(Not) telling Nimby

Last night when everyone sat round the fire and heard about Two Hours Max and their Auntie Jessie moving in, Nimby had not been there. It had been raining and he’d gone out looking for slugs.

Danshari thought it would be prudent to tell Nimby in advance about the arrival of two more trolls. He might need time to get used to the idea.

So he went down the garden to see if Nimby was at home. 

It wasn’t always easy to tell. If you took the top off the compost bin and looked in, you could see the little tunnel Nimby had made, but he whisked away down it out of sight as soon as he heard the first noise of the lid being lifted. 

Usually Danshari knocked on the front door, and called out, “It’s me.” Mostly he added, just to be sure, “Me, Dan de lion,” in case his voice came through the compost all muffled and Nimby mistook him for George Fox. Nimby absolutely refused to answer the door to George Fox. 

George accepted this humbly. “After all,” he said, “not every Fox lives by the Peace Testimony. But one day they will. It says so in the Book of the Prophet Isaiah. They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain, saith the Lord. The lion shall lie down with the lamb.”

George Fox thought they’d made a good beginning in this garden.

But he had to concede that the vision of the prophet had apparently not extended to rats and foxes, and everybody must live with reality. Still, they’d made a start, and sometimes that’s all you can do.

As Danshari approached the compost bin, he heard a squeaky little rat voice from inside. Nimby was singing. Danshari paused. He stood and listened to the song. It went like this.

“Oh the way of the world

Is all stony and rough

But the worst bit is travelling with you.

The teeth must be sharp

And the tongue rasped and tough

To get by, to survive, to bite through.

The fruit is all rotten

The bread hard and dry

The mildew is turning it blue.

The bedding is lumpy

And riddled with fleas

But the worst bit is travelling with you

Yes, siree: 

The worst bit

The worst bit

The worst bit by far

Is sharing this muck heap with you.”

Danshari hesitated for a moment, then tiptoed quietly away. Another time, maybe.

He found Yūgen sitting by the fire with a cup of tea. She looked up. “Was Nimby home?” she asked. “Did you tell him?”

“He was singing to himself. I didn’t like to interrupt him.”

“Oh, yes,” Yūgen nodded. “I caught a snatch of Nimby’s song when I was in the garden first thing. Did it go like this?

“The wind’s from the east

The rain’s turned to hail

And this gristle is frightful to chew.

I’m thirsty and bored

And the fruitcake’s gone stale

And there’s nothing in this bag but poo.

That fruit is fermenting 

It smells foul in here

But the worst bit is travelling with you.”

“Yes,” said Danshari. "Yes, that was it.

“The worst bit

The worst bit

The worst bit by far

The worst bit (but what can you do?)

The worst bit

The worst bit

The worst bit by far

Is sharing this muck heap with you.”

Yūgen nodded thoughtfully. “Catchy,” she said, after a moment’s reflection.

“I think it’s a love song,” she added. “He was probably singing to his wife.”

“What?” Danshari looked up sharply. “I didn’t know Nimby had a wife!”

“Oh, yes,” said Yūgen, “but you don’t often see her. She doesn’t get out much, and when she does it’s mostly at night.”

“Do you know her name?” Danshari asked.

“Dental Floss,” said Yūgen.

Danshari took this in. “Pretty name,” he said. “What does she look like?”

“She looks like Nimby,” said Yūgen. “It’s not easy to tell them apart. But if you go past the compost heap when Nimby’s singing, and you listen carefully, you can hear a second voice putting in the harmonies.”

“Well, I never knew that,” said Danshari.