THE POLITICS OF PARADISE POND

          

                                                                          Chapter Three
                                                              Making Friends - and foes

In this strange new watery world Peter started to realize how vulnerable he might be, and the three characters confronting him were proof of that.
Only minutes ago he had been swept away by the intoxicating freedom he had discovered. He had swum and danced in a way he never would have believed possible, losing all inhibitions as he twisted and turned, performing stunts never dreamed of in his 'other' world.
That had been unreal; but now, suddenly, he was faced with reality in the shape of three dragon-like creatures. Raised on their back legs with heads held high, they were huge and menacing. Peter quickly lost his silliness and for a moment was struck dumb, but Frederick was his usual buoyant self.
"Trust you to spoil it when we were having a little fun." he shouted. Then turning to Peter he said, "This is Giles," adding, with more than a touch of sarcasm, "who claims to be king of the newts."
Giles laughed quietly, almost a chuckle "Frederick is very amusing." he said in a surprisingly cultured voice "He knows perfectly well that I make no claim - unlike some we know - to be king. Although, like all my great crested relatives," - gesturing as he spoke towards his companions - "we are favoured with blue blood, and yes," he stopped for a moment "I do have a grand duke or two in the family tree." his lieutenants were a little smaller than he but were also bearing a magnificent comb on their backs, but before they or Giles could speak, Frederick jumped forward.
         "Don't take any notice," he shouted, "it's all made up. He's nothing but a thug underneath."
         "There he goes again." Giles's even tones contrasted with Frederick's rather hysterical ones. "I can offer proof of my ancestors if you wish; and anyway, just ask Frederick who his father was, never mind his grandfather ..." He paused, feeling he had made his point, and once again there was that little chuckle, and a moments pause before he continued. "And as for being a thug ... Oh no." the amused inflection still in his voice. "Oh no; not me; my friends here provide that service for me when it is needed." Once again he indicated his companions standing at either side. "They are very loyal and protective."
         With that he turned away, his protectors following, and made as if to return to the rocks.
         "Just one moment," Peter spoke for the first time having regained some of his confidence. "I thought that there were things that needed to be discussed, things that we should talk about."
         Giles stopped and turned his head, the defused light of the sun sparkling on his magnificent crest which ran from his neck to his tail.
         "Quite so, quite so; but who are you; you're just a boy?" he asked in his most imperious voice.
         Frederick stood tall on his flippers in a trice. "He owns the rest of the world."
         Both he and Giles, being members of an amphibious species, unlike the majority of the ponds inhabitants, knew something about the meadow and the wood, and although they had heard stories of things beyond those boundaries, for the most part that was the extent of their knowledge. For them that was the rest of the world. Some brave souls may have travelled beyond those faraway boundaries, but of those only a few who had returned, bringing with them wild tales of giants and castles. All were dismissed as being mad.
         Giles looked at Peter with a knew interest. "You claim to own the rest of the world?"
         "Yes, that is correct. Well at least my grandfather does."
         "And our world?" He swept his head and shoulders in a wide semi circle "are you going to tell me you own our world too?"
         "Well yes, as a matter of fact I do."
         "As a matter of fact he does." Giles repeated the words to his cronies, making a noise that was probably his equivalent to a sardonic laugh.
         "And I suppose that you are going to claim to be God."
         Peter was shocked. The very idea that a newt, even one of the magnificent Great Crested variety, should understand the concept of a God astonished him. It was a while before he answered.
         "I have never thought of my grandfather as God, but he does have the power to change your lives; or even to destroy you, if he wanted to."
         "Destroy us?" Giles's response was non-committal.
         "Oh but he doesn't want to ... it's just that he can ... if he wanted to ... "
         Peter stopped not knowing how to proceed, how to explain the unexplainable, and how to impress upon his potential adversary that he was a force to be reckoned with.
         Giles was either unimpressed with Peter and his claims, or perhaps saw it as just another challenge to his own ambitions. In any event he made no attempt to confront him further.
         "So you think we have things to talk about?" he said, making it sound like a question "Very well, why not; let us hear what you have to say. You may bring a little light into the proceedings; a new perspective perhaps." Casting a sideways glance at Frederick he added "It could certainly do with it."
         "What did he mean by that?" Frederick bristled, wanting to be back in the ring after a long period listening to the others. "He thinks he's so high and mighty."
