A Duck's Tale

At 2:56pm on a rainy Sunday afternoon outside Charles De Gaulle station a man wearing a hat two sizes two big buys 2 cornetto’s for himself from an ice-cream van which was once regarded the toast of the town. He pays with change from a woman’s purse, which he had found the previous month and despite a frankly aggressive flyer posting campaign, has never found it’s owner. The ice-cream man, Jean-Claude Froit, notices the purse and assumes that that man’s mother is treating him from somewhere out of sight and gives him an accordingly judgemental stare. The man, Antoine Dechard, has a nervous disposition and assumes that the ice-cream man has judged him for his pink purse and is considering him to be some sort of rapist or serial killer who gets off on using his victims purses once the bodies have been disposed of. His over-thinking of the situation makes him fumble with the zipper on the purse and drop his two ice-creams in a most unfortunate manner. Where he is standing is to be the site of a new street sign proclaiming that ice-cream vans are not permitted on that road, but due to that particular ice-cream van’s previous prominence in the city’s history, the sign has not yet been erected. A small circular hole has however been made in the ground, and miraculously both ice creams fall into it, head to tale so they are standing up in it perfectly, with only the tip of the bottom of a cone peeking out. The man curses his luck but buys no more ice-cream that day, as he immediately sets off to find the owner of the purse and clear his name once and for all.

At 11:27am on an overcast Tuesday morning outside Charles De Gaulle station, the most famous duck in all of the EU is escorting his family to the train station for their summer vacation. General Constanz Quackismo always works hardest through summer, whilst his contemporaries do little but float, and this year would be no different despite his becoming a father for the first time. He has decided to send his family to the coast so that they will have to compete with seagulls for their floating and scavenging rights, and thereby hopefully become tough enough for a military life. Eight out of nine of his children had protested due to there being a summer camp for young birds being held in the base of the Eiffel Tower this year, and false promises of being sent there next year instead by their father didn’t quell the descent. However, the ninth duckling, Pierre Quackismo, had supported his father’s decision entirely, but requested that he alone be allowed to stay and study at his father’s side. General Constanz Quackismo loved Pierre more than all his other children for this one simple request, as never before had he met another duck who wished to study all through the summer months, but always he had dreamed that there be another out there like him. He could not however show favouritism to his children at such an early age so he had denied the request and had taken them all to the station.

At 4:16pm on a cold Monday afternoon, Jean-Claude Froit receives a terrible phone call from the authorities saying that despite his previous services to the great city of Paris, they would be going ahead with the banning of ice-cream vans outside of Charles De Gaulle station. Jean-Claude is furious and tells the authorities that he will not move without a fight and that if they want him gone they will have to send the army. Unfortunately Jean-Claude is in reality a coward, with no heat in his blood to fight anyone so on an overcast Tuesday morning at 11:30am when he spots an army procession heading towards the station, he takes flight in his ice-cream van not even pausing to turn on his trademark music maker.

Pierre Quackismo is in front of the van when this happens, and accepts his fate with remarkable repose for one so young. He pushes his sister Juliette Quackismo out of the way and utters a prayer to keep his family in crusts before the tire rolls over his tiny body. His sister at first believes the push to be a childish game, however as she sees her brother disappear before the beloved ice-cream van her heart breaks and she forgives him all his sins, and laments herself for all of hers.

General Constanz Quackismo is a hard working duck, stern in a way that no-one can explain. It is this dedicated and considered nature that led him to rise so fast in the army, however as he sees his daughter Juliette’s tears and counts his children, his composure disappears in an instant. He explodes into a feral frenzy not commonly seen in ducks and flaps and quacks terror into the hearts of all the commuters around him. A man drops his brioche out of fear, and perhaps as some sort of offering, and the Quackismo children run to gorge themselves on it, not being able to distinguish between sadness and hunger yet at this early age.

At 11:35am on an overcast Tuesday morning, the army regiment which Jean-Claude Froit had fleed from, arrives at Charles De Gaulle station to catch a train but instead find one of their most decorated generals sobbing in the streets. Inconsolable as he is, the troops rally and try to comfort the General, as this duck is more beloved than any mallard in the country. Nothing they say affects the General’s mood however, and it is several moments before they can ascertain what has happened. News of the tragedy ripples through the soldiers and the commuters as the ducklings proclaim their diminished number and tears spread throughout the area seeding the way for the rain that is coming. The Generals sobbing subsides into a brooding and seething nothing as he loses all joy and all hope. He stares blankly at his children and his men with nothing in his eyes but a desire for one of them to make it all better. His tears mix with all the others to form puddles of unlimited sadness. No-one moves, no-one speaks. Everything is grey.

At 11:40am on an overcast Tuesday morning, a miracle happens. A vet is arriving and asking to see the patient, quickly, vite vite, when an unaccounted for quacking is heard. The army regiment is quick off the mark to check the area for an extra duckling, and believing that he could be vitally injured, every man, woman and child in sight is sent to search as quickly as they can. A father, distraught and feeling alone wanders over to where his son was and quickly becomes pleased by the lack of any blood. He stops his high hopes in their tracks, as he is all too aware of the problems with counting chickens before they hatch, but waddles over to the place his son was last seen. The spot on the ground that would always hold nothing but pain for him, holds something else as well that he cannot yet know. On that spot, which is almost set for a lifetime of scorn and sadness, there is a hole covered by a flyer for a lost purse. In that hole there is a happy little duckling covered in ice-cream quacking for help. On that day there is an overcast Tuesday morning which is covered by cries of joy. The saddest puddle trickles into the whole and Pierre floats to the top perfectly into his father’s gaze. His father berates him with love and his happy faux-angry quacking soon brings back the now thousands of volunteers out searching for this fluffy little yellow fellow. The cheering from the crowd spreads like wildfire with the news of this magically missed tragedy across the continent and even a little further.

With this new joy in his heart General Quackismo becomes more famous and beloved than ever, and with the support of the people becomes President, eventually succeeded by his son Pierre.

The Troubled Times of Doctor Minotaur

Things were rough for Doctor Minotaur from day one. No-one believed a man with the head and legs of a bull could be a hygienic person, and his eyes being on the side of his head meant that he always had to peer sideways, which left most patients unnerved. Especially before he put tennis balls on the ends of his horns, people would jump away with a start when he tried to examine them.

Still, Doctor Minotaur persevered, and after a while he had his own thriving medical practice. The people of Labyrinth in fact quite treasured their mythical medical man, and were always bragging to other towns about him. It wasn’t that he was that great a doctor, only that when he couldn’t cure people he pretended to do magic on them, which worked strangely often. God bless the placebo effect.

It was in the Year of the Helicopter when his real troubles began though. Troubles worse than when Doctor Minotaur had been a boy and had been chased through the town by people with pitchforks. Troubles worse even than when he was teenager and local bullies had tried to force him to have sex with a cow for their amusement. Doctor Minotaur was in fact attracted to cows, but having sex in front of bullies was a terrible thing to almost-endure.

No, those troubles were bad, but the troubles in the Year of the Helicopter were worse. Stephanie the Butcher had come in to see him for regular lady problems, and the next day had turned up dead. Gored by two gigantic horns. About shoulder height.

There were no bulls in or near the town – the townspeople of Labyrinth had seen how introverted and melancholy Doctor Minotaur became when he looked at bulls, who in some ways were his brethren, so they had taken a decision in secret to only keep cows nearby. Yes, Doctor Minotaur looked at them oddly too sometimes, but he never seemed depressed about it the next morning at least.

Doctor Minotaur was called to the scene of the attack to see if he could do anything to help Stephanie, but by the time he arrived she had already lost too much blood. He bandaged her wounds anyway, and made her comfortable as the townsfolk looked on, with Stephanies husband Gregor being comforted by two especially nice old women who lived on the edge of town. He had turned his head to take a closer look at her injuries when he first noticed the difference on the people of Labyrinths' faces. Usually when he worked they seemed filled with awe and hope, but this time was different. Possibly for the first time in 20 years he saw fear on their faces. Fear and hope - the hope that they were wrong. Constable Stevenson walked into his line of sight with all of the blood visibly draining from his face as he spoke.

“What do you think got her Doc?” he asked quietly.

“Well I couldn’t say for sure, but she was stabbed by conical blades it appears, possibly both at the same time, about 2 feet apart. I would say a bull if there was one around.” Doctor Minotaur replied.

“And…and how far apart would you say the tips of your horns were Doc?” The constable asked.

“They’re about….they're about....Jesus Henry, do you really think this was me? I delivered your daughter for gods sake man. I let you stay with me when Clara kicked you out. Stephanie was one of my best friends, how can you ask that? How can you think that?” Doctor Minotaur asked back.

“I don’t Doc, I don’t. But I have to do my job, same as you. If I don’t it’ll go worse for both of us, you know it same as me. Now, please, answer the question. How far apart are your horns? Look like abouts 2 feet to me”. Henry said.

“I have no idea Constable” said Doctor Minotaur “You’re welcome to measure them anytime you like”. The last he said with a sour look on his face, that he felt as sadness, but his friend saw as vaguely threatening, and backed away.

A wrong reaction can breed a wrong reaction in many a case, and this was no different. Seeing his close friend afraid of him while he laboured to save another, angered the poor medical bullman, and the real anger on his face fed the crowds suspicions and rumours. Later at the pub many a theory was put about, saying he couldn’t help it if Stephanie was in “heat” or that they always suspected he was more man than beast. Gregor was the only one to speak on the Docs behalf without losing his head to the hysteria of the day, but all he would say was the Doc had never hurt anyone in the town even when he had good reason to in the past.

No patients came to see Doctor Minotaur the next day, so he spent it ensuring Stephanies last moments were peaceful and painless. Only once she was gone did he check his own sanity and innocence by measuring his horns against the wounds. They didn’t match, but were close enough that he assumed that too many of his passing friends would easily be convinced. He called Gregor to comfort his friend, but could only speak to the kindly old women who were tending his grief, and they did not seem that kindly to him on the phone. He asked John Dawry the mortician to take the body away and prepare it, in case there was any mistaken ill feeling from Gregor to himself, so that he could visit his dead wife as soon as he was able without issue.

Once John Dawry was gone, leaving a kind word and the comforting echo of a hand on his shoulder, Doctor Minotaur closed his practice and shuttered the blinds. In the dark he drank and drank, cursing mens small minds and his mythically terrifying appearance. He considered leaving that moment, or maybe the next, but thought the towns people would think him guilty if he did. And someone had killed Stephanie, and if it was pinned on him no-one would find out who. And "who" had to pay.

Poor Stephanie. Poor poor poor Stephanie. She was beautiful inside and out. Even when making sausages or gutting a pig people loved to be around her. She was Doctor Minotaurs first female friend, having asked him the kindest way to kill a cow from out of nowhere one day.

“Painlessly” he said sadly before bursting into tears and rushing away. He was neither cow nor man, but he had always felt enormously connected to both, and the fact that one enslaved and ate the other had always been the most horrendous truth of his life. Stephanie had just been trying to be a better person however, and so when she saw him next had spoken gently and firmly explaining why she asked. He didn’t cry or bolt the second time and they had been friends ever since.

Now she was dead and everyone thought it was him. Stupid townspeople. Stupid murderer. Stupid Doctor Minotaur. He drank and drank and drank. He was drunk.

At around 4am he left his office, wild eyed and shirtless, swigging from his 9th bottle of whiskey for the evening. He staggered down the unpaved streets bawling in the moonlight, swearing revenge and/or penance. Begging forgiveness or understanding from the moon and the stars and the buildings and the cars.
That was when he saw it. A huge bull in the field, mounting one of the many cows out there.

“YOU!” Doctor Minotaur hoarsely shouted. “IT WAS YOU WASN’T IT!”  he shouted staggeringly. He threw down the bottle and stepped forward. “ANSWER ME YOU BASTARD. ANSWER ME”. He screamed ridiculous and angrily.

He climbed over the fence just as the bull was dismounting the cow and charged it head down. The bull knew this game better than he, so they hit head to head, horns locking and twisting, cuts forming and bleeding across their mighty noggins. The great bull had the body strength to back up it’s powerful head, but Doctor Minotaur was fuelled by rage and grief and alcohol. And he had giant mythically powerful human arms which he using to batter the bulls throat and eyes. Lightning of course flashed, noticing the epic events and knowing it’s place despite the lack of rain. The bull pushed and Doctor Minotaur fell drunkenly twisting his ankle and fate. His slip caused his horns to rake the Bulls neck and once the beast was so hurt, the day was won.

Covered in blood and filled with blood lust, whiskey and zero self-respect, Doctor Minotaur pulled himself to his feet, undid his belt, and mounted the nearest cow he could grab. It was in this distraught and disturbing state that the townsfolk found him, at first thinking he had gone mad but after seeing the destroyed Bull and his embarrassed face, piecing together the story.

And so began the most troublesome period of Doctor Minotaur's life. Long after he had healed his physical wounds, but long before he had healed his mental ones, the towns people, ashamed and seeking forgiveness, began to matchmake him with the cows of the town. There are literally no words he could use to explain the physical only attraction he had to cows, but he tried anyway, day after day, to hat lowering townsperson after townsperson. It never became less awkward, failing to explain and being forced on “dates” with heifers, and he would have had to continue to endure the humiliation if he hadn’t one day chosen take a particularly attractive cow as his wife. Their marriage of convenience lasted until his bride, Lemonspot, died and the town didn’t eat beef from the time of their first “date” until well after Doctor Minotaur had died.

Doctor Minotaur did grow to love Lemonspot in his own way, but that never really made the whole situation better. At least the townspeople loved him, he thought each day when they asked about “the missus”, and long after that when they elected him Mayor.

The Year of the Helicopter was the worst of Doctor Minotaurs life, but he wouldn't have traded it for anythng in the end. For a half man-half bull, having a place to truly belong in the world was more than he could have ever really hoped for, and it was more than enough for him.