From the June 17 Issue of the Rock Times:

Readers will surely have seen aftereffects of the calamity that befell the Lizard Book Club (LBC) at its most recent meeting. What can this lizard say apart from that the fate of our society hangs on a precipice. The joint energies of all our members are required to keep us and our traditions afloat.

       As LBC Convener and President, I feel obliged to provide the most truthful and accurate report possible of our unmitigated disaster. It likewise behooves me to dispel the accusations communicated to me as we lie in our current prison and to clear the good names of those affected. Those who, as the reader will learn, were so perniciously manipulated by the perpetrator of the crime.

       Never was such damage wrought since the day lizards first occupied The Rock.

The Visitor

By all accounts, T. P. Slick emerged from a human cargo arriving on the Island around mid-May. Mrs. Slick was observed that same sunny afternoon sliding along the low reaches of the cliff. She settled there in a small but comfortable hole on the north face of The Rock. From then on Mrs. Slick kept to herself. On the rare occasions she was spotted outside, it was usually skulking around, sticking out her tongue in relatively standoffish manner.

       But that, as they say, was enough for some. It was through the kind solicitations of Mr. Ssss, a fine and upstanding member of the LBC, approaching this solitary lizard when sunning one day, that Slick was made aware of our literary coterie’s existence. We can only imagine the sudden joy with which would have learned of the clubhouse to which she later purveyed her evil intents.

       Social media was the primary channel through which a friendship grew between the two and Mrs. Slick inveigled herself into the LBC. A denizen of foreign lands, Mrs. Slick was possessed of extremely elegant lizard hands, or so they appeared on to some. No doubt fully aware of this, in LizApp chats Mrs. Slick began to send Mrs. Ssss photos of covers from her ‘favorite books’. There would be a web of green placed deliberately and alluringly in the bottom corner of each, no doubt having gone through some luscious ‘filter’. I shall not demean the titles of such fine books by association with that wicked lizard’s name.

Let’s just say that aside from perhaps eliciting other natural lizard responses, these actions certainly inveigled Mr. Ssss into the conviction that Mrs. Slick was one of us. From that time her inviation to the LBC… and our fate were practically sealed. Once is understandable, but let this be a message to us all. To continuously fall for such tricks as Slick then wrought will only bring shame to the term ‘lizard brain’.

Welcoming Slick

I skip over details of Mrs. Slick’s inaugural attendance to LBC proceedings, which soon followed. I note proudly the hospitable reception she received, even from our older members, from before the days of whom they call the lizardettes.

       Oh, how she slipped, slid and slunk her way into our inner circle! Our kindhearted members thought nothing of granting this new arrival unrestricted access to the clubhouse. Before long she was crawling in and out, over us and through the property as was her wont.

       Around three weeks passed, with meetings almost daily at the house. I should note that after some initial engagement with LBC members, Slick had taken to long and brooding silences during our discussions. This gave many of us an even an more favorable impression, as if this alluring creature was possessed of great inner depth. We tricked ourselves by our own folly, day and day out. Meanwhile she took more than ordinary interest in our old books room, always seeming to have her head in a tome when one of the other members arrived. This only added to the allure.

       Classics season snuck up on us. Energies were high and debates often dazzling. Then one sunny and fine morning we were in the middle of what I felt was a particularly interesting discussion. Mr. Hsss was amusing us with his interpretation of How to Stowaway on Boat, Barge and Yacht, which he reads as a human psy-ops intended to lure lizards on to ships and slowly wipe out our species. Hisses of approval and “Does anybody remember Joe…” echoed through the room. No one noticed Mrs. Slick disappear yet again. Those not fully engrossed in the conversation say they heard a soft cracking from the incunabula. Literature come to life, perhaps. We were perhaps taken aback when we all began to hear something stirring, but the debate carried on.

       That would be it if not for the quick wits of Mr. Ssss. Stepping from the circle at the final salvageable moment and braving a peek in the back, he recoiled instantly, seeing what his friend had done. Terrible, famished baby lizards were hatching from their shells, waiting to be guided towards our honorable members. One moment more, and Mrs. Slick and her brood would have had themselves a most pleasurable brunch and start to life.

Escape!

We got out of there, but only by a tongue’s breadth. Mr. Ssss cried “Great Scott!” and hissed us out like from some Florida wall. Racing as fast as we could down the sheer slope, we scurried instinctively away from the sunshine towards The Puddle. As I looked back I almost flipped over with horror as our books old and new were thrown to the wind in the chaos of the breakout. The rarest volumes were being mercilessly thrown to the air by the rogues. Slick’s subterfuge proved perfectly timed as any other lizards were either asleep or looked on lazily from some sunny spot.

       Anyway, from The Puddle we imagined we might float across and disperse through the weeds. Perhaps we could live like the lizards of old, before there even existed books and civilization. Mrs. Slick and her hatchling army, however, had us sharply tailed. I turned my head back with horror as those elastic legs caught up. Several of the older lizards seemed almost to have forgotten how to swim. They could barely keep their heads above the water. We reached about a foot from the shore.

       This squad of deadly hatchlings may have yet had their way. They paused a while, waiting for mother to lead on, springing randomly left and right of the water. We said our prayers and waited for the end. A small band gathered, ready to defend our book club, the older members and perhaps even The Rock. A small line of us swam forward. Then was some sputtering, some flaying of arms and legs, and we began to hiss and howl as the army entered the water and got within six inches…

       Just as I caught a glance of our nemesis, I felt in my peripheral vision something black, murky and massive. Then I noticed the outline of an enormous net. Then, I heard the sound of laughter. A young girl, sneaking up on our lizard conflict, gasped and chuckled with delight as we were swopped up. I clung to the frame for dear life, as Mr. Hsss and I pulled back from the front line. We were fished clean out of the water and spilled over into a glass bottle – the type for butterflies, I believe. Then the little girl chuckled again, delightedly, spotting the diminutive little group at her feet. The next moment the enemy was up in the air, bottled separately and Mrs. Slick cursing and yelling at human and lizard alike.

A Parting Message

And that is how were placed in a glass cage of our own – every lizard needs one – with an array of slightly sickly branches and a little rockery but really doesn’t match the glories of The Rock. Thank fortune that Mrs. Slick and her brood have been housed in a smaller ‘family cage’ the other side of the pet shop floor. Beneath a chameleon and above a small school of rainbow fish is the LBC’s new home.

       Your correspondent’s arrival has been than ordinarily well timed. Subscribers to the Rock Times may rest assured that Mrs. Slick will trick us again. Our little eyes looked on with delight as a ship’s captain came in to acquire her cage and its contents just this very morning. This brood seems quite the exotic one, he growled. We were so pleased some of took a jab at Mr. Ssss and his foreign fancies. Mr. Hsss has his theory, that the captain and Slick were in cahoots, but none others grant too much to that conspiracy. May the Captain be blessed with his acquisition, if it brings such disturbance of our peace once and truly off the Island.

       I personally thank your correspondent for crawling in horizontally and vertically on the pet shop walls to keep us abreast of outside affairs, risking his own neck in the process. We welcome the solicitations of the community and look forward to the day when we are reunited in glorious sunshine!

I have dictated this account in the interest of community affairs and imagining a time when we compose the full history of the LBC. I believe it only strengthens our club to provide a testament to all events – the good, the bad and the ugly. I hope such work contributes to the club enduring through many more generations of our kind. That is what makes us lizards.

      But this great society ought not carry on with this chairman at the helm. Such reflections as these have come to me during my time in the cage. Owing in no small part to current circumstances, my sense of shared responsibility and lack of foresight regarding social media and its ills, and solemnly, with great admiration for all my kin, the time has come that I relinquish the presidency of the LBC. Stewardship of any surviving materials must pass to the next generation, provided of course they are not any of Mrs. Slick’s, who may yet have slunk free from the captain’s cage. Be on guard.

       I remain yours, etc.

                     T. P. Hiss

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Ed Allen lives and works in Shanghai, where he divides his time between writing his two passions of archaeology and creative writing. Nowadays he spends much of this time at home with baby Ashley.