         "Why don't we make a start?" Peter said, ignoring Frederick's irritation, and Giles's aloofness. “Let's just talk and see where it takes us."
         "That seems to be a good idea" said Giles, thinking to humour this new young pretender.
         "Fine by me." said Frederick, but he was still angry.
         "And what say we talk out here instead of inside a dingy cavern." Peter suggested. And as he spoke he held out his arms waving them slightly up and down and feeling the swirl of water between his fingers. Thinking to ease the tension by starting on a lighter note he said. "At least I don't think it's going to rain."
         Giles turned round followed by his minders and squatted. Frederick did the same. None of them however responded to Peters's joke.
         "Well I thought it was funny." he muttered, once again puzzled by the apparent lack of an aquatic sense of humour.
         Peter felt that he should start by establishing some ground rules.
         Starting with Frederick he said "You are the representative of the frog community; right?"
         "Right." Frederick nodded.
         "And you Giles represent the newt community; is that correct?"
         "That is quite right."
         Turning once again to Frederick he asked "And how do you come to represent them?"
         "Well I'm their king aren't I?"
         "Oh come on Frederick, you can't be king, not when you come from generations of tadpoles a thousand at a time."
         Frederick was not used to being challenged, particularly by one who he thought to be on his side.
         "Everyone calls me King." he answered rather sullenly. "They picked me to be King."
         "They picked you; so you were elected, is that right?"
         "Sort of."
         "Well now; that make you a kind of Prime minister; or perhaps a president if you prefer."
         The frog sat up. "President Frederick ... yes, that sounds all right ... OK, I'll go for that."
         "And you Giles; were you elected too?"
         "Good gracious no, it's in the blood you know."
         "So did you become leader by popular consent; unopposed"
         "Good gracious no" he said again "there were some pretty good scraps along the way I can tell you."
         "So you became leader by force ... do you hold on to power by force?"
         "Good gracious no," It seemed to be his favourite expression. "my loyal friends here do that for me."
         Peter was amazed at such candour. No attempt to deceive; no hiding behind euphemisms or spin.
         "And who represents all the other communities in the pond?"
         It was a question put to both corners, but though Frederick volunteered no answer, Giles did.
         "Perhaps you do if you are God."
         Peter ignored the jibe; partly because he could not think of a suitable retort; and partly because in a funny kind of a way, Giles was right.
         "So what we have here," said Peter, making his first pronouncement, "is a president on one side, a dictator on the other, and ninety per-cent of the inhabitants of the pond not represented at all."
         Peter looked first at Frederick and then at Giles.
         "If you put it like that." said the first.
         "That seems to pretty well sum it up." said the other, "though I don't think I like being called a dictator."
         Peter looked at his feet, which, as the mud had settled had now re-appeared in their flippered guise. "Oh dear." he said. "Oh dear." he said again "This will not do ... I'm sure grandpa will agree...this simply won't do."
         Then he lifted his head.
         "What we need is a new start. There will have to be an election."
         Giles was the first to speak, albeit after a long pause.
         "An election?" he said, followed by another long pause "Very unlikely if you ask me." and then, lifting up a front foot to stop Peter from interrupting "We will see what we will see ... come on you two." and with that he moved off, followed closely by his two guards.
         Peter and Frederick watched them go, Giles leading them at a dignified, but surprisingly swift pace.          "There has never ever been an election in Paradise pond before," Frederick said, almost as though he was talking to himself, and Peter couldn't tell whether he was for or against. "And don't think for a moment that that big lump will just let you walk in and do things the way you choose; he'll fight you all the way."
         "What a day it's been" Peter observed as he and his froggy companion moved away from the arena. Soon they were out of the clearing moving slowly but easily through the rocks and the reeds and other plant life. Some of it was bushy and low, while others went up like smoke from a chimney, waving and swaying to the gentle swirl of the current until it merged with the flickering light high above.
         Peter remained surprised at how quickly he had acquired his swimming skills. It was as though he had been doing it all his life, and he had no difficulty in matching the easy and almost unnoticeable movements of Frederick's flippers. Even the countless other creatures of every size swimming all around, and in every direction failed to shame him. He knew of course that if it came to a race his underwater breast stroke would be no match for the natives. But for now it was serving him well, and he delighted in the easy, almost sensual, rhythm of the movement.
         Suddenly he stopped. Frederick stopped.
         "Something wrong?" the frog asked.
         They had found their way to a shallower part of the pond, closer to the edge and in front of them Peter could see dozens and dozens of frogs. Large adult females; slightly smaller males and juveniles, right down through the sizes to tiny ones, little more than tadpoles. They moved amongst the dense green of the plants, where many of them were sitting on the tops of stones, or balanced at the top of sturdy plants, heads above the water line. Others were almost clear of the water and some were on dry land, but all were basking in the last rays of the days sun.
         "Is this where you live?"
         "Here, and one or two other places." Frederick answered
         "But where can I stay?" Peter asked. Nothing had been said following his talk with Giles, but he clearly had no intention of going back to dry land. Not yet anyway for there was work to be done.
         "You can stay with us. There's plenty of room."
         "Thank you Frederick, just for tonight perhaps, but then I must find a place of my own. It looks as though I will have to stay a while, but I must be independent if I am going to conduct this election, and I must stay neutral."          
         As they spoke Peter noticed that the sun was indeed weakening, hardly filtering through the water. Gradually the light was fading, and soon it would be dark.
         Frederick had found a nice corner for his guest deep inside the compound, where, he promised, he would be safe from predators; and from the many boisterous noisy children.
         As he settled down for his first night in this strange and wonderful place he had much on his mind. How was he going to persuade Giles to accept democracy; to relinquish what he saw as his birthright, even though his claim was probably no more authentic than Frederick's, and to allow the pond to return to what it used to be.
         'Paradise'.
         But another, more frightening factor had entered into his thoughts. Predators!. Frederick had spoken of predators!
         Surprisingly, Peter managed to make himself nice and comfy, and though he was not expecting to get much sleep, he had a better night than he anticipated. He awoke sooner than he might otherwise have done, when shafts of the early morning sun found its way between the stones of his shelter. Also, it was much noisier than he expected it to be. There was some kind of commotion in the compound, and without further thought he pushed himself into a glide, quickly and deftly looking in all the nooks and crannies trying, on the one hand to find Frederick, and on the other, to discover what had upset the colony. Something was causing all the frogs to charge around as though in terror. Back and forth they hopped and swooped, apparently aimlessly, all showing signs of hysteria and panic.
         With a flick of his legs and feet Peter moved easily forward, searching first in one direction; then, with a bend of his body and a check with his arms, he would shoot off in another.
         When at last he found Frederick he was with a party of six or so of his fellow frogs well beyond the boundary of the colony. But it was what they were doing that caused him to stop in his watery tracks. Looking down from an elevated position were the green plants almost reached the surface of the water, Peter could see that he and some of his clansmen were carrying fallen comrades.
         Peter floated down, little noticing the skill he employed, or wondering from where it came. In so short a time he had become 'at home' in his new environment, that already he was taking it for granted.
         "What's happened?" he said to Frederick.
         "Another attack by the newts in the night. Four dead and another four injured."
         "Another attack you say; have you had many?"
         "Since the beginning of the breeding season, they have attacked about twenty times. I told you, they are trying to drive us out."
         All his young life Peter had been fascinated by the minutia of pond life, the variety and life cycles, and he knew that spring and summer was the critical period. After that, with new families reared, the frogs and newts would spend a lot of their time out of the water.
         "But why this?" Peter asked, pointing at the casualties "you have always been able to live side by side before."
         "It started two seasons ago when Giles arrived. Until then all the newts had been of the ordinary kind, but he's different. He claimed to be of Royal birth, or some kind of aristocrat, and persuaded them that the great crest running all the way down his back proves it. Whether it does or not, all the ordinary newts seemed to believe it."
         "Where did he come from?"
         "He would never tell us, but he used to say that the rest of the world is bigger than we know; told all sorts of stories, lots of things that no-one could prove, and all kinds of nonsense."
         "What happened then?"
         "Well it was alright at first; he was always a fancy talker; a bit of a boaster we thought, but very soon he became their leader. After that we started to notice that there were more and more newts in the pond."
         "And where did they come from?" Peter asked.
         "There must be other ponds somewhere in the rest of the world, and he encouraged newts from them to come to ours, but we never really found out because that's when they started to attack us."
         "Is that what happened last night?"
         "They were attacking the nursery again - it's what they usually do, killing off our tadpoles so that as their numbers get bigger, ours get smaller. When we chased them off we ran into an ambush."
         They had reached the centre of the compound, and Frederick was busy for a while giving out instructions. When he returned Peter was ready.
         "He's got to be stopped. He has taken a peace loving community and turned them into warriors." he said, turning to Frederick "We must have a council of war."
         All thoughts of democracy and neutrality were put aside for the moment.'We will have to come back to that later' he thought 'but first I must try to stop the fighting'.
         An idea had lodged itself and he just wondered if it might work. "Last night you spoke of some predators; who are they?"
         "Oh yes, I was thinking about the Sticklebacks."
         "Sticklebacks?" Peter repeated hardly able to contain his surprise, remembering how he had dipped his jam jar into many a shoal of the minnow like fish, and wondering how something so small could worry a frog.
         "They hunt in packs you know," Frederick continued "they're big as well" he added "some of them as big as my leg."
         Peter remained silent for a moment while he pondered another lesson learned; another reminder of his new, inverted, perspective. But at least he had the germ of an idea to work on.

          "Where in the pond is their habitat?"
         "Come again." Frederick asked wearily.
         "Where do they live?"
         "There is a clear rocky place near where the river comes into the pond. Fast running it is, and they like to dart in and out of the current, and most of the other small fellows keep out of their way."
         Peter knew he would have to be bold. The usually mild mannered newts had succumbed to the powerful influence of Giles and had become aggressive and dangerous. The frogs were no match for these atavists, whose ancestors were one of the many fierce species of dragon. Somehow their new mesmeric leader had unlocked those ancient instincts.
         "Do you know their leader?"
         Frederick, surprised as he was at this question took a little time to answer.
         "Yes I do, but we are not best of friends. The last time I saw him - with some of his buddies - I was lucky to escape with my life."
         "I want to meet him; will you take me?"
         "Not likely, it's far too dangerous."
         "Then I must go on my own. I hope you will at least tell me all you know about him."
         "They'll have you for dinner in two minutes flat. You won't stand a chance. They'll skin you alive. They'll ... "
         "Yes yes yes, I get the idea; but we must have some muscle on our side; a bit of fighting power." Peter was pleading "Do you have a better idea?"
         Frederick was silent.
         "Right," Peter said emphatically, "today I find somewhere to live; and tomorrow I will go and find the leader of the minnows ..." he looked at Frederick to see if there was a reaction. "of the sticklebacks," he corrected as he looked again at Frederick, eyeball to eyeball. Both of them were in suspension due to their agitated state, floating free from the lake bottom. "And if I have to I will go on my own."
         With that he flicked his feet and sped away, angry at the frogs reluctance to give him the support he needed. He still marvelled at how easy it was, though he knew that if push came to shove, he would be no match for an adult frog. Not even, if it came to it, a baby one either. In his irritation he moved off quickly so it was a few moments before Frederick caught him up and grabbed him.
         "For goodness sake don't go off like that. This is a different world to the one you thought it was."
         Peter could see that his ‘froggy’ friend was quite concerned and was touched. "But I can look after myself."
         "No you can't." said Frederick "It's a dangerous place, and you don't know the ways of it. I brought you into my world and maybe that was a mistake. It's our battle not yours."
         Peter sat down on a little rock, and with very gentle, almost imperceptible movements of his hands, maintained his position.
         "Mistake or not I am here. I'm sure that if you'd brought my granddad down he would say the same. I will not leave until stability and order is reestablished in his pond."
         "His pond?"
         "Yes, it is his pond, and what you call the rest of the world - that's his too."
         Frederick was moved. "So he is God then."
         "No. God is much bigger than him - bigger than us all." Peter felt he was talking himself in a tight corner now. "I guess you might say that he is something in-between"
         "And you?"
         "Me too in a way."
         Now it was Frederick's turn to be thoughtful. He too was sat, in the unique way that frogs do, but unlike Peter had no need of even the slightest adjustments in order to maintain his position.
         "OK," he said eventually, and bearing a grim look "God or not, if those sticklebacks get you they'll eat you before you have time to say your prayers."
         "Peter laughed out loud. Somehow Frederick had stripped away what was unimportant, and had brought them back to essentials.         
         "Will you help me?" Peter asked. A simple question, and Frederick's answer was simple too.
         "When I asked for your help you dived in, so I guess now it's my turn to dive in."
         Peter had his answer, but Frederick was far from happy.