Duped

Who doesn’t enjoy a rare treat every now and then? Mine is a magic bar from Balzac’s cafe. It’s a three-inch square of heavenly goodness; coconut shavings lounging on a bed of cookie crumbs, crowned with chunks of chocolate and glued together with butter. With it, I’ve stolen away to the park on a Thursday afternoon, and found myself the cool surface of a bench facing the lake. The view from here is peaceful. There are no rowdy geese lurking nearby. They’ve all congregated further down the lake, parading among a crowd of feeding hands. Here, only a handful of ducks are dabbling calmly in the lake. Among them is a pair of elegant, white swans – their long, floating necks a vision to behold against the brilliant, blue sky.

I’m cradled in the shade of a rather peculiar-looking willow. It’s trunk sprouts from the ground in three separate parts which then knot and twist their way up to a majestic height. One of its arms extends over the lake and from it, a lock of leaves bobs and dips down into the water surface as if flirting with its own image. The air is resonating with a symphony of bird songs and carries with it whiffs of fresh lavender. Dancing to the tune of this music, head swaying ever so slightly, coconut and chocolate swirl around on my tongue deliciously.

My train of thought is broken when I notice a mallard squatting near the edge of the lake, ten feet ahead of me. He is watching me curiously, and such scrutiny elicits in me an embarrassment at my brazen display of gastronomical pleasure. Sensing my attention, he gets up on his webbed feet and begins to edge closer. He’s hobbling, evidently hurt. In a few minutes I find him planted at my feet, looking up intently with glistening eyes. Oh, you poor little thing, I think, and promptly break off a generous piece of my treat to feed him. He scoops it up in his wide beak and gulps it down hungrily.

Meanwhile, a squirrel has been peeking anxiously from behind the willow’s trunk. When I glance at him, he begins to dart back and forth, waving his bushy tail, clicking and chirping annoyingly. I try to ignore him, but he audaciously dives down the trunk and plants himself on the bench beside me. Standing up on two legs, tiny paws embraced almost prayer-like, there’s no mistaking he’s got a whiff of the butter. You don’t even like chocolate, I silently mouth to him, and grudgingly part with another piece of my treat. He whips it up and starts gnawing at it instantly. I have more visitors. A pair of chickadees are now hovering above my head, wooing me with their sweeeetie whistles. My brows knit in disapproval, but I fold almost instantly and throw them a few crumbs.

People passing by have taken an interest in this scene. A crowd has begun to form. On display, surrounded by a duck, a squirrel and two little birds, I almost feel like snow white ready to break into a song. But something more urgent is gnawing at my thoughts. I am clutching in my hand the last bite of that chunky, creamy, chocolaty goodness, and I’m convinced I deserve to eat it. So, I slip it back into the paper bag and meekly walk away. The only dignified way to eat it is far from the madding crowd.

But I’ve barely walked ten feet when a goose ghosts into view. At first, he silently pins me with his gaze, as if your highness would rather I just read his mind to decipher what he means. But when he sees me inching away, he begins to intimidate me by flicking and rolling his long neck. I’m acutely aware of the attention from the gawking crowd, but I’m not about to give in to these juvenile tantrums. Clutching the paper bag tighter in my hand, I dart in the opposite direction. But the goose is aerodynamic. I hear him screaming behind me, his wings beating the air, and I imagine his sharp beak arrowing down towards me in a brazen attack. I concede defeat, and throw the paper bag violently into the air. He dives to catch it in his beak, tears it open, and greedily gulps down every last crumb.

The symphony of bird songs now returns to my ears with a doleful melody. The breeze carries a zingy sting. I begin to walk back to mundane life, but turn around for one last look. Standing triumphant against the clear, blue sky is the group of heartless marauders. Swindler, trickster, flatterer and pirate – everyone wants a piece of your pie.