drenched with
urgency. They speak of war and pillage and festivity. To the shadowy forest must I
depart my love.”
“Fair man-horse, I do beseech thee to linger but a wink. Thou has not yet even
glanced upon thy newborn suckling. Please but tarry if not for the mother of your
suckling, but for their namelessness.”
The owl hoots once more. The message is emphasized by a solid howl from a
horn.
“’Tis the buffalo honking so robustly. They do speak of invasion of our house. I
must join my herd and protect the fillies. Athenians has disturbed our grounds and
disordered our foals. They will birth no more this year. God’s oath, man’s insistence
on disturbing nature. No mind, my winged-filly. I shall double the revenge upon their
houses, and return triumphant with cream and milk and names.” The angry centaur
flexes his pectoral muscle to demonstrate determination, and stomps off.
“Egads! What of this?” the fairy beats her wings and emits a piercing cry. In the
heat and urgency of the centaur’s flight, he had planted a firm hoof on the velvety
lake-side earth. A glittering imprint of his hoof tattooed the ground. Bits of suckling
sparkled in the grooves.
“O fated night. Zeus envied the love I had, Hera coveted the comminglings I
bore. ‘Tis but resentment toward my beauty, my beau, my babes. My offspring, my
offspring, my offspring. What? Not all gone, but still two left? O my offspring, how
fate has robbed you of your sibling. I curse…O but what of this?” the fairy stops
mid-soliloquy.
The bundles of glitter were unfolding. She saw the second blossom first. The
crystal wings unfurled purposefully to reveal a silver-haired commingling. The human
language could only describe the beautiful winged creature as a she. This sprite-she
had been gifted with her mother’s graceful limbs, luminous wings and her father’s
silky tail-hair, beguiling mischievous gaze. The first bundle then bursted second.
Stubby wings gave way to a he. This dark-he was given nothing in appearance by his
father or mother, but rather complimented with tokens of his dual lineage. He had the
muscular limbs of a centaur ready to cause havoc and the shadowy wit of a fairy ready
to dupe humans. He generated insidiousness bordering malevolence.
“O my fair swarthy ones, I am thy and thy mother. Welcome to this tranquil night,
so rudely marked by a violent departure…O o o…but carpe diem must we proceed,
else other ill-mannered actions befall our brood.” The fairy recomposes herself, and
studies her offspring. Grandly, she announces:
“Thou, I shall name Gooood, for thou embodies all that is good. In the archaic
fairy tongue does this word possess meanings as well. Thou are Gooood, the
beautiful-mixture-that-drums-merrily-along-the-bank-and-sees-not-the-evil-of-the
world-even-in-rain. My blessings to thee on this fateful night. Thou shalt not blame
thy father, nor they sibling. Together we shall prevail over cruel fate, my beautiful
one.” Gooood cooed. Little Puck blinked.
She takes a breath, “and thou my stubby one, thou I shall call Puck. For the name
has a sound much like thy wing, short and apt.”
Little Puck’s eyes flickered.
“O, and thou misfortunate offspring, not knowing thy character, thy appearance,
thy gender, I shall have to title thee Felloe. Thy were a fellow to us on this tranquil
night, and thy shall remain a fellow to us in our hearts.
“My little offspring, are you hungry? I shall fetch thee jewels from the deep and
sing while thou on pressed flower does sleep. And I will purge thy nightmares of the
night so, that thou shall like born-again newborns go. To sleep.” The fairy fluttered off
looking for nectar for her prized one.
Little Puck blinked again. He turned his head to watch his sibling coo. A lady
bug upon passing, hears her, and stops to play peek-a-boo with his polka-dotted wings.
He makes a feeble attempt at a coo, it comes out as a croak, and is shushed by a
scorpion. At this, Little Puck decides after his first and last try of his life, to give up
being good. He was not good at it. Becoming angry at the thought, his already dark
eyes become black holes, sucking out light and flashing evilness.
At Gooood’s next coo, Little Puck turned. All of his negative energy shot toward
his sibling. Not being bad, just not good, Little Puck glareed at Gooood.
His stomach gurgled. He was hungry.
Gooood cooed again. She was simply illuminant and beautiful. And delicious.
Puck salivated.
The wind picked up a little, and the fairy was ushered to the lake side. She had
found much nectar for her commingling.
“Pucky, where art thy sibling?”
Little Puck croaked.
“Why is there fairy dust all around? Thou art too young to make fairy dust from
thy wing. Pray, why is there dust on your cheeks?”
Little Puck burped.
*
*
*
In the wood, as the centaurs carried off an Athenian to the sage to document in
the Human Fantasy Chronicles, the words of the wind caught one silver-tailed
centaur’s ears.
“Robbin’ Gooood, Robbin’ Felloe, robbin’ good felloe!”
So solid were the words that they drifted into the ears of humans in the village as
well. And so became the tale of one fairy sprite: Puck, Robin Goodfellow